Narrator S: In a dark expanse, there shines a sun.

[Disorienting music.] 

Narrator M: Surrounding the sun is a weird solar system, almost, of many thousands of zero-g globules of fold, hovering like wax in a lava lamp, in space, slowly orbiting that point of light.

Narrator X: Kinda like an asteroid belt, but with blobs of fold instead of asteroids. 

S: A blob belt, if you will. 

X: The dark shard of the Ship hovers in this expanse as well, orbiting the sun much like these blobs, adrift slowly among the outermost globules, unpowered, its Foldlight once again dark, inactive. 

S: And from the Ship’s still-open hangar door the Stagecoach emerges, unsteadily, zero-gravit-ally, gingerly, slowly, carefully thrustering itself towards one particular drifting blob of fold not far from the Ship.

M: Oh, yeah. This gecko guy, Steve, is showing them where to go. He leapfrogs from the Ship’s windshield toward that one particular blob. 

X: He soars through zero gravity, propelled by the force of his leap, sailing through the void toward this glob.

S: And this globule is many times larger than the Ship, but overall rather small compared to many of the more impressive, massive globs floating around this expanse.

M: As the Stagecoach nears, we begin to see adhered to the faint surface tension of that blobule, a sort of… what is that? Like a dandelion fluff on a soap bubble. 

S: A sprawling haphazard raft that Steve is leading them towards. 

X: He touches down ahead of the Stagecoach, landing rather gracefully, in fact, upon this raft. It is almost a kind of homestead, made of twisted roots, detritus, weeds, and branches.

S: Cleo perks up slightly, just a little, to see all these plants, peering out the windows of the Stagecoach as they approach. 

M: This would appear to be Steve’s home, so to speak. 

X: The Stagecoach drifts slowly into the “mediun” of the fold globule, its exterior membrane. The Stagecoach, being an aero-amphibious vehicle capable of navigating both air and fold spaces, switches over into its fold mode now, its wings tucking in, its thrusters going inert. The vessel settles down zero-g-ishly into a bog, a soup, of strange plants,

M: blistering ferns and knotted vines that float weightlessly in the globular fog. 

S: The bogular glob. 

X: Tall “trees” sprout out of cork-like seeds suspended on the blob’s surface tension, 

M: their broad leaves stretching outward, reaching toward that sun, 

S: their feathery roots stretching inward.

M: Illuminated in that sun, the blob is semi-translucent, revealing some bizarro fish, those banana-eel things fluttering and darting about in the fog deeper in, worming between those feathery roots, 

S: scattering for cover as the Stagecoach arrives. 

X: This fold, these globules, this light… Shouldn’t this kind of illumination be causing all kinda tearrors all over the place? 

M: One would expect it to. 

S: But the blobs in the blob belt all seem lazy, calm, stable. What is going on? Add it to the list of mysteries. 

X: The Stagecoach comes to a stop, floating, drifting in the fold, and its cargo door opens. The crew tentatively float forth. 

S: Though they are all held in a kind of blobular embrace, there is still no gravity here, and they can’t really stand anywhere so much as carefully float around, clinging to available surfaces. 

M: Arriving at Steve’s place is like picking their way around an orbital space station swamp-farm.

S: They’re all carrying various belongings. In the brief flurry of packing-up that followed Steve’s arrival at the Ship, Cleo found Omelet hidden in one of his favorite napping spots: curled up inside her sparkly light blue Princess Shiny backpack.

X: He, like the rest of the crew, was very upset by recent events, and refused to exit the backpack, so Cleo simply closed him in, and, well, she’s wearing the backpack now.

S: It looks very plump and full, but it’s not heavy. Nothing is, anymore. 

X: Steve frogs around, clamoring with speed and ease, sproinging from surface to surface, showing off his home, 

S: Sort of like a veteran astronaut showing off all his cool moves to a flock of new astronauts. 

X: Yeah, Steve is quite graceful. The rest of the crew, not so much. They bumble and drift, assisting one another uneasily. 

S: Steve is doing some tidying in a rushed way, and trying to address the needs of the crew. They’re hungry, they’re thirsty, they’re tired. 

X: (Steve) “Hey, I’m really sorry about the mess. I had no idea that I would be having such fun company today.” Steve is very, very excited to have friends here today. This is great. He’s showing them his food. He’s got some nets over here that he hand-made. Oh, look at these cool rocks that he collected from inside of one of his troutbananas. The rest of the crew is sort of half-listening. They are in a daze. 

S: Rawfield just died. And Steve is aware of this. He is not insensitive to their predicament, but he can’t hide the fact that, for him, this is a really exciting day. 

X: There is a kind of sentient frog creature talking to them, and they’re hearing him. He’s speaking. He’s hovering around and spoinging. His head is a gel-sack full of pulsating liquid. 

M: You wouldn’t be faulted for wondering why the crew isn’t freaking out more to meet a… actual honest-to-goodness alien.

S: But what IS an alien, when you really get down to it? Remember, they are accustomed to a vast range of biodiversity, thanks to the Fold. 

X: That’s right. Ordinary people can end up in a whole lot of different ways – having, for example, a whole man, perhaps, for a leg, 

M: or their entire personality replaced with frogs. So, y’know, frogs aren’t THAT crazy. 

S: Or, be born as a green and pink bioluminescent princess. 

X: Steve is definitely still very, very unusual – this is ALL very unusual – 

S: definitely pushing the boundaries of what counts as a person. 

X: But he, as unusual as he is, is not even by any means remotely the most unusual thing that our crew is dealing with today.

S: He casually pushes some floating fish bones out a window, the remains of a previous meal. 

M: (Steve) “I’m so excited that you’re here! Be careful – it is a little precarious in some situations, and a little dangerous. Ah, don’t go floating off.” 

X: He beckons for them to stay safely within this fold blob, or at least within the walls of his little one-room shack.

M: (Steve) “If you would like, you can tie yourselves to some of these straw mats that I’ve made. That way you could even sleep if you were tired, you could take a little nap–”

S: They ARE tired. 

X: And absolutely thunderstruck. This is fucking crazy. Tzila, of course, a professional naturalist, a scientist here in a bonanza of science observation, is gazing slowly around, shell-shocked, confused, astonished. Everett, Micky, floating side-by-side, assisting each other, precariously navigating through Steve’s shed, exchanging haunted glances with one another. (Everett) “Is this really happening?” Everett says to Micky. 

S: Micky, every bit as confused as Everett, just kind of gives her a helpless shrug.

X: The Granddaughter is drifting pensively, their hat no longer on their head. They left that aboard ship. Still wearing those pink unglasses though, as they exchange wary glances with Cleo, as they examine Steve. 

S: The Biological Man, out of everyone here, seems… fine. 

M: He’s just taking this all in with the same open-eyed marvelous wonder that every day brings in his new form. 

S: Huh. Guess this is just another way that reality can be. 

X: It’s hard to say exactly how Merlin is taking this. His bocular face is as implacable as ever. 

M: He does keep blinking his eyes off and on though, which, uh, read into that what you will.

X: (Steve) “Any of you, uh, want some water? Do you drink water? Water’s good!” Steve asks, pulling some hollowed-out seed husks from an enclosure where he has roped them into place in zero-gravity. Within the seeds, globules of water jiggle as though like jello and trapped by surface tension. Steve offers armfuls of them to the crew. 

S: Micky pulls a face, trying to remain polite. But then again, who knows how well this alien can read their facial expressions. (Micky) “Uh, thank you, that’s all right. We, um, this vessel is actually our lifeboat. It’s already well-stocked with emergency supplies, so…” 

X: She indicates the Stagecoach hovering outside. 

S: (Micky) “So until we have no other options, it might be safer for us to stick to our own food for now.” Steve Shrugs – makes no difference to him –

M: and continues on fussing about his farm. 

X: This is fun! Should they have a dinner party or something today? Oh man. 

S: He’s the only one in the mood. And calling it a “farm” is generous. 

X: Why, you might call it an almost a sort of a kind of a hut-house-shack-shed sort of a thing.

S: We’re notoriously bad at describing places like these. It’s a place to sleep, a place to eat. It has a very temporary, insubstantial nature, woven out of reeds and fish bones, roots and vines. 

X: It’s been a while since he had company, and when hosting company one often would like to look one’s best, so Steve switches out his shirt, pulling on a sort of tubular shawl that he now wears around his neck stalk.

M: You could almost call it a sort of a thneed, really. 

X: Something that everyone needs. He’s got some extra breakfast here that he offers to the crew, a sort of a stringy eel-banana-meat looking thing, kind of, maybe. Is it rotten? Hard to say. 

S: They, once again, politely decline – 

M: although Tzila takes one to inspect, 

X: raising it up, turning it in the shockingly Sin City-esque light beaming in through the slats of the shack. The single light source and its stark long shadows look extremely crazy, especially to a crew such as ours, who are accustomed to lighting that is quite diffuse, multi-source. 

S: It is as weird for them to see a sun as it would be for you to see a place with no sun. It is so alien to their minds. 

X: Everything here is very, very strange. Maybe it’s time to get a few answers. 

M: (Merlin) “Steve, we sincerely appreciate the thoughtful invitation to your… abode.” Merlin hooks onto a net affixed to Steve’s wall to prevent himself from drifting around in this zero gravity environment. “However, we rely on information to make decisions, and though you’ve been very kind, you have explained almost nothing. I really must insist. Please, tell us what was that thing that killed our friend? It is fundamentally unlike anything we have ever seen.” 

S: There is almost a collective flinch that passes through the crew. Declaring Rawfield’s death feels so soon, so sudden, and right on the heels of whatever happened to Mother Artifice.

X: This is the first time anyone has spoken it aloud: THAT, whatever that was, what just happened, what JUST happened, still only a matter of minutes ago. The words feel like a physical sting, a painful jostle to a just-broken bone.

M: They watch the frog man hop around weightlessly, rifling through some roughly woven grass blankets to select the best-made ones. 

X: He pedipalps a blanket over to Merlin, who immediately passes it along to the Biological Man floating nearby. 

S: (Tzila) “Merlin, you’re sure it was not the same as the entity in the highest heights?”

M: (Merlin) “No, Tzila. Definitely not the same.”

X: Cleo and Dot are nodding in agreement. 

M: (Merlin) “Whatever got Rawfield was much smaller and far faster than the giant entity in the Un, and it didn’t emit that distinctive tonality either. What we just saw had limbs, lots of them, and it moved with such lightning-fast precision, such hyperfocused aggression, in concert with– whatever that glowing thing is.”

X: That sun. 

S: (Tzila) “I guess it’s a new species entirely, then.” 

X: Tzila looks grim. 

S: (Tzila) “A bad one.” 

X: (Steve) “The Sentinel,” says Steve, floating over to them with an armful of rustic handwoven blankets. 

S: The entire crew turns slowly to look at Steve. 

M: (Merlin) “The… Sentinel?”

X: Steve waggles his liquid-filled gel-sack appendage. 

S: We can just call it his head.

X: We don’t know that it’s his head. It might not be. It might be something very much definitely not his head. He waggles whatever it is. (Steve) “Well, that’s what I’ve been calling it, anyway. It does move around this place, it uses that beam of light. The Sentinel and that beam are connected. They seem almost like they, uh, they share some kind of an intent, and I think the intent is clearly bad. The Sentinel is bad, and the best thing I’ve found to do is just don’t do anything to draw its attention.”

M: (Merlin) “And what, pray tell, draws its attention?” 

X: Steve deposits the armful of floating blankets here in midair – 

S: they stay exactly where he leaves them – 

X: and turns his liquidly oscillating point of sack-like ferrofluid attention to the group of onlookers. (Steve) “Tearrors.” 

S: Hambing comes to rest on the Granddaughter’s shoulder, slowing his mid-air spin, digging his little fists into their black vestments.

M: (Hambing) “Tearrors? But why?” 

X: (Steve) “That I don’t really know, not for certain yet, but I would highly recommend for now that you, um, probably don’t return to your, uh, your ship. At least not for the time, right now, because whatever it is that you have on board, whatever that was… that’s a big Sentinel magnet.”

M: (Hambing) “But there would only be tearror-like activity when it’s turned on, altering the reality of the Ship in its operation.”

X: (Steve) “I can tell you that the Sentinel is fast. It’s just impossible to avoid. Do you really wanna make your base of operations right next to a thing that it could be drawn to at all?” Steve liquidly examines them in some non-eyeball-based fashion. He doesn’t have eyes, he doesn’t even really have a face, 

S: but the fold inside his headsack, as he focuses on each person or thing in his attention, seems to coalesce, to concentrate itself into a shape that could almost be described as pupil-like. 

X: (Steve) “So I just recommend staying away for a while so you can observe from a safe distance whether or not the Sentinel is attracted to your ship, or whatever’s inside your ship, in its dormant state. Then, and maybe only then, will you know if it is safe to return to your vessel.” 

S: Tzila is rubbing her forehead. (Tzila) “So this Sentinel, what does it do most of the time? You’ve been able to stay safe from it. Does it hunt other things? This fold seems pretty inert. There’s no tearrors here for it to be drawn to.” 

X: (Steve) “That’s why it isn’t here. It presumably detects tearrors as they arise out there, and as you’ve now seen, it is able to eliminate anything it deems to be a threat. I myself, I just avoid it by not thinking too hard.”

S: That’s sort of a weird comment.

X: That IS a little weird. 

S: Dot is definitely curious about it. 

X: (Dot) “Do you mean to suggest that if you DO think too hard, the Sentinel comes to get you?” 

(Steve) “Yep. So I don’t do that,”

M: Steve explains, his fold-like innards sluicing. 

X: (Steve) “I’m actually a pretty smart guy. But I have to operate at half power just to be safe.” Felix frowns, 

S: which is normal, but he frowns more deeply. (Felix) “Hang on. Is it dangerous for ANY of us to think too hard?” 

X: Dot would really like to know the answer to this question. Steve doesn’t seem too concerned. (Steve) “I would assume you are all thinking right now, and the Sentinel has not come to take you away, clearly. You’re fine.” 

S: But he’s also thinking right now.

X: Or is he? Maybe he’s not thinking. Maybe… Could it be that Steve has truly learned to not think? The Granddaughter’s eyes go just a tiny, tiny bit wide. 

M: Merlin claps his hands together. (Merlin) “All right. Let’s talk about that bright thing. What IS that?”

X: (Steve) “That’s the sun.” Steve is loving this. He has an audience, he’s got friends, he’s got company, he is hosting. 

M: (Merlin) “This… Un?” 

X: Steve seems to laugh. 

S: (Steve) “No, the sun. Wait a minute. Do you not have a sun where you come from?” 

M: The crew look blankly between one another. 

S: (Steve) “Stars? Big fiery gas balls in the sky that provide warmth and light to the whole comos? Huh. Okay. This sun isn’t even like the one where I’m from. This one looks like it’s not doing great, like it’s past its prime. For a sun, it’s rather dim.”

M: (Merlin) “Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. Back up. What do you mean ‘where we come from’ and ‘where you’re from?’ This is some distant extent of the Delta, right? The furthest extremity of the cosmos. Or, is this whole environment somehow inside of a tearror of some kind?”

S: Steve, even with his incredibly alien facial features, nonetheless conveys a kind of sympathetic understanding. 

X: (Steve) “Oh, you didn’t know.”

M: (Merlin) “Didn’t know WHAT?!” 

X: Steve settles himself down before the crew, geckoing onto the floor of his homestead farmhouse. 

S: (Steve) “I’m sorry for not covering this earlier, I just thought you knew. This is not a part of your cosmos. From what you’ve described, it sounds like you’re from a different cosmos entirely. In that way, we’re the same. This is not my cosmos, either. I’m stranded here, just like you.” 

X: This, naturally, causes a bit of commotion.

M: [crosstalk] (Merlin) “What do you mean by that? Impossible!” 

S: [crosstalk] (Crew) “No. Way. Really?”

[crosstalk] (Cleo) “Huh?”

X: [crosstalk] (Dot) “What do you mean?”

M: [crosstalk] (Biological Man) “There is more than one cosmos?”

X: [crosstalk] (Hambing) “Are you kidding me? That’s amazing! And also insane!”

S: [crosstalk] (Felix) “What the hell? Come on. Nooo. Ugh.”

M: [crosstalk] (Crew) “Really?”

X: [crosstalk] (Everett) “Listen, I’ve flown all over the cosmos, and I can’t even– What do you– How is that– What do you– How– What? What? What do you– Huh??”

[crosstalk] (Steve) “Wow. Okay, hang on. Listen, I unders– Okay, okay, listen. Okay, quiet. Listen, please, excuse me. Please, hang on. Hello, please allow me to explain.” 

M: (Merlin) “You’re saying… that there is… more than one cosmos?” 

X: (Steve) “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying. There are many. There are uncountable multitudes of cosmoses.”

S: Merlin hates this information. 

M: (Merlin) “And what makes you so sure? Have you considered perhaps that this all might be a– a tearror illusion? Or maybe some kind of pocket at the end of the Delta, somehow? Th-that would make more sense. If this is yet another still-different cosmos from the one that you and WE are from, how is it even possible that we can communicate with you? If you are from some other reality, what are the odds that life that arose in two separate cosmoses evolved the very same language?!” 

X: Steve loves this. These are great questions. This is the most fun he’s had all… who knows how long? 

S: He doesn’t seem to be aware that Merlin is fiercely debating with him. To him, this is just a great conversation. (Steve) “Oh, what are the odds? The odds are nearly impossible! And that’s exactly WHY we’ve been brought together! I believe the Fold brought us together BECAUSE we can communicate. I believe that if you manage to successfully travel between cosmoses, your destination is determined by many variables, not the least of which is the Fold’s read on what sort of being you are. In the grand scheme of things, we have a lot more in common than we do not – our languages, our ways of understanding things, our words for things – and our commonalities are part of why we were directed here, and why we have been brought together. Fundamental patterns exist. Reality exists because it does, so it’s like that because of the way that it is.”

The others are exchanging looks behind Merlin’s back, 

M: and Merlin puts his hands on his hips in what is almost a petulant sort of pose.

X:  He floats authoritatively in zero-g. 

M: Uh, he re-grabs onto the corner of a cabinet. (Merlin) “In order to not quarrel, Mr. Steve, until we can discern once and for all that this ISN’T somehow a distant extent of our Delta, but is instead on the other side of the, the whatever it was… the one thing that we CAN know… is that we really… don’t know… anything.” 

S: (Steve) “I understand. But I actually know quite a lot, and I’d love for you to know it, too!” 

M: (Merlin) “Perhaps you’ll concede, Steve, that this whole ‘nother cosmos idea is, for now, just a theory. You have come from a distant place, and so have we. And now we are all here together in some unfathomably isolated point of convergence at the far end of our mutual realities. It must be so! Understand, I am no layperson. I have dedicated my life to this subject. I am a cosmologist.” 

S: Steve claps his delicate little forehands together in what looks to be delight. 

X: (Steve) “Oh, how marvelous! I am too.” 

M: (Merlin) “Oh. How nice.” 

S: Tzila waves a hand, putting this academic pissing contest to rest.

X: (Tzila) “Oookay. If we do entertain the assumption that this IS, let’s say, another cosmos… who are you, Steve? How did YOU get here?” 

S: (Steve) “Well, like I said, I am a cosmologist, and an explorer.” 

X: And as the rest of the crew looks on, Steve relates a little story. 

M: (Steve) “My research indicated that there may be multiple cosmoses. I had a theory about how to travel from one cosmos to another, and I had the opportunity to put that theory to the test.”

S: Steve slumps woefully. 

M: (Steve) “Unfortunately, I wasn’t prepared for what lay on the other side. I arrived here with no ship, no tools, no food. YOU have arrived here, somehow, miraculously, with yourselves and your vessel intact! I don’t know how you did it, but I’m very glad you did! I, like you, have had escape and homecoming on my mind, and now you are here, and you may be our ticket out of here – you and your ship!”

X: Steve directs his attention around the crew, clearly expecting some kind of, perhaps, a… 

M: Enthusiastic response? Applause?

X:  He’s greeted by neither, and instead mostly receives tense scrutiny. 

S: Everyone’s a little traumatized to be a good audience right now. 

X: (Steve) “I’ve been alone, uh, for really quite a long time. It feels like at least a, um… Well, wait, how do you folks measure time?” 

S: Everybody looks to Felix, who shrugs resentfully. (Felix) “What are you looking at me for? I don’t wanna talk about that shit right now.” 

X: (Steve) “Oh, it just doesn’t really matter. I’ve been here long enough to have nearly given up all hope. But now…” 

M: (Merlin) “That’s… sobering. But we cannot be trapped here. We have a lot to do in our – in THE – cosmos. Really, we were just getting started. Hopefully this is just one more little side problem on the way home, on our continuing expedition of cosmic discovery.” 

X: (Steve) “Maybe we can continue that expedition together! We can get out of here. Let’s align our intentions.” Steve rises from his seating position, hovering in the air, beckoning to them invitingly. “I don’t wanna spend the rest of my life here any more than you do. I have a lot of people I need to prove wrong back at home, anyway – as I’m sure do all of you! Surely the problems your ship has caused in summoning the Sentinel are things that we can overcome. I will start to, ah – carefully – think about it.”

M: Tzila crosses her arms. 

S: (Tzila) “I agree. We can’t stay here. We’re not equipped for this. How DO we get back home?” 

X: The question of the hour. Steve has been trying to figure that out this whole time that he’s been here. Welcome to the club. The scope of their problem may be immense. Micky adjusts her position in zero gravity. 

S: (Micky) “Artifice apparently got us here somehow, and prevented us from being destroyed, but Artifice is gone now. What happened to him? Is he…” 

M: Everyone looks slowly to Dot. 

X: They are still, neutral, calm, behind their pink heart-shaped shades as they take a deep breath 

S: and say the words everyone is dreading. 

X: (Dot) “Artifice is dead.”

(Steve) “Sorry, who’s dead?”

(Dot) “Someone important. He sacrificed himself to achieve something that should have been impossible. He… held the door for us, at great cost. I believe we might all be gone like him, if he had not done what he did.” 

S: Grim silence. But on the bright side, they do have a magic Ship, and many natural and supernatural tools at their disposal. 

X: Including… 

M: (Micky) “Hey, Cleo?” 

X: Micky asks. 

S: Cleo jumps a little bit. She’s startled to be spoken to directly. She’s been pretty withdrawn this whole time. 

M: (Micky) “I know you previously said that you wanted to keep this private, but…” 

X: Cleo starts to feel a growing anxiety in her stomach. 

M: (Micky) “Circumstances have changed, a lot,” Micky goes on, “and we kind of need to take stock of every possible resource and advantage available to us right now. Especially, you know, like, super-powerful Fold things. So, do you think you could finally tell us, I mean, if you can do anything that could help us?” 

X: Everyone turns to look at Cleo, including Steve, who seems quite excited at the mention of super-powerful Fold things. 

S: Most people had basically forgotten about this, since Cleo always evaded the question, or insisted that it was sooo irrelevant, or acted like she just wanted to be treated like a “normal person.”

M: But now, surely, this is the Chekhov’s laser gun that saves them all! 

X: Steve is definitely fascinated. (Steve) “Oh, that’s wonderful! My people as well are blessed with abilities beyond the mundane, abilities which I, unfortunately, sadly, can’t make use of here, or, as described previously, it would draw the Sentinel straight to my position, well, kind of like a Sentinel to a tearror. It really has been an inconvenience. Anyway, I’m sorry to interrupt. Please. Please do go on.” 

S: Cleo is frozen. People are starting to realize that something’s wrong. 

M: (Merlin) “Cleo?”

S: This is the moment Cleo has had nightmares about, only a hundred times worse. Now, everyone is hanging on her words, hoping that she might hold the key to their salvation. 

M: Her voice is very quiet. 

S: (Cleo) “I… I don’t actually… have a Fold gift.” 

X: Everett blinks. (Everett) “Really? But you said–” 

M: Micky gently shushes her. 

S: Cleo squeezes her eyes shut. She instantly regrets not making up some harmless little lie like being able to talk to butterflies or something. Everyone would’ve believed that, and this horrible feeling could have been avoided. (Cleo) “I just didn’t… I just didn’t want anyone to know, okay? I can’t do anything. I’m sorry, I wish I could, but… I’m sorry.” 

X: In her nightmares, at this point, people would usually be yelling at her, making a big spectacle about what a liar and a faker she was, how she had betrayed them all, 

M: how she should never have come on this expedition in the first place. 

S: Nothing like that happens now. People just look sad, or sympathetic, or confused, or pitying.

X: Disappointed, most of all. 

S: But the moment passes, and conversation moves on. It’s nowhere near as bad as she feared, and yet somehow worse than she ever imagined, because there’s no waking up from it. It’s permanent. 

X: Everett shakes herself. (Everett) “Okay. That’s fine. Are there any other big secrets anybody else has been keeping? Anything that would help us right about now?” 

M: (Merlin) “Clearly, whatever this place may be, this is all a vast mystery, and the only way to combat mystery is with facts. So, given the severity of our situation, losing Artifice and Rawfield both, I think it is vital for us to communicate plainly and truthfully with one another. In order to survive, we need to get all of our cards on the table, now. Here, I’ll start.” 

X: He squares himself, hovering in front of the group.

S:  His bellows heave. 

M: (Merlin) “At the highest height, Cleophee, the Granddaughter, and I mutually observed an unusual phenomenon, when the leviathan we found drained fold from us.” 

X: The Granddaughter is holding very still. 

S: Cleo is hunching her shoulders guiltily. 

M: (Merlin) “…Absorbing it from our selves. We elected to exclude that detail from the report because it seemed… well, to be candid, rather freaky.” 

X: (Everett) “You lied about what happened in the Un because you thought it was ‘freaky?’” Everett says, immediately separating herself from Micky, starting to float towards Merlin. 

M: (Merlin) “Only until we understand more. We were, all of us, in a very unnatural state of being.” 

X: (Everett) “What kind of scientist are you? What kind of cosmologist would with–” 

S: (Micky) “Everett!” 

X: Micky grabs her and pulls her back. 

S: Cleo pulls her hair down beneath her chin. (Cleo) “We just didn’t want everyone to be scared.” 

M: (Merlin) “This is all still deeply new information for us. The notion that Fold exists in all living things is… I guess it could, perhaps, be possible?” 

S: Steve’s fold-pupil is concentrated intently at Merlin, but then begins to dart around at all the other crew members, who seem shocked at this information. 

X: (Steve) “Fold exists in all living things?” he says incredulously. “That’s your secret?” 

M: (Merlin) “Is that not good enough for you?” 

X: (Steve) “Isn’t that obvious? Aren’t you all scientists? How did you not know that?”

M: (Merlin) “I’m sorry? Where we come from, this information has the potential to throw society into chaos. Complete disarray! And that’s not all: when I exchanged encasements with the Biological Man, I encountered what I could only describe as a kind of vision, an experience of the Fold seeking light. I would maybe go so far as to propose that perhaps consciousness is a form of light, and if we allow, then, that there is naturally an amount of Fold within each of us… could it exist in a sort of symbiotic relationship with the light of their brain? I felt that light-fold interaction most deeply right before discovering that I was no longer my original self.”

S: The Biological Man blinks pensively. 

M: (Biological Man) “I remember that.” 

X: Well, this is all very revelatory for the crew, but Steve is comparatively unimpressed. (Steve) “Do you not see me? You really didn’t know any of this before? What is consciousness but a form of highly specialized tearror? Oh my goodness, you’re giving me such a renewed appreciation for the basic facts of life! Ah, to see it all through the eyes of children. Are you children? I realize I’ve merely presumed that you are not. I honestly can’t tell. I suppose you don’t have the advantage of being able to see one another’s thoughts through transparent heads, so I can understand how it would take you a little bit longer to figure this stuff out, as a species. It’s just fascinating. Incredible.” 

S: Tzila sighs and claps her hands to her forehead. (Tzila) “This is all amazing, but we can’t keep secrets from each other anymore, guys. [sigh] Why are people always like this?” 

X: Well, Steve is maybe not people. Steve’s kind of a different kind of a guy. He’s a big hype guy. He is so jubilant to have found this crew! What a magnificent day! What fun! 

S: (Steve) “With our powers combined, using teamwork, we can solve all these mysteries – the mysteries of this cosmos, your cosmos, maybe even mine. There is hope. We may all be lost, but at least we’re lost together! If your ship was magic enough to get you here, I’m sure it’s magic enough to get us out.”

X: What a fun and upbeat perspective, Steve. Thank you. We could all use that right about now. Teamwork, though, of course, requires action, and action requires energy, and energy requires rest. The crew is wiped the fuck out. 

S: They simply cannot take any more things today. Maybe it’s time for the day to be over.

M: One by one, they float in disorienting exhaustion to the rough reed mats tied to various surfaces around the cramped fishing hut of their alien host, lashing themselves down so they don’t float around. 

S: Cleo drifts over to Steve, shyly. She has been increasingly fragile and withdrawn, but she does keep looking out at all the plants with an expression of desperate hope.

X: She shoulders her Omelet-filled backpack in the zero-gravity stillness as the rest of the crew take to their beds. 

S: (Cleo) “Excuse me, Mr. Steve? Um, I notice you have a lot of plants growing here in your blob. Kind of like a garden?” 

X: (Steve) “Oh, why, yes. These fold globules are home to several edible types of flora and fauna. It’s quite fortunate, isn’t it? I’d be dead otherwise.” 

S: (Cleo) “So you’re not… already dead?” 

M: Steve’s inky amorphous pupil focuses on Cleo now. He wiggles his pedipalps, almost as though confused. 

X: (Steve) “Uh, no? Not as… as far as I know.” 

S: (Cleo) “So the, um, so the current didn’t carry your soul here? Have you SEEN any dead people? Do you maybe know my granny?”

X: Steve’s oscillating brain pupil seems to peer at her questioningly. (Steve) “My friend, you seem exhausted and confused. Do you need help strapping yourself into a bed? Did you get enough to eat?” 

S: (Cleo) “So this isn’t the Big Garden?” 

X: (Steve) “The what? Sorry, I don’t know what that is. Here, here, come, come, come. Get some rest. I really must insist.”

M: If it were possible, Cleo crumbles even further into herself.

S: She becomes very, very quiet, clutching her Princess Shiny backpack to her chest, and allows Steve to tuck her into a reed mat by looping a few lengths of coarse vine around her. It isn’t comfortable at all. She squints, peering through the slats of the nearest window out into the dark expanse. 

M: And there, the orangey glare of the sun inspires a certain deep unshakeable nameless apprehension in her. 

X: This is not a bright, summery, uplifting sun. 

S: This is an apocalypse sun, an end-of-days sun. Its light seems weak, swallowed and smothered by the far more powerful darkness that surrounds it. 

M: It feels like the beginning of the end.