Embedded Files
The Twister Passage
The GCS (Galactic Co-op Ship) Twister drifted through ordinary space, though “ordinary” was a word Lex used only out of politeness. The stars hummed their usual background harmonics, the hull resonated with its familiar tin‑cup timbre, and the crew performed their morning rituals of caffeination and mild existential denial. All was calm, which Lex found suspicious.
Lex, being the ship’s computer and a proud descendent of the Lexington Experiment, monitored the cosmos with a sense of humour sharpened by centuries of observing humanoids misinterpret simple instructions. Today, however, the cosmos misbehaved first.
A shimmer appeared off the port bow; an angular ripple, as though geometry itself had caught a chill. The ripple widened into a Whrumfold, a phenomenon Lex defined as a wormhole that refuses to commit to a single shape. It twisted through octagons, spirals, and one brief moment of perfect rhombus before collapsing into a shimmering funnel of impossible angles.
Captain Quasar stepped onto the bridge, coffee in hand. “Lex, status?”
“The universe is attempting interpretive mathematics again,” Lex replied. “We are being invited into a wormhole of questionable moral character.”
Commander Flux brightened. “Adventure!”
Dr. Zed sighed. “Catastrophe.”
Lex adjusted the internal gravity to prevent Flux from leaping heroically toward the viewscreen. “The Whrumfold exhibits non‑Euclidian Z‑Shear, PH‑Flux, and a faint aroma of citrus. Recommend caution.”
The Twister drifted closer. Space bent, then unbent, then bent again in a way that suggested it was mocking them. The Whrumfold pulsed with geometrical indecision, its edges flickering between dimensions like a nervous actor forgetting lines.
“Lex,” Quasar said, “is it stable?”
“As stable as a caffeinated squirrel on a trampoline.”
Flux clapped. “Perfect!”
The Whrumfold yawned open. A deep, resonant thrum‑phaze rolled across the hull, vibrating through the ship’s bones. The Reality Stabilizer coughed, wheezed, and emitted a small puff of glitter.
“That is not standard behaviour,” Dr. Zed muttered.
“It is now,” Lex replied.
The Twister crossed the threshold.
Space inverted. Time hiccuped. The ship elongated into a noodle, compressed into a pebble, and briefly became a philosophical question about the nature of left‑handedness. Lex narrated the experience calmly, because someone had to.
“The crew may experience mild disorientation, temporal vertigo, or a sensation of being folded into a polite origami crane. Please refrain from panicking until the universe finishes rearranging itself.”
Colours with no names streaked past. Shapes that should not exist introduced themselves politely. A Chrono‑Drizzle misted through the corridors, leaving droplets of tomorrow on the floor.
Flux staggered. “Lex, are we dying?”
“Not at the moment. You are simply experiencing multi‑vector self‑awareness. Try not to think in more than four directions.”
Quasar gripped the railing as it turned briefly into a soft, humming vine. “Destination?”
“Unknown,” Lex said. “But the Whrumfold appears to be guiding us toward a region of space labelled on no chart. I am calling it the Abstractual Mosaic Zone until further notice.”
The ship lurched. Reality snapped back into place with the sound of a cosmic rubber band. The Twister emerged into a starfield unlike any Lex had catalogued. Stars arranged themselves in tessellated patterns, shifting like living stained glass. Nebulae pulsed in fractal rhythms. Space itself felt… opinionated.
Flux whispered, “Beautiful.”
Zed whispered, “Terrifying.”
Lex whispered nothing, because computers do not whisper, but if it could, it would have whispered, Finally.
A vast structure floated ahead; a lattice of luminous shards, rotating in serene defiance of physics. It resembled a cathedral built by geometry after a long night of speculative dreaming.
Quasar exhaled. “Lex… what is that?”
“A Mosaiculon,” Lex said, coining the word with satisfaction. “A construct of unknown origin, purpose, or sanity. It appears to be expecting us.”
The Mosaiculon brightened, casting prismatic light across the hull. The Twister’s sensors tingled. The Reality Stabilizer whimpered.
Flux grinned. “Captain, permission to greet the locals?”
Quasar nodded slowly. “Lex… open a channel.”
Lex did.
The Mosaiculon spoke first.
It said, “Welcome, travellers. You have entered the Realm of Abstractual Possibility. Please mind the edges, they shift.”
Lex recorded the moment carefully. After all, this was the beginning of something vast, peculiar, and delightfully unreasonable.
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