Mari, Jerro, Greg, and Phlip stepped into their new quarters.

  From the outside, it looked like nothing more than a modest apartment tucked among others. But when Greg eased the door open, a rich aroma rolled out to meet them. Roasted vegetables. Freshly dug earth. Warm stone after rain.

  Inside, the walls were lined with dirt, bioluminescent fungi, and root work, so familiar it made Mari’s chest loosen. Like The Burrow had reached out and recreated itself here. In the back corner, a small waterfall spilled into a pond held by a short dam. The water should have eaten up half the living space, but somehow the room stretched wider than any apartment had a right to.

  Calm washed over them. The disorientation of Station didn’t fade, exactly. It was more like the room made space for it, letting the discomfort bleed out in slow, quiet breaths.

  The cozy dwelling was loosely divided into an entryway and a common room. On the left of the entryway sat a straw-bedded stall sized for a riding rabbit, stocked with hay, carrots, and water. On the right, tall, sleek equipment lockers stood beside a small ready space—clean and orderly, like it expected a team to move through fast.

  Beyond that, the common room opened wide. A large table waited at its center, heaped with food. Perfectly roasted honey-glazed carrots. Butter potatoes. Crisp sliced beets. Mixed nuts that smelled toasted and sweet.

  A compact kitchen filled one corner. The other held cozy seating: three high-backed lounge chairs and a wooden slab coffee table set between them. Two circular doorways opened off the side walls, one smaller, one larger.

  Greg turned in a slow circle, eyes narrowed like he was trying to catch the seams in the illusion. “Was this made for us?”

  Yes.

  The voice wasn’t from the kitchen. Or the waterfall. Or the hallway.

  It just… existed in mindspace, gentle and matter-of-fact.

  The three friends stared at each other.

  “Did you hear that?” Mari whispered.

  They all nodded.

  Phlip did not. He had already flopped onto the straw, a carrot propped between his paws. He took quick bites from the end as if this was exactly the correct response to interdimensional relocation.

  The voice returned, still soft, still calm.

  I’m Lunda. A Series-Seven inorganic intelligence developed by Marmatech. The moment you arrived on Station, I scanned your neural networks and cross-referenced them against Station’s collective knowledge to generate an ideal living space based on your needs and desires. Please make yourselves comfortable. If there is anything you need, you don’t have to say anything. I will already know.

  Mari blinked hard. “Okay. I have so many questions.”

  “Same,” Jerro said, and there was no humor in it. “I don’t love the part where you scanned us without asking.”

  Greg swung his head toward Jerro. “What? Come on. Beavers are masters at this stuff. Isn’t this your thing?”

  “Beavers use a modified form of telepathy,” Jerro said, irritation twitching his ears. “We can influence behavior, sometimes implant a suggestion if the mind is open to it. But this?” He gestured vaguely at the air like he wanted to grab the concept and shake it. “This isn’t feeling and intuition. This is data. Full access. It’s a pure form of telepathy unlike anything I’ve ever come across.”

  While they argued, Mari slipped between them, marched to one of the lounge chairs, and tossed her bag beside it. She plopped onto the cushion and pulled a small pillow into her lap as though she were claiming territory.

  “Lunda,” Mari said, forcing her voice steady. “What are Unbound? Rufus said something similar, you mean us right?”

  Yes. You are Unbound. You are no longer tied to a single thread of the tapestry, to use Rufus’s analogy. You are free to move across tapestries, unbound by the laws of space-time.

  Jerro sat in the chair beside her, posture rigid. “Why are we Unbound?”

  Lunda’s presence didn’t shift, but the mental layer felt cleaner when she answered. Like the question got filed, indexed, and returned.

  The logic of why is not found in my database. Any intelligence can become Unbound. Organic minds often struggle to ground themselves after severance. The three of you demonstrate unusually high resiliency. That in turn increases recursive stability.

  Mari’s eyes darted between Jerro and Greg. “What if we don’t want this? Don’t want to be here. What if we just go back to The Burrow, back to our families?”

  There was a pause. Not hesitation. Calculation.

  If you could return now, The Burrow you know will cease to exist. As will Station. As will everything.

  Silence settled like dust.

  “But we can go back someday,” Mari said, and it wasn’t a question. She made it a statement because she needed it to be one.

  There are possible futures where you return to The Burrow.

  The answer landed heavier than Mari expected. She felt it in the way Jerro stopped blinking—in the way Greg’s jaw tightened around nothing.

  “What about our families?” Mari asked, voice thinning. “Our lives. What will they even think happened to us?”

  That depends on what happens to you. You are no longer experiencing time within a linear referential framework. In theory, time in your tapestry and time for you are severed. You may return as if nothing occurred. You may return after your bodies have aged. You may never return.

  Greg stood abruptly and stalked to the table. He grabbed a pawful of nuts and started feeding them through his incisors one by one, like crunching something small could keep him from thinking about something enormous.

  “I don’t get any of this,” he said around a bite, “and I don’t even care anymore.” He crunched another nut. “My dad would’ve made my life miserable back home.”

  Mari’s eyes sharpened. Her lips pressed into one corner, then she forced herself to look away. Back to Jerro. Back to the chairs. Back to something that wasn’t Greg’s voice, pretending it wasn’t cracked.

  “Can’t you see the future?” Mari asked Lunda. “You said you have knowledge of these different times, tapestries or whatever. Does that not include us?”

  There is no future without a linear referential framework. There is only the present. There is only what is happening and what is not.

  Mari stared into the room like she could find the edge of that statement and peel it back.

  Jerro’s tail flopped off the side of his chair as he shifted, restless. “Lunda. The things I encountered in Deepworks. What were they?”

  Hyrax. Organics of unspecified origin. Database records suggest their first appearance in several alternate tapestries related to yours. Markers in their base code indicate engineered biology, accompanied by an anomalous sequence of nucleotides in their DNA structure.

  “Hyrax,” Jerro repeated softly, like naming it could pin it down.

  Mari dug through her bag and pulled out the rubbing from the cave, holding it up even though she suspected Lunda didn’t need eyes.

  “Lunda, what do you know about this? Can you see it?”

  Scanning database… I have no record of this symbol or associated writing. The script aligns with markers from a dated language in your home tapestry.

  “What language?” Mari asked instantly.

  The language derives from a short-lived intelligent organic species that existed on your home world. Variations of their record span approximately three million solar cycles. The final record of their presence is over five hundred solar cycles prior to your perceived time.

  Jerro leaned forward. “What happened to them?”

  They were equipped with more intelligence than wisdom. Their tribal nature resulted in intensive wars that ravaged the atmosphere and led to their end. Your recorded history refers to them as the Ancients.

  An image formed in their minds.

  Hairless. Upright. Two long lower limbs. Feet flattened, toes splayed. Arms outstretched, finger to finger as long as it was tall. Shaggy hair crested the head and rolled down the sides.

  This is a reconstruction—

  Mari shot to her feet so fast the pillow hit the floor.

  “I’ve seen this,” she said, breath sharp. “Or… I dreamed it.”

  Jerro turned toward her. “What was the dream?”

  Greg returned from the nuts, brows lifted. “What dream? Was it like the cave?”

  Mari told them. The floating. The warm, dense liquid. The apparatus over her mouth that let her breathe. The hairless paw that wasn’t hers. The long fingers. Her mind raced back to the cave.

  Jerro and Greg exchanged a look that said, too many coincidences and none of them are safe.

  “This has to be connected,” Jerro said. “Rufus, Station, all of it. It’s too strange not to be.”

  Greg nodded, slow and firm.

  “And when I woke up in the cave,” Mari added, “there was a figure carved above the doorway. One of the Ancients. But it was shown with burrowing rodents, standing alongside them. Like a friend.” She swallowed. “What do you know about that, Lunda?”

  Lunda’s presence felt steady, but the answer carried a faint edge of limitation.

  There is no recorded overlap in your tapestry. However, as I explained, time being nonlinear makes the database unreliable. Imagine trying to assemble a puzzle using only its shadow. In a mirror. While an interloper rearranges the pieces. I can identify shapes. Sometimes connect them accurately in the moment. But the scene is fleeting.

  Jerro slumped back and rested his head on one paw, elbow braced on the armrest. He stared at the loaded table without really seeing it.

  Then he spoke without lifting his head, voice warped by his palm. “We should eat and get some rest. Tomorrow we keep piecing it together.” He paused, then deepened his voice dramatically and sat upright to deliver it properly. “My grandpa always says, ‘you shouldn’t build a dam when you’re tired or hungry.’”

  Mari snorted unexpectedly.

  Greg leaned on the tall backrest of his chair, shoulders and head poking over the top. He flexed his thick chest muscles to bounce himself against the upholstery like the chair owed him answers.

  “I don’t even know what we’re supposed to be doing tomorrow.”

  “You’re right,” Mari said, exhaustion suddenly settling into her bones. “I have no idea what’s going on. But I can’t think anymore.”

  She stood, grabbed her bag, and pointed at the smaller circular doorway. “I’m assuming this is my room?”

  Yes.

  “Perfect. See you guys later.” She snagged a glazed carrot off the table as she walked and vanished through the smaller door without waiting for any reply.

  Greg watched her go, then exhaled like a slow deflation. “Guess I’ll hit the dirt as well.”

  Jerro nodded, then he and Greg automatically fell into their routine. It started simple. Crossing high fives that worked from high to low. Then the rotational tail slap. Then foot-paw bumps as they hopped from leg to leg.

  Jerro usually struggled with the hop part.

  He nailed it this time.

  They finished with a paw clasp and pulled each other in for a quick one-arm hug and a chest bump.

  When it was done, Jerro scurried toward the pond and dam. “Night, buddy.”

  Greg had already ducked into the larger side doorway, then popped his head back out. “See you in a blink!”

  Mari didn’t answer. She was already gone.

  Their rooms were perfectly appointed, each in its own quiet way. Not too large, not too small.

  Mari’s bed was soft. Her room held a desk with art supplies and gear for exploring.

  Greg’s bed was firm. His room had a sparring dummy in the corner.

  Jerro’s bed was slightly damp. His room held a workbench with tools and equipment arranged with unsettling care, every item waiting in the spot he would have chosen.

  Phlip didn’t care about any of that. He was already splooted across his straw bed, ears flopped over his face, snoring like nothing in the multiverse had ever been simpler.

  The quarters went quiet. Water fell in a steady hush. Phlip’s snores filled the gaps.

  In her room, Mari stared into the warm darkness, backlit by a small orb of contained fireflies flickering softly in the corner.

  ∞

  Sleep took her gently.

  She was back in the cave.

  The mural stretched across the stone wall, unchanged. Ancient symbols glowed faintly within the rock, breathing in slow pulses. The language still hovered just beyond understanding, familiar and unreachable.

  Then, the symbols began to move.

  Letters loosened from the stone and slid across its surface. Shapes rotated, nested, unfolded. The mural rearranged itself with quiet intention, forming words she could finally read.

  THE BURROWING RODENT EMPIRE EXISTS WITHIN

  THIS VESSEL CARRIES ON

  AN ETERNAL DIG

  A BURROW WITH NO END

  The words held steady, glowing brighter than the rest.

  ∞

  It is time to awaken.

  Lunda’s voice brushed Mari’s mind.

  Mari jolted upright, heart racing.

  Hadn’t we just fallen asleep? She thought, the question already dissolving as the memory slipped away.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  She slid out of bed and crossed to her desk in two quick steps. She grabbed paper and scribbled the words down before they could fade, paw cramping with urgency. Then she tugged on her vest, folded the note, and tucked it into a pocket.

  When she stepped back into the common room, the smell hit her first.

  Breakfast.

  Fruits. Nutty pancakes. Warm syrup.

  Jerro and Greg stumbled out of their rooms a moment later, blinking as if the light was too loud. Phlip waddled up to Mari’s chair and pressed his giant head against her side with a quiet, needy huff.

  Mari piled pancakes onto her plate and didn’t stop until the stack leaned. Syrup. Fruit. More syrup. She cut wedges and shoveled them in like her body was trying to out-eat her brain.

  Before she’d even cleared her mouth, she started talking.

  “Guys,” she said thickly, “I had more of that dream.”

  Jerro looked up, already curious. He was slicing one pancake into perfect portions, placing one berry on each bite like it mattered. “What happened?”

  Mari pulled out her note, unfolded it, and read it to them. She explained fast, like speed could keep it real.

  “The Burrowing Rodent… Empire?” Greg repeated. “That’s what it said?”

  “Yeah.” Mari swallowed. “That’s what it said.”

  Greg’s brow furrowed. “I think I remember reading something about that in one of Rufus’s books when we were younger. I thought it was just a story. It was written like fiction.”

  “Sometimes the truest stories are the ones we don’t expect,” Rufus said from the front doorway.

  All three of them snapped their heads around at once.

  “Rufus!” they said in unison.

  Jerro stood halfway. “You’ve got to tell us more. What is happening? Why is Mari having these dreams?”

  “All things in time,” Rufus said, calm as ever. “All things in time.”

  Mari leaned forward, words tripping over each other. “Can you at least tell me why I don’t remember going to that cave?”

  “Cave?” Rufus repeated.

  “Yeah. Before last lune. I woke up in this cave and was going to come see if you knew what was going on, but then the hylux—” Mari stopped herself, and her eyes flicked to Jerro.

  “Hyrax,” Rufus corrected automatically. His expression stayed composed, but his gaze slid past them, unfocused, attention snagged on something not present in the room.

  Mari started to explain the dream again, but Rufus lifted one paw, cutting through it.

  “Come along,” he said. “We have much to do before you set off on your first mission.”

  Jerro mouthed the question they were all thinking.

  Mission?

  Rufus turned and walked out. The three friends looked at each other, confusion now so familiar it almost felt like routine, and followed.

  They passed The Hub, busy now with all sorts of creatures. A swarm of rats ran by, chatting in a foreign language that shifted in Mari’s mind until it became comprehensible. Moles ate breakfast at a smaller table. Nearby, a group of wombats in garnet armor sat with their helmets off, sipping something that smelled of mint and earth.

  At the curved ice cream bar, Grellin and Mellin spotted the group as they passed. They waved, pointed at their bracelets, and Mellin presented an ice cream cone. Just large enough for them to make out at that distance.

  A raccoon hurried past and bumped into one of the armored figures, sending a splash of tea airborne.

  In one swift motion, the wombat shot out a leg to steady the raccoon, set the cup down, and slid the saucer to catch the errant tea before it touched the table.

  The raccoon apologized profusely, bowing and backing away until it bumped into another table. A long-snouted creature lowered a hose-like nose into a bowl. The contents undulated and separated into individual units.

  Ants.

  Mari took a step away so fast her stomach lurched.

  “First things first,” Rufus said, resuming his effortless hovering so their pace had to quicken. “We need to get you to the outfitter. Set up your accounts. Get you any necessary gear. Then we head to the chief navigator and see what ships are available.”

  The crowd parted instinctively as they moved through. Some stopped and whispered. Others stared. Most simply carried on like this was normal, like new Fragments being hustled along by Rufus was a common morning event.

  They approached a prominent building, a stacked cylinder of polished ivory stone that caught the chromatic sky and threw it back in a soft sheen. Each layer hovered, inset above the next. Golden light glowed from the gaps. A deep trill reverberated between the stratified sections as they neared.

  Steps led down into the entrance, sunk below floor level.

  The sign above it blazed MARMATECH, bold and backlit.

  Inside, marmots in green-and-white striped uniforms moved with practiced efficiency. A young marmot spotted Rufus and sprinted over to salute.

  Rufus returned it. “Get these three set up with an account and the standard mission provision load out.”

  “Yes, sir!” the marmot chirped.

  Rufus turned to the group. “I have things to attend to. I’ll return shortly and take you to the landing.”

  Then he vanished without a sound, as though the air simply decided it no longer needed him.

  The young marmot pivoted back to them. “Alright. Follow me. Name’s Ferdi. I’m gonna help you new Fragments get set so you don’t die your first time out of the chromosphere.”

  They all stopped.

  Greg spoke first, voice flat with disbelief. “Excuse me. Did you just say—die?”

  Ferdi didn’t flinch. “Yeah. Eight out of every ten Fragments die on their first solo transit.” He finally noticed Greg’s expression and hurried to patch it. “But… I’m sure you guys will do great! I can see it in your—” He looked them up and down, grasping for the word. “Fur! The way the void filaments refract psionic energy. You’ve got latent power. Big stuff.”

  Greg looked at Mari and Jerro with a furrowed brow.

  Jerro shrugged.

  Mari just stared at Ferdi like she was trying to decide whether panic belonged on the schedule today.

  Ferdi launched into motion, pulling up a series of holo displays. Jerro leaned in instantly, eyes tracking how the interface assembled itself.

  “First things first,” Ferdi said, pointing. “Hold your wristbands up to the scanner.”

  They did, one by one. Mari first. Greg second. Jerro third.

  On Jerro’s scan, the device chirped and stuttered.

  Ferdi frowned. “Hmm. Let me see that.” He popped Jerro’s band off, straightened it with a click, then slapped it back on. “Try again. Sometimes they get buggy, and you just have to re-slap them.”

  Jerro tried again. This time it beeped clean.

  Ferdi nodded as if he’d expected nothing else. “Perfect. Now. Loadouts.”

  He guided them toward a section of the store and grabbed backpacks.

  Mari lifted hers slightly. “I already have a bag.”

  “You sure do,” Ferdi said, cheerful. “Mind if I take a look?”

  Before Mari could answer, he was inspecting it. He reached inside, made a few quick adjustments, and a mechanical whirring came from somewhere in the pack’s guts.

  “Okay,” Ferdi said, delighted. “Check this out. Dimensional pocket storage.”

  He grabbed a long wooden stick from a nearby aisle and slid it into Mari’s bag. The bag should not have been able to hold it.

  The stick vanished inside like it had never existed.

  Jerro stepped closer, prodding the pack with a paw, fascinated. “You are absolutely going to have to show me how this works.”

  “Anytime!” Ferdi said. “Our beaver engineers are the best in the multiverse. They’d love a fresh mind to mold.” He pointed at Jerro and grabbed another wooden stick. “This one’s for you, by the way. Classic beaver stick. You know what to do with it.”

  Jerro stared at the stick.

  He did not, in fact, know what to do with it.

  He nodded anyway.

  Greg nodded too, because the nod had become a survival tactic.

  It turned out Ferdi also did not know what to do with it, but nobody said anything, so it counted as knowledge.

  Ferdi started chucking supplies into their bags with reckless confidence.

  “Standard rations,” he said. “Pizza is a staple. Also, biscuits, beloved.” Boxes disappeared into the dimensional pockets one after another.

  “Water,” Ferdi continued, glancing at Mari and Greg. “We know you can store up to fifty times your bodyweight by compressing it in your interstitial void space.”

  Mari froze mid-blink. Greg froze mid-chew.

  Ferdi turned to Jerro. “But you, sir beaver, cannot. So.” He produced a pitcher like he was presenting a trophy. “Micro portal to the dimension of Aquarius. It pours continuously. I’ve seen a small lake form once when one got knocked over and forgotten about, so… don’t do that.” He laughed as though it were a fun story.

  Jerro stared at the pitcher with cautious horror.

  “Vectorization rakes,” Ferdi said, tossing long blue tools into their kits. “Automated degaussers. And the latest XB-series field-portable hyperbaric chamber.” His eyes tracked the list in his head, counting off what remained. “That should do it for psionic first aid and recovery items.”

  He paused, fingers hovering over the holo display. “We don’t charge Fragments, but we track your gear so we can build custom kits later, assuming you survi—” He coughed. “Survey the multiverse.”

  Mari opened her mouth to respond, but Rufus materialized behind Ferdi so silently Mari felt her fur rise before her mind even caught up.

  Ferdi saw their faces shift.

  He tried to look back without turning his head. Only his eyes moved. “Master Rufus is behind me, isn’t he?”

  The three friends nodded.

  Ferdi spun and saluted. “All finished, sir!”

  Rufus smiled and drifted around the young marmot. “Thank you, Ferdi. We have one more stop before you go.”

  They exited Marmatech. Outside, Phlip had fallen asleep in the open, trusting the world more than he should have. Mari whistled softly, and he bounded up, ears flopping, then trotted after them, paws drumming lightly on the metal surface.

  “Rufus,” Mari said immediately, trying to grab the thread before it slipped away again, “where are we going? What is going on? You’ve—”

  Rufus stopped and turned toward them. He stepped closer, gaze settling on Mari first, then widening to include all three.

  “Mari,” he said, voice steady, “I’m not trying to be cryptic. There are simply things that cannot be explained. Things unknown but felt.” His eyes softened. “What I can say is this. The three of you, and Phlip of course, have an unpredictable but critical role to play in correcting the rupture.”

  Mari’s eyes glazed with helpless frustration. “Rufus… I just want to go home.”

  Rufus looked her up and down like he was seeing more than her fur and her posture.

  Then his smile warmed.

  “Mari,” he said, “you are home.”

  He pulled Jerro and Greg in with one arm, stacking them shoulder to shoulder in a loose arc. “Wherever the three of you go. Together. That is home. Your strength comes from your bond. That’s the best advice I can give you.”

  They approached a skinny tower now, with a circular disk forming its head. Heavy metal doors slid open as they neared, disappearing into the sides.

  “Let’s see what kind of ships the Chief has for you,” Rufus said.

  They stepped inside. The tower was a hollow shaft rising into darkness. Their feet lifted.

  Slowly.

  Then suddenly they shot upward.

  Mari’s stomach tried to stay behind.

  Their movement ceased in an octagonal room lined with holo displays and wide windows. The translucent floor showed the shaft below, a dizzying drop. Shelves lined two walls, crowded with crystal spheres.

  A capybara wearing a captain’s hat and a tropical shirt lounged in a hammock like gravity was a suggestion and deadlines were a rumor. Aviator sunglasses rested on the brim of his hat.

  “Aloha, new friends and old,” the Chief said, rolling out of the hammock. He strutted over and hugged Rufus with easy familiarity. “Looking for a ship for these Fragments, yeah?”

  “That is correct,” Rufus replied. “Good to see you’re well, Chief.”

  Jerro leaned forward, eyes locked on the shelf. “Those are ships, aren’t they?”

  “Yep,” the Chief said, rummaging. “And Rufus says give you the best one I’ve got. Something about this mission being important.” He elbowed Rufus. “Like they all aren’t.”

  “This one is different,” Rufus said, and for once he didn’t sound playful at all.

  Mari stepped closer to Rufus, eyes narrowed. “You keep saying things like that. You have to know something.”

  Rufus hovered slowly, the room seeming to bend around his certainty. “You will retrieve an artifact. You will travel far and deep, burrowing through time itself.” He paused. “In the prime fragmentation of the Burrowing Rodent Empire, a power source was forged. It is said to unlock a weapon capable of ending the hyrax threat for good. We believe it may also be key to repairing the rupture.”

  Mari’s blood went cold. “You just said the Burrowing Rodent Empire. Like what I saw in my dream.”

  “Yes,” Rufus said simply. “Long before your time.”

  Mari moved to the window and stared down at the dock and the ships. “Follow-up question. You also said, we. Who is we?”

  Before Rufus could answer, the Chief snapped his fingers like he’d just remembered something. “Ah. This is the one you want.”

  He pulled a crystal sphere from the shelf and tossed it to Jerro.

  Jerro caught it clumsily, then held it up to the light. Inside, a miniature ship rotated in slow suspension, sleek and sharp and unreal.

  “You’ll be the best to use it,” the Chief said. “Your engineering talent will guide you.”

  Rufus gestured toward the center of the room. “Excellent. Let us be on our way.”

  The Chief’s casual grin slipped for a moment. He saluted sharply. Rufus returned it.

  “May the threads guide your way, little ones,” the Chief said.

  As the words left his mouth, gravity took them again. They became weightless, descended the tower, and stepped out onto the dock.

  “Jerro and Greg,” Rufus said, voice suddenly all command, “prepare the ship. Mari, come with me. I will show you how to navigate the chronoarch.”

  Jerro looked at Greg with a shaky glare, as though he was about to admit he had no idea how to prepare a ship.

  Then he looked back at the crystal sphere.

  The ship inside it rotated, showing its long sleek hull, the rounded crest running the length. Small spherical bulbs protruded at the front and back. Violet streaks swirled through deep blue, like light trapped beneath ice. Furled sails lay folded into seams along the spine, ornamental more than necessary. Angular wings projected rearward from the sides, flared tips extending beyond the hull. Toward the back sat a horseshoe-shaped cockpit ringed with transparent glass, giving a full field of view.

  Jerro, Lunda’s voice touched his thoughts. I was curious if I had predicted correctly that you would be the one to attune.

  Jerro’s mind stuttered. Lunda? Attune to what?

  Attune to me. To the ship. You’re the anchor. You can carry my consciousness. Once you pull the ship into being, I will join you there.

  Greg poked Jerro’s shoulder. “What are you doing, buddy?”

  Jerro blinked rapidly.

  Then, like his body had done this a thousand times, he threw the sphere out over the void.

  The ship sprang into existence at full size, unfolding into the berth and locking into place. A soft pulse rolled through the dock, a ripple of energy that tickled Greg’s whiskers and made the fur along Jerro’s arms lift.

  The ship settled into place with quiet certainty.

  “That’s awesome,” Greg said, and slapped Jerro a quick high five. Not the full routine. Just a clean hit.

  Greg, Jerro, and Phlip ran aboard, exploring the ship with the reverent hunger of kids finding a hidden room in their own house.

  ∞

  Rufus and Mari walked toward the partitioned platform they’d arrived on.

  “Mari,” Rufus said, “this isn’t something you learn by forcing it. The chronoarch answers when it wants to. It moves through you. That’s one of the reasons you were chosen. The ability is already there, innate and sleeping. We’re going to wake it. Are you prepared?”

  Mari nodded, nervous enough that her throat felt tight.

  A wide copper saucer drifted overhead, blotting out the light as it passed. Half a dozen mice scurried across its back and vanished into a hatch. A ring of windows encircled the top.

  Hovering over the sectioned platform, the saucer flickered. It blinked in and out of existence, faster each time.

  Then, a vacuuming boom swallowed all light and sound in a radius that reached only to Mari and Rufus’s faces.

  An instant later, the dock returned. The chatter poured back in.

  Mari swallowed. “Is that what happened when we came here?”

  “Indeed,” Rufus said. “That is what transit looks like to the observer.”

  Mari stepped onto the divided pad, drawn to it. “How does it work? How do I know where to go?”

  “You need not know,” Rufus said gently. “You will guide you. Trust yourself.”

  He circled her like an instructor in a quiet room. “Let it flow through you like your psionics. Let it permeate your being. Your fragmented self will align with the filaments of time.”

  Mari closed her eyes.

  Her mind tried to run away, as it always did. Dreams. The cave. The writing. The Ancients. Her father.

  Her mother.

  Her heels lifted slightly.

  “Mmm,” Rufus said with pleased certainty. “Good. You’re getting it.”

  Mari steadied her breath. For a second, the fear didn’t vanish, but it stopped biting.

  “Alright,” Rufus said. “Sever the connection. We will do a full run-through on your ship. Don’t be nervous. You’re going to be exactly what you need to be.”

  Mari opened her eyes as her weight returned.

  And for the first time she could remember, she felt… at ease.

  Not safe. Not certain.

  But aligned.

  “Now,” Rufus said, drifting down the dock toward their ship, “it is time you and your friends made your first autonomous transit.”

  Mari hurried after him. “Rufus, what if we need help? What if we don’t know what we’re doing? What if we get lost?”

  Rufus didn’t slow. “No one is ever lost, and no one knows what to do. That is the glory of it.” He glanced back at her. “Trust yourself and trust your friends. They need you, Mari. Whether you realize it or not, you are the leader of this group. You will guide them through whatever waits on the other side.”

  Mari climbed aboard, breath catching. “Rufus, I’m—”

  Jerro popped his head out of the arched control room doorway. “I think we’re all ready!”

  Mari looked back to Rufus.

  He smiled, warm and steady.

  Then his voice slid into her mindspace, quiet as a paw on her shoulder.

  She is with you. We are with you. She always has been and always will be.

  Rufus vanished.

  Mari blinked hard. The corner of her eye was wet. She brushed it away with the back of her paw, jaw tightening.

  Jerro motioned toward the front station. “Controls are over there. I’m assuming you’re flying?”

  Mari climbed into the pilot seat and wrapped her paws around the controls. Energy channeled from the ship, interfacing with Mari directly. Greg and Jerro took auxiliary stations behind her, one on each side.

  “Alright,” Mari said, voice sharper than she felt. “Let’s do this.”

  The takeoff was wobbly. The ship swayed like it were testing her.

  Mari steadied it.

  The motion came back to her like something remembered in the body, even if she didn’t know where the memory lived.

  Like riding a bike, her mind offered.

  Mari had never ridden a bike. Had never seen one. Had never even heard the word.

  But the knowing was there anyway.

  “You know we’re gonna have to come up with a name for this ship,” Greg said as they drifted toward the chronoarch platform, wobble returning.

  Mari focused on what Rufus had shown her. She let the feeling rise. Not thought—not logic—flow.

  Jerro leaned toward Greg, starting to answer. “How about—”

  The space distorted.

  Sound thinned and modulated as if it were dropping away.

  Station dissolved, and they hurtled into the chromatic waterfall.