nexus_sages | (no subject)

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Kazuhira Miller has made himself at home at a cozy Nexus seating group. He pores over a spread of newspapers and magazines covering a plethora of universes and alternate Earth timelines. To one side, a text book on theoretical physics is opened to a chapter on string theory and a cup of black coffee has formed a puckered ring over Donald Trump's leering face on an issue of Time Magazine.

He lays his current paper flat on the adjacent coffee table, leans forward to rest his elbows on his knees, and loosely clasp his palms. "What's the strangest news you've ever heard? Or, if you'd rather: what world event would you say has affected you the most?"

Miller's head turns and points to a four-inch stack of glossy flyers. He sighs. "And ... while we're at it, when did newspapers become seventy-percent ads?"

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

*His drama receives an unimpressed look.*

Don't sass, it was an Earth-human from your era who pointed out the two are indistinguishable.

*Her expression softens, or at least loses the annoyed edge, as she continues.*

You already understand the basics of chemistry, and how physical and chemical changes can alter the properties of matter. If your people haven't built their first particle accelerator yet, then they're close, at which point you'll start to understand how to build and break matter at the atomic level. That cup was probably changed under the same principles, just with a shortcut provided by the physics of some other Facet. It's not that strange, really.

"Fair enough. Although I'm going to keep on being disturbed that a guy with a horn coming out of his forehead has harnessed the power to alter matter at will."

He picks up the sole book on the coffee table -- the one on theoretical physics -- and flips the edge of the pages against his thumb. "What's your take on this place, then? String theory? Parallel universes? Or am I still looking at this through the myopic lens of the 20th century?"

Is racism still in fashion where you're from?

*Of all the Ixian mage's flaws to highlight, it seems he chose the one guaranteed to find the least purchase with her.*

Has someone where you're from coined the many-worlds quantum theory yet? Basic divergent/convergent temporal theory, with the Nexus as either the negative space in which the branches hang, or the metaphorical floor under them, where displaced debris accumulates. Operative point being that we're outside of time, space, and standard causality.

"Humanity is just getting over our obsession with skin color. Pardon me if, at a visceral level, horns and crab claws are a bridge too far," he snorts. "It doesn't help that he bursts into flame just to make a point."

He runs a hand through his hair and glances down at the collection of multiversal newspapers. "So, Schrodinger's cat can be dead and alive in parallel timelines? Or maybe ... maybe ... there's a divergent chain of events where I didn't say racist shit, had a better chance of making a good impression, and I took you out for drinks?"

It was inevitable that it would loop back to pickup lines. There's probably a law of physics to describe that.

*She sighs at the return to pick-up lines.*

For your safety and mine, let's get something clear: there is zero chance that I will be interested in someone I just met. If that person lets their viscera do their thinking for them, the chance is negative. When I know you better, maybe we can get drinks, but until then stop trying.

*She's quiet for just a moment, letting that sink in. She's giving him a chance, and will see what he does with it.*

Schrödinger's cat: at the moment the cat is put into the box, the timeline splits. In one timeline, the particle decayed instantly, the poison was released, and the cat died. In the other, the cat is not dead yet. Or, more accurately, those are the general gist of the two main timeline groups, each encompassing a micro-infinity of potentiality encompassing all the possible variations of molecular vibration and subatomic spin. As long as the cat remains in the box, it keeps spooling off potential timelines in which the particle took an increasing period to decay. These are all spooling off of the timeline where it hasn't decayed yet, and the cat is still alive. Clear so far?

"Hey, hey! I was just talking about an alternate timeline!" Kaz backpedals. He props his chin back on his hand, trying to look nonchalant even in the face of rejection. "In our reality, that ship has clearly sailed."

He nods at the lengthy explanation, regardless of whether it all sunk in. "Clear as a bell! But you're also saying that this place exists apart from that gigantic ... temporal fractal? And somehow we got ejected from that structure?"

*She raises a brow at his backpedaling, but finds her message has been clear enough for now.*

Yes. The Nexus exists outside all possible time and space, and is in contact with all possible time and space. Most of what ends up here is accidental; debris from fractured timelines, reality quakes, and the like. Occasionally, for reasons not always fully or remotely understood, temporary or permanent apertures open between specific points in potential spacetime and here. So, either the universe shook, and you fell off, or you took a wrong turn through a door that wasn't there or didn't lead here before, and now you're stuck--unless you remember your way back, and it's still open.

"Apertures? Like the portals that guy -- Naugus -- is offering? That's beginning to sound like my only recourse. I'll be damned if I can find the door I came through."

His fingers rasp against a bit of stubble as he rubs his jaw. "Have you hired one of these portal-makers? Naugus made it sound like it was only himself and another guy who have the skill for it."

From what I understand, there's two rival mages selling ways home. Naugus you've met, and he'll make you a door. The other one's humanoid, and for a price he'll find your door.

*She gives a slight shake of her head.*

My solution's technological. There are portal devices, PINpoints, that you can find sometimes. They don't do much good without destination coordinates, though--I had to find the needle in an infinite haystack to go home.

"Naugus was happy to trash talk his competition. Awfully quick to accuse him of usury. On the other hand, his rates seemed like too much of a bargain. Nullum gratuitum prandium."

His eyebrows raise, curious. "Where do you go about finding these PINpoint things? I'd guess they're in high demand if everyone here shows up as stuck as I am and ... you know, don't want to end up indebted to interdimensional strangers."

Those two have had some fairly loud public arguments. Good entertainment for everyone else, though.

*She considers his latter question, and him, casting that measuring eye over him again. She sidesteps the query for now with one of her own.*

What is it you do, where you're from?

"I'm the executive officer for a PMC operating out of Central America." He taps the patch on his fatigues. It features an ominous-looking skull and embroidered text: " Militaires Sans Frontières. I mostly handle high-level admin work and radio support. Sometimes I'll help out in the mess hall if I'm feeling a culinary itch."

He brings his hands down to clasp the knee of his crossed leg. "Mind if I ask you the same? What kind of day job runs the risk of planetary destruction?"

*She looks the patch over when he draws attention to it. She had a feeling, and this confirms it: he's pretty much the last kind of person she'd want to see getting their hands on a PINpoint. Dimensional and temporal travel in the hands of someone running a mercenary company--it's too good a strategic advantage to pass up, inserting personnel anywhere, anywhen, making every supply line a single portal in length, backstopping cover identities by actually going back in time and filing the appropriate paperwork on the proper machines. Who wouldn't use an advantage like that?*

I'm a bounty hunter. Fully licensed in the Galactic Federation and several adjacent jurisdictions, threat class G. Rated for search-and-destroy, live capture, retrieval, delivery, escort, and recon.

*She taps her wrist, and a hologram projects from the back of her hand, a cloud of information the future looks on as equivalent to a driver's license.*

Kaz whistles, impressed by her credentials. "You'll have to give me your number. For purely professional reasons, of course. I'm always looking to expand our network of contacts."

He extends a hand. "By the way, the name's Kazuhira Miller. 'Kaz' for short."

You think you can afford me?

*Her smile is wry as she reaches past the extended hand to clasp the forearm behind it. Maybe handshakes are a little different in space.*

Samus Aran. Samus for short, Hunter Aran if we're being professional.

Miller laughs. "We're still scraping the guano and barnacles off of our second-hand offshore plant. So ... not right now, unless you're offering any steep discounts."

He tenses instinctively when she clasps his wrist, ready to counter whatever CQC maneuver she might be trying to pull. When nothing comes of this, he relaxes and belatedly returns the gesture.

"A pleasure, Hunter Aran."

*She notices him tense, and can't resist a chuckle.*

Likewise, Mr. Miller. Nervous?

*The gesture done, she withdraws her hand.*

Mm, I do take on the occasional project for more ephemeral reasons than money.

"I'm not afraid to admit I get tense around powerful women," he retorts, emboldened by the laughter.

"I like to think we're not completely lacking a moral compass, if that's any consolation. The primary goal of the MSF is not to become the exclusive tool of any particular country or ideology; to pick and choose clients at our discretion. It's not all about grubbing money."

He inhales a hissing breath. "Even though, at the moment, we are a little desperate for venture capital ...

"That said, let me know if you ever want to take on a charity case, haha."

You can relax. I couldn't hurt you if I wanted to.

*A hand slides behind her neck, seemingly to adjust her hair, but comes back holding something small and pistol-ish. It's leveled at Miller in less time than it takes to tell, and she squeezes off three shots of crackling energy, dead-center...*

*...which, of course, dissipate harmlessly against him, leaving no more sign of their passing than a slight smell of ozone. And as quick as the weapon is drawn, it's spun in the palm of a hand lifted away from him and into a gesture of almost-surrender, fingers open, thumb curled around the stock of the weapon.*

Nothing can, unless you consciously allow it--or attack first. You're quite safe from me.

*She sits back, slowly, taking care to present body language that seems at ease, rather than preparing a follow-up strike. Her lips twitch upward in a hint of a smile as she carries the conversation onward, as though she hadn't just done something shocking.*

I'm glad to hear it. I find ethics especially precious among the professionally violent. And as charity cases go, well... I'm willing to go farther for a friend than for a job.

*Unspoken is that he's heard already how far she'll go for a job.*

All of this happens far too fast for Miller to do anything more than throw up his arms reflexively. After the shots are fired and the AV field does its work, he reluctantly lowers them. He smiles wryly.

"Let's see ..." Miller begins counting on his fingers. "In the past 48 hours, I've been punched, almost set on fire, and now shot at. I think I'm getting the hang of this anti-violence thing."

He leans around, looking for wherever that pistol disappeared to. "What the hell kind of weapon was that, anyway?"

*Her answering smile is just as wry.*

My, you are popular.

*The weapon is still in view, held in a very clearly not-ready-for-combat manner until he's relaxed. Once he has, she flips it around to a proper grip again with an alacrity that might make the earlier gesture of placation seem dubious.*

Flex-yield multi-function light stunner. Set well below lethal, right now, just in case.

"Ha! I know! Everyone wants a piece of me! Back in my home world, a guy beat me within an inch of my life and now I'm his second in command."

Kaz reaches out to touch the weapon, stopping short to give Samus a look that says may I?

"Fancy! Didn't look like solid rounds. Some kind of electric pulse?"

That's an interesting employee retention program.

*She notes his stopping short, and inquiring look, and reverses her grip on it to relinquish it.*

Electrical pulse on a braided magnetic carrier beam. I think most Earths have some light electrical weapons contemporary to your era?

*Worth noting is that the gun goes dark when it leaves Samus' hand.*

"Hey, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em." Kaz takes the weapon and turns it over gingerly before testing the grip. As clear as it is that the gun is inactive and the anti-violence field is a thing, he still keeps it trained downwards.

"A NASA engineer recently developed what he called a TASER; it fires electrodes connected by wire. Not the most elegant design." He laughs. It's actually embarrassing compared to this beauty of a gun.

"It's not exactly the same as this puppy, but there's plenty of speculative work being done with concentrated electromagnetic waves, lasers, sonic waves... Given the zeal of the arms industry, I wager we'll have some viable directed energy weapons in no time. Not nearly this compact or nuanced, though." He offers the gun back, grip first.

Pragmatic, to a point.

*She notices the good gun-handling habits, and silently approves.*

Taser, that's the one. It's a fair start.

*Receiving her weapon, she tucks it away behind the nape of her neck again.*

To be fair, this has a few development cycles on your taser. You'll get there, I have no doubt. Most of the Earths I've seen have some directed thermal weapons for crowd control by the turn of the millennium. So, something to look forward to.