Chương 45: 44 - Detour

Anyone who knew anything about spaceships would find it hard to believe the HIMSV Jolly Good Show was supposed to be a military vessel. As a warship, it was frightfully unarmed and abysmally inefficient. A single glance at its wastefully spacious interiors made it abundantly clear this was a pleasure-cruiser meant to dazzle dignitaries and nurture negotiations. The butler-bots and mecha-maids were especially indulgent.

Even the supposed research decks, while entirely functional and by no means lacking, seemed to exist as little more than a statement.

'Come look at how dedicated we are to advancing human civilization,' they said. The only indiciation that this was supposedly a Navy vessel, aside from its 'HIMSV' designation, was its bridge. The command deck was pure function over form. Its shape resembled a cone, much wider than it was long, with the narrow end toward the back and a slightly curved wall at the front. It was tall enough for proper ventilation and clear communication, yet still felt claustrophobic compared to the rest of the ship.

The interior was densely packed with just enough room for people to quickly shuffle around in an emergency. Thirty two crew stations lined the front, left, and right walls, with countless displays, switches, cables, and access panels filling the space between or crawling across the ceiling. A circular holo-projector was built into the floor toward the front, its high-fidelity images clearly visible from all stations without impairing foot traffic.

The captain's monitor-riddled, crescent-shaped desk sat at the very rear of the bridge at an elevated position. It had a clear view of the entire command deck and was also, technically, the most defensible position on it. It was furthest from the entrances situated towards the front corners of the room and that thick desk offered substantial cover in the event of a firefight. By and large, this was no place for frivolity, theatrics, or whimsy.

Navy personnel assigned to this oasis of order and discipline would fervently defend it against nosy politicians and curious foreigners eager for a quick peek. This wasn't because the military crew quietly despised those stuck-up diplomatic pricks. Though not an uncommon sentiment, keeping civvies off the bridge was basic security protocol, and those were rigidly enforced. In many ways, the biggest threat to a diplomatic vessel came from within. Spies and extremists and whatnot.

Emergencies and insurgencies had to be anticipated and handled swiftly, which required constant vigilance and unfaltering discipline. It would therefore be an insult to every British Naval officer across the Empire if a bunch of inebriated plonkers turned the bridge into an improvised karaoke booth.

"Let me say, I love you! The star in my eyes! ~♪""And hope that you love me! Your number one prize! ~♪" That was the chorus of My Heart's Orbit, an upbeat pop song by Luna C. Belle. The clumsy yet earnest duet was performed by Martha and Marty Hillsbury, a recently married couple who met through the Cult of the Gazing Star. Another two dozen members were bunched up around the captain's desk in front of the singing duo while the holo-projector played the accompanying music video behind them.

The small audience clapped in time with the lively rhythm and let out the occasional cheer, egging the lovebirds on. Judging by the dozens of cans and bottles strewn about the floor, there wasn't a single one among them who was even remotely sober. This was far from the first offense the cult had inflicted upon the command deck over the past three days. Colorful posters were plastered all over, most of them prominently featuring artistic renditions of Maggie.

The emergency supply cabinets built into the walls stood wide open, their intended contents replaced with decorative candles, bobble-head figurines, and eye-themed trinkets. Every single crew station had at least one plushie seated in the chair or wedged under the monitors. Azgod'Kalar was the clear favorite in that department, especially the arm-sized semi-flexible model that doubled nicely as a neck pillow.

A close runner-up was the much smaller yet equally huggable version that had him balled-up with a top hat and monocle. The rest of the vessel was no less decorated and every bit as lively. The Cult of the Gazing Star was about to take the Jolly Good Show across the stars for the very first time. It was their maiden voyage, so that naturally meant they had to mark the occasion with a shipwide party. Nothing too crazy. The festively drunk karaoke on the command deck was as wild as things got.

Those currently occupying the bridge weren't even its assigned crew, so it was perfectly fine for them to get utterly smashed if they so wished. They still kept things in moderation. There would be plentiful opportunities to get blackout drunk in the captain's chair later on, but their first FTL jump could only happen once and they wanted to actually remember it.

"Alright, you lot!" Benny said over the PA system.

"We're at T-minus thirty minutes. Means its officially time to pack it in and put on our game faces. Let's make Her Watchfulness proud!" The entire ship let out a cheer and then immediately got awfully busy. Or, well, half of them did. Realistically they really didn't need all hands on deck for this, so anyone not assigned to mission-critical roles piled into the recently restored atrium.

Having the 'bigger on the inside' ritual chamber was great and all, but Maggie wasn't 100% sure if the altered space would remain stable during a wormhole transition so she undid it just to be safe. She intended to bring the centerpiece back whenever there was a major communal event, much to Director Johanson's trepidation. The karaoke crew (not their official designation) picked up their rubbish and shuffled out of the bridge so the actual command staff could take over.

Much as Benny asked, they had their 'game faces' on as they settled into their assigned stations and started poking at the controls. Their movements were awkward and stilted, but there was no fear or hesitation. They'd run several drills after the download ceremony to get accustomed to their mental imprints so the motions weren't entirely foreign. Individual aptitudes were also taken into account when distributing roles. There was scarcely a reason to be nervous, but first times were always scary.

"Captain on the bridge!" Maggie strode in with Amy on her shoulders and Joe close behind. Every single person on the deck dropped what they were doing and bolted upright with their best attempt at a salute. Even the Navy didn't literally stop to stand on ceremony like this, but this wasn't the Navy. It was a bunch of geeks acting out a fantasy. While 'disciplined military roleplay' wasn't everyone's cup of tea, Maggie made sure that everyone stationed here was into it.

She wasn't just being considerate, but ensuring those downloads were fully utilized. After all, knowledge without motivation was as effective as a missile without an engine. Joe played his part as well, small though it was. He was mostly here for emotional support so he did his best not to steal the spotlight. A few people still nodded at him specifically as he walked past. Though he was presently just another bottom-tier member, the cult still respected him greatly.

Not only had he landed himself the best girl from another universe just by being goofy, but, more importantly, he was also the one who founded this iteration of the cult. It didn't matter that he formally handed the reins over to Benny and Cullen ages ago. The only reason he wasn't being constantly propped up on a pedestal was because he wished to enjoy as much peace and quiet as a man in his circumstances could, and the others abided by it.

All eyes promptly settled on Maggie as she confidently strode over to the captain's chair all the way in the back. The crew maintained their stoic facades, but it was harder than expected with that adorable little bean bouncing on the woman's shoulders and excitedly waving at everyone. Amy radiated so much joy that it was genuinely infectious. Her enthusiasm stemmed from her recent infatuation with Lightspeed Patrol.

Much as the show's name implied, it involved a lot of planet-hopping, and its overly exaggerated jump scenes were a small yet iconic part of it. Suffice to say, the girl was positively thrilled to see what that was like for real. The brief familial procession ended when Maggie reached the captain's post, hoisted Amelia off her shoulders, set her down on top of the massive desk, then placed a slightly-too-big naval officer's hat on the girl's head.

"Pwepawe for jump, men!" the tiny captain boldly declared.

"Set co-ow-duh-nets! Close exhaust powts and engage shields! Maximum photonic fuel to engines! Scannuhs at full spectwum powuh!" Most of what she said was utter nonsense as the terms were either used in the wrong context or completely made-up, but she didn't care. She was just having fun reenacting what she saw in her favourite show and nobody here was boorish enough to spoil the moment.

Besides, they already knew what they were actually supposed to do, so the crew briskly re-seated themselves and got busy with the actual preparations.

"Primary power coupling engaged. Reactor output nominal."

"Graviton field coils charging, harmonic flux within tolerance."

"All decks reporting green."

"Passenger jump advisory issued."

"Lateral drift detected. Astrogation correction in effect."

"Local space is clear. No traffic within the exclusion zone."

"Navigation has a solution. Westminster system coordinates locked in." For the next few minutes the atmosphere on the bridge actually resembled a military operation. Well, so long as one ignored the cult merch all over the place or the literal child standing proudly at the helm and occasionally spouting nonsense like, 'Flip the gwavity!' Some of her confusing orders were directed at 'Ensign Azzy.'

The tiny serpent was hiding in its favorite spot amidst Maggie's coiling locks and popped up to give Amy a tiny salute with the tip of its tail before disappearing into its 'station.' The woman herself was having a blast. It wasn't visible in her neutral smile, but Joe could see it in the little things she did. Like the fact that she gave Azgod'Kalar a tiny officer's hat for absolutely no practical reason.

On that note, it was both hilarious and slightly concerning just how much custom headwear the orb python had accumulated over the years. Joe had no idea where he even kept them all, and at this point, he was a little scared to ask. The silliness naturally toned down as the big moment drew closer.

"Transit corridor established."

"Heinz-Sterling aperture on standby."

"Wormhole generator primed, locked, and ready." The entire command deck looked towards Amy expectantly. Alas, the girl was so lost in her little fantasy that she failed to realize why they were doing that and stared back at them, deer-in-headlights style.

"Sounds like she's all yours, captain," Joe tactfully nudged her.

"Just give the word."

"Oh! Uh, engage!" She thrust her little hand out as she, for once, gave the correct command.

"Aye, aye!"

"Beginning translation in three… two… one…" There was an awkward moment as the artificial gravity was shut off in accordance with FTL protocols. Amy was the only one not strapped in so she floated upward uncontrollably and started flailing in a panic. Everything aboard the cabin and across every single deck then went utterly dark. From the outside, it looked as though the Jolly Good Show was abruptly sucked into itself through a pinhole over the course of 0. 832 seconds.

When the manufactured spatial distortion normalized, there was but one thing left in the ship's wake. Technically one of its passengers, but realistically the main reason for its voyage. Maggie was not 100% certain that her consciousness would remain if it got sucked through that gap in reality. It was ejected every time without fail when she was a Class-3.

Her Class-4 self had a much stronger grip on its fleshy container, but the risk of getting shunted into the timeline she belonged in was not zero and therefore impossible to ignore. Thus, Maggie intentionally ejected herself from the ship just before it made the jump, leaving her drifting in the void of space. She wasn't handling it well. Her body was curled up into a fetal position and trembled so violently and rapidly that she resembled a black-and-white blur, or perhaps a smudge.

This clearly averse reaction had nothing to do with her environment. It was Joe withdrawal – a physical manifestation of the profound anxiety and loneliness that overtook her whenever the man was outside her active perception range for even a microsecond. She had to suffer through millions of those as she waited for the wormhole translation corridor to fully close on the other side.

She had to endure millions more as the logical portion of her mind transcended time and space to lock onto her anchor's mental imprint. Then, precisely 4. 264 seconds after the Jolly Good Show initiated its jump, Maggie returned to its deck with a mild pop. She appeared right next to Joe and immediately stole a desperate kiss just as everyone else's vision returned to normal. The rest of the command deck didn't even notice her absence.

From their perspective, Her Watchfulness decided to randomly snog the bloke in the middle of a wormhole transition. A bit weird, but fair enough. Joe certainly wasn't complaining, and after she'd calmed down a little Maggie maliciously purged those 4. 264 seconds from her memory. The only thing left behind from that experience was a mental note saying 'pointlessly unpleasant.' Moments later the artificial gravity kicked in and Amy fell out of the air and was about to hurt herself on the edge of the desk.

This was where Itchy would have caught her with a split-second manifestation, but the Class-2 had been temporarily ejected from her shadow. Fortunately, its mistress was on hand to momentarily morph the hard corner into a far more bouncy once. The resulting tumble was harmless, unpleasant, and educational. It taught Amelia a very valuable lesson on the importance of belt buckles. All of this had unfolded precisely as Maggie predicted it would.

"Translocation successful!" someone excitedly declared.

"By the Queen, we actually did it!" The bridge exploded into a small round of cheers before they realized they still had to do the post-jump checks. Mostly making sure they didn't pop into something solid. The odds of that happening were positively microscopic so long as the ship followed safety guidelines and aimed for especially empty regions of space either above or below the target system's orbital plane.

Despite that precaution it would appear the Jolly Good Show hit a thin cloud of space dust when it exited its wormhole. Fortunately, the Heinz-Sterling aperture managed to pull in and contain all of the drifting particles before they fused with the ship's wiring or wound up in someone's spine. The off-duty members in the atrium didn't have to worry about any of that and celebrated with a touch more zeal as the pre-jump party resumed with increased intensity.

They didn't even wait for the announcement before they popped open the champagne, as evidence of the successful transit was visible on the cosmic observation screens overhead. Hanging amidst the infinite black void was a ring of white-blue light with a faint golden halo that appeared no bigger than an outstretched hand. The sight was so prominent it seemed to dominate the view, making any nearby stars appear as little more than dust specks in comparison.

It was a sight that every British citizen worth their stiff upper lip would immediately recognize.

"Is that Bigguh Ben?" The five year old on the bridge was no exception as her eyes were instantly drawn to the camera feed someone had put up on the holo-projector.

"That's right!" Joe happily rubbed her shoulders.

"Pretty, isn't it?"

"Eh… It's okay…" Her father was a little saddened by that lukewarm response. Well, she was a child, so her lack of enthusiasm was understandable. She'd probably appreciate the sight a lot more if she actually knew what it was. Actually, now that he thought about it, wasn't that glowing ring out of place? Bigger Ben was supposed to be an above-average black hole about 90 light years from Westminster.

That placed it in a sweet spot where it was too far for its gravity to affect the system yet still near enough to be seen with the naked eye. Therein lay the issue. From what Joe understood of black holes, those weren't supposed to be visible at all – clue was in the name – so how come this one was glowing with multiple colours? This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

"Hey, Maggie? What even is that light?" Thankfully, he had the universe's biggest brain right next to him.

"Superheated hydrogen. The black hole pulls it in from the surrounding Crown Nebula, accelerating and compressing the gas into its rapidly spinning accretion disk. This causes friction, which produces heat, which turns the hydrogen into plasma, which emits light." She gave him the criminally abridged explanation, as usual.

"Huh. Neat!" the man remarked.

"Woah…" Amy gasped.

"That's a lotta big wuhds." She clearly didn't understand most of that, but nevertheless seemed much more impressed with the sight than before. While it was nice to see his girl gain some proper appreciation for the Empire's most famous cosmic landmark, hearing her talk about words dredged up the very recent and thoroughly unpleasant memory of Maggie's freak-out. What made that whole situation all the more terrifying was that not even she understood what that was about.

The reason she so aggressively silenced Amy was because she simply knew something horrible would happen. Straight up time travel wasn't really an option at the moment, but the Class-4 cosmic entity still had a few temporal tricks up her metaphysical sleeve. One of those was an ability she summarized as 'precognition' for Joe's sake, but it didn't let her literally peer into the future. Rather, it was a form of telepathy that allowed Maggie to communicate with her past self. It wasn't really a conversation, though.

It was more like setting off a mental flare so absurdly loud and bright that it sent ripples through the time-stream. The technique was practically infallible, but it had severe limitations. The message had to be extremely simple, and its maximum range was only about eight seconds. Maggie also promised herself that, though she was technically capable of doing this whenever she wished, she would save it for catastrophic events that even she couldn't have seen coming otherwise.

So, when the woman picked up the wave of 'Silence Amelia!' rippling through the timestream, she put everything she had into doing so. Everything else – her rampant emotions, telling the girl to never speak that word – was extrapolated from there. She genuinely had no idea what would've happened, and no feasible way to find out. Actually, that wasn't entirely true.

It was possible to make the girl repeat it, then set off a more informative time-flare, but Maggie really didn't want to put herself or her daughter through that. It didn't matter that none of them would remember – she'd still know she intentionally put the girl in danger for the sake of an experiment. That was a line she adamantly did not wish to cross.

At last that was how she felt at first, but in the end The Observer's burning curiosity took the better of her and she compromised with what seemed to be a much safer version of that exercise. Maggie asked Amelia to utter only the second half of that catastrophic word and stood ready to intervene in case that somehow invited the unknown catastrophe. She was immensely relieved yet slightly disappointed when her precognition remained silent as those syllables were uttered.

On the practical side of things, the woman now had two crucial details to work with – the word itself, and that breaking it up robbed it of its power. Unfortunately, Maggie was unable to find out more about the mysterious utterance. Tearing through the various public, private, and government data archives within the Butterpond system over the past few days didn't yield anything useful.

The search itself was complicated by the fact that most of that information was stored as text and Maggie didn't know how that word was actually spelled. After several iterations she settled on 'xnopyt' because that was the only version that yielded a coherent result that wasn't part of some randomly generated ID string. Maggie's findings implied those letters in that order were linked to the idea of spontaneous disintegration, something related to pre-FTL internet culture.

Most likely just a coincidence, but the implication wasn't exactly reassuring. Fragmented ancient comment threads aside, Maggie's best guess was that this 'xnopyt' referred to either a past, present, or future Class-5 entity that really didn't like anyone calling its name for any reason in any timeline. This assumption was quickly proven to be false with a simple yet unethical experiment the details of which she kept private.

The woman shared her limited findings with Joe since parenting was a team effort and she clearly needed help. The man had a track record of offering uncanny insights into these confounding problems, but he had none to offer at the time.

"You know, I just had a thought." Now, however, with the light of Bigger Ben on the holo-screen and this difficult issue at the forefront of his mind, he managed to connect a couple of dots.

"Since the Queen invited us for a visit and all, why don't we ask her about the… linguistics research?" A code phrase to talk about the catastrophic word without alerting Amelia.

"Hmm," Maggie pursed her lips.

"You may have a point." Though her role seemed entirely decorative at present, Mechalizabeth II had been at the helm of a major human civilization since before they took to the stars and personally oversaw that monumental transition. It stood to reason that someone that influential might very well have access to information that the Butterpond branch of the government didn't. Whether the Queen would be willing to share that knowledge with a potential planetary-level threat was another issue altogether.

Some convincing or perhaps coercion might be necessary, but at the same time it didn't seem wise to stir the pot too much over what was a mostly solved issue.

"Excuse me, Captain?" she turned to Amelia.

"Hn? Oh! That's me! Yes, what is it?" The girl had clearly forgotten her role for a second there, no doubt enthralled by the sight of Bigger Ben after her mama praised it in her own way. The way her round little face went from 'utterly clueless' to 'unbearably smug' in an instant was definitely going in Maggie's mental highlight reel.

"As much as I enjoy drifting in the void, I believe it would be wise to bring us into orbit."

"Okay! Let's go, men! Full thwottle!" Her squeaky voice cut through the mild rowdiness on the bridge and reminded the cultists that, though they had every reason to be thrilled at their first successful FTL jump, they were not yet at their destination. The crew settled back into their stations and began the far less glamorous task of closing the distance to the 3BE's capital world.

The aforementioned safety protocols meant they had to drop out a considerable distance from the planet, so they still had a lengthy flight ahead of them. Between achieving orbit, riding shuttles, and various administrative delays, it would still be another twenty hours or so before any of them set foot on New London. Amy got quite bored now that barely anything was going on and her parents promptly escorted her off the bridge. The rest of the command crew felt a weight lift off their shoulders.

Though they knew for a fact The Observer's gaze was always upon them, actually being in the same room as her was a unique kind of pressure. What fan wouldn't be anxious around their idol? That aside there really wasn't much work for them to do at this point since the sophisticated autopilot suite would handle most of the in-system navigation. There were still some minor bits and bobs to keep an eye on, so about a third of the bridge crew stuck around while the others went to join the celebrations in the atrium.

The party didn't last much longer since everyone was in need of sleep, though it wasn't long before things aboard the Jolly Good Show got lively and rowdy again. Not for any particular reason. This was just how these people usually were, even on their 'off days.' Self-aware or not, they were still a cult that worshipped and obeyed a genuine eldritch being.

This wasn't the kind of hobby one got into unless they were really cool with a lot of socially questionable things, which was a roundabout way of saying they were all a bunch of weirdos. Well-adjusted and reasonable ones, but weirdos, nonetheless. Most people outside the tightly-knit community would surely find even their casual activities off-putting if not downright deplorable.

For instance, what the Cult of the Gazing Star called 'inscribing territorial wards against outside influences' involved carving alien sigils into the ship's walls with ritual daggers. This was, in essence, just a slightly more intense version of putting up graffiti tags. Another big one was the constant stream of sacrificial offerings, where the only thing being 'sacrificed' was the cultists' time and money as they handcrafted little trinkets and tokens for fun.

Pyramids with eye motifs were the current flavor of the month. In a similar vein, their so-called soul offerings were just fan-made pictures and songs. The idea of communal cursing seances aimed at influential figures was certainly disturbing, but was ultimately just a dozen blokes sitting in a circle and wishing some politician or billionaire they didn't like would go bald or something.

Ominous chanting practice was mandatory so that didn't really count as a recreational activity, but it was still quite popular and easily misunderstood by outsiders as genuine rather than theatrical. The one tasked with cataloguing, wrangling, and subsequently excusing all this questionable behavior was none other than the Psionic Operations Director for the entire Davenport Cluster.

"Jimmy. We talked about this," Sarah pinched her nose in frustration.

"You can't be finger-painting with your actual blood."

"But I'm only doing it on my own stuff," the young man argued.

"It's not like I'm messing up the carpets or anything." Keeping the ship clean and presentable was on the cult's list of guidelines, though that arcane graffiti trend was certainly pushing it.

"I know, and that's very thoughtful of you, Jimmy, but not the point. It's the actual blood," she clapped twice while stressing the words.

"It's just a bad look. For me, for you, for everyone. Just use the synthetic stuff."

"I don't have any, though."

"Don't give me that shite! You know as well as I do that Colleen down on Deck 6-C brought an entire crate for everyone to share."

"Man… That just sucks the fun out of it. Besides, my ritual circle T-shirts are supposed to be authentic!"

"Queenie give me strength," she groaned, then yelled.

"Then find another project! You're an adult! Bloody figure it out!"

"Yeah, yeah…" He turned around and shuffled off down the hall, still clearly miffed.

"Easy for you to say, Ms. Big Brain Princess of Power." He muttered that under his breath but was unfortunately not as quiet as he thought he was.

"I heard that!" Letting Joe see her embarrassing teenager-era online handle back in the day was one of the worst mistakes she'd ever made. Even now, over a decade later, it still haunted her. That was partly her own fault for feeding the trolls by being so touchy about it, but it really wasn't the label itself that upset her. It was the disrespect in Jimmy's voice. The boy clearly needed a harsher lesson than a stern talking-to, so she drew her sidearm and shot him in the shoulder with a loud bang.

"Yeow!" The bloke jumped, more startled than hurt. He frantically inspected the struck area to find that his vibrant red robe now had a white five-pointed star stamped on it. It was his fourth, counting the two identical marks on his chest and the black one on the side of his hood. He wasn't unique in this regard as a closer look at any of the other cultists would reveal most of them sported a similar spattering of white and black stars. This latest addition to Jimmy's robe clearly wasn't to his liking.

"Oh, come on!" he yelled at Sarah.

"Was that really nec–" He swallowed his words when he realized her decal gun was still pointed at him.

"N-never mind. Sorry, ma'am." Sarah watched shuffle off with rapid steps, then holstered her 'weapon' with an embarrassed sigh. Forget military liaison. She was practically a kindergarten teacher. Whoever heard of an officer maintaining discipline by giving out little white and black stars? At least the childish concept was incredibly easy to understand. Those who accumulated too many white demerits faced various penalties up to and including excommunication.

Conversely, the black stars were 'good boy points' that could be traded in for certain psychic favors, like having phobias surgically removed or getting an individual skill download. The colour-coding was a touch counter-intuitive, but it was one of those 'vibes over logic' decisions. The whole thing was Joe's idea, of course. And it had proven remarkably effective at keeping the other man-children in line. Of course.

The psi-op tried not to complain since it made her job as Agency overseer easier, but it was still embarrassing. Especially now that this guy was here to see it.

"Wow. You actually went and shot him, huh?" Grant remarked.

"What? Got a problem with it?"

"Not at all. If anything, I'm glad to see the desk job hasn't dulled your edge. I love it when you get all feisty," he playfully teased her.

"Hun, please. Not where the rabble can see us." It wasn't so much that she had an image to maintain. Sarah just never liked the whole flirting in public thing. Not to mention some random hallway was hardly the place for it even if she did. All that said, her playful choice of words made it clear she still appreciated the compliment. Her mood then took a slight dip when she saw Grant's expression tighten up, eyes and mouth completely flat.

He made that face whenever he was trying to puzzle out something complicated, which implied he was thinking about work.

"I've been meaning to ask, what even is that gun?" Alright, maybe not this time.

"I've no bloody idea to be honest, and something tells me I'd best keep it that way."

"Mags?" Grant asked.

"Mags," Sarah nodded.

"Well, can I take a look at it?"

"Be my guest." She casually handed him the pistol-shaped object and he gingerly flipped it over in his hands. At a glance, it looked like a blaster toy meant to launch soft-tipped darts at slightly irresponsible speeds. No identifiable branding, though the vibrant blue-and-red color scheme suggested it was a TALLY HO! ™ product. The weight felt normal, which surprised him. He thought for sure that Mags had stuffed some weird alien tech in it.

After all, the toy made a loud bang and that Jimmy person recoiled from a hit, but Detective Grant's high-speed optical implants didn't capture any kind of projectile or energy discharge. For all intents and purposes that white star had materialized on the target's robe all by itself. Following a hunch, the man pressed the plastic barrel to his forearm and pulled the trigger. As before, there was a loud bang and a white star appeared on his sleeve along with a firm impact akin to a casually thrown marble.

He took a closer look with his 'detective vision' and confirmed that the shape hadn't been glued on or anything like that. Rather, the fabric itself had been dyed with a rather absurd degree of accuracy. The shape was simple but the lines were perfectly straight and clean even at 8x magnification.

"Oh, I see," his face relaxed.

"See what?"

"It's one of her mental programs. You pull the trigger and Mags automatically does the rest." Meaning the object itself was entirely mundane and served as little more than a means of physically expressing intent. Incidentally, swapping between merits and demerits was done by flipping a safety-like switch on the side that had no intended purpose besides being a clicky thing for kids to fiddle with.

"Huh. Well, that's boring." Sarah kind of liked the idea of wielding a psionically-altered artifact of some description. Certainly more exciting than knowing that gun was just a laser pointer without the laser.

"Hey, Observer!" she raised her voice and her gaze at the ceiling.

"Think you can do me a favor and make the decal gun real? I wanna see if you can actually do it." Grant raised an eyebrow as if to question if that was really a good idea. He then felt the toy in his hand vibrate for a split-second as it instantly gained an extra kilo of weight. His wife gingerly yoinked it from his grip and fired it at a nearby wall, which was promptly marked with a white demerit. The process didn't seem different from before, except for one small detail.

There was most definitely an energy discharge that time.

"Ah, much better," Sarah grinned.

"Just didn't feel right to pull the trigger and not feel any recoil." Okay, two small details.

"I… suppose." Her enthusiasm surprised him a little. She didn't usually care about guns one way or the other since no caliber could match her psionics. Perhaps she'd picked up a bad habit or two after spending so much time in American space for that Summit thing. Either that or the psionic aspect had piqued her interest. Ah, no, he was overanalyzing things again. He promised he wouldn't do that on this trip, so he discreetly pinched the skin on his palm to admonish himself.

"Is your coat going to be okay, though?" Sarah suddenly asked.

"Hm? Oh, this?" he raised his star-stamped sleeve.

"It'll be fine. I'll just ask – Ah, never mind, I suppose." Watching the fabric return to normal mid-sentence was another reminder that the Class-4 was always watching and, by extension, listening. He wasn't as used to it as the cultists or his wife so he couldn't help but feel a cold chill crawl up his spine. Still, he was thankful. He wasn't really thinking about anything but the puzzle when he put that permanent blemish on what was essentially his uniform.

"Why are you even wearing that?" The long brown coat with the white shirt, black tie, and black bowler hat was a good look for him. Very sharp, but also very work-related, which was what he was supposed to be stepping away from. The fact that he packed those clothes at all was its own separate issue, but Sarah didn't feel like arguing over it just yet.

"Well, I can't exactly be walking around Old London in a jumper and jeans, now, can I?"

"… Can't argue with that, I suppose." She was wearing her Agency uniform for that exact same reason. Personally, she quite liked the charcoal gray with the silvery trim. Gave her an air of authority that her old combat fatigues never could, plus the fabric was leagues more comfortable. The hip-length jacket was surprisingly easy to move around in, too. However, unlike Grant's professional attire, she couldn't pass this off as a civilian outfit.

Some clothes shopping seemed to be in order as soon as they touched down. In hindsight, she really should've done that before they left Butterpond-4, but the orders for this detour came in so last-minute that she scarcely had a chance to think about it. Besides, it wasn't as if she was the one who'd be meeting the Queen. On that note, Sarah realized she'd better make damn well sure the angel, the moron, and the eavesdropper were dressed up to the nines for the occasion.

Joe would probably insist on casual attire since he hated suits and Mags was sure to back him up because she had a galaxy-sized soft spot for the jammy bastard. Fortunately, the Psionic Operations Director knew the Class-4 had another weakness. One that Joe shared. All she had to do was convince Amy that it would be really fun to play princess for a day, and the rest would solve itself.