Narrator S: In the unnerving golden light of the sun, the shard of rainbow crystal is really quite beautiful, truly like a prism. 

Narrator X: Its iridescence is darker, deeper, more colorful, more strange, intensified by the stark glare of this place’s dim star. 

Narrator M: The single light source casts dark, bold shadows through the Ship’s windows, throughout its decks, 

S: painting the Ship’s interior in sharp chiaroscuro, 

M: dappled by creeping patterns of alien mosses and algaes that are slowly growing on the Ship’s exterior. 

X: Whatever’s in your mind’s eye right now, crank up those spooky and stark levels. 

S: Add some more haze. 

M: Some more burnt-sunset saturation and contrast. 

X: Little more. Little more. 

S: Ooh, that’s too much. Bring it down a little.

M: There! Perfect. 

S: Tzila, too, is taking in this hardboiled imagery. Having tried unsuccessfully to access the Ship’s storerooms –

X: They are still doored shut. Gotta activate that Foldlight to open those. 

S: – she now marvels at the haunted spectacle of the abandoned crew quarters, finding only scraps of the people who used those berths before. 

M: Here, a trio of floating work gloves, all Shanamarian’s. There, an apron of Voro’s. All floating weightlessly. 

S: Tzila sighs. 

X: The Ship is adrift inside of a huge fold globule, swallowed inside the blob like a piece of lint in a dewdrop, and the decks of the Ship are flooded with inert fog. 

S: The crew left the Ship’s hangar and ladder shafts open when they left, after all, and the fold has found its way inside, as it does.

M: And with that fog, over the last few weeks there has come plenty of other stuff, too – strange pollens, weird particles, and milkweed fluffs. 

S: And Tzila now picks her way past strange alien growth clinging to the dark mica walls of these chambers. Lots of squishy little tubers, corkscrewing tiny fronds, juvenile kelps sprouting from many surfaces – probably the early life stage of those trees they found by Steve’s place.

 X: (Tzila) “Pretty wild, isn’t it?” 

M: Tzila floats past Cleo in the open ladder shaft, avoiding blobs of swimming pool water that drift here and there, having migrated out of their deck. 

X: (Tzila) “If we weren’t in doom emergency mode, I’d love to catalog all this growth.” 

S: (Cleo) “Ha ha, well, maybe after we pull off our heroic, insane plan! Ha ha!” 

X: (Tzila) “Yay, that’s the spirit!” Tzila grimaces and floats away down the ladder. 

M: Cleo drifts up the ladder shaft toward her stateroom. 

S: Here in the blob belt, she no longer exhibits any bioluminescence. Seems like it’s not only directional, but proximity-based. It dwindled down to nothing upon her return to camp, stayed off during their Stagecoach flight here, and has not reappeared since. She’s kind of afraid it will never turn on again, but a deeper, newer feeling reassures her that’s not the case. 

X: The open entrance to the stateroom deck is kinda exploding with bright blue branches covered in pinkish-orange flowers. 

S: This is new, but also strangely familiar in a way she can’t quite place.

M: Cleo pushes in through the fragrant blossoms to enter the stateroom, where she sees a huge menagerie of objects –

S: clothes, accessories, jewelry, books, shoes, stuffed animals – 

M: all slowly drifting around like a floating girly junkyard. 

S: There’s a long tubular many-legged sweater she had started knitting for Omelet after they left Ackute, unraveling gently in midair. 

X: Admittedly, it was more for herself than it was for Omelet.

M: He hates wearing clothes. 

S: Just as well that she never finished it. It won’t fit him anymore. Right now, he and his backpack-larva-house are safely stowed inside the Stagecoach, down in the hangar. She doesn’t want him anywhere near the Foldlight for what they’re about to attempt.

M: Most of Cleo’s houseplants have died, but a few of them have grown wild, unhampered by gravity, intermingled with other strange plants that have floated in from the fold blob. 

X: In particular, these porous blue branches grow wild through the space, huge lush flowers pressed up against the windows, drinking in the alien sunlight.

S: Cleo’s eyes track the blue lines back into the little ceramic pot from which they all originate, floating there in the middle of the room, and finally she recognizes her coral cutting. (Cleo) “Oh, Granny, look at that!” 

X: Oh, how nice to see it again. Cleo is overjoyed and emotional to be reunited with Elodea’s plant.

S: (Cleo) “It’s doing so well! Wow.” 

X: But as wonderful and heartwarming as this discovery is, Cleo did not come all the way up here to check on her plants. 

S: She came to change clothes. Out of her swirling airborne wardrobe, she plucks a blousy white poet shirt and trim athletic breeches. Kind of a dashing swashbucklesome getup. Princely. Much better for a grim survival-horror adventure than any of her numerous dresses.

M: Oh! And there’s one of her favorite velvet hair bows floating by. She grabs that, too. 

S: And as long as she’s up here, where is her deodorant…? 

X: Elsewhere, meanwhile, Merlin, carrying a new crimson turtleneck and some khakis, arrives at the Bocular and Electrics workshop level of the Ship, finding the Biological Man already there, opening a fresh new box of bocs.

M: (Biological Man) “I did not realize that new bocs had a smell. That is interesting.” 

(Merlin) “Oh, yes. It’s quite distinctive, isn’t it? I wouldn’t be surprised if you found it nostalgic. Here, hand me one.” 

X: Merlin tries to bend one of his mechanical arms around to reach his bocs hatch, but the Biological Man holds up a hand.

M: (Biological Man) “I can do things a person can, remember? I remember doing this – or, uh, I remember you doing this for me, before. It’s interesting to see it from a different side.” 

(Merlin) “Hmm? I want to follow up on that.” 

S: With a quick, precise, and practiced hand, the Biological Man helps Merlin out of the dingy vest and accesses a panel in his back. Two very cubic-looking bocs emerge.

X: One of them, scuffed and vintage, is clearly from Ol’ Smoker. The other boc is slightly newer but radiating heat, due to… oh, you know, the way that it is, when it’s depleted, like it is, now, here. 

S: The Biological Man pulls out this hot expended boc first, plugging in a brand-new cold one fresh from the pack.

M: (Merlin) “You… You said you remember… a memory of mine?” 

X: The Biological Man’s eyes widen a little. Guess that boc swap wasn’t enough to derail him. Here we go. 

M: (Biological Man) “Y-yes. Uh. Sometimes when I’m doing something, I find… I already know how to do it. Usually because of something you’ve done in the past. I’ll almost… see it. I remember when you introduced me to Cleophee and Mother Artifice and the Granddaughter on Stationary Hill. I remember when you were touring Verdure and made an appeal for a piece of downed ironpine to use in sculpting my chassis. It’s easiest to remember things that I was involved in, or that are connected to stories you’ve told, but it’s strange when I remember things that I wasn’t there for.” 

X: The Biological Man pops out Ol’ Smoker’s boc now and plugs in a second fresh boc from the pack, completing Merlin’s bocular replenishment. 

S: Merlin feels an immediate surge of energy. It’s relieving, invigorating. He blinks his eyes on and off as their brightness increases. 

M: (Merlin) “Oh my word, that’s so much better. Thank you. Ough. Sorry, but what… What do you remember, exactly?”

The Biological Man takes a breath. (Biological Man) “I… I remember conversations you’ve had that I was not present for. For instance, while I was loading supplies on Midst, you made that stop at the Sequester Lazaretto to meet with Mother Artifice. You spent much of the time bickering about how dark mica might skew optical perspective in certain situations. Artifice went on a whole tirade about observation and lenses that derailed the original argument, but what he said helped Mr. Amos make those breakthroughs in opacity control just before we launched.” 

X: The Biological Man is watching Merlin intently, perhaps looking for some kind of reaction from Merlin, who appears to be listening, but with that politely curious carved ceramic faceplate, as inscrutable as ever. 

S: Merlin feels… Well, what DOES Merlin feel about this? It’s certainly startling to hear that his memories are apparently part of a package deal with his old biological body. 

M: (Merlin) “Hmm,” 

X: is what he says. 

M: (Merlin) “How far back do these memories extend?”

S: Merlin tilts his head quizzically. He doesn’t sound mad. He doesn’t sound particularly glad, either. 

M: The Biological Man wrings his hands. (Biological Man) “There have been some from when you were in school, as a student. Even some from what I might infer to have been your childhood.” 

(Merlin) “Ah,” Merlin says. “Hmm. This is… This is extremely… significant. When did you first start experiencing these memories?” 

X: The Biological Man busies himself with loading the old expended bocs into the rewinding rack, prepping them for recharge – once the Ship, of course, has been reactivated. 

M: (Biological Man) “It is hard to say exactly, but it’s sort of been… the entire time.”

(Merlin) “The entire time?”

(Biological Man) “The entire time,” the Biological Man confirms. 

X: Merlin starts trying, at least, to pull on his new outfit, 

S: and the Biological Man, sensing his difficulty, steps in to help him navigate its zero-gravity sleeves, pant legs, and neck holes. 

X: It takes them a minute to finesse the whole situation, but, uh, once garbed, new style firmly in place, the two of them regard each other for a moment. 

S: The Biological Man looks at Merlin’s face searchingly, 

X: and Merlin is sort of… Well, he’s not really saying anything. 

M: (Biological Man) “So… how does that make you feel?” the Biological Man asks.

Merlin gazes at the Biological Man with that politely curious neutral expression. 

(Biological Man) “I-I mean, I would completely understand if this information made you feel uncomfortable, confused, or afraid. You’ve always taken the stance that we’re in this together, so I’m, I’m really just trying to remain open with you, e-even when it’s weird, which is kind of… always.” 

This is a titanic revelation, an existential Pandora’s box of self and memory and awareness that Merlin must rapidly confront. Or not! Better just compartmentalize that in one of his compartments for now.

X: The Biological Man is still watching him expectantly with that expressive human face of his. Was Merlin once so easy to read, himself? 

M: (Merlin) “Hmm. Ah, thank you, Biological Man. I… I feel much better after the boc refresh. Ahem. You know, I think we had better go up to Control and start working on the pre-activation disc loadout. Lots to do!”

(Biological Man) “A-are you not… O-okay. Sure, Merlin.”

The Biological Man follows Merlin back into the ladder shaft, and they propel themselves up the fold-suffused, overgrown, zero-gravity spine of the Ship, moving with direction and smoothness, an increased ease of navigating these zero-gravity surrounds. Hey, good job, characters of the podcast! You’re learning! And they reunite with the rest of the crew in Control.

S: Here, Tzila is picking her way through a menagerie of charts, mapping tools, and punch-discs that are drifting everywhere. 

X: (Tzila) “Ugh, this is such a mess. Hey, CAN we even fire the Ship’s lasers here in this globule? I mean, everybody knows shooting guns in the Fold is bad.” 

S: Dot turns from a window. 

X: The view of the sun from here is pretty spectacular. They have been finding it rather hypnotizing back aboard the Ship, especially with their new glasses. (Dot) “If even sunlight cannot excite this fold, I would suspect that laser light will not agitate it either. But there is really only one way to know, unfortunately.” 

S: Speaking of light sources, Steve is here, perched froggily near the Foldlight, examining it up close for the first time. (Steve) “So, uh, elephant in the room, but I have to ask…” 

X: Tzila, quietly in the background, looks around. (Tzila) “What’s an elephant?” 

S: Steve doesn’t hear her. He looks a little bashful. (Steve) “Why did you make the Foldlight so… attractive?”

X: (Everett) “Hahaha, whoa!” Everett whips her head around at this, a tiny smile quirking at the corner of her mouth for the first time in weeks. “Huh?” she says. Felix looks somewhat riled.

S: (Felix) “What is THAT supposed to mean?”

(Steve) “I dunno!” 

X: Steve says, shrugging his numerous frogtopus limbs defensively. 

S: (Steve) “It’s… kinda hot. Blatantly sexy, really. It’s outrageous you designed it that way. Do you not see it?” 

M: Y’know, there IS a definite strange similarity between Steve and the Ship’s magic liquid-and-light-filled bulb – or similarity with Steve’s head, at least. Eyeball. Pendulum. 

S: Ponder-limb?

M: Dangle-dome? 

X: Sentience satchel? Whatever it is.

S: Felix blinks slowly. (Felix) “Uhhh, can’t say I noticed. Not my type, I guess.”

X: (Everett) “Well, maybe it’s fate, Steve. Maybe the Foldlight is your soulmate,” Everett says. “I dunno, you two do look kinda cute together, now that I, now that you mention it.” 

M: Merlin’s bellows heave, preparing a forceful admonishment, 

X: but Steve gets there first.

S: (Steve) “Eh, don’t worry, I can take your ship’s propulsion system out to dinner AFTER we remedy our circumstances. We have more important things to do.” 

M: (Merlin) “That is correct, Steve, we do. So, please refrain from wasting time so we can deal with the Sentinel, unlock our food storerooms, and enjoy long-overdue access to our Ship’s many crucial functions.”

S: (Steve) “Yes, of course, Merlin. Right away.” 

X: Hmm, wow, anyway, putting that fascinating topic aside for just a moment, the remaining crew plus Steve now gather around the Foldlight. 

S: (Steve) “So, you continue to express that this Ship and the Foldlight are essential to how you got here and how you expect to escape. I had no Ship or Foldlight when I came here. I journeyed to this place as part of a large group. Out of nearly a thousand of us, only Guy, Barbara, and I survived the crossing.” 

X: Everett’s eyebrows shoot up (Everett) “A thousand?! Holy shit.” 

S: (Steve) “Long story. Point is, I believe that it was our clear belief in survival that delivered the three of us intact to this place.” 

M: Merlin is nodding. (Merlin) “And we had a master of the Fold, who, with the Foldlight, conveyed us here successfully.” 

X: He examines the inert Foldlight, peering into its static, liquid, motionless interior. 

M: (Merlin) “So it would follow, then, that getting back to our cosmos must surely require a similarly wizardly specialized dedication to the task.”

S: Cleo looks contemplatively at the currently darkened freckles on her forearm. (Cleo) “And I’m assuming we’ll probably have to fly into one of those Delta-pits, the ones we’ve been finding all around the city?” 

M: (Merlin) “Perhaps. That remains to be seen, but certain patterns increasingly do suggest that as a possibility.” 

S: (Steve) “A plausible theory,” 

X: says Steve, nodding his twinkling noggin-sack. 

S: (Steve) “But did not your initial passage kill your Fold master?”

M: The crew is silent for a moment. 

X: (Dot) “Our arrival in this place did come at a cost, yes. Mother Artifice paid it in exchange for our survival.” 

S: (Steve) “And who will pay the cost for the next crossing?”

M: The crew is quiet again. 

S: Whether or not they mean to, everyone looks slowly at Dot…

X: And Dot most definitely notices. Merlin makes a kind of a noise with his bellows that is not so very unlike a kind of a kazoo noise. 

M: (Merlin) “Look. This whole line of inquiry is moot if the Sentinel kills us when we activate the Ship.” 

X: He weightlessly slaps his thighs with a clank. 

M: (Merlin) “Once we’ve dealt with the Sentinel, we can explore this and many more delightful subjects at great length, over food and water and more fresh bocs than we can shake a checking stick at. It’s time to get those punch-discs loaded. I want to simultaneously trigger a cascade of all of our most important commands when the Foldlight reactivates – primarily, shut the damn door so the monster can’t get in. Now, where’s that hangar door disc floated off to?” 

S: While the rest of the crew set about collecting errant discs from midair, Dot and Steve turn back to the Foldlight. Its glass casing sparkles in a haunted sunbeam. The amalgam of fold inside drifts slowly, sleepily. 

M: (Steve) “Your, your Fold master – he used to talk to this light source? Could I talk to it?”

X: (Dot) “You could certainly try. Artifice did occasionally speak to it, though he mostly seemed to listen.” 

M: (Steve) “Listen? How?” 

X: (Dot) “Like this.” And they remove one black glove and place their bare hand on the glass of the Foldlight. 

S: Nothing, of course, happens. Dot experiences nothing except for the cool, smooth, slightly pollen-encrusted texture of the bulb. The Foldlight is, after all, off right now. 

M: (Steve) “Do you… do you hear anything?” 

S: Steve asks, extending a pedipalp of his own, sticking it to the glass. 

M: (Steve) “I do not.”

S: He seems to focus. His darting liquid brain-eyeball droplet is still, attentive. 

X: (Dot) “No, nothing. I don’t know how much communication is possible while the light is asleep like this, and I… I never developed the facility with it that Artiface had.” 

M: (Steve) “Still, isn’t it worth a try? This is the heart of your Ship. You are the Fold master now. You, and I.” 

S: The rest of the crew are drifting to and fro in Control, clattering around with punch-discs, talking, finalizing plans, pretending as though they’re not about to launch into an incredibly life-threatening situation. 

X: Cleo is shuffling noisily through some airborne discs, reading envelopes. 

S: (Cleo) “‘Spare bathroom.’ ‘Barrel roll.’ ‘Bladed weapons?’ Huh.” 

X: Eugh, Dot tries to ignore all of this. They close their eyes, experiencing many crazy thoughts and emotions and sensations flitting through their consciousness. They take a long, slow breath. (Dot) “Don’t think, don’t think, don’t think…” 

M: (Steve) “Sorry, what did you say?” 

X: (Dot) “The– shh, shh.”

M: (Steve) “Did you say ‘don’t think?’” 

X: (Dot) “Shhh. Yes, though I was talking to me, not you.” 

M: (Steve) “I see. Okay. I’ll stop thinking too, then.”

X: And beside the Granddaughter, Steve’s headsack goes instantly dark. 

S: The Christmas-tree-like glimmering extinguishes. 

M: The concentrated fold pupil inside of Steve’s head dissipates like a drop of ink diluting loosely through water, diffusing. 

X: And Dot just bluescreens, boggling at Steve, so completely stunned by this guy who can simply deactivate his brain that for a single moment Dot as well momentarily forgets to ruminate ceaselessly as usual about unlimited quantities of bullshit and 

X, S, & M: (???) [in unison] “You are not distracted from your purpose. You are waylaid by no obstacle. You are safely and successfully navigating this ship back to Midst.” 

[unintelligible whispers] 

“Three lights in a dark place.”

[unintelligible whispers] 

“The Granddaughter’s severed head wired to a machine.”

[unintelligible whispers]

“I am.”

X: The Granddaughter’s hand jerks back from the lightbulb. 

M: (Steve) “Okay, nice. That was very helpful, Dot.” 

S: Steve’s brain light is back on. His liquid pupil jiggles happily. 

M: (Steve) “Thank you. Most intriguing. Now, back to business.”

X: And Steve detaches from the Foldlight and, with carefree ease, floats over to rejoin the rest of the crew. Dot is frozen, reeling, trying to comprehend whatever the fuck that was. (Dot) “Um,” they say. “Uh.”

M: (Steve) “Merlin, can I be the one? The– the one to turn the Foldlight on?”

S: Felix cringes. (Felix) “Ew.”

M: (Merlin) “But I was going to – I, I mean – I suppose. Must you?”

(Steve) “I can do it. Just tell me how and I’ll do it. Just watch. It’ll be no problem.”

X: Dot is still trying to shake this off. They are putting their glove back on. Their hand is shaking. What the fuck?

S: Cleo is busy helping with the punch-discs, but she’s watching Dot with concern out of the corner of her eye.

M: (Merlin) “Okay, the disc sequence is fully loaded. Is everyone clear on their part in the plan? Let’s get into positions. And good luck to us all. I look forward to finally enjoying the bounties of our unlocked storerooms with you all shortly – not that I need food or water. I’m all good.”

(Biological Man) “Thank you. I am optimistic,” the Biological Man says.

X: (Everett) “You always are. How do you do it?” 

S: Everett shakes her head wonderingly at the Biological Man. 

X: (Everett) “Well, happy hunting, everybody. Let’s shoot this fucking thing and then I’m going to eat so much beef jerky, oh my god.” 

S: Everett weightlessly launches up the ladder shaft, heading to the dorsal gun deck, as Tzila pushes off down the ladder, toward the ventral gun deck. (Tzila) “Yep, here goes nothing. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…” 

X: And the remaining crew in Control array themselves at the various punch-disc levers, and Merlin dials his transmitter to talk to the gunners. 

M: (Merlin) “We will do this fast: Foldlight on, trigger discs, shoot Sentinel, Foldlight off.” 

X: Cleo is wringing her hands, wiggling nervously.

S: (Cleo) “Oooh. Okay, okay, okay. Yes, yes. Okay, I’m ready. Oh, god.” 

M: (Biological Man) “Ready, Merlin,” 

X: says the Biological Man, sweating. 

S: Felix’s hand is trembling on the punch-disc lever. (Felix) “Let’s do it.”

X: (Steve) “Can I turn on the Foldlight, Merlin?” 

M: (Merlin) “Fine! Fine, Steve. Yes! If you must. If you insist.” 

X: (Steve) “Thank you very much, Merlin. I will do so. Granddaughter, join me? Let us together awaken the one who sleeps.”

S: And Dot grasps the bulb’s breaker switch with Steve, entwining their gloved hand with his tacky frogpendage. 

X: Grim sunlight glares through Steve’s liquid brain-bulb. 

S: His ferrofluid eyeball locks on the Foldlight. 

X: (Steve) “Ready.” 

(Everett) “And we’re ready on the gun.” 

S: (Tzila) “Ready.” 

X: Everett and Tzila are locked in. 

M: (Merlin) “On my mark,” calls Merlin. “Three, two, one – Go!” 

S: And the Foldlight lights up.