It was 08:58 in the SC, and Aurelie Jane was the closest to being on time for work that she had ever been. Ever since she was formally reprimanded for consistently showing up at 08:15 for her 09:00 shift, she’d been making an effort to come later. Arriving in the office that morning, her manager gave her an approving smile, then paused when xir eyes flicked downwards. Aurelie hurried on. DesUas, her co-worker who sat at the desk opposite hers, took one look at her loaded hands and glared.
“Stop using my code to feed your caffeine addiction.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Aurelie tenderly placed the oversized thermos of caffeinated beverage onto her desk, like a mother putting her infant down for a nap.
The office was small, cramped, and consisted of just three of them, though they were part of a larger unit. When Aurelie had first joined the Bureau for Space Time Management she had been seated in the more spacious main office down the hall; but as the number of Space-Time Machines grew, so did the number of infractions, and thus the number of employees.
(Referred to as Maschov’s principle after a Space-Time manager turned mediocre philosopher, it observed that since the main source of Space-Time machines was the SC, as chronological time progressed the number of Space-Time machines grew, so though numbers varied through sequential time, through chronological time the number of infractions would continuously increase.)
(He had hoped it would be known as Maschov’s razor, but as it was merely an observation of fact, principal was already stretching it.)
While the Bureau had been promising to expand and build another wing for years, it was difficult for an entity that existed outside of the regular time stream, with no government within the universe and no citizens except employees and auxiliary individuals, to raise capital. In the meantime, the employee overflow was siphoned off into any remaining available space.
Aurelie, Alvedo and DesUas shared a converted supplies closet, with two uncovered bulbs that hung down from the ceiling and a fake window which Alvedo had printed out onto cellulose sheets one day when he was bored. In the corner sat the micro-reactor which supplied the nuclear energy for the lights, electronics and heating. Sometimes Aurelie worried about sitting so close to radioactive material, but the management team assured them that the two-inch-thick plastiglomerate encasing the apparatus was more than secure.
“Aurelie, that is far too much caffeinated beverage for a Human, especially one your size; how did you figure out my code again?” DesUas chided.
Aurelie was saved from answering by a shrill whistle, indicating an infraction. Alvedo, who sat at a desk to her left, checked his timepiece. He was about 30cm shorter than Aurelie, and generally kept on desk duty unless there were no other options due to his very thin frame and the fact that his skeleton was mostly structured cartilage, rather than bone or metal implants or anything that sturdy races built themselves from. His eyes were his most prominent feature, bulging out from a protrusion that extended several centimetres above the lover half of his face. An underbite revealed at least three rows of needle-like teeth, that were constantly falling out and being replaced, so that every now and then someone would step on one in the office. He was much better at multitasking than his coworkers, with both four arms and a brain that was better adapted for compartmentalisation, giving him the ability to read, write and maintain a conversation all at once. His skin was grey, and while it looked slimy the few times she’d brushed against it Aurelie had been surprised by the fact that it was velvety and almost burningly hot. A normal resting body temperature for Alvedo was around 75℃, which he was able to maintain in their comparatively much cooler offices by eating near constantly.
Aurelie was fortunate she didn’t have misophonia, or she would have murdered him long ago.
Alvedo had told her the name of his race once; however, as it was 43 syllables long, and he was the only of his kind that she had ever met, it was easiest to just think of him as Alvedo: nothing more and nothing less.
He grinned as his timepiece beeped.
“09:00. Aurelie, it’s all yours: my bed awaits me.” She grinned and shrugged at DesUas, making a we should go gesture. The Aredbyne rolled her eyes, then stood and stretched to full height. At 245cm to Aurelie’s 174, the effect would have been intimidating were it not for the distended gut poking out from beneath the work shirt. DesUas leaned forward and snatched the thermos from Aurelie’s desk. Too late, the Human realised what was happening.
“Wait, no, no!” DesUas unhinged her jaw and downed the contents of the thermos in one go. “Oh come on! How am I meant to work now?” Alvedo, who had paused to watch the spectacle, looked faintly nauseous. DesUas smirked.
“Don’t use my code. Now hurry up, our window is closing.”
Aurelie took one last, mournful look at the now-empty thermos, and trailed behind to the Space-Time Machine.
***
Aurelie Jane was three years old when she was deposited on the steps of the Displacement Home (metaphorically speaking: the planet the Displacement Home was situated on lacked so much as an atmosphere, let alone anything as mundane as steps). This was known because pinned to the front of a pretty pink dress was a hastily scribbled note: My name is Aurelie Jane and I turn 3 today. She was the first Human that that Displacement Home had ever received, so hasty modifications and rapid research were needed. Appropriate beds were created (soft, horizontal, not submerged in water or various organic gels), appropriate toys devised (Humans mature over the course of approximately 16-21 years, but tend to play most when they are pre-pubescent), and copious quantities of spaghetti were purchased.
She was placed in a room of peers known to mature at approximately the same rate (most Human subcultures designated 18 Human years as adulthood, with the notable exception of the Trionians: adulthood is reached at the age of 35 in Trionian culture, but since they were universally (trans-universally, even) regarded as overbearing helicopter parents by other Human cultures, the Displacement Home felt comfortable in disregarding their opinion), and the group were schooled in modules provided by the Universal Education Bureau as well as the multiverse education advisors, with occasional input from the agents from the SC.
In addition to Human specific modules, which instructed her on her anatomy, Human cultural norms such as handshakes and sex, and the history of the Human race- generally agreed to be simultaneously the most interesting and most mundane of them all- she was also schooled in conceptual and practical mathematics, xenobiology, chemistry, physics, modern foreign affairs including interplanetary relations, government councils and various wars, and the nature of space time. Being a Human, she naturally excelled at the Human and Space-Time related modules, and muddled along in an approximately average way with the others.
At the age of 18, the Displacement Home deemed her suitably mature and promptly kicked her out. While for many of the displaced children this was devastating, displaced Humans were both unusual enough and good enough at understanding the concepts of Space-Time manipulation that she was immediately offered a job in the Bureau. 18 Human months of training saw her qualified, and she’d not taken a day off in the 42 months since.
She’d been reprimanded for that too.
“How in the hell are we meant to get a perpetrator in here?” she complained, squeezing into the Space-Time Machine with DesUas. “What the hell did you do last week? You can’t even fit into your fat clothes!”
Unlike Aurelie, DesUas frequently took and enjoyed her time off. Aredbynes were reptilian, and they would go weeks without eating, steadily losing weight until they looked downright gaunt, their bones so prominent they showed through clothes. Then they would enter a 32-hour feeding frenzy, where they could consume up to 110,000 calories in one prolonged sitting. After 3 days of sleeping and laying down fat stores, DesUas would return to work swollen like a grape and the cycle would begin again.
DesUas grinned and stretched and crushed Aurelie against the wall with her distended stomach, before punching in the coordinates for their destination.
Space-Time Machines had one of the least functional designs Aurelie had had the misfortune of encountering. Due to the rare elements required (and if they were rare the length and breadth of the multiverse then they were rare) the supply was exceedingly limited, and once a mobile design was hit on - Dr Enfendore’s initial prototype had apparently transported not just the sealed hydraulic cube he was in, but also half of his laboratory, to another universe - developers were loathe to update it lest something were to malfunction. So, it remained a blocky cube, with levers and pipes sticking out in all sorts of unhelpful locations likely to jab Aurelie in her hip or spine, a terrible user interface, and one of the most unnecessarily complex walls of buttons most races had ever seen. They were then simply scaled up or down, depending on the size of the species needing to use it; the ones assigned to her department barely fit her and a mid-sized DesUas comfortably, and returning with a third individual was invariably awful.
“I decided to try a Human-style all you can eat buffet for the first time. Excellent value for money. I’m now banned, but it was extremely worth it.”
“Where aren’t you banned from?”
“Just because you derive no satisfaction from your nourishment does not mean the rest of us can’t enjoy ourselves,” replied her co-worker, easily dodging the question. “Does this universe seem familiar to you? I’m sure we haven’t visited before.” Aurelie raised an eyebrow and checked the screen, then grinned.
“Someone wasn’t paying attention in her education modules. It’s the dude, Dr Whatever- you know, the guy who invented the Space-Time machine. This was his universe… we’re not going to get blown up or imploded or anything, are we?”
“Ahh, yes, I remember. No, we’re travelling several thousand Human years before Dr Enfendore’s time, and to a different end of the universe. We’re seeking out a wayward Chitinous Farer.” DesUas stepped back, releasing Aurelie from where she was pinned. “Are you ready?”
“To deal with a Chitinous Farer? Hell yeah. To be stuck in here with you and him? Not at all.”
There was a soft ding, indicating that the Space-Time Machine had arrived. Aurelie didn’t pause to check the biometric readings of the planet before opening the Space-Time Machine. Early Humans had known of life on this planet for at least a thousand years before managing to make contact by using ultra-sensitive telescopes to analyse the frequencies of light that had passed through the atmospheres of exoplanets. These early Humans were able to determine the atmospheric composition, and oxygen and methane were both shown to be present, near definitively proving the existence of organic life. What had been remarkable was that the exoplanet was near identical to Humans’ home planet regarding atmospheric composition, size and temperature: it was just much further from a much hotter sun.
Unfortunately, there had been no way for the early Humans to reach it- at least, not at any reasonable speed.
Humans had had to invent a Space-Time Machine, travel to another universe, and meet another race just to learn how to create the interstellar highways using colloquially known as stringways (after the theory they were modelled off). The majority of non-Human races found this to be beyond absurd, and it often devolved into arguments at after-work cocktail hours at the Bureau.
Aurelie shot out onto the lush grass, DesUas yelling behind her.
“Damn it, you can’t just ignore safety procedures!”
“Don’t be so grumpy, you old lizard. I knew it was fine! See, perfectly breathable. Now, clock’s a ticking- where’s our bad guy?”
“Every day I wonder if you could be more annoying, and every day you exceed my expectations. The Chitinous Farer is about three kilometres due north.” They began walking, DesUas’ grumbles about the lack of transportation methods quickly fading at the beauty of the scenery around them. Large chlorophyll structures, several hundred metres high, ballooned above them. Along with the green chlorophyll most familiar to Humans, there was orange, purple and deep blue. The sky was glowing a rich pink, indicative of the low angle of the sun behind them, though whether it was setting, rising, or just always at that height Aurelie couldn’t say. Glittering insects watched from the plant-matter, and occasionally DesUas or Aurelie had to duck as one came whizzing through the air.
Finally, DesUas’ monitor pinged, indicating that they were near. Both stopped and surveyed the area. Aurelie nudged her colleague.
“Up there, on that rock.”
The Chitinous Farer was young, probably a mid-pubescent, with clothing unlike anything Aurelia had seen before. Leaning over, she checked DesUas’ screen: he came from a different period to the one their office colleagues styled their clothing on. Still, something made Aurelie pause.
“Does he look familiar to you?” she whispered.
“What? No, of course he doesn’t,” DesUas huffed. “Humans and their patterns. C’mon, while he’s distracted.”
The Chitinous Farer was shaking his head and tapping at a Space-Time Machine control screen which could have come from a museum. He didn’t have a translation headset on, so Aurelie flipped the switch on her own to activate the microphone. DesUas followed her lead.
Both reached for their stun guns as they approached the rock. This was always the most dangerous part: they wanted to be close enough that if he tried to run they could catch him, but far enough away that if he turned on them they’d have time to react.
“Excuse me,” called Aurelie, “We’d like a word with you.” He swivelled to face them and they paused. For a long moment he didn’t react- then he burst into tears.
***
“There, there.” Aurelie squeezed his antennae again, a soothing gesture for Chitinous Farers that felt uncomfortably intimate. “Don’t worry, there’ll be food and water for you in the SC.” DesUas gave her a thumbs up as his relic of a Space-Time machine disappeared with a pop. Aurelie released his antenna, relieved, and began walking back the direction they’d come.
“I just wanted to see my brother,” he repeated, voice ragged from sobbing. Aurelie hadn’t known that Chitinous Farers could cry. “I swear on Mother Moth, that’s all I was trying to do. But I got lost pinballing between universes. I don’t even know how long I’ve been gone. And then I came back and I’m stuck in this pre-historic jungle!”
According to her screen there was a large city 30 kilometres east, but she felt it would be best not to mention that.
“I’m sorry,” he continued. He had been sniffle-talking for the majority of the walk back, and Aurelie longed for the earlier peaceful silence. She considered turning her translation headset off, but knew that DesUas would catch the movement. “I know I shouldn’t have done it. Please don’t arrest me, I’m a good kid I swear! I can’t deal with any more time travel; I just want to go home.”
“Don’t worry,” said DesUas, voice tight. Aurelie wondered what it was like, hiking when weighing 40kg more than you’re used to. “We’ll get you home and they’ll arrest you there.”
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The Chitinous Farer didn’t appear to know whether that was good news or bad.
“As close to home as possible,” Aurelie corrected. “We won’t be able to get you back the exact moment you left, but we’ll hopefully manage to bring you to within a few months.” She squinted. “DesUas, I’m not being prejudiced, I swear he looks familiar.”
“Months?!” He all but screeched, cutting her off. DesUas shot a glare at Aurelie, who shrugged: she hated lying to people, or getting their hopes up.
“Any time spent in lock up in the SC will be taken out of time spent in lockup when you get home, if that’s any consolation.” He looked less than mollified. “Listen, it’s not our fault you went time travelling without the first clue of how to do it. This is on you.”
“But it’s not my fault.” His eyes were watering again, and Aurelie wondered how much more liquid he could lose before they’d need to give him fluids. “I just wanted to see my brother, I don’t see how that’s illegal.”
“It’s not my fault,” muttered DesUas, “I just wanted new luxury items, I don’t see how that’s illegal.”
“Stop mocking me. I’m grieving.”
“You’re also being an idiot,” Aurelie snapped, breathing an internal sigh of relief as they crested the hill and saw the Space-Time Machine just a few hundred metres away. “If you’re unhappy that your actions have consequences, take it up with the universe. You’ll go home as soon as we can get you home, but the precise timing is out of our hands.”
“But you’re time travellers, I don’t understand why.”
“My god, did you even pass your learning module? Do you have any idea how this works?”
“Give it up, Aurelie,” called DesUas, stepping into the Space-Time Machine and beginning to input the details for their return. “You can send him some reading material on the matter while he’s in his holding cell. Now hurry in, the sooner we’re back the sooner I can undo my top button.”
Aurelie rolled her eyes and gestured to the Chitinous Farer that he should go first: standard procedure, to stop anyone bolting. Before she stepped in herself, on reflex, she checked her wrist.
9735182
“Aurelie, come on!” DesUas stuck her head back out the machine. “What are you- oh. Oh.”
The world seemed to pause, the silence stretching on forever. Home. For the first time in 23 years, she had a clue.
“Are you okay?” The Chitinous Farer was peeking over DesUsas’ shoulder. “You look like you’re about to cry.
“What? Shut up, no, I’m fine.” Aurelie glared. “I’m just experiencing a life changing event and I’d appreciate some space. Hey, let go-“
The Aredbyne yanked her into the machine, rolling her eyes and gesturing to her timepiece, but her expression was fond. She knew what this meant to Aurelie. The Human managed a watery smile in return, then sighed and pushed her hair back.
“Ok, point taken, time to go.” They shut the door of the Space-Time Machine, and as DesUas maneuvered them home Aurelie watched the numbers on her wrist transform back to the familiar ∞.
*
“Much has been made of the fact that Humans are particularly good at understanding and reasoning their way through the intricacies of Space-Time,” said the Orphellan at the front of the lecture hall. Aurelie Jane was 12, and it was the first time she’d been deemed mature enough, by Human standards, to attend the semi-annual (depending on one’s definition of a year) lecture from the Bureau of Space Time Affairs. So far, it had fallen short of her expectations, but this made her prick her ears. “However, many would argue that this ability has been overstated, to the detriment of other races that would be interested in pursuing a career. Being a Human is not a pre-requisite to joining the Bureau: every species has unique skills and abilities that can be of use to us. Indeed, many of my colleagues would argue that there are entirely too many Humans in the office.”
The Orphellan quirked a smile and a ripple of laughter ran through the hall. Aurelie Jane sank down, cognisant of the eyes on her.
“My xenobiology teacher says that Humans turn red when they’re embarrassed or have had excess exposure to ultraviolet radiation,” muttered a voice right behind her.
“Looks like there must be a small sun in here then,” said another voice back, and the ripples spread out around her like a wave. She felt her neck redden further, and she cursed every xenobiology teacher to the void and back.
Later, though, when she was unable to sleep, she slid out of bed and crept to the classrooms, where lessons for many were still in going. As different species ran on different circadian rhythms, classes were in constant session to meet the students’ needs. Padding over to the xenobiology wing, Aurelie found an empty classroom with a teacher marking at the desk. At the sight of her, the teacher’s mandible tilted, a Rzzhyian method for signalling surprise.
“Aurelie Jane? Why are you in your sleeping attire?”
The problem with being the only Human was that everyone knew who she was. Oh, to be just another Orphellan…
“I was at the lecture today,” Aurelie began, hesitant. “The semi-annual one, for the Bureau. And they said that Humans are particularly good with Space-Time. Why is that?” Her nerves must have been apparent, because the teacher reached out and patted her on the arm, a gesture both had learnt was used by Humans to reassure each other. The teacher then gestured to a seat next to the desk, indicating that she should take it. It was too high and too wide, and Aurelie belatedly realised that this was a Rzzhyian classroom. That would explain in part the teacher’s surprise. Rzzhyian didn’t have names in the Human sense, so Aurelie mentally dubbed xir ‘Shruti’.
Shruti was silent for a moment, seeming to mull over the response.
“There are two main hypotheses as to why Humans seem to grasp the conceptual aspects of Space-Time better, and at a more immature stage, than most other races. They are incredibly divergent, but it’s likely both have an effect to some degree.”
“The first is Humankind’s willingness to work with situations that they don’t yet fully understand. Humans were able to harness organic compounds such as methane and petroleum for use in their machinery and consumer products far before they knew the structure of the compounds, where they had come from, or other possible outcomes of their use. They were able to achieve low-grade interplanetary travel before they knew the fundamental mechanisms behind gravity, and could split an atom before they knew its components. As a race, Humans are approximately average in terms of intelligence, but they are nearly unique in their ability to progress using incomplete, or even entirely absent information. They tend to refer to this ability as ‘rolling with it.’ Aurelie Jane, your ancestors were capable of cultivating fire before they had even developed a language system- do you know how incredible that is?”
She shrugged; having never encountered a situation where she didn’t have all the tools and resources to hand, she couldn’t say whether she lived up to this supposedly Human feature or not. She’d also never seen her peers given the chance to fail at living up to it either. The range of situations one was exposed to within a Displacement Home was limited to say the least.
“Some argue that Humans don’t necessarily understand Space-Time any better than other races of the multiverse, and that it’s just their ability to go along with it anyway that makes them unique. I believe, if that’s the case, then there’s no ‘just’ about it.”
“Do you think I’ll be good with Space-Time theory as I move up?” Aurelie sked. Shruti patted her arm again, and this time it did feel reassuring.
“You’re a Human, aren’t you?” Aurelie frowned, but nodded. “Then you’ll likely excel.”
She sat and digested this for a while. It was the first time anyone had ascribed anything good to being Human. According to most of her peers, she slept too much, matured too slowly, was physically and mentally underwhelming, and for the most part very vulnerable in any but a carefully calibrated Human environment. It didn’t exactly inspire confidence in her own abilities.
“What’s the second reason?” she asked finally.
“The second reason is the Human obsession with narrative. I’m sure your matron read you bedtime stories when you were less mature?” Aurelie nodded. “And has now provided you with an ample supply of fictitious reading material that grows more complex as you age.” Aurelie nodded again. “Humans love stories, and for them part of what makes them exciting is not having all the facts. ‘Gaps in the narrative’, I believe it’s called, and they have many story-telling devices that involve withholding information so that it can be dramatically revealed at a later date. In some ways, it’s similar to their ability to go along with things, but it’s also very much its own reason.”
Aurelie thought about a Human film she had watched some days before, from before the invention of Space-Time, when Humans were still speculating as to what lay in the void beyond their original planet. ‘I am your father!’ the villain had revealed, and Aurelie had gasped, just as she was sure the movie had intended her to. Seeing the understanding in her eyes, xe continued.
“For Humans, it’s not enough to know what happened: that this creature did this, that one race went to war with another. They want to know why, they want to know motives, they try to ascribe Human emotions and reasoning to everything around them. Even chance and circumstance were anthropomorphised: the Human concept of karma has been around for millennia, before they even invented basic machinery, and says that good things happen to you if you are good and bad things if you are bad.”
It spoke to her Humanness, Aurelie thought somewhat bitterly, that the notion to her didn’t seem so absurd.
“Because of this, the concepts of the chronological stream and the sequential stream don’t seem as impossible to grasp as they are for other races.”
Five years later, a 17 year old Aurelie found herself repeating Shruti almost verbatim.
“You’ve seen some of my Human media right?” Jackelty, her bunkmate and acquaintance who was on the verge of failing her Space-Time course, made a face.
“I mean, I’ve seen you watching them. I can’t stand them myself.”
“Doesn’t matter, so long as you understand the structure. You know how often there will be a scene that’s set a time period before the main part of the story? But you don’t see it until halfway through the film?” Understanding dawned on Jackelty’s face.
“That’s what was going on? I thought mature Humans just had the ability to de-age themselves.” Aurelie blinked, and blinked again, and fought the urge to roll her eyes because she didn’t want to be accused of being xenophobic (but really, why did everyone think it was ok to sleep through the Human modules of xenobiology?), and finally forced a smile.
“No, they don’t de-age, it’s called a flashback. It’s like the movie has a memory, right?”
“Riiiiight.” Her bunkmate sounded far from sure.
“Well, that’s how the chronological versus the sequential time streams work. The sequential time stream is the order of the events as they happened to the characters. The chronological stream is the order of events as they’re presented to the viewer.” Jackelty blinked, looking concerned.
“So there’s someone watching the multiverse?”
“Hey, focus on the matter at hand. You’ll debate that in meta-ethics next cycle. All you need to know, and understand, is that events occur in two orders. So, let’s say someone was writing story about my life. They might start when I’m 23, and out of here, working…”
“Probably something to do with SC,” snarked Jackelty, and Aurelie shrugged because it was true. 97% of displaced Humans ended up in the SC, compared to 13% of other displaced races (of course, Humans were displaced at much lower rates than other races due to close familial bonds, but she couldn’t fit all the stereotypes).
“Sure, let’s say someone is writing about 23-year-old me working at the Space-Time Bureau. They’re writing for a newer audience, from a planet that’s only recently been exposed to Space-Time theory, so they need a section that explains it. Well, halfway through the story, or whenever it becomes necessary, they flash back to this conversation between me and you, and allow me explaining it to you to then explain it to the audience.”
“But why wouldn’t they explain it in the beginning?”
“Because it’s a storybook, not a textbook. Or they might do both, to make sure the reader gets it. Do you understand how that could work?”
“Yeah, but it still seems stupid.”
“But you understand?” Aurelie pressed. Jackelty nodded. “Then explain it back to me.”
The younger displacee hesitated.
“There are two time streams. One is the order of events as they’re experienced, and the other is the order of events as they’re… displayed? And the first is the sequential time stream, and the second is the chronological. Is that right?”
“Yeah, you’ve got it.”
“But I don’t!” Jackelty bit out, frustrated. “I don’t understand, how does that make sense? How does that work?”
“It doesn’t matter how it works, so long as you know it conceptually,” Aurelie replied, hating how Human she sounded at that moment. “It’s not like you have any plans on going into Space-Time management. Can you answer it on the exam? Using the explanation you’ve just given?” Jackelty nodded. “Then you’re fine.”
“Thanks, Aurelie. You’re planning on joining the Bureau, right? Is it just because you’re good at it?”
“I am, but it’s not because I’m good at it. Honestly, I don’t even find it all that interesting.”
“Then why? Job security?” Aurelie felt a blush prickle the back of her neck, but tried to ignore it. This was normal human stuff: nothing to be embarrassed about.
“It’s my best chance of finding where I came from. The Space-Time managers go into so many universes- like, it’s their whole job. So, if I become a Space-Time manager, then my chance of finding my home universe goes way up too.” Jackelty shook her head, attention turning back to her notes.
“You Humans and your stories. What does it matter where you come from? It’s like an obsession for you.” Aurelie shrugged, and glanced at her wrist where her displacement number should have been. The ∞ stared back. Sighing, she returned to her revision.
***
“Aurelie found her home universe,” announced DesUas as they walked back into their office. Alvedo, who had slept for two hours and was back at his desk, gaped in disbelief. “It’s in Hominus G.” One form of disbelief gave way to another as he looked between the two, unsure if he was being tricked. Finally, his gaze settled on Aurelie.
“You mean to tell me, after all these years, you never thought to check the universes that Humans were originally from?” She could feel the familiar, unwelcome blush blooming across her face.
“Well…no.”
“There’s only eight of them- actually, only four of them have humans. How were they not your first port of call?” Trust Alvedo to know that.
“Only 0.083% of Humans originate from the Hominus universes,” Aurelie said, defensive. DesUas stopped, confusion clear. “I looked it up. I would have worked my way down to them eventually, but no, it wasn’t my ‘first port of call.’ I was prioritising where, statistically, I was most likely to have come from.”
“But it must have occurred to you to try it," he insisted.
“Limited resources, Alvedo! Limited ability to follow every possible ‘huh well maybe' down to its natural conclusion- especially for a universe with a very short time span like Hominus G!” Alvedo opened his mouth to reply, but DesUas cut in.
“How are there so few Hominus universes?” asked the Aredbyne. “There are two sentient races in those universes, why weren’t there more critical events?”
“Chitinous Farers are a very homogenous society.” Alvedo fancied himself an allodaponology buff, and his enthusiasm was clear from his grin. “Individual, non-conforming decisions are generally frowned upon. Humans are… well, Humans. They don’t do much.” It was Aurelie’s turn to gape in disbelief. Alvedo paused. “No offence intended, you’re wonderful as individuals, but as a whole... well, besides ‘understanding Space-Time concepts’, it’s a bit underwhelming.”
Taking a deep breath, Aurelie made her way to her desk. Alvedo grimaced, appearing to sense he’d mis-stepped. DesUas held up her hands, a clear not me gesture. Aurelie glared at each in turn, then pointedly removed her translation head set and placed it on the other side of the desk.
Message sent.
Suddenly calmer in her bubble of non-understanding, she stretched her shoulders out and turned her attention to the screen. DesUas had already volunteered to handle the processing of their most recent perpetrator, leaving Aurelie free to begin researching.
Forget what her colleagues thought: she wanted to review everything to do with time travel and displacement, and to know everything about the Hominus G universe.
***
The science of displacement was woefully understudied, as is the case with most fields which primarily benefit blue collar workers. In the early days of the development of stringways, when space-time travel was nothing more than science fiction in any universe, workplace accidents were common. These accidents could transport labourers- often immigrants from poorer planets- from one end of the universe to another before they could say “workers’ compensation”, leaving them stranded in the uninhabited void- or worse, in suburbia.
While the loss of labour was cheap, mounting lawsuits from advocacy groups became too much of a nuisance for the bigwigs in charge. To remedy the situation, they required all workers to tattoo themselves with a nano-robot ink, which calculated… something within the workers’ atoms to help them find their way home (by the time the patent had expired and the science behind it should have been made public, the computer programs were obsolete and the information inaccessible). Displacement numbers were vectors, encompassing both direction and magnitude from the point of origin. They allowed an individual to find their way back to within 15 000 000 kilometres of their birth location.
It sounded like a long way, until one remembered the scale of the universe.
As is often the case, middle-income juveniles and wealthy adults cosplaying as the working class took interest in these tattoos and adopted them for themselves, even if they were never planning on leaving their home galaxy. With the advent of space-time travel, the maths became more complicated, but not impossible; individuals working at the Bureau of Space-Time Management began using them as well, usually for emotional reassurance more than anything else. The numbers given could be calculated to within four standard time units of when someone last ate in their home colony.
The only shortcoming was that the technology did not work across the multi-verse. In other universes, no number was shown, merely a ∞. For most individuals, this was no problem at all. For a small number, such as Aurelie, it was a fatal flaw- or had been, until now. With this out the way, the other challenges were infinitely more manageable.
Pushing her hair back from her face, Aurelie ran through her options. The calculations for displacement numbers were incredibly difficult, and to narrow it down involved travel to multiple locations and points in time. Space-Time Machines weren’t allowed for recreational use, which is what she was sure this would be classified as, and even if they were the calculations needed to determine exact location were so far beyond her abilities it was laughable- they required a race far smarter than any Human to accomplish. Then there was figuring out the next window for returning through the SC- and convincing her superiors to allow her to do so, as it might be years in SC and Hominus G time before she’d be able to do so.
A movement at the end of her desk caught her attention.
Alvedo smiled as he placed a thermos of caffeinated beverage down next to the empty one from earlier. She rolled her eyes, then sighed and smiled back, reaching for her translation headset.
“I’m sorry for my earlier comments,” he said, voice soft. “It was rude of me, and I shouldn’t have belittled Humans in that way.” She shrugged.
“I hear it all the time.”
“Regardless, it wasn’t okay. The end of your shift coincides with my leave day. We could go and get spaghetti, if you’d like. I know you’re the only Human to ever not like spaghetti, but the place I have in mind has other Human foods too.”
“Is DesUas banned?”
“No, she’s allowed in as she’ll only be consuming fluids.” Aurelie’s smile widened.
“Sure, count me in.” She pushed herself to her feet. “I’ll see you later, I have to take my break before I get another reprimand.”
Grabbing the caffeinated beverage, Aurelie headed out the office: there was a certain someone she needed to speak with.