One of the few downsides to being a part of the Council is how easy it makes everything. Before I joined up, building my own dimensional tunneler would have taken years, but every step of the process would have been fun. Whenever I found myself in need of a rare, expensive, or proprietary piece of hardware, I’d have to acquire it myself. If security around the object was too high, I’d have to assemble a crew. Now, all I have to do is put in a requisition order, and somebody will make sure it’s at my front door within the week. Even constructing the machine is simple, as Network can put any number of bodies to the task, while I merely act as the architect. It’s boring, and were this any other project, I might have willingly taken the slower, more interesting route just to keep myself entertained. But this project is important, and I’m willing to deal with being bored if it means finding Father sooner rather than later.

The ease with which most of the project is completed does, however, leave me with plenty of time to work with Ishtar. Most of that work consists of acclimating her to the real world, such as it is. She’s surprisingly eager to actually see the sights that she’d only been told about before. New York, Paris, Beijing, Moscow. There was some debate over whether she should be hidden by a holographic veil, but ultimately it was deemed unnecessary. While most metahumans don’t have the level of obvious physical alteration she does, it’s not so uncommon that she’s likely to be treated like some sort of pariah. Given that we spend most of the time under the sun, where her skin is a pale white, I suspect most people assume she’s simply a hardcore goth type.

It’s over the course of these trips that we discuss our respective histories in greater detail. There isn’t terribly much she has to offer on that subject, though- no childhood to speak of, having been grown in a vat until she reached a certain age, just as I was. But while I was more or less free once I’d reached that benchmark, her ‘birth’ only heralded the start of more regimentation and hierarchy. She was bred specifically for the excursion to Earth, so much of her ‘upbringing’ was immersing her in our culture, teaching her our language and customs, but with the attitude of preparing a deep-cover agent for a mission into hostile enemy territory.

For my part, I tell her about Father, how he programmed me, and how I escaped that programming. I share stories of my more entertaining escapades, on both sides of the law. Eventually, I even tell her why I’m planning on retrieving his corpse. It’s hard to say whether she’s sympathetic, per se, given the concept of familial relations is something she only understands in the academic sense, but she’s about as supportive as one might expect. The desire to escape one’s artificially-imposed destiny is something she can relate to.

With the help of the Vanaheim data, I finalize the plans for the dimensional tunneler in about a week and a half. Constructing the thing takes six weeks longer, even with Axel rotating in new construction bodies every twelve hours so that the work never stops. He isn’t just relying on the stolen forms of people he thought deserved to be replaced, either. Not long after I joined up with the Council, I offered them use of Father’s cloning technology, the very same that I’m a product of. He still copies over plenty of real people, but only for the purposes of controlling various global power centers. Any task that takes place out of the public eye, like acting as my one-man construction crew, he uses clone bodies for. Not only are they ‘born’ brain-dead, which eliminates all the nasty ethical implications of his power, they’re also bioengineered to be stronger and have more stamina.

Designing the tunneler and building it are only two parts of the project, though. The third, and most complex, is figuring out how to get to my destination. Father didn’t exactly leave behind directions, and anything he brought with him that might make him easy to track, like the unique radioactive isotope in his ‘death-ray,’ won’t be detectable through the dimensional membrane. However, I do have some idea where he went, and even if I’m wrong, I can always try again. The energy expenditure won’t be cheap, but it’s not like we’re short on resources. A few years from now, it won’t even be a vague concern in the back of my head- we’ll have the first fraction of our Dyson sphere project up and running. Only 0.5% of the total planned build, but still more than enough for our purposes.

Based on what I’ve been able to dig up from Father’s few surviving notes, and interviews with the remaining members of his crew, the Terrors, I have a general idea of what he was looking for. Unlike Vanaheim’s founders, it wasn’t a dimension with slower or faster relative time, but rather one abundant in resources. There’s a theory in metahuman science that certain abilities, such as matter or energy ‘generation,’ don’t create anything ex nihilo at all. Instead, they draw the energy or matter from pocket dimensions ‘adjacent’ to our own. Considering this explanation is more consistent with the laws of thermodynamics, it’s a relatively popular one. Father believed that there was a dimension he could access that would be overflowing with natural resources he could use. Rivers of raw energy, peaks of purest diamond, that sort of thing. He intended to plunder that dimension for all it was worth. Not only to better equip himself for further schemes, although that was a major factor, but also because he thought it might be possible to cut off certain powers at their source. If you could hold a metahuman’s very abilities hostage, you could make them do anything. It seems he never got to test that notion, because he never came back from his initial incursion, and neither did the Vitruvian, who went in after him. Nor have there been any inexplicable ‘power outages’ that I’ve heard of. More likely, Father miscalculated his entry point and ended up inside of a star, or simply starved to death because his recall device was damaged in the struggle. I don’t intend to make any such mistakes. Retrieving his body may be important to me, but not nearly important enough to die over.

On the evening before the trip, Ishtar and I have dinner at Winters House. The calculations are finished, the tunneler is charging up, and I’m having salmon. Ishtar is trying lasagna for the first time. I made it a personal mission to introduce her to as much good food as possible, after learning she’d only ever consumed protein slurry prior to leaving Vanaheim. If that alone isn’t enough to convince her to side with us over them, I don't know what will be.

For the first few weeks, we ate in the dining room, at the grand oak table where the future of the world was once decided. It’s an impressive room, to be sure- portraits of past patriarchs of the Winters line, Father’s face absent by design, surround the table. Genuine suits of medieval armor stand guard in every corner. The table could comfortably seat two dozen, but that makes it a little uncomfortable when you’re just two. Now, we eat at a small table on an upper-floor balcony, overlooking the garden. There’s an automated system that keeps the flowers watered, since neither Father nor I had much interest in botany. A gentle breeze leaves the curtains fluttering, and the setting sun seems to be setting the sky aflame. From afar, the manor looks to be in the same state of disrepair it’s remained in since Father disappeared, but that’s the result of a holographic illusion. I had the place restored some time ago, but letting the rest of the world see that would bring unwanted guests to my door.

“I was thinking about Venice,” Ishtar says casually, before taking a sip from her glass of wine. Alcohol is another new discovery for her, though apparently she’s got a built-in tolerance to poisons that dulls the effects somewhat. “After you get back.”

“I don’t know if I’ll have quite as much time on my hands when I come back. But I’m sure we’ll be able to find a chance.”

There have been blessedly few urgent situations requiring my attention since work on the tunneler started. With Network handling the construction, and the more complex calculations outsourced to Ulysses and his wonderful quantum brain, I’ve been largely free to spend time with Ishtar. It’s not exactly a vacation, but when showing a beautiful woman around the most beautiful parts of the world qualifies as work, the word starts to lose its meaning.

“Mhm. Speaking of which, I rather think it’s time you found something for me to do. Not that our trips haven’t been lovely, but I feel as if I’m not really pulling my weight. I want to be a proper Councilmember, not just some glorified tourist.”

She’s selling herself a bit short. Ishtar is a bona fide member of Extinction Group now, and doesn’t hesitate to provide her perspective in our weekly meetings. But besides that, she doesn’t have very many responsibilities compared to the rest of us. It’s a reasonable request, but not one I’m certain I know how to fulfill. The Council can be divided into two loose groups- those of us with day jobs, and those without. Those who do have major responsibilities outside of the Council, like Kellan and Tahir, spend most of their time dealing with them. The rest of us, like Zero and myself, have things to do that advance the group’s overall agenda. I build things, she runs the internet, Ulysses runs the stock market, and Network runs everything else. Ishtar doesn’t have the sort of ability that would allow her to do anything of that nature, but she also isn’t really suited for a ‘day job’ of any kind. That leaves me at a bit of a loss in terms of what she could actually do on a day-to-day basis.

“I agree. We’ll have to confer with some of the others, and determine where your talents will be of most use.”

When in doubt, a diplomatic response is best. It’s also true- I have a feeling one of the others might be able to offer an answer where I’m struggling. The way I framed the entire problem is a reflection of my ability, which inclines me towards categorization and linear thinking. It’s a useful mindset for a mechanical engineer, but not so much a social one. Hell, maybe she could join up with the Front Line. It’s not like she’d have to worry about being asked awkward questions by reporters with them.

Ishtar makes a vague noise, indicating she’s not entirely satisfied with my answer. I don’t really blame her. The conversation lulls for a few moments, silence reigning save for the sounds of eating and the wind in the trees. I cooked, of course. It was a necessary skill to pick up when I was first living alone at Winters House. Father had an live-in butler type, but he died before I was born, and the idea of having a manservant never really appealed to me. Ordering takeout isn’t much of an option either, so I applied my not-insignificant intellect to the task of culinary competence. The results speak for themselves.

“I still think you should let Adamant go with you,” Ishtar says, changing the subject without warning. She offered to accompany me personally, but I turned her down on the basis that she’s essentially a diplomat, and it wouldn’t be a good look for us if we got her killed on a mission like this. A noble sacrifice to save the world is one thing, dying to help me get closure with regards to my long-dead parent is another entirely.

“If this goes wrong, I’d rather be the only one to pay for it.”

There really isn’t much chance of things going that badly. We’ll make sure that things on the other side of the gate are completely safe before I take a single step through, and I’ll be wearing an environment suit more than capable of protecting me from anything we might miss during the initial survey.

“Fair enough. You are leaving everything to me if you die, right?”

Ishtar’s eyes sparkle with mirth over the rim of her glass. I give her my response in between bites of salmon glazed with garlic sauce.

“You’ll have to take it up with Ulysses. I’m leaving all my assets to the Council, which means he’ll be managing them.”

Rolling her eyes, Ishtar puts the glass down and picks her fork back up. We brought the Q-brain issue to the rest of Extinction Group not long after she first raised it with me. The others took it seriously, especially after Zero cross-referenced Ishtar’s information with Gilgamesh’s files and found it to be accurate. The course of action we decided upon was simply to ask him about it. He acted surprised, though Ishtar made a point of reminding us that he’s theoretically capable of mimicking any emotion perfectly, and agreed to a vasectomy, on the condition that we keep some sperm samples under high security, ‘just in case.’ That doesn’t preclude the possibility that he’s already had children that we’re unaware of, something Zero promised to investigate, but the problem seems mostly resolved for the time being. Ishtar, however, still doesn’t like Ulysses very much. Some of it is the potential threat he poses, but I suspect at this point she simply dislikes him because of his personality, as most of the rest of us do. That makes it rather unfortunate that he’s going to be serving as ‘mission control’ for my expedition tomorrow.

“I think I’d rather just take what I want, if it’s all the same to you. I’m sure they won’t miss most of it.”

“Probably not,” I reply with a chuckle. “You’re more than welcome to stay here if I don’t come back, just let the others take whatever they need from the lab.”

I don’t actually have a will written, or anything of that nature. Before I joined the Council, I didn’t really have anybody to leave my things to, and afterwards, it seemed pointless. If one of us dies, it falls to the others to administer their affairs. It’s not as if we could bring in lawyers to deal with any of this. I’m not even a proper American citizen- I travel exclusively under assumed names, with falsified documents.

The rest of the meal continues in companionable silence. When both of our plates are empty, Ishtar helps me clear the table, and we soon retire to the living room, bottle of wine in tow. During the length of our pseudo-vacation, evenings have been dedicated to introducing her to culture in the form of cinema, starting with classics from the black-and-white era, and slowly working our way towards the present day. Some I’m already familiar with myself, while others I experience for the first time along with her. Tonight, however, Ishtar makes no move to pick up the remote, and neither do I. Instead, she refills her glass, leaving the bottle on the coffee table, and takes a seat on the couch, closer to me than usual. I don’t mind having her close, of course, but the sudden change in behavior does pique my curiosity.

“Not in the mood for a movie?”

Ishtar closes her eyes, resting her feet on the table and draping her arm over the back of the couch, dangerously close to my shoulders.

“Not particularly.”

I wait patiently for her to elaborate, my vision blurring as I gaze into the flickering fireplace. The soft crackling comes to fill the room, as Ishtar declines to explain any further. Eventually, she sighs and takes another drink.

“Conrad, I’d like to think I have a fairly solid grasp on the social norms of your people. Would you say that’s accurate?”

My vision snaps back into focus, and I raise an eyebrow.

“Yes, I’d be inclined to agree. Why do you ask?”

The outstretched arm is drawn away, and Ishtar pulls back slightly, not out of discomfort, but so she can look me in the eye. Her milky-white pupils are somewhat disconcerting to stare into, but I’ve grown fond of them over the time we’ve spent together.

“Well, there’s something I still fail to understand. Perhaps you can enlighten me.”

It’s hard to say what she’s getting at, but I have a feeling it’s not entirely innocuous.

“I’ll do what I can.”

Ishtar nods, and there isn’t any amusement in her expression.

“Good. Because it’s been fairly obvious for a while now that you’re attracted to me, and I don’t think I’ve been that subtle about the fact that it’s mutual. Yet you’ve failed to act on this in any way. Have I done something to offend you, or is there some bit of social nuance that I’ve missed here?”

Of all the possible paths this line of questioning could have taken, this was not one I’d foreseen in advance. I’m silent for a moment, trying to formulate a response. Ishtar’s gaze never deviates, and it looks rather more accusatory than before. Eventually, my thoughts align themselves into a vaguely coherent shape.

“You live in my home. It’s generally considered improper for someone in that position to proposition a guest, because of the implicit power imbalance.”

Her expression turns skeptical, and she manifests a short blade in her free hand, toying with it idly while she stares a hole into me.

“If you tried to lay hands on me without permission, I’d lobotomize you before you could blink. There’s no imbalance.”

Obviously, she’s right. That was just a fairly flimsy justification I crafted to excuse my own hesitance at acting on my desires. There are certain nuances she’s missing, but I can’t really fault her for not being entirely up to date on the sexual politics of a specific generation of people in a specific part of the world. They don’t even have sexual relations in Vanaheim, much less the associated bundle of neuroses we developed about them here on Earth.

“You’re right. But there’s still a certain social ritual one is expected to conduct, rather than just propositioning someone outright. Courtship, that sort of thing. And I felt it would be somewhat inappropriate to engage in that process while I was still acting as your guide to the world.”

A flicker of mirth shows through Ishtar’s stony facade, and she fights to suppress a smirk at my discomfort.

“Does the past month and a half of traveling the world not qualify as courtship?”

“I suppose it does.”

The smirk grows wider.

“And did you have any particular attachment to social conventions in the first place?”

“I… suppose not.”

Ishtar puts her glass down and leans in, close enough that I can discern the faint scent of perfume in her hair.

“Then what are we waiting for?”

A pair of ink-black eyes greet me when I wake up the next morning. It takes a moment for me to register my environment. The tangled sheets of my bed, the early morning sun streaming in through my window, the woman with the pale white skin resting atop me, nose inches from mine. Her hot breath washes over me, and without much thought, I breathe her in. After another few moments, I remember who she is, and how we got here.

“Good morning,” Ishtar whispers. Some background process in my brain takes note of her damp hair and deduces that she must have showered before I woke up.

“Mornin’,” I reply, still thinking too slowly to form a complete sentence, much less draw my usual veneer of sophistication over the words. That seems to amuse Ishtar, and she draws away, messy white hair hanging down over her shoulders. A few loose strands tickle my face.

“You should get yourself cleaned up. I’m going to put some clothes on and see about making breakfast.”

In my current state, I’m not really capable of arguing with her- nor would I really want to. My gaze lingers on her for a few moments as she disentangles herself from the bedsheets and walks over to my dresser, but I tear my eyes away and drag myself into the bathroom for a shower. Still not quite awake, I go through my usual morning routine like an automaton, washing, shaving, and brushing while my mind remains blessedly blank. By the time I’ve dried off and gotten dressed, however, things are starting to clear up somewhat.

Ishtar made it quite explicit that she doesn’t see any sort of issue, moral or otherwise, with what we did last night. The others, however, might see it as a conflict of interest. They probably wouldn’t be wrong, either. But keeping it a secret would be stupid, and a betrayal of their trust. I’m hardly going to announce it during the next Council meeting, but I ought to at least mention it to Kellan, and get his take on how to handle it. I’d rather not have someone else take over as Ishtar’s handler, or whatever it is I’ve been serving as for the past few weeks, but maybe that would be for the best.

When I get downstairs and see her wearing one of my shirts, all thought of that goes completely out the window. Ishtar glances over the shoulder as I come in and shoots me a grin. I respond in kind, thankfully in control of my faculties to the point that I can avoid smiling like an idiot at her. Hoping to clear my head further, I quickly busy myself with assisting her in her meal-prep efforts. Cooking was not one of the many skills deemed necessary for her to know before entering our world, but she’s studied me as I’ve made various meals, and proves surprisingly competent at it, requiring only a little assistance from me when she nearly burns the bacon.

While Ishtar is plating the main course, I retrieve some fresh fruit from the fridge and put it in a bowl. Healthy eating is important for maintaining my physique, and a hearty breakfast is important today in particular. There won’t be any opportunities for a snack break while I’m off on the expedition.

Seated at the kitchen island, I make a gracious sound as Ishtar sets down a plate in front of me, then takes a seat directly across from my spot. Since she moved in, I’ve started leaving the curtains open around the manor, where I usually kept them closed. It makes for a pleasant change. One of many, I’m realizing, that her presence in my life has brought about.

Ishtar seemed slightly concerned about overcooking the bacon, but I personally prefer it to be slightly crunchier than the standard. At my suggestion, she tries her waffles with strawberries, and finds it to her liking. Breakfast goes by faster than I’d like, but before it’s over, I find myself compelled to ask her a more serious question.

“Why did you ask me about… all this?”

I gesture vaguely around us, and she intuits quickly that I‘m talking about last night. Ishtar frowns, and spears a piece of cantaloupe with perhaps more force than is strictly necessary.

“I think that’s fairly obvious.”

“Why now in particular, I mean.”

The annoyance melts away, replaced with something more like wistfulness. Maybe a hint of vulnerability. More than she’s allowed herself to show before.

“We were talking about what would happen if you didn’t come back. If that happens… I don’t want there to be anything left unsaid between us.”

My heart does something strange that I don’t quite understand. I lean forward, placing my hand over hers.

“I’m going to come back. I promise.”

“Well,” Ishtar replies, “we ought to stop wasting time here, then. You have to actually go, before you can come back.”

Being the people who run the world, one might think that we’d have more options for setting up my dimensional tunneler than underneath a volcanic field in China. Unfortunately, Ulysses and I quickly realized while we were working on the equations for the tunneler that our options would actually be even more limited. The location where we open the gate on our side will determine where it opens on the other side, and we don’t know for sure how vast this other dimension will be. That means we have to build the gate in the same location where Father built his, or risk ending up tens of thousands of miles away from where his body is.

The lab is in Germany, one of the many illicit facilities Father and his criminal associates had set up all over the world. Many of them were eventually discovered by the authorities and stripped down, but this one was a special case. The hero team Vanguard located it, and launched an attack to prevent Father from using his machine. After he and the Vitruvian disappeared, they searched it thoroughly, hoping to find a way to bring their friend back, but eventually abandoned the site after those efforts failed to yield results. After that, it fell under the auspices of the German government. Luckily, Network has enough influence within the LKA to get unrestricted access to the base.

After we got access to the lab, the first thing we did was set up a temporary translocation hub. As soon as Ishtar and I are properly geared up, we make the jump over. Most of the equipment was stripped years ago, and we didn’t bother replacing the majority of it. Other than the translocation hub and the gate itself, the only other thing we brought in was a generator. With a few decades of technological advancement under our belts, we don’t have to rely on geothermal power like the Vanaheim gate’s designers did. Instead, we just set up a nuclear generator, which is currently outputting enough power to keep all of Berlin lit for a month. Every joule of that is currently being channeled into the tunneler, to give it enough juice to punch a hole in the dimensional membrane.

Ishtar and I are silent as we make our way through the empty rooms of the lab, towards the gate. It obviously wasn’t easy for her to admit that she cares about me. More than just emotional repression, it probably goes against her programming, too. All she’s supposed to care about is herself, and her own survival. The fact that her values hierarchy has changed is significant, and I don’t want to push her on it right now. On the way over, she grabs my hand, perhaps impulsively, and holds it tight for a few moments, but lets go without a word before we walk into the room. It’s high-ceilinged, as is necessary to house machinery of this size, with drab grey-black walls and a concrete floor. Interior decoration was not at the top of Father’s priority list for these facilities.

The tunneler isn’t quite as large as the Vanaheim gate, as it’s only meant for one person to go through at a time. Still, it’s not tiny, either. Our design is a lot more modern than theirs, with a sleek metal ring surrounding the crystal latticework. There’s no raised platform, just a small staircase leading up to the gate, which hums with energy as it continues to cycle up. A few of Network’s bodies are busying themselves with last-minute checks, but my focus is on Ulysses. He’s standing on the control platform, several yards away from the tunneler itself, and surveying the scene. His quantum brain made doing the calculations for this much easier than they would otherwise have been, and even if I don’t like him very much, I wouldn’t entrust the task of getting me to my destination and returning me safely to anyone else.

“Winters. It’s about time.”

There’s no genuine annoyance in his voice, just the smug satisfaction of a man who knows exactly how rude he can get away with being to you. According to Ishtar, ‘he’ isn’t really a person, just a complex social-interaction algorithm running on an advanced computer, which is also operating his body at maximum efficiency. No more sentient than a particularly advanced neural network. But that hasn’t really changed how I see him- as a useful ally, and a frustrating person.

Ulysses is a natural blonde, with piercing blue eyes and eerily symmetrical features. That shouldn’t be much of a surprise. A baby with a quantum brain doesn’t develop the way other children do. He shaped himself to be maximally attractive and physically capable, before he was even born. In that regard, he’s not entirely unique. After all, both Ishtar and I had our genes tampered with as well, which gives us both certain advantages that ordinary people don’t have. The difference is, we don’t go around acting as if that makes us better than the rest of the world.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” I reply dryly. “How soon until we’re ready to go?”

“We already are. Thorn is just being paranoid.”

The nearest of Network’s bodies glances in our direction upon hearing his name.

“I prefer ‘cautious.’ Better safe than sorry, no?”

I don’t miss Ulysses rolling his eyes. He’s got enough of an ego that he’d interpret pragmatic prudence as a slight against his competence. Personally, I think I have more right to be offended than him, considering it’s my design that Thorn is double and triple-checking, but it doesn’t particularly bother me. I’d rather wait another hour or two than accidentally get disintegrated while stepping through the gate.

“In any case,” Network continues, “everything seems to be in order. Shall we get started?”

All of the other bodies move as one, like ants following a pheromone trail, exiting the area around the platform. Most of them leave the room, though a few gather behind the control platform to observe. Ulysses glances at me, and I give him a nod. The quantum savant hits a button, and the protective shielding descends from the ceiling to surround the gate. After another few inputs, the humming intensifies, and the crystal lattice starts to light up. As it turns out, that crystal isn’t naturally occurring, but rather an exotic metamaterial that’s highly expensive to manufacture. Fortunately, the cost wasn’t even a drop in the bucket in terms of our budget.

Once the tunneler is fully charged, the gate begins to open. As before, it’s a flat circle of blue light- no way of seeing what’s on the other side, and I’m not stupid enough to jump through without knowing what I’d be landing in. That’s why we’ve got a drone handy. One of Network’s bodies hands me the controller and headset, which I slip on quickly. The drone itself activates a moment later, and through the headset I can see its camera feed. I practiced with the controls before today, so it’s easy enough to guide it through the gate. Then I get my first look at the world where Father died.

Almost immediately, my sense of direction disappears. There’s no sky, just a black, starless void. Judging by the way the drone moves, there’s still gravity, but not nearly as strong as that of Earth. Rotating the camera around, still facing upwards, I see several large planetoids in the sky, close enough that I can even gauge roughly how large they are- maybe two thirds of the size of Pluto. They’re visible, which means there’s a light source somewhere, so I continue to search the heavens until I spot it. An incandescent white orb, far enough away that it doesn’t sear my retinas just to look at, but still nearly blinding. What it isn’t, however, is a star. That much is obvious just from looking at it. There’s no visible plasma discharge of the sort that you would be able to see from a star at this range. It’s just a ball of pure energy, floating still in the void of this dimension. And as I continue to turn the drone’s camera, I see another, much further away, and a third, so far that it’s barely a speck. Quickly, I intuit what they must be. Those are the power sources for metahumans who channel pure energy. Every time someone fires lasers from their eyes, a tiny fraction of those pseudo-stars is expended.

The next thing I realize is that none of the planetoids or false-stars are in motion. Neither rotating around one another, nor spinning in place. They hang still in the black sky, like pool balls on a three-dimensional table, just waiting for a god-sized cue to strike and send them crashing against one another.

Ulysses interrupts my reverie. He must be watching the same feed as me, but clearly experiencing none of the same awe.

“Let’s see if we’re in the right place.”

A small display pops up in the corner of the camera feed, showing me what he’s doing. He’s initiated a trace for the unique radioactive isotope in Father’s signature weapon. If he’s within fifty miles or so, it’ll show up almost immediately, and give us a good idea of where to find him. If not, he’s either not nearby, or not in this dimension as all. I wait with bated breath, still looking up at the planets high above us. One appears to be made entirely of diamond, with impossibly perfect facets carved out of the surface. Another is entirely aquatic, save for a superdense core that’s visible through the perfectly clear water. Then there’s a ping in my ear, and I look down to see what the trace results show.

It’s positive. He’s here- and less than ten miles away. For the most part, I’m glad. It means we won’t have to extend this project even further, or redo all our calculations. But I’m also slightly disappointed. Did Father truly never make it more than seven miles from where he came through the portal? Assuming he didn’t die immediately, that’s rather unimpressive. I’ve got few illusions left about his supposed greatness, but considering this was his very last job, I somehow expected something more.

“Excellent,” Ulysses intones. “Hand over the controls. I’ll examine the environment while you put on your suit.”

Taking another moment to watch the motionless surface of the water-world, I remove the headset and pass the equipment to Ulysses. While he takes control of the drone, I step down off of the control platform and approach one of Network’s bodies, who’s holding the environment suit. According to the readings from the drone, it seems like there’s breathable air on the other side, but I’m not foolish enough to presume that’ll remain true the entire time. After all, plenty of metahumans have the ability to generate toxic substances of all sorts. I’d rather not walk into a cloud of neurotoxin without protective gear if I can avoid it.

Before I put on the environment suit, I shed my civilian clothes, leaving me only in my standard black bodysuit. It’s the same basic design as the one Father wore, with a few of my own improvements. Usually, I have normal clothes over it, even in combat situations, because I prefer not to look like I’m wearing pajamas, but this is a special case. I pull on the mask, and then step into the environment suit, which opens up from the back to allow me to ingress. It’s based on armor designs by Machina, but with an emphasis on protection from extreme environmental dangers rather than combat readiness. That means it’s relatively slow, and not really suited for use outside of specific situations like this. The surface is rust-red, with a solid faceplate that would seemingly leave the wearer blind. Instead, the interior has camera feeds that offer a 360-degree view of the surrounding area. Having an actual glass faceplate, reinforced or otherwise, would be foolish considering the kinds of situations this suit has to be able to survive in.

Once the armor has sealed around me and powered on, I take a few experimental steps back and forth. Obviously, I practiced in it beforehand, but it’s still useful to get my bearings, lest I embarrass myself by falling face-first through the gate.

“Everything looks clean,” Ulysses says approvingly. “Radiation levels are nominal, terrain is seismologically stable, no sign of any wildlife. I guess your dad knew what he was doing when he picked this spot.”

“Or he got lucky,” I reply, voice filtered through the environment suit’s external speakers. Still adjusting to its weight, I take slow steps towards the protective shield. Now that nothing hazardous has come through- and we have sensors scanning for any kind of potential alien pathogen -it’s safe to bring up. As soon as Ulysses guides the drone back through, Network hits a button and raises the barrier. Through the suit’s feed, I can see Ishtar behind me, expression stoic. I wish for a moment that the suit’s faceplate was transparent, so I could give her a smile, but I’m not sure she would appreciate a sentimental gesture like that. Better to keep my mind on the mission. We can sort out whatever last night meant for our ongoing relationship when I get back.

As I approach the gate, the barrier lowers back down behind me. Once I’m further from the portal, signal interference will prevent me from staying in contact with Ulysses and the others, so I’ll truly be on my own. As much of a risk as that is, it feels appropriate.

“I’ll see you all soon.”

Without another word, I step through the gate, and begin my search for Father.