Chapter Text
“Damn!”
Fjord fiddled with the mask’s interface, half-heartedly scrolling through files and folders. They had a vague sense of what most of the text said, though their understanding was limited by their incomplete knowledge of Nomai language and their incomplete knowledge of alien computer science. If they really wanted to understand what they were seeing they could have slowed down, pulled out their translator, and analyzed each file individually. But they weren’t really here to understand: they were here to fidget.
“Damn,” they repeated. There was nothing particularly the matter, they just felt like swearing.
A glance upward reminded them why they were in this mood. At the center of the spinning core of Ash Twin lay the enigmatic casing that protected the Advanced Warp Core. Someday soon, they would pull that core and everyone they knew would die.
It wasn’t a huge deal at this point, really. Back when Fjord had first figured it out — when they realized there was nothing they could do to stop the sun from exploding, when they realized why they were stuck in this time loop, when they realized that there was nothing left but to see the Eye of the Universe — it had been somewhat traumatizing, yes. They remembered going to see Gabbro and having a long chat about the whole situation, during which many tears were shed and tender words spoken.
But in hindsight, Gabbro was perhaps the best person in the universe that the hatchling could have been stuck with in this time loop. The older astronaut had plenty of insights into the nature of their situation and reality at large that helped them cope remarkably well. Chief among them was this simple observation: there was no rush. They had all the time in the world to wait and relax. Yes, Fjord would have to go to the Eye and end it all. But before then, why not do everything they had ever wanted? Why not complete their bucket lists?
“That’s a great idea!” Fjord had said. “What’s on your bucket list?”
Gabbro had thought about that question a great deal before replying, “Well, before I die, I want to sit in my hammock and play my flute.”
“But… Gabbro, isn’t that what you do all the time already?”
At this information Gabbro had descended into what appeared to be genuine shock, followed by joy. “Oh stars, time buddy, you’re right! I guess that’s my bucket list sorted, then.”
That just left Fjord — though the hatchling’s list proved significantly more difficult. They had landed their ship on the Sun Station. They had entered the Stranger’s simulation and touched one of its inhabitants’ noses. They had stolen a bottle of sap wine from Porphy and downed the entire thing (Gabbro had helped with this one). That had all been a month ago, however, because now Fjord had only the toughest challenge remaining. Everything else paled in comparison; they would rather sit and look through random files in an old Nomai computer than even think about this final, world-ending task.
They wanted to kiss Hal. On the lips.
It was a silly hang-up, they knew. After all, they had literally died — hundreds of times. How could anything possibly scare them anymore? But every time the hatchling tried to approach their best friend to tell them how they felt, their words failed them. What were they even supposed to say? They had known each other since they had hatched! If in all those years Fjord had never worked up the courage to ask Hal out, what good would an infinite time loop do?
Gabbro was much less helpful about this conundrum. They said something about being honest, speaking truth, and allowing one’s aura to synchronize with the being around them. Fjord got the feeling they were uncomfortable with the topic, and ruefully realized that this might go some way towards explaining why Gabbro was still single.
They were shaken from their musings by an actual discovery. In their idle browsing they had stumbled upon a subdirectory with a single folder inside. When they attempted to select the folder, a pop-up appeared on the little holographic display. They squinted their eyes before pulling out their translator — this seemed important.
RESTORE DATA? YES/NO
Fjord considered that for a moment. Normally they were very wary of messing with anything in this room. One of these masks carried their own memories; it was the only link that kept them aware of the time loop. The notion of accidentally disrupting that, or somehow disabling the time loop altogether, was terrifying. But this was one of the unpaired masks — logically, it should have no effect on the hatchling. Most likely this was just some junk data that the Nomai forgot to fully delete. On an impulse, they flicked their eyes over to the “yes” input.
Immediately there was an explosion of text streaming across the display. It took Fjord a minute to realize what was happening: there were a lot of files in that folder. Their filenames were whizzing past as they were restored, totally locking the Hearthian out of the interface for several seconds. When it was over, however, the hatchling was rather disappointed with the aftermath. None of the filenames were descriptive; the actual content of the files was utterly cryptic. They couldn’t make heads or tails of whatever it is they had activated and, after quickly checking the higher-level systems to make sure nothing had broken, they concluded that it was a dud.
It had been a fun distraction while it had lasted, but a glance at their map confirmed that the sun was about to blow. Maybe next loop they would come back and try to figure it out. For now they sat back and watched as the black hole formed above them, fueled by the fiery death of their own star. The sight was unnerving in some ways, but Fjord chose now to find it reassuring. After all, as long as that black hole was there, nothing that bad could happen. Things were going to be okay.
When they awoke by the campfire on Timber Hearth, things were not okay.
Confusion! Perfectly conflicting emotions collided in their head, resulting in a muddled confusion that overloaded their senses. They were shocked and terrified, for they had never been here before. They were relaxed and reassured, because they were back home. An alien sat in front of them! Their name was Slate. Did they have an extra eye?! No, they had the usual four.
Help. They needed help. They addressed the engineer across the fire: “Baaaa, Slate?”
Slate turned to them and blinked; they blinked back. What had they just said? The first part made sense, they were just saying hello. But who was “Slate”? How had they even managed to pronounce that strange name?
Before the bewildered Slate could respond, they ran away. This was weird; best no one saw them like this until they figured it out. They stopped behind a pine tree once they were convinced they were alone. A pine tree! Were they on Timber Hearth? Of course they were on Timber Hearth. And their legs that had taken them here: were they always that strong? Yes, yes they were! Hold on, what gender were they? No, hold on; what was “gender”?!
The only saving grace of their condition was that they were too confused to be terrified. Somehow out of the slew of thoughts rose a single, poignant question.
“Where did I just come from?” they said out loud. Instantaneously, two different thoughts responded.
The Ash Twin Project.
Statue Island on Giant’s Deep.
That question-and-answer offered a semblance of structure to their mind; they eagerly tried again: “What is my name?”
I’m Fjord.
I am Daz.
That double-answer prompted an immediate double-question. Their mouth opened to say, “Da-Baaa—?” before closing again once it became apparent that they could not speak two sentences at the same time. They tried again, with one question winning out: “Daz? The Nomai who created the memory storage masks?”
Among other things, yes, I am that Daz .
The other question got its turn: “Fjord is a highly unusual name. Am I not Nomai?”
No, I’m Hearthian .
This was working. The internal conversation was desynchronizing their mind’s conflicting responses, revealing two distinct entities. “Hypothesis: I — we are two people.”
Yes, that makes sense. I am Fjord, you are Daz.
I am Daz, you are Fjord.
That left one burning, obvious question. “How did you get here?”
I am supposed to be here. This is my body. I woke up at the start of the time loop on Timber Hearth, just like I expected to.
I most certainly am not supposed to be here. One moment I was testing Phlox’s memory statue, the next I was here. I have no explanation for this.
Fjord swallowed. Yes, Fjord did — as their personalities coalesced within their shared brain, Fjord could feel themself becoming increasingly lucid and regaining more control over their motor functions. With unmuddled, independent emotions returning, the hatchling felt the pang of fear. This must have something to do with those files I restored , they thought.
Files? A moment — yes, I remember…
An unnerving pressure assaulted the edge of Fjord’s nascent consciousness, like fingers trawling through the recesses in their brain. They were remembering the previous loop — no, Daz was remembering their memories. The transgression threatened to break down their fragile identity and return them to the Daz-Fjord soup from which they had just escaped. With a psychological heave that they could not explain in words, the Hearthian pushed the Nomai out of their memories and back into his own corner of their brain.
I don’t think that’s a good idea , Fjord thought shakily.
Yes, of course. It is much less confusing if we try to remain separate, to say nothing of your privacy. I apologize; this whole situation is… highly, highly distressing .
DIstressing? Is that all this is?!
The more the situation settled, the greater a panic began to rise within Fjord. What had they done ? There was an alien inside their head! They could feel him existing at the edges of their mind, always the flicker of his thoughts and feelings blurring with their own. It took constant, conscious effort not to be subsumed — as if one had to breathe manually to avoid suffocating. It was untenable. They couldn’t live like this!
Fjord , Daz thought. We’re shaking. Please, try to focus.
Focus? How can I focus when there is a three hundred thousand year old stranger speaking to me in my mind!
Three hundred…? Eye above, I… That’s… No; focus Daz, focus. Identify and explain, identify and explain. We’ve identified an unusual phenomenon. We must explain it. Fjord, you were in the Ash Twin Project and restored some files. Therefore you must have some means of transport to get there, correct? We should go back and determine what happened.
It was a logical assessment. Fjord found their footing and began to nervously pace back to the launch pad. Perhaps it was Daz’s calming mantra, but they began to consider some less sinister implications of their new reality as they walked. This was a Nomai! Yes, it was terrifying, but it was also exciting. No more language barrier, no more scrambling for crumbs of long-decayed knowledge: if they had a question, they could simply ask it. The mystery of the Nomai and the secrets of technology beyond Hearthian understanding lay unfettered within Fjord’s head!
But first, like all new and horrifying things they had experienced since that fateful trip to the Observatory, they needed to learn how to survive this. As the autopilot took them towards Ash Twin, Fjord focused on themselves. The psychic walls between Daz and them were built ever higher; the strain to remain independent less urgent. Daz was apparently going through a similar process in his half of their brain, because the two hardly spoke — thought? — during the journey. Their efforts reinforced each other’s until, by the time they were rocketing towards the Ash Twin warp pad, they had confidently restored a semblance of functionality.
As they approached the tower, Daz’s thoughts suddenly crossed their mental barrier. What the — who is that? Are they alright? We must assist them!
Fjord realized he was talking about the dead Nomai in a spacesuit that stood solemn guard over the entrance to the tower. I’m pretty sure that’s Yarrow. And… I don’t think there’s anything we can do for him . They were close enough that the hatchling had no need to justify that claim further: holes in the spacesuit revealed glimpses of the long-dead skeleton within.
Yarrow… There was a wave of emotion from Daz that caught the Hearthian off guard. Fjord, just what exactly has happened?
There was no easy answer. Luckily, the roar of the approaching sand column provided a convenient excuse: It’s a long story. Let’s focus on figuring out why you’re in my head, and how we can undo it.
Y-yes. Of course.
They leapt through the sand and into the quiet, stale air of the Ash Twin Project. Fjord marched right up to the mask that they had been fiddling with the previous loop, opened its display panel, and stared at the listed directories. The hatchling stumbled for a moment. I was messing around in here, they explained. But… well, I don’t really know what I did. I don’t actually understand this stuff very well.
An uncomfortable spasm rolled through their fingers before Daz responded, You seem to have better control over this body than I. If you allow me use of your arms, I can examine the mask more thoroughly .
Reluctantly, Fjord acquiesced. They stopped thinking about their arms — despite how fundamentally difficult it is to try to not think about something — and their hands started to move all on their own. It was beyond creepy: it was the kind of experience that had the poor Hearthian recalling all the horrific ways in which they had been killed in order to provide a favorable comparison. They were like a puppet on strings and, despite all the surely fascinating data that flashed on the screen as Daz worked the computer into a frenzy, they were relieved when the strings were cut and they found themselves in control of their body once more.
Well? Fjord prodded after Daz remained silent for a few seconds.
When the Nomai did respond, their thoughts were quiet and deflated. Those files you restored — they were memories. My memories. I remember recording them in a test on Giant’s Deep — actually, that’s the last thing I remember. I was still testing the mask’s capacity at the time, so I had the statue download all of my memories instead of only the memories formed after pairing. I should have deleted them after the test but… by default, when a file is deleted, it goes into a temporary holding folder in a compressed state .
Fjord nodded sagely. They remembered Slate saying something about this when they were trying to explain how their ship’s computer worked. You forgot to empty the recycle bin .
As I’m not familiar with a “recycle bin,” I can’t say if that’s an apt analogy. Regardless, when you restored those memories with the Ash Twin Project active, the mask tried to send them to whoever it was paired with. But as no one was paired, it seems to have defaulted to the next active pairing in the mask network… that is, you. My memories are now fully integrated with yours; they’re inseparable. Daz’s thoughts numbed even further. And it seems you were correct, Fjord. The mask has recorded over two hundred and eighty thousand years of inactivity.
His despair hung in their brain. Fjord felt a sudden pang of guilt. They had been so terrified ever since waking up that they hadn’t even considered that they were only one of the victims here. Daz must have been twice as disorientated, and yet remained twice as collected. The hatchling took a deep breath, and then began to explain.
They told Daz about the failure of the Sun Station, and the Interloper, and the ghost matter. They told him how Hearthians had evolved and looked to the stars, dreaming of following in the footsteps of the Nomai. They told him about their own adventures, from that first bizarre encounter with the statue in the museum to their discovery of the coordinates to the Eye of the Universe. When they felt they had given a good enough summary of their life for the past month they fell quiet. The Ash Twin Project hummed innocently; its causeway spun mesmerizing loops overhead.
So, Daz thought eventually, Cassava, Avens… they are all dead. Even Daz — the real Daz — is long dead. I am just a copy born of a silly error that I don’t even remember making.
Fjord could feel shades of their old conversation with Gabbro in the Nomai’s tone. It was a sadness they had learned to reject. Now, hold on. Maybe there would be some confusion if there were two of you running around at the same time, but the other “Daz” is a pile of bones on Giant’s Deep. I could show you, if you wanted. You’re a hell of a lot more “real” than him, in his state.
A smile broke out across their face. Fjord was confused by this, until they realized it had come from Daz. I suppose you’re right, my friend. Truthfully, I believe I can cope with this better than I would expect. Perhaps our emotions were not evolved to comprehend this level of loss.
I know what you mean .
There was another moment of shared silence before Daz spoke up again.
But wait just an arcsecond — the Ash Twin Project was a success, in a fashion! You found the coordinates to the Eye of the Universe! That was the goal of my people for longer than I have been… had been… alive!
The hatchling nodded. Not only that, but I found the Vessel that brought your people here. And right above our heads is a warp core that could power it, taking us directly to the Eye.
You what ? Daz’s outburst jerked their whole body forward in shock. With all due respect — what are we still doing here?
Well, that warp core is powering the time loop, right? I wouldn’t really have a problem ending it, only… Fjord stumbled over their thoughts and their cheeks began to burn. It had been embarrassing enough explaining this to Gabbro. Uh, well, I don’t suppose the Nomai know what a bucket list is?
No. This Nomai, at least, does not.
Okay. Well. I have this friend named Hal — and before I go, you know. End all life in this system forever. I wanted to — well, I wanted to do lots of things, but this is just all that’s left — you know, it’s not like this is all I was thinking about. It’s not like this was the only thing that mattered. It’s just, uh…
They paused. They could feel Daz’s confusion, but the Nomai waited patiently for them to finish.
I just want to kiss them. Hal, I mean. Once.
Almost instantly, the foreign smile on their face cracked open into a foreign chuckle. Fjord found it a little patronizing, and more than a little uncomfortable, for someone else to be laughing at them through their own mouth. But after a moment the absurdity of the situation breached their defenses, too. For a universe so supposedly indifferent, it sure knew how to spin a good farce. They doubled over and fell to their knees. A raucous double-laughter ejected discordantly from their mouth, their poor lungs and diaphragm straining under the pressure. The sound echoed against the walls of the Ash Twin Project — a Nomai device built within a Hearthian body. The irony was lost on them.
My young friend , Daz thought at last as Fjord wiped tears from their eyes, It would be an honor to help you in this grand endeavor at the end of all things.
Really? I mean, great! Thank you! Maybe this is just what I needed: a voice in my head to tell me what to say to Hal. You’ll make the perfect wingman!
You’re welcome — though us Nomai are hircine, not avian.
That’s… no, a wingman is… forget it. Thank you, Daz. Thank you.
It had not been the loop that Fjord had expected. Normally, that would be a bad thing — so far in their time-traveling journey, unexpected revelations were almost universally bad news. But for once, as the black hole above them opened up once more, they could look back on the last twenty-two minutes with gratitude. The universe had surprises left for them, and they were going to make the most of it before the end.