An individual lacking an in-depth knowledge of xenobiology, for instance one raised in the eras before Space-Time Machines, an immature individual, or one who did not apply themselves diligently during their studies, may question how it was that the others working in Aurelie’s office were so similar to her. The artificial intelligences were in another department, the mercury-based beings were on leave due to faulty equipment, and the antimatter clusters had recently been expelled for attempted terrorism; so, the people Aurelie worked with were almost identical, as far as life in the multiverse went. All of them were carbon-based, relied on water as their principle dipole fluid, found temperatures between 260 and 300 Kelvin to be ideal, and were capable of various emotional responses such as expressing pain in situations other than stimulation of the nociceptors.
For instance, a number of Chitinous Farers worked a few rooms away. Beyond cultural distinctions such as clothing choices, the only true differences between them and Humans were that Humans lacked an exoskeleton, and that Chitinous Farers communicated with each other using a series of high-pitched whistles that Humans could not imitate. These inimitable whistles included names; because of this, Aurelie had dubbed her co-workers Micky, Sandy, Bob and Rita.
“Hey Bob,” she said, leaning on his desk. Despite lack of stimulation of the nociceptors, he looked pained at the sight of her. “How’s it going?”
“Aurelie Jane, what are you doing on the other side of my desk?”
“Great, thank you for asking.” He blinked in confusion and she smiled. “But as much as I’m enjoying catching up, I did come because I want to ask you something. I…” She paused, throat suddenly tight. “I… I found my home universe. And I was hoping… I was wondering if you could help me with the calculations. So that I can get home.”
The Chitinous Farer regarded her for a long moment, before smiling.
“No.” Her stomach flipped.
“No? Why not?”
“Because you will need at least three more trips to that universe for me to do so, for which you will not receive permission. Because I’m currently up to my antennae in work of a deeply concerning nature which I am not at liberty to disclose to you, but which I can assure you will affect you and everyone else in this building. And because, quite simply, I don’t like you: I find Humans too forward in general and you in particular to be especially tiresome. So please, remove yourself from my vicinity. I’m trying to work.” And with that, he turned his gaze back to the calculations he’d been trundling through when she arrived.
Aurelie had not cried in front of anyone since she was seven years old; staring at Bob across the desk, she wouldn’t now. However, when she spoke again, she could hear that her voice was pleading.
“My displacement number is my only chance. You could help me get home. Please?”
He looked up again, his expression blank.
“Go away, Aurelie. No one cares about you getting home but you.”
***
Aurelie remembered next to nothing of her life before the Displacement Home. Despite years and years of wracking her brain, desperate to come up with a universe, an address, a landmark, or anything like that, she had to accept that she was just too young when she left.
There was one thing she did remember, though: her mother (Mum? Mama? Mommy? What had she called her?) kneeling in front of her, hands gentle on her face. She was a tall human woman with long, curly hair and large grey eyes. Her voice was soft, kind, and she had said
“No matter what, never forget that you are loved,” before pulling her in for a tight hug.
Sometimes, on bad days, Aurelie questioned her own recollection of the words, wondering if her mind had invented what she felt she needed to hear. However, her own reflection as she grew older told her that at least part of the memory was undeniably true. Her hair grew in heavy, soft coils, weaving steadily down her back, and her own grey eyes blinked back from the mirror, the largest and most noticeable part of her face. Even when it reached a length of being unwieldy she deliberately didn’t cut her hair, wanting more than anything to keep that link.
She may not know which universe she was from, who her parents were or why she was displaced; it didn’t matter. Aurelie Jane looked like her mother, and she was loved. Even if the words she heard in her mind weren’t completely accurate, deep down, she knew this to be true.
That was why she had to get back.
***
The restaurant that evening was noisy, packed, and smelt so strongly of fried foods that the grease had built up on the walls, so that if an individual with a high tolerance for the unhygienic desired they could run a claw, nail, or any other hardened appendage down its oily surface and come away with a significant number of calories. Alvedo was thrilled- with his impossibly high metabolic needs, in addition to the fact that his kind were essentially the raccoons of the sentient races (a phrase that Aurelie had initially had to search up to understand, but agreed with completely once she did), this was his ideal eatery: lots of hot, high calorie food for a low price. The same reasoning was why DesUas had initially sought it out and enjoyed it immensely, though was now barred from eating; apparently consuming and paying for several weeks’ worth of food did not compensate for also consuming the flatware, silverware, and glassware with which it was served with.
(“And a chair or two,” the Aredbyne had admitted, embarrassed but also entertained at her own antics, when first recounting the story.)
Aurelie, for her part, was doing her best not to touch any surface that didn’t need to be touched, and not to breath the smell of re-used oil too deeply. She was essentially treating the eatery like she would a foreign planet. In truth, she’d been to foreign planets less harmful to Human wellbeing than this.
DesUas watched as Aurelie and Alvedo scanned the menu, expression sullen. The sparkling water sat in front of her, as dull and calorie free as the next few weeks promised to be. When Aurelie sighed and said maybe she would just get bread, it was clearly all the Aredbyne could do not to launch said water at her coworkers head.
“Aurelie, have you eaten anything today?” asked Alvedo.
“Yes.”
“Fatty fluid in your caffeinated beverage doesn’t count," DesUas snapped. Aurelie frowned.
“I don’t like fatty fluid in my caffeinated beverage.”
“Fine, then caffeinated beverage doesn’t count,” said Alvedo. Aurelie’s frown deepened.
“Ok then, I guess I haven’t eaten today.”
DesUas groaned in frustration, tipping her head back so far her forehead was touching her spine. It didn’t take an expert in allodaponology to recognise it as a sign of defeat.
“That’s an Aredbyne gesture of defeat,” said Alvedo helpfully. Aurelie looked at him, expression flat, before turning back to DesUas.
“I’m just not much of a food fan.”
“But how?” DesUas continued to gesture, but did not bother raising her head. “You can eat every day, multiple times a day, how can you be ‘not much of a food fan’?”
Aurelie shrugged, aware that her co-worker couldn’t see.
“I guess when you can eat at any time, it’s not a big deal. You look forward to it, but for me it’s a chore. Besides, the food at the Displacement Home was always pretty boring so I never really wanted to eat unless I had to.”
“But you do have to,” DesUas groaned. “You don’t have the fat reserves to sustain you!”
“You are at risk of being written up again for your weight,” said Alvedo, eyes raking over her. He ducked his head at Aurelie’s glare, but then a wry grin crossed his face. “Of course, you could always ask Cora for help building up your adipose tissue.”
At this, DesUas’ head snapped back up as she began to chortle. Aurelie felt the familiar, unpleasant flush spread across her face and down her shoulders, and her glare deepened.
“Alvedo, if you’d prefer all four arms remain attached to your torso then you’ll drop this subject immediately.” He and DesUas exchanged knowing looks, then he shrugged and leaned back in his chair.
“Very well, we can move on. How have you progressed regarding your journey to reach displacement zero?” he asked.
Displacement zero being in the universe, at the time and the place that she was meant to be from. Aurelie sighed and shook her head, leaning forward and pulling her hands through her hair. Mournful, she explained the issues she faced in figuring it out, including what Bob had told her.
“Perhaps if you didn’t antagonise them so much,” began DesUas, cutting off with a yelp when Alvedo elbowed her sharply in the ribs. “I mean, it’s still a dick move. [Bob] is a terrible coworker, we all know that.” Unlike Aurelie, DesUas could make the necessary whistles for his name. “But perhaps you should work on addressing the other obstacles first? You need to collect data on other locations within the universe, to allow them to triangulate your location, correct?” Aurelie nodded. “Are you finally going to take your rest days? That would serve the dual purpose of also getting management off your back.”
A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
“I hadn’t thought of approaching it like that,” said Aurelie, perking up. “I was worried, actually, about how I would get permission, but I’m sure I’ll be able to do it that way. I just need to get the next close window pair.”
Due to the random nature of time segments, and the longevity of the universe, it was inevitable that there would be periods where there a segment had no close segments near it, and others would coincidentally be right next to each other. Several weeks before, Cora had managed to coordinate a three week holiday in a sunny location and arrived back eight hours later in SC time with the first human overexposure to UV Aurelie had ever seen (she could see how it looked like a blush).
That was often where their wayward travellers would get stuck. They wouldn’t be able to figure out a way to travel to the next segment, and would ultimately get cut off.
https://i.imgur.com/BNwi3LL.png [https://i.imgur.com/BNwi3LL.png]
The above chart was a common infographic for pre-pubescent Humans, or non-Humans in their first year of tertiary education. As seen above, they would travel from 1 to 28 within universe 1, and then not be able to figure out how to return to approximately their original time. A comprehensive knowledge of how the STUs intersected across universes was needed to move to a lower STU within the same universe (in the above case, getting from 28 back to three or four). Scale the diagram to include 1703 known universes, each with an average of 25 subsets, creating septillions of windows between them, and the magnitude of the problem became apparent.
“Good evening,” said the waiter, a cheerful Rzzhyier with a stylus and screen in hand. “What can I get for you?”
“Nothing for me, thank you,” said DesUas, whose swollen gut pressed against the edge of the table. The waiter nodded, turning to Alvedo.
“Spaghetti, please. With extra sauce. And extra pasta. Actually, you know what, make it two bowls of spaghetti.” Xe noted it down, and then turned to Aurelie.
“And for the Human, spaghetti also?” Xe prompted. She gave hir a tight smile.
“No, thank you. I’ll have the Aredbyne platter.” Xe looked surprised, but noted it without comment, returning to the kitchen.
“An Aredbyne platter?" Alvedo snorted. "What happened to ‘I don’t like to eat’?”
Aurelie shrugged.
“It’ll save me having to make or buy food for like the next week; I’ll just keep it in the fridge and nibble.”
This time, DesUas threw the water glass.
***
One of Aurelie’s greatest frustrations was that she had always seemed to exactly meet people’s predicted expectations of her, neither under- nor over-performing, nor diverging in any way from the pre-supposed route. Perhaps the reason she so resented people telling her what Humans would, could and should do is because it was invariably what she was already doing, or planning to do in the future. As she grew, Aurelie hit every developmental milestone in the expected timeframe. She was tall for a Human female, but not unusually so. She was slim, but within the healthy weight range (before she left the Displacement Home at least). She performed slightly better than standard in some subjects, and slightly worse in others, but neither excelled nor failed at any of them. She hit puberty and began menstruating at the perfectly normal age of 14. She developed approximately two rhinovirus infections each year and had three ear infections over the course of her childhood. She had two wisdom teeth removed at the age of 17.
Despite never having had a Human child before, the staff of the Displacement Home were meticulous in their research and so provided Aurelie with precisely what she needed to grow and thrive, nothing more and nothing less. Books, media and toys were provided as she crossed each age threshold, with just enough to tide her over until the next age bracket was reached. Any gesture that could have seemed kind or generous was ruined through justification.
“Human children feel more secure with a companion at night, even if it is inanimate. It will help you sleep and stop you feeling lonely,” they had explained, presenting her with several stuffed toys.
“Perceived intimacy through physical contact is reassuring to Humans, particularly when the individual is one they know,” she was told as she was hugged.
“Tell me about your problems,” a matron would say every few days. “It’s important for Humans to express their emotions to others who they feel will understand.”
As she grew older, Aurelie began to refuse to engage with these behaviours, hating in part that they were invariably right. Hugs did help, and she kept the inanimate creatures on her bed well into adolescence. Despite pushing back, she still seemed to hit every expectation- understanding the concepts of Space-Time easily, leaving the Displacement Home the day she aged out to work at the Space-Time Bureau, having this ongoing, overwhelming need to figure out where she originated from… even once she was an adult and there weren’t developmental milestones in the same sense, Aurelie found that a new group of expectations grew around her that she once again constantly met head on. ‘Aurelie who’s always early to work’, ‘Aurelie who lives off caffeinated beverage’, ‘Aurelie who trains too much and socialises too little and still lives in the barracks.’
“Humans are creatures of habit,” an Aredbyne she used to work with had told her when she mentioned it. “We don’t expect you to be any different.”
Perhaps the Aredbyne didn’t see the irony, but Aurelie did. She wondered if they would have predicted how far she’ be willing to go to get home, regardless of what rules needed to be broken or bridges burnt in the process. She considered the longstanding trope of the ‘Human obsession with narrative’, and had the sinking feeling that she was, once again, meeting expectations.
Even the one thing she did which wasn’t normally human became a motif: ‘The only human who doesn’t like spaghetti.’ She wondered why she wasn’t allowed to simple be.
***
The walls of the training barracks were somewhere between cinnamon and beige: all the warmth of cinnamon, with none of the flavour. The floor was an easily wipeable grey linoleum, that was meant to not show any dirt and instead showed all the dirt. Panelled lighting ran along the top corners of the corridors, as it had quickly been learnt that anything which protruded would be destroyed by rowdy cadets.
Due to her seniority, or perhaps out of second-hand embarrassment for her choice of living situation, Aurelie had been promoted from the shared dorm of the new recruits and those actually going through training to the open floor apartment of their instructors, conveniently in a different wing to all of those who had taught her when she went through basic. The room included a small kitchenette, a chair, a screen that was smaller than standard but not greatly so, a largeish bedroom with a double bed and a dresser, and a washroom with all the Human necessities: toilet, bidet, shower, bath.
Aurelie could bring any additional furniture she wanted, and paint the walls any colour she desired provided it wasn’t vantablack, due to both safety concerns and the impossibility of painting over it without shadow. As it was, she stepped over the threshold to an apartment that was in essence identical to the one she had moved into three years before, except for a pull up bar she’d installed in the doorway between the living room and the bedroom. It was also slightly dustier, with a dent in one wall where she’d tripped once.
In those three years, Aurelie had referred to the location in which she lived as: the barracks, the ‘racks, the insane asylum, the apartment, the bed, the base, and ‘the place I go when they make me leave work’, amongst other, far ruder names. She had never once, however, referred to it as ‘home’.
Depositing the leftovers from her meal in the small, near pristine refrigeration unit, she tried to come to terms with her spartan existence. There were only small signs that she occupied the space: her shoes tucked away next to the door, her work clothes in the dresser, and her old textbooks from the Displacement Home taking up about a fifth of the available shelf space. Most nights this wouldn’t phase her, but tonight she found the lack of Aurelie in the space disquieting.
Biting her lip, she made her way to the pull-up bar and began doing slow, methodical pull ups in an attempt to quell the growing nerves. Nerves at what? There was nothing to be afraid of within the apartment itself. No one would try and rob or attack the barracks- possession or individuals, there was nothing of value within these walls.
Five pull ups, rest. Five pull ups, rest. Six pull ups, and she dropped from the bar, her trapezoid muscles burning.
Nerves at figuring out her displacement number? Forget that, she could bribe any of the races within the office with an inclination toward physical mathematics to do it for her. She didn’t need Bob- or by extension Micky, Sandy, or Rita, whose expressions had clearly stated their lack of desire to help her either (homogenous sheep, were the Chitinous Farers, not that she would ever express that thought out loud). There were other races who could do the math, and she had plenty of coin to offer them- years of working, living in the barracks and rarely spending on anything besides caffeinated beverage meant Aurelie had a sweet little nest egg already.
Damn, she could really go for some caffeinated beverage.
Dropping to the floor, she once again attempted to redirect her nervous energy. 25 push-ups. 2-minute plank. 25 push-ups. Mountain climbers. She had climbed several mountains in her life and had never used this movement.
There was a reason she didn’t keep caffeinated beverage in the apartment.
It was nerves that there wouldn’t be a good window, she decided, dropping to her elbows and trying to regulate her breathing. Nerves that she would have finally found where she came from and that she wouldn’t be able to get there. Or that she would have to wait another decade to get there.
Of course, if that was the case, she could look into the decently illegal practice of stream jumping. Decently illegal because of how complicated it was, and the various ways it could go wrong. Stream jumping involved entering one universe, waiting for the next standard time unit to begin, before moving over to another universe. In theory this could be used to reach any part of the universe, at any point in time, as different standard time units lined up different points of different universes.
In practice, this was a very good way to get hopelessly lost and to require retrieval.
Her core muscles finally giving out four and a half minutes into the plank, Aurelie rolled to her side, everything from her ribs to her groin a spasming mass of mild burning.
Another issue with stream jumping was the can of worms that was free will, the inevitability of it all, and of course the potential entity watching everything play out on a screen. If, through stream swapping, she ended up at an earlier point in the chronological time stream, then it had already happened. The flow of chronological time was unalterable: despite eye-wateringly large research investments it had been definitively concluded to be definite.
So, although Aurelie had not yet decided what to do (nor did she even currently know what all her options were), the impacts of her choices were likely already being felt in the time stream.
If she were a more philosophically inclined being, she would then question whether she’d ever had a choice in the matter at all, or whether all events were pre-destined, and if everything that happened to her was being played out for the entertainment of some distant unknown consuming her life as mere recreational media.
As it was, she was fairly certain that even if everything was some narrative constructed for the entertainment of a grander, more sentient being, then she was at best a minor character, if she was named at all; her life being far too dull to be either the main protagonist or the main antagonist. Unless, perhaps, itwas a story about Bob- she would happily be the primary antagonist in that.
Stripping off for the shower, she concluded it was fear that she would have to go stream jumping, and the repercussions that would carry. That was all. Nothing more, nothing less. She caught her reflection as she was about to climb in, making eye contact with herself, and her heart hurt.
On the other side of the mirror was her mother, exactly as she remembered her: long, dark curls and enormous animal-in-the-torchlight eyes, grey like steel filings.
“No matter what, never forget that you are loved,” she said, trying to match the exact intonation that she remembered. Then, throat tightening, she climbed under the stream, where the droplets would hide her tears from no one except herself.