[Episode 11] Breaking! CBW Reporters Missing in Action

Interesting fact: Geese are psychopaths. Breed, home planet, and reality make no difference. Geese lack the capacity for empathy and altruism. While they are capable of functioning within flocks, this pro-social behavior can only be maintained if there is a foreign enemy to plot against.

Some biologists argue that all bird brains are too underdeveloped for the human concept of empathy, however that has been repeatedly proved false. Corvids, such as crows and ravens, often show empathy as fledglings and are conditioned out of it. In contrast, pigeons have on average 206% the empathy of humans. This makes them incredibly susceptible to charismatic leaders, totalitarian governments, and geese.

After a temporal storm blows Mito, Dolly, and Rob off course, the three reporters find themselves stranded on Planet Peter. Fortunately, the human rebellion is looking for recruits to fight against the avian overlords.

Announcer: Welcome to the Crack – the wound between worlds, the rift amongst the stars, the only news network that brings you every story from every reality. You're watching, the CBW Channel.

Dolly: Welcome back to the Crack! I'm Dolly, and this is Princess Mitochondria.

Mito: Mito'ca'hondria, Powerhoose of Cellaria.

Dolly: Uh-huh. This is Mito, our lead reporter and expert on prophesied heroes. Next to me is Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome himself. Say hello to Rob Skythrust.

Rob: Hey. How are you doing? Make sure your psychic receptors are tuned into the broadcast. We'll try to describe the visuals, but some of us are better narrators than others.

Dolly: I don't like that tone of yours, Rob.

Mito: Who do you think Rob is talking about? Surely not me. I taught him everything he knows about reporting.

Dolly: What are you implying, dear? I'll have you know I'm a fan favorite.

Rob: Before we begin investigating our story, Mr. Stanton would like us to make an announcement.

Mito: As long-time viewers know, Mr. Stanton is the CEO of the CBW Network.

Dolly: The itty bitty fuchsia dragon with teeny tiny spectacles balanced on the tip of his snout is also our boss.

Mito: Yes. Now more than ever, we are fortunate to have him. When times are difficult, his courageous leadership is our compass through a miasma of danger.

Rob: Miasma of danger? I thought we agreed to go with 'bog of uncertainty?'

Dolly: I'm partial to 'terrifying tempest.' It's got that fancy schmancy alliteration.

Mito: We're sticking with miasma of danger.

Dolly: It's a little weak, dear. Why not go with a description that really zings?

Mito: Miasma. Of. Danger.

Rob: Although temporal storms-

Mito: Rob! This is my announcement.

Dolly: Someone has to get a move on. We're wasting our time-slot. Although temporal storms-

Mito: Although temporal storms have been striking all over the multiverse, the CBW channel is committed to covering the news in every reality. Please be patient as we work through technical difficulties. If you'd like to bet on the next appearance of a temporal storm, please place your money and the details of the bet under your tongue and think of mayonnaise. I repeat, think of mayonnaise. Aoli is not mayonnaise and thinking about it will only make you look like a dumbass with a credit stick under your tongue. If the substance you're thinking of includes avocados, nuts, or the word 'vegan' on the label, it is not mayonnaise.

Dolly: None of that low calories paste either. Mayonnaise is an emulsion of egg and oil. If you don't have mayonnaise on your homeworld, please locate the nearest pigeon nest and borrow a few eggs.

Rob: Pigeon mayonnaise?

Dolly: Pigeons are the only egg-laying creatures that appear on every world. Those little critters are everywhere, and the taste isn't too bad neither. Viewers, make sure you're psychic receptors are tuned into our broadcast. The recipe for mayonnaise will now flash across your eyelids.

Rob: Is the Crack Between Worlds really going to encourage gambling?

Dolly: Rob, you have those great, square shoulders, and that wonderful square jaw. I always thought I liked square men, but you're taking it a little too literally. You don't need to be a quadrilateral, sugar. Embrace life's curves.

Rob: I know you're insulting me, but I can't quite figure out what shapes have to do with it.

Mito: Viewers, feel free to place your bets at any time. The main categories are year, universe, and fatalities. The current fan favorite is Dolly. The CBW Channel is currently offering 30 to 1 odds that she dies in the next temporal storm.

Dolly: I thought the odds were 30 to 1 that I live. Our viewers think I'm going to kick the bucket?

Rob: Well, err, it's been pointed out that some people- not us- some people think that you might… sort of… be a little old. They think you'll, err, have a… heart attack.

Dolly: We'll just see about that. Ooh! That really creams my corn.

Mito: If people want to toss their money away on stupid bets, I say we let them. Dolly is healthier than any, um, lady of similar age. Mr. Stanton is twirling his spiky tail, so we're going to move onto our story. Waving my hand in the general direction the sky should exist in, I adjust my shiny, silver, lead reporter hat.

[static]

Dolly

[static]

Help.

[static]

Danger.

[static]

Rob: Shit! What the flippity hit us?

Dolly: I don't know. One minute we were de-materializing, and in the next we were floating in static.

Rob: Is something wrong with the sparkly top hat? Did you calibrate it correctly?

Mito: I know how to do my job, Rob. Stop yelling at me.

Dolly: This doesn't look like the Glundark Empire. It looks more like Earth-3 if I'm being honest. A light rain drizzles down from the gray skies, and a cold autumn wind cuts me to the bone. Naked trees stretch towards the sky like yearning hands. Red and gold leaves are faded and brown on the muddy trail. I think we're in a public park. I hear geese honking in the distance, but there's none to be seen in the nearest pond.

Rob: Fall is annoying. Sure, it's great at first, but as soon as the leaves finish dropping, all the deer fly up to their trees. How are you supposed to impress the love of your life with deer jerky if they refuse to touch ground before spring?

Dolly: I don't know anything about flying deer, but autumn is canning season in my parts. I never much liked canning, but there's something wonderful about seeing a years worth of jellies and pickled green beans lining the cellar walls. Mito, dear, how are we coming with that sparkly top hat?

Mito: Do you want the good news or the bad news?

Dolly: Dealer's choice.

Mito: Okay. Um, the hat is broken. It won't even let me reset it. The machinery is so hot, I'm worried something melted. I think a temporal storm hit us while we were in transit. We should be dead. That's the good news. We aren't dead, and our current state of being alive is really impressive.

Rob: Do you know what happened?

Mito: I'm not the fount of all knowledge, Rob.

Dolly: Try to explain, dear. If our psychic transmitters are working, our viewers must be worried sick.

Mito: Fine. I'll try to use small words. When we travel across time, space, and reality, the connection between our molecules becomes very long and flexible. Or, it's supposed to. It's a balancing act. If the connections are too strong, we slam into the first object in our path at roughly the speed of light. If the connections are too weak, our bodies won't remember how to arrange themselves. That's why sometimes people will arrive as drippy puddles of goo that fall apart as soon as they're introduced to gravity.

Rob: That's horrifying. How often does that happen?

Mito: That's not important.

Rob: I think that's pretty important.

Mito: The temporal storm should've disrupted those connections. We should be atoms drifting through the universe, but somehow the temporal storm shielded us. It's as if we were in a bubble. I keep looking at the display panel on the lead reporter hat, but the readings don't make any sense. It almost seems like the temporal storm blew us off course on purpose. There were dozens of planets nearby when it hit us, and somehow we landed on the only one capable of sustaining human life.

Rob: Are we going to turn into goo puddles?

Dolly: Yes, are we? Rob is too beautiful to turn into a goo puddle.

Mito: If we were going to be goo, we would already be goo. I'm more worried about what happens next.

Dolly: We've faced temporal storms before. You'll let that sparkly top hat cool off, then reboot it. I've seen you studying Dr. Ravenwood's notes. You've been trying to learn everything about this technology, so you could fix it if we ran into more trouble. If it's broken, you'll fix it, and then we'll all return home just fine and dandy.

Mito: I think something melted inside. If it's just a blown circuit, I can repair it, but I doubt this planet has the technology to create the more advanced parts. The navigation shoes are dead, too. I'll cannibalize them for parts if I can, but I don't know if anything is usable.

Rob: And then what?

Mito: Pardon?

Rob: I can't be the only one that's noticed. The temporal storms are slamming into places and times we report on. Extra-Man reported one minutes after we left, and a temporal storm completely destroyed the underworld we just visited. We're the only people in history that have survived three encounters with a temporal storm.

Dolly: Look at you, using ten dollar words.

Rob: We can't call this a coincidence. Either we're causing the temporal storms, or a temporal storm is pursuing us. Right now, Dr. Ravenwood is the only clue we have, and we aren't even supposed to mention him during our time slot. Even if Mito fixes the hat and we somehow return to the Crack in one piece, we'll probably run into another temporal storm later. We have to do something.

Mito: Do what, Rob? I tried to investigate Dr. Ravenwood's death, but Mr. Stanton thinks it's a waste of resources. These temporal storms have been horrible on his profit margin. I've been pouring over Dr. Ravenwood's notes, but I haven't seen anything that would explain this. He was obsessed with studying the Crack Between Worlds, and that doesn't have anything to do with temporal storms.

Rob: Or does it?

Dolly: Now you're just trying to be dramatic. Don't work yourselves into a tizzy. We're alive. We're gonna try and fix the hat. Lets break this down into baby steps. First, we ought to figure out where and when we are. All I can see are trees. I ain't one for camping, so let's hope I'm right about us being in a public park.

Rob: What's so good about being in a public park? The king will think we're poaching if his yeomen catch us on his land.

Dolly: Not that kind of park, sugar. I think this might be the kind meant for strolling about. You know, picnics, catching butterflies, watching fireworks. Sometimes, city slickers like to feel like they're outside without actually risking anything worse than a turned ankle.

Mito: We walk towards the grassy field. As soon as the trees break, we can see the skyscrapers towering over the park. The architecture doesn't appear to be Glundarkian, so either this is an unincorporated planet or we didn't reach Universe 11.

Rob: I thought the temporal storm fried our psychic transmitters. Why are you narrating?

Mito: We don't know for certain the broadcast is over, and I refuse to be banished to the shopping channel for lousy narration. Besides, the psychic transmitters have an emergency battery. We probably have at least a few hours before they die.

Mito: Deep within the barren cityscape, nature thrives in this taxpayer funded oasis. Squirrels scurry across the muddy ground. Either they think the tree roots are a parkour course, or they're looking for nuts. A skinny brown dog plunders the trashcan in search of goodies. Geese honk as they lazily drift through the air. It's an idyllic scene, one that seems to clash with the terrifying circumstances that have stranded us on this planet.

Simon: Get down! Get down, you cantanklers.

Mito: Oof!

Dolly: The strangers push us onto the ground. Before I can get my bearings, I'm dragged into some kind of culvert. It's wet, and gross.

Gertie: Shush. Not so loud. Are you cantanklin crazy? Why are you wandering around enemy territory? You'd be dead if Simon hadn't saved you.

Rob: Enemy territory? We're in a war zone? I crane my neck to see the world outside the drainage pipe. As I watch, the geese change their direction and swoop down on the skinny brown dog. Oh my stars.

Dolly: As we watch, the geese drop stones onto the little dog. Even from this distance, I can hear a sickening crunch. Suddenly. I don't mind being told to shut up by a couple of locals.

Gertie: Have you been living under a rock? This whole cantanklin planet is a war zone. The geese won't stop until we're all dead.

Dolly: Geese? The fat birds with the scrawny little necks? What can they do?

Simon: You'd think that, wouldn't you? I know I thought they were just a bunch of noisy birds. Cantanklepuss. You really have been living under a rock. How could you have missed the invasion?

Dolly: Never mind that. Tell us what's going on.

Gertie: It came out of nowhere. We saw the geese gathering. Who didn't? We saw them cruising across the sky in their cursed V formation, but it's fall. They migrate every year. Why would this year be any different?

Simon: We were so foolish. All these years, they've been lying in wait. They've had centuries to scope out our defenses and map our cities. Who blinks when a goose wanders onto military weapons testing grounds? Who notices when they fly over our hydro electric plants? We stuck colored bands on them, sure, but that was just to track nesting patterns. Those damn geese knew everything about us before we knew they were intelligent.

Dolly: The geese just up and attacked? Why? Too many Christmas dinners?

Gertie: That's the thing. Nobody knows. They just started attacking people one day.

Rob: They're just birds. I understand that it's probably distressing to be attacked by a bird, but they aren't that big. You can grab one by the neck and chuck it, problem solved. They don't even have talons.

Gertie: I'd take a hawk over a goose any day. Hawks are solitary. The geese work in teams. They began this war at the airports. They waited until the airplanes were flying over a city, then drove flocks of smaller birds into the engines. The pilots didn't have a chance to divert. The planes rammed into some of the biggest population centers we have. You can't imagine the death toll.

Simon: They're everywhere. They just keep coming. There aren't enough shotguns to make a dent. The biologists clearly had no concept of their true numbers.

Gertie: And the honking. It haunts me.

Dolly: Oh, my. After the airplanes crashed into the city, what happened?

Gertie: First, the government sent bombs, but goose bodies are too small for the software to target their heat signature.

Simon: Then they stationed the army on every rooftop. I think they were hoping to shoot down the geese, but those cananklin birds have trained in evasive maneuvers. The government tried poisoned bait stations and decoy owls, but the geese didn't notice. Towards the end, even the environmentalists were urging the government to drop mustard gas on the Great Lakes.

Dolly: Towards the end? Sugar, are you telling me you waged war against a bunch of birds and lost?

Simon: Humanity will never give up. They may have destroyed our cities and our government, but we bow to no creature. Gertie and I are scouting for the resistance. If we can figure out where they sleep, we can hit them while they're night-blind.

Gertie: Will you join us, or become a species traitor?

Rob: Do we have a choice? It looks like the geese are killing any human they can find.

Gertie: A group down south has started worshiping the geese. In exchange for tribute, they let the humans live.

Dolly: I refuse to kowtow to some bird.

Rob: I really love the taste of goose, and I've got some time to kill. I'm in.

Mito: I look into the distance as I weigh my options.

Simon: Who is she talking to?

Dolly: Best not to ask.

Mito: As I watch the geese tear into a fleeing human, I make my decision. Screw it. I'm a former teenage main character. I can lead a resistance.

Rob: No she can't! Don't let Mito lead anything!]

Mito: Viewers, please ignore Rob. I don't know how long we'll be on this planet, but I swear to do my best to document our brave resistance to the foul overlords. To preserve the battery, I'm going to end this transmission. I will see you next time.

Day 2: Dolly

This is Day Two of being shipwrecked in the boonies of the First Glundark Empire. The resistance is small, but determined. Never in my life did I expect a planet populated by humanoids to give up so quick. Hmph.

Those yellow-bellied cowards let the geese force them into work camps. Mainly, the work camps just force their prisoners to go fishing. Upon hearing that, the resistance lost about 40% of the male population aged 35-65. The number of humans that have capitulated to their new, honking overlords has leveled out at about 80% or thereabouts. A good chunk of the other prisoners produce breadcrumbs. I always heard bread was bad for birds, but the geese seem pretty excited. Panko breadcrumbs are the most desirable, but they go bonkers for a good pumpernickel.

The geese also seem pretty interested in mining. I don't know what they want humans to mine for, but I reckon I understand why they wouldn't want to do their own mining. Those wings make a mighty wallop, but they ain't great for swinging a pickax.

Our dear Mito think the geese are trying to collect enough anti-radium to fuel a hyperdrive. She's convinced the geese are aliens trying to restart their galactic empire. Honestly, I don't know where that girl gets some of her ideas. I've looked into this planet's history. The geese have been here for thousands of years. What kind of alien invasion waits thousands of years to begin their assault? Patience might be a virtue, but at some point you have to shit or get off the can. Please excuse my French. That theory just don't make a lick of sense.

Gertie and Simon- those are the scouts that saved our bacon in the park- they think maybe the geese are escaped government experiments. I like that theory. I've visited hundreds of worlds and found that if a government has the opportunity to create planet-destroying weapons, mind-controlled mutants, and other miscellaneous crimes of nature, they'll take that chance every time.

On a personal note, the sparkly top hat is well and truly broken. Mito has spent the last day digging through the hat to see what parts she could save. Ever since the hat first broke down in that nuclear wasteland, she's been trying to teach herself enough to fix it. I know she memorized the manual, but I just don't know if it's enough to rebuild the hat.

Don't mind me. I'm just a Dolly Downer today. We're up shit creek without a paddle, but I'm sure we've been in worse scrapes. Ta-ta for now, my lovelies.

Day 3: Rob

Hello. This is Day 3 of living on this planet. The locals call it Peter. I've never heard of a planet called Peter, but I'm sure there's a good reason for it.

Peter is fairly nice as far as planets go. It's a little cold and rainy, but Gertie says it's just the season.

I, err, accidentally joined a love triangle. I'm pretty sure Simon is a main character. He's leading the resistance. Mito thinks she's the one leading strategy sessions, but I think Simon only agrees with her to make Gertie jealous. Gertie and I have really bonded over being love interests, except I might've been too friendly and now she likes me better than Simon. Honestly, if Simon did a little less posturing, I think he could win her over. He's a nice enough guy, but he keeps trying to beat me at everything I attempt.

We are stranded in the middle of nowhere during an avian apocalypse, and I'm focusing on my lovelife. Great. This is why no one takes me seriously.

Week 2: Mito

Day 14. During my attempts to fix the shiny, silver top hat, I inadvertently corrupted much of the previous footage. This is Day 14 of our exile, and I am Mito'ca'hondria, Powerhoose of Cellaria. As lead reporter, I thought it best to ration the battery of our psychic broadcasters. We're taking it turns. [pause] I didn't tell the others, but these tiny transmissions are far more than a flimsy attempt to save our jobs. Every time we broadcast a transmission, it pings the CBW channel. I don't know if Mr. Stanton can risk sending a rescue team to track our signal, but it's the only chance we have. Usually, the Interdimensional Travel Bureau bans all travel within the year a temporal storm appears in.

I don't know if I can last a year. Planet Peter is… strange. Obnoxious, I might say if I were feeling less charitable. Planet Peter is devoid of all magic. It's strange. I myself do not perceive magic the same way a magic-user does. Cellaria is a place of science, but it is not without magic. Most of the worlds we visit have substantially more magic than the average planet, though few have inhabitants capable of using it. In the Crack Between Worlds, the ambient magic is high. Dolly always says it's thicker than the Georgia humidity, whatever that means.

Poor Dolly. If I didn't already suspect Dolly of being a magic-user, our exile would leave me no doubts. She grows weaker every day. If this planet were capable of interspace travel, we would've taken our chances with the geese and tried our luck with the nearest habitable moon. Dolly tries to put on a brave face, but she barely argued when Gertie claimed a pie crust was best store-bought.

This is Mito, signing off.

Rob:

Day 15. Simon is getting on my nerves. Everywhere I go, he finds a reason to follow. If I hit the makeshift gym, Simon decides to hold a pull-up contest. If I look at one of the books we stole before the geese burned down the city libraries, Simon tells me how much he already knows about the subject. He's a decent enough resistance leader, or he would be if he could stop making aggressive eye contact in every strategy meeting. Weirdest of all is his obsession with my tattoos. If I'd known how unusual tattoos were on Planet Peter, I would've worn long sleeves.

Well, maybe. My arms are too muscular for most long sleeves.

I'm really tired of the constant tattoo comments. This morning, I asked him if he just wanted to touch the tattoos so he could get over his strange aversion. The suggestion pissed him off so much, his face turned bright red.

I like Gertie, but I've started avoiding her. It isn't her crush that bothers me. A lot of women have crushes on me, so I'm used to pretending the crush doesn't exist. I'm hoping that if Simon quits seeing Gertie around me, he'll give me a little breathing room.

Mito: This is not a diary, Rob!

I've done a few missions for the resistance. We raided the city library for books on avian physiology. Well, Gertie did. I just stood watch. It was a good thing, too. We barely managed to escape before the geese firebombed the library. Mostly, we just raid abandoned grocery stores for anything edible. The picking are pretty slim by now, and the geese have set up sentries. We need to start producing our own food, but most of these people don't know anything about farming. I guess it'd be pretty useless even if they did, since we can't risk going outside during the day. Apparently, hydroponics were all the rage in Cellaria, so Mito jimmied something together for lettuce. Dolly has a mushroom farm, so that's nice too.

Mito has had no luck fixing the hat, but she remains optimistic. Dolly is the one I worry about. For the first time, she's acting like an old woman. Mito thinks she's sick because there isn't enough magic on this planet. I asked Dolly if she was a witch, a sorceress, or a magician, but she refused to give me a straight answer. Mito says the difference between types of magic-users is often deeply personal. Then she threatened to send me to another session of HR sensitivity training if I didn't drop the subject. I guess it's nice to know that some things never change.

Dolly

Day 16. We're still on Planet Peter. The food leaves something to be desired, but it'll keep your belly away from your backbone. Rob shot down a goose yesterday. Those little suckers are hard to catch, but they taste delicious. I don't know why the resistance was so proud. We should be shooting down geese every day. We aren't resisting anything if we don't fight back.

I hate this planet. Ta-ta for now, my lovelies.

Mito

Day 32. Today marks the one month anniversary of our arrival on Planet Peter. I may have accidentally erased a few of the other transmissions. I'm close to fixing the top hat, I know I am. I've improvised a few fixes, but I'm sure it'll transport us back to the Crack. Unfortunately, the temporal storm fried the power core, and that isn't the kind of thing you can create with paperclips and elbow grease. The anti-radium will suffice, but the geese have it all locked down.

I have been remiss in my duties. Simon, Gertie, and the rest of the young and beautiful rebels are too busy flirting to run a proper resistance. Clearly, it's time I stepped up. Rob looked horrified when I told him. It was the highlight of my day.

Rob

Day 33. I was wrong. Simon is not trying to seduce Gertie with his push-up contests and macho posturing. He's trying to seduce me. I told him I had a girlfriend, and he suggested a threesome. I would like to go home. As you might have noticed, I'm broadcasting this from inside a closet. I'm in hiding. Mito has appointed herself leader of the resistance. She's gone mad with power. With Dolly too sick to poke her ego, it's inflating like a parade balloon. I fear it will soon give away our position to the geese.

Dolly

Day 34. Mito has stolen the resistance. While she isn't the most strategic, she's better than Simon, who only thinks with his other head. Rob is embroiled in personal drama, so I have no one sensible to speak with. I miss the Crack. Ta-ta for now, my lovelies.

Mito:

Day 35. I have taught the resistance how to make chloramine gas from household cleaners. We are currently spraying it into the atmosphere. Will it kill humans? Yes. Will it cause untold ecological devastation? Yes. Is this a horrible plan? Probably, but we don't have time to wait any longer. Chloramine is chiefly a lung irritant, which should be twice as deadly for birds, due to their unique physiology.

I've sent runners to the other resistances. If they have any sense, they'll start producing it too. Hold on, Dolly. We'll have the anti-radium by the end of the week if I have anything to say about it.

Dolly:

Day 36. Other resistance fighters have begun complaining that I don't work. In response, Mito has permanently assigned me to update the psychic transmitters. I haven't said anything, but I think she knows I'm dying. Ta-ta for now, my lovelies.

Dolly:

Day 37. We are still on Planet Peter. They tell me the geese are preparing to launch a counter attack.

Ta-ta for now, my lovelies.

Dolly:

Day 38. Rob has made himself the poster child of the resistance. He got his hands on a bow and arrow from a sports store and now he's unstoppable. Mito's chemical warfare continues to decimate the geese. Ta-ta for now, my lovelies.

Dolly:

Day 39. I'm here, ain't I? We're alive. The geese are fighting. Ta-ta for now, my lovelies.

Dolly

Day 40. No change.

Dolly

Day 41. No change.

Dolly

Day 42. No change.

Rob

Rob: This is day 42. I don't know if Dolly has already broadcast today's message, but that doesn't matter. We did it! We won!

Mito: We won the battle. The city is free of goose occupation. The rest of the planet has a long way to go, but we got our hands on the anti-radium. We're going to say our goodbyes, then leave.

Simon: You're leaving? I thought you cared about the resistance.

Mito: Of course we care, but we can't stick around forever. Our friend needs to go home.

Simon: You're really just going to abandon us, Rob?

Rob: I'm not abandoning you. Look at Dolly. This planet is killing her. She hasn't even glanced at my ass in days.

Gertie: Seriously, Rob? I thought we had something. Did it all mean nothing?

Simon: We've fought together. I risked my life to save you when that factory blew up. Are you really going to walk away like we're nothing but strangers?

Gertie: You barely know Rob! I'm the one who wanted to bring Rob back to the resistance.

Rob: Look, guys…

Gertie: Love interests have to stick together. That's what you told me, Rob.

Rob: Gertie, you're awesome. Simon, you're amazing. You guys are both fantastic friends, but this isn't my world. I made a promise to my team, and I won't break my word. I hope I'll return one day, but don't wait for me.

Gertie: Oh, Rob.

Mito: As Gertie and Simon take turns tearfully embracing, Rob, I try not to check the clock too obviously. Dolly has been here too long. We can't afford to waste time. Rob peels himself away from his two friends.

Rob: Bye Simon. Bye, Gertie. I'll miss you. Tell the resistance I wish them the best.

Mito: Before anyone can burst into tears again, I wave my hand at the cloudless, birdless sky. It's time to go home.