[Episode 14] The Origin of Time: Temporal Crossroad or Tourist Trap?

Interesting fact: Chickens are strongly attracted to the color red. While chicken intelligence can vary across the multiverse, most species see red more vividly than other colors. This became a major problem when the Inter-Planetary Avian Beakball League began accepting chickens.

After the Great Scarlet Riot, all red uniforms were banned. This did not stop the chickens from swarming their goalie when one daring pelican chose to wear a red ankle band. The following skirmish killed two and led to the Blue Footed Boobies winning their first championship.

Mito, Dolly, and Rob celebrate the New Year at the origin of time itself. The museum docent, Mr. Bwacawk, attempts to teach viewers of the CBW channel about time.

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: Happy New Year and welcome back to the Crack Between Worlds! My name is Dolly, reporter and baker extraordinaire. Make sure you have your psychic receptors tuned in so you can see this very special broadcast.

Mito: Ahem.

Dolly: With me are Princess Mitochondria and our favorite studmuffin, Rob Skythrust.

Mito: Mito'ca'hondria, Powerhoose of Cellaria. Dolly, if you can't pronounce it, you can just call me Mito.

Rob: If Mito is allowed to go by a nickname, can I?

Dolly: What are you thinking, sugar?

Rob: Sir Tanly.

Dolly: Sir Tanly? When did you get your knighthood?

Mito: Rob, I told you those online chivalry classes were a scam. Don't tell me you spent your hundred-day bonus on a fake knighthood?

Rob: My new name is Sir Tanly Cool.

Rob: Get it? I'm Certainly Cool.

Dolly: Well… at least you're pretty. I can forget a lot of dumbness if it comes out of a mouth as pretty as yours.

Rob: I thought it was funny. My New Year's resolution is to be more interesting than a love interest.

Mito: It was… fine. I'm not sure humor is something you want to cultivate if you're trying to make people see you as more than a love interest. Many love interests are funny.

Dolly: I think you're confused, dear. Sidekicks and best friends are funny. Love interests are mysterious tough-guys.

Mito: Back on Cellaria, my love interest was a childhood best friend, and his only redeeming trait was mildly humorous one-liners.

Dolly: Yes, but you also had a villain in your age range that was almost as handsome as Rob. You were probably gonna get a love triangle. Shame you fell into the crack between worlds before it could go farther than flirting and vaguely sexual looming.

Mito: That's… preposterous… huh. Shit. That was a missed opportunity. [sigh] Moving on. Today is New Year's Day. How can we celebrate a new year in the crack between worlds? Does time exist in the rift between realities? Are we paid time and half for working a holiday? Great questions. I'm glad you asked. No, we are paid half our rate for the privilege of working during a holiday. The Crack itself does not exist within time, but time exists within biological creatures and machinery. All moving parts wear out eventually, so we do experience aging.

Rob: Did you just refer to us as moving parts?

Mito: Have you ever seen a heart work? We are perfect biological machines.

Dolly: Some of us are more perfect than others.

Rob: Dolly, we talked about you grabbing my ass.

Mito: Clocks tend to go a little haywire in the crack, so we use hourglasses to track time. Gravity is fairly robust around here, so hourglasses tend to be the most accurate time keeper.

Rob: Robust gravity? I woke up on the ceiling today.

Mito: Yes, well, it is a little… multi-directional. It never works in the same direction for long.

Dolly: You have to belt yourself onto the mattress, Rob. What did you think all those leather straps were for?

Mito: Anyway, we do have a time-keeping system, and that's how we know today is the start of a new year.

Rob: Not just any New Year's. Today is the sixtieth anniversary of the creation of the Crack Between Worlds.

Dolly: It's the 62nd, sugar.

Rob: Not according to Mr. Stanton. He says he moved into the Crack as soon as Villainette de Eville ripped it into existence.

Dolly: Rob, don't give people ideas. That is not the name of the all-powerful sorceress.

Rob: But it should be.

Mito: In honor of our sixtieth anniversary, we are visiting the origin of time itself. As Rob and Dolly look at me with awe, I adjust my shiny, silver top hat and wave my hand towards where a sky would likely be if we had one.

Mito: We materialize in a loud, grimy city. Clanking machinery and grinding gears make it difficult to hear oneself think. Viewers, be grateful this experience is filtered through psychic receptors. The true scale of this noise would deafen you.

Dolly: Turn that racket down!

Dolly: Thank you, dear. I didn't know you carried ear protection.

Mito: I never leave home without it. Why do you think I have so many pockets in this jumpsuit I wear? Here, Rob. This goes over your ears.

Rob: Thanks, Mito. This can't possibly be the origin of time.

Mito: I think it's something they just tell tourists, but they certainly went all in on the theme.

Dolly: As always, our dear Mito is right on the money. Never in my life have I seen so many clocks. Green, dull clocks, thick with patina stare at us from every angle. They're on the lamp posts, the brick work, and the traffic signs. As the sparkly navigation heels begin leading us off to our story, I notice the clocks embedded in the cobblestones.

Mito: As we hurry down the cobblestones, the streets grow cleaner and the clocks become shinier. Bronze pendulum clocks spill out of flower boxes like glossy petunias. Gleaming silver pocket watches drift through the air like dying balloons.

Rob: Does the sun look weird to you? It almost looks like a clock, but these people couldn't possibly have turned the sun into a clock. Suns are stars that throw their weight around a solar system, and stars are made of, um, atoms?

Dolly: My, oh my! Don't you sound smart as all get out? You've been really working hard on those adult learning classes.

Mito: Technically, everything is made of atoms, but yes. That's a hologram. All light and heat is artificially generated on this planet, but the inhabitants felt uneasy without something in the sky. This world cannibalized their own sun a few centuries ago.

Rob: Cannibalized? You mean they ate it?

Mito: They were harvesting heavy elements, and they took too much. The core collapsed, and the whole star turned into a black hole. Black holes distort time and anthro-horologists believe that jumpstarted this world's obsession with clocks. Did either of you read the briefing?

Dolly: Now why would we need to do that when you know the briefing backwards and forwards? You are shaping up to be a fantastic lead reporter.

Mito: For my New Year's resolution, I decided to be more prepared. What did you choose, Dolly?

Dolly: This year, I'm determined to bake more cookies. I always get a hankering for pies and cobblers, but there's a whole world of cookies out there.

Rob: But you love baking? That resolution is too easy.

Dolly: I'll tell you a secret, sugar. The easy resolutions are the best kind. Is this the place?

Mito: The sparkly navigation shoes have quit walking, so I suppose it must be. It's a tall building. At least four stories, and I don't know if there's a basement. The exterior has all the clocks I've come to expect, but the building is carpeted in a rich, velvety maroon.

Dolly: Eww. Viewers should be glad their psychic receptors don't transmit feelings. The bricks are covered in actual velvet. That just ain't right.

Mito: Across the doorway is a large orange banner proclaiming 'Grand Opening.' It's a little dingier than I expected.

Rob: Mito isn't wrong. The clocks are covered in a thick- what did you call it, Dolly? Patina? The clocks might've been bronze, but now they're green.

Mito: It must be a design choice. This is a museum, after all. It would be strange if it looked new.

Rob: I've only seen museums in those documentaries Mito loves so much. This is exciting. What do you think is inside? Clocks? Calendars? Dioramas?

Dolly: Heaven help us. Mito, you turned Rob into a nerd.

Rob: As I prepare a witty, hilarious response, I see a chicken approaching us. Viewers, make sure your psychic receptors are tuned into this broadcast, because I don't think I can do it justice. This is the strangest image I've ever seen, and I live with eighty-ish other reporters in a cramped dormitory where gravity is a multiple-choice question. A large, chonky rooster is waddling down the steps in a pinstriped suit.

Mito: Rob, do you want another HR sensitivity session? No? Then stop talking. Viewers, please forgive Rob's heinous description. Rob may have taught himself to read, but he has a lot to learn about the galaxy.

Dolly: The plump little roly-poly of a rooster struts through the automatic doors. His glossy red tail feathers shine in the light of the holographic sun. He is clearly a very well-to-do chicken, if his tailored suit and fine green waistcoat are any indication. Whoever owns this fella must be very proud.

Mito: Read the briefing. I am begging you both to read the briefing. That rooster isn't owned by anyone. The chickens overthrew their egg-stealing overlords several thousand years before written history began. Be polite.

Mr. Bwacawk: Are you the group from the Crack Between Worlds? May I see your press badges?

Mito: We all hand over our press badges for inspection. The museum liaison gives each badge a careful peck.

Mito: Yes, we're from the CBW Channel. I'm Mito, the lead reporter.

Dolly: I'm Dolly.

Rob: Rob Skythrust, nice to meet you.

Mr. Bwacawk: My name is Bawk-Bawk Bwacawk, but please call me Bwacawk. We're all very excited to have the CBW channel covering our grand re-opening. I'm a tremendous fan. Tell me, do you happen to know any of the people on Diced?

Mito: The inter-dimensional cooking show? We all work in the same building, so…

Rob: One of my six roommates is a host. He's the knife guy.

Mr. Bwacawk: I adore the knife guy. The way he dismembered that hen was phenomenal. I've never seen someone debone a chicken with so much ease. Oh. Pardon me. I forgot how squeamish humanoids were around cannibalism. Rest assured, there will be no human tartare at the press lunch. Shall we proceed inside?

Rob: We follow Mr. Bawcawk-

Mr. Bwacawk: Bwacawk.

Rob: Bawcawk?

Mr. Bwacawk: It's Bwacawk. Tone is important.

Rob: We follow Mr. Bwacawk into the Origin of Time. There are more balloons than I imagined.

Mito: They're probably celebratory balloons. I see them at a lot of grand openings.

Rob: Shiny, silver pocket watches chase the balloons across the ceiling. Occasionally, the chain of a watch strikes at just the right angle to puncture the balloon. Some of the watches seem to be hunting in packs. As I stare, a flock of pocket watches attack a bundle of quivering balloons. They spook. In their haste to bounce away, they leave a tiny balloon behind.

Rob: It is no match for the silver chains.

Dolly: Our museum liaison is talking, but I don't think any of us reporters are listening. I reckon the pocket watches are herding the balloons. The survivors huddle together. The pocket watches flick their silver chains, warning the balloons that numbers won't save them. Heavens to Betsy, this is more exciting than football.

Mito: Pay attention. This is a momentous occasion. What will Mr. Stanton say if- oh, shit! They're stampeding! The balloons are stampeding away from the hunting pocket watch. They're bouncing towards the nearest hallway. They're going to make it! They're going to make it!

Rob: Shit.

Dolly: Oh, the poor dears. It's a massacre.

Mito: Viewers, it's a sad day for balloons. A second flock of pocket watches were waiting around the corner. I regret to tell you, there were no survivors.

Rob: Wait! In the corner! There's two left.

Dolly: Two balloons, runts if I ever saw them, have managed to escape the genocide. The pocket watches saunter closer. They're in no hurry. There is no escape for the precious dears. While Mr. Bwacawk prattles on about museums and generous donations, Rob sprints across the atrium. Sensing competition, the pocket watches pick up speed. Rob jumps, snatching the balloons as the pocket watches strike.

Mito: Rob shakes out his hand and grimaces as he inspects the welt left by a striking chain. The hesitation will cost him. The pocket watches float down from the ceiling, seeking their lost prey. Rob shoves the two balloons into his shirt. Once removed from sight, the pocket watches lose interest. Rob hurries back to the group, proud and triumphant.

Dolly: My, oh my, sugar. Aren't you looking bodacious today?

Mito: Unfortunately, the balloons Rob shoved beneath his shirt have settled into a rather odd position. I never though I would see Rob with cleavage. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. His are better than mine. Rob, what are you going to do with those balloons? I don't know how Mr. Stanton feels about pets.

Rob: I don't know. I couldn't let them die.

Mr. Bwacawk: Any questions?

Mito: No. Thank you. This has been informative.

Rob: Very informative.

Mr. Bwacawk: Pardon my confusion. I was under the impression that breasts were a secondary sexual characteristic of women, yet your beard scruff would indicate that you're a man.

Rob: I, um…

Mito: Mr. Bwacawk, would you like to help us talk about our sponsor, Llama Cigarettes? I'm sure the brand image could benefit from being endorsed by a classy gentleman like yourself.

Mr. Bwacawk: I suppose that would be acceptable.

Rob: Mr. Bwacawk carefully takes the offered cigarette in his beak and holds still as Mito lights it.

Mr. Bwacawk: Oh, my. This is quite delightful.

Mito: Llama Cigarettes. Are you a prominent member of a country club, art gallery, museum, or gentlemen's club? When people say your name, do they add adjectives like dignified, noble, or illustrious?

Dolly: They don't? Well don't just stand there, sugar. If people don't see you for the classy gentleman you are, try Llama Cigarettes. Studies show, Llama Cigarettes make people 26% more distinguished.

Rob: Remember, classy people smoke Llama Cigarettes.

Mr. Bwacawk: That was quite something. I don't believe I've ever starred in an advertisement. Do you think the smoke dulled my plumage?

Rob: Not at all. You're a natural.

Dolly: We follow Mr. Bwacawk into the first exhibit, leaving the predatory pocket watches behind.

Mito: As we enter the first exhibit, we three reporters are bombarded by a sea of black and white tiles. The contrast provides a dizzying effect.

Rob: I think the tiles are actually moving under our feet. I can see that Mr. Bracawk is leading us to a flight of stairs, but I can't quite tell where the steps start.

Dolly: Or end. I'm going to break a hip in this museum.

Rob: I thought a museum would have more exhibits. We follow Mr. Bwacawk up- no. We follow him down the stairs to what I can only describe as a kitchen.

Mito: My eyes scream in delight as they take in the blissful color. It's not a particularly nice kitchen, but anything is better than the endless black and white spirals.

Dolly: The kitchen has good bones. I could do a lot with this much counter space if it weren't so low.

Rob: What does a kitchen have to do with time?

Mr. Bwacawk: I thought we should start with the bottom and work our way up. This is the museum kitchen, where we make all our food for private events, donor nights, and media tours. Feel free to try anything you like.

Mito: There's no food prepared.

Mr. Bwacawk: There isn't? You're right. There must have been a mix-up. Why don't I… whip something up?

Mito: Viewers without psychic receptors should know that Mr. Bwacawk is now twirling knives in his beak and flaring his plumage in a way I can only describe as suggestive. I didn't think chickens did mating dances, but I suppose I'm not an expert in alien chicken behavior.

Mr. Bwacawk: Never fear. I'll be done in a moment. I've watched every episode of Diced.

Rob: Is he trying to audition for Diced?

Dolly: No real chef spreads peanut butter on a slice of sourdough with quite so much flare. I've seen interpretive dancers with less drama.

Mito: Mr. Bwacawk wiggles his butt as he crows. He throws a beak-ful of seeds into the air and flaps his wings to drive it into the peanut butter. With a flourish, he sets the plate before us. Plate, as in singular. I believe he expects us to share a single slice of bread. We take turns nibbling on the bread.

Dolly: Dear, I really don't think birdseed and peanut butter is my thing.

Mito: We all. Take. Turns.

Dolly: Hmmph. Fine.

Mito: Mmm. Thank you, Mr. Bwacawk.

Mr. Bwacawk: Do you like it, Rob?

Rob: Oh. Yes. Definitely.

Mr. Bwacawk: It's a foreign delicacy. I'm sure you'll want to tell all your roommates about this stupendous opportunity to try a new cuisine.

Rob: Yeah.

Mr. Bwacawk: Your roommates may even want to try it themselves. I'm sure anyone who works on Diced is a true connoisseur of the culinary arts.

Rob: I'll tell the knife master all about this.

Mr. Bwacawk: Splendid. Shall we continue on our tour? Oh. You haven't finished.

Mito: It's a cultural thing. I always leave a few bites of food on my plate to show appreciation. Sometimes, if it's really good, I leave more.

Dolly: I ain't never seen a rooster smile, but New Year's day is the time for new experiences. Mr. Bwacawk leads us back up the black and white tiled stairs.

Mito: When I brace myself for the dizzying spiral of black and white, the vertigo goes away.

Dolly: Does it?

Mito: No.

Rob: I crane my neck, hoping to see an ancient clock or something equally museum-worthy. I missed it the first time we came through here, but there must be something hidden in all these spirals.

Dolly: I've sniffed mushrooms that left me less off-kilter. Even Rob's breasts don't like it. Those balloons are shaking like a bellydancer.

Mito: I consider asking Mr. Bwacawk the reason for this dizzying display, but decide the danger is too great to risk it. He might choose to pause in this nightmare, and then I will have no choice but to vomit into my lead reporter top hat. Perhaps our museum liaison is already crowing about this exhibit. I fear the black and white spirals have deafened me. It's all I can do to put one foot in front of the other as we climb to the next floor.

Rob: This is more like it! Viewers, I hope you can see all these clocks, I really do. A thousand ancient timepieces stare at us from every corner. In the center stands a gigantic stone clock with grinding gears and a ticking that seems to reverberate in my bones. If someone told me this massive granite beast was the origin of all time, I would believe them.

Mito: The enormous stone clock looms high above us. A spiral staircase wraps around it so visitors can examine it as they climb to the next level. I struggle to rip my eyes off this ticking behemoth, but for my viewers, I will try. I turn to look at the walls.

Dolly: Heavens to Betsy, this is something else. There are clocks as far as the eye can see. Great big grandfathers and itty bitty babies. Glittering crystal and shimmering pearl. I see bronze and silver and gold and every other metal you can melt in a forge. This place is a marvel.

Mito: Viewers I can officially add this to the list of Top 10 Must See Attractions. Everyone should visit the origin of time. This is an amazing… hey. What is that?

Dolly: What are you looking at, sweetpea?

Mito: There's a face in that clock.

Rob: I think all clocks have faces.

Mito: I'm serious. There's a face in the clock. The round, shiny one. He's sort of flickering in the reflection. There. Don't you see it?

Dolly: I think your eyes are playing tricks on you, dear.

Rob: I peer into the clock Mito is staring at. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a strange flicker in the bronze of a nearby wall clock. It's a man. Thin. Reedy. Short, dark hair, a skinny mustache, and bronze glasses obscure his scarecrow face. He's the same man I saw in the temporal storm back on Universe 11.

Mito: Dr. Ravenwood.

Dolly: I don't see a thing. Why would the ghost of Dr. Ravenwood be in this junkyard? No offense, Mr. Bwacawk.

Mito: He's there. Right there. Okay… now he isn't, but that doesn't mean I'm seeing things. He must've moved onto a different clock.

Rob: I scour the nearby clocks for unapproved faces. This is starting to get really weird. The temporal storm is one thing, but Dr. Ravenwood shouldn't be able to show up on any old clock. There's half a clock above the station urinals, and I don't want to think about what he could've seen.

Mr. Bwacawk: This isn't just any location. The Origin of Time is situated on a nexus in the time stream. A dozen realities cross paths within this very building. Didn't you see the exhibit downstairs with the black and white spirals?

Rob: Oh. Right. The spirals.

Mr. Bwacawk: In any case, the museum isn't open yet. If your friend is present, he'll need to leave.

Mito: I found him!

Rob: I race over to Mito, eager to see the infamous scientist.

Dolly: I look at my eager companions and sigh. I hate to see their little hearts broken, but it's just not possible for Dr. Ravenwood to be in the clocks. Maybe Mito should've gotten a few days off after Dr. Ravenwood died. Grief can do terrible, terrible things to the mind.

Mito: He's gone!

Rob: Over here! Wait. He left.

Mito: I see him by the skinny grandfather clock, the one that looks like it's bleeding.

Rob: Now he's at the potbellied cuckoo.

Dolly: As I watch my fellow reporters venture deeper and deeper into the clock exhibit, a horrible sinking feeling overtakes me. This apparition is herding our dear Mitochondria and Rob Skythrust. I ignore Mr. Bwacawks worried clucking and hurry after them.

Dolly: Mito! It's a trap, dear. The apparition is leading you to your doom. My intuition is never wrong about doom. Rob, you're smarter than this. Don't fall for the trickery of some high falutin ghost!

Rob: We can't stop now, Dolly. Even if I wasn't curious, Mito isn't going to stop looking.

Dolly: That girl is like a dog with a bone when she sets her mind to something. Hold up. I see something. Mito, Dr. Ravenwood is over here!

Mito: No. He's in the cuckoo clock section.

Dolly: Really? I could've sworn I saw him. Wait, yes I see him!

Mito: He's over here now. Maybe he's trying to encourage you to keep up with the rest of us?

Mr. Bwacawk: Are you familiar with the appearance of this Dr. Ravenwood? It doesn't seem like you are.

Dolly: Fluff off, you overgrown cluck nugget. This is CBW business.

Mr. Bwacawk: We'll see what your producers have to say about your boorish behavior.

Dolly: As Mr. Bwacawk storms off in a huff, I follow the sounds of my fellow reporters. Someone has to keep them from following an apparition to their death.

Mito: Dolly! Dolly! We're over by the crystal clock. I think Dr. Ravenwood was trying to lead us to this spot. Hurry! It looks like he trying to tell us something.

Dolly: My goodness. I've been running all over hell's half acre trying to find y'all.

Rob: Crystal clock might not have been the best way to describe our location. We stand before an obelisk made out of a single quartz crystal. It's taller than I am, and nearly as wide. According to the description, it's 3000 years old, a relic of the ancient Glundy Empire.

Mito: Not Glundy. Glundark. The little twirly at the end tells us it was found during the first Glundark Imperium. It could be much older than 3000 years, because Glundarkian explorers, um, liberated it from a newly conquered planet. I doubt it's a natural crystal, and no one knows if its creators intended it to be just a clock. A laser points at the obelisk. The light refracts through the crystal, and the time shines on the nearest wall.

Rob: Dr. Ravenwood is flickering all over this crystal. I don't know if he likes the reflective surface or if he just had to catch his breath. Either way, it seemed like he wants to tell us something.

Mito: As I scan the crystal obelisk, I spot Dr. Ravenwood flickering near the point. He's mouthing something, but I can't quite tell what. Wait, I think he's saying 'Dolly.'

Mito: She's here, Dr. Ravenwood. What did you want to tell her?

Dolly: Heaven help me. Now I'm hallucinatin too. The ghost of Dr. Ravenwood appears to be screaming something. I turn my head to get a better view.

Dolly: A strange static electrifies the air. I can feel my bones buzz. I reckon a temporal storm is coming.

Mito: I think Dr. Ravenwood is trying to become corporeal. He must be using the crystal obelisk to manifest himself.

Rob: Uh, Mito? Aren't temporal storms dangerous? We've been in a lot of temporal storms lately, and I'd hate to think Dr. Ravenwood is trying to kill us.

Mito: Just stay together. It'll be fine. Look, Dr. Ravenwood is peeling himself off the obelisk. He's trying to say something. I can almost hear him. Dolly is… Dolly caused…

Mito: Dolly!

Rob: Dolly, are you alright?

Dolly: I must've lost my balance. Oof. My hip. Help me off the floor, Rob.

Mito: When Dolly fell, her leg hit the obelisk, knocking it to the ground. I kneel on the floor, but Dr. Ravenwood is gone. A long, ugly crack splits the quartz crystal in two. I don't know how this crystal worked, but I'm fairly certain it's broken. I poke the fragments. Maybe I can fix it? No. This clock is well and truly broken. I don't know what to think. Dr. Ravenwood clearly has something important to say. Dolly appears to be fine, so I turn to look at the nearby clocks. If I can find his reflection, maybe I can hear the rest of his message.

Mr. Bwacawk: Those are the culprits, officer! Those reporters snuck a friend into the museum, violating our policy- The clock! What happened to the clock? Vandals! Terrorists! Arrest them, officers!

Rob: Shoo!

Mito: Dr. Ravenwood-

Rob: No time! Do you want to be arrested? Were you asleep when you made me watch that prison documentary? I'm too pretty for prison!

Dolly: Take us out of here, Mito. I don't know how long I can keep running with this bad hip of mine. And cut the broadcast. Viewers, wish us luck. Ta-ta for now, my lovelies.