The True Ship

By Ursula Katherine Spiller

Did you ever wonder how coincidences happen in stories?
It takes more than a stroke of a pen or keys on a keyboard, you know.
Reality agents have to enter a story in the making and make it happen.
When a chance meeting is needed to push along the characters, reality agents make sure everything lines up. Or some good old ‘deus ex machina’? Now, that's definitely the work of an agent.
After all, if rocks are supposed to fall and kill everyone, someone has to throw those rocks, right? (No actual rocks are being thrown. Other things though...)

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ursula Katherine Spiller
• Release date: Aug 19, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215631348

Ursula Katherine Spiller

Ursula Katherine Spiller was born on 19. March 1977 in Switzerland and wrote her first stories by dictating them to her mother who was much faster at typing than little Ursula. Little Ursula soon grew old enough to do her own typing and wrote what she would later learn is called "fanfiction". In fact, she wrote quite a lot of that. Incessantly. As an avid fandomer, she never lacked material, but it took some time before she eventually decided to invest in her own characters.Aside from the whole writing thing, Ursula has also raised an awesome son on her own and has a Master's Degree in English Literature and Communication Sciences. Her thesis was something about blood and Dracula and was totally cool."The True Ship" is her fifth original novel. As you'll soon see, her characters like to hop between different books/stories and genres, and "The True Ship" uncovers that. So, if you want to know how the characters would act in a completely different setting, you'll want to check out Ursula's detective novel "Cookie", the fantasy novel "Q's Key", "How a Post-Apocalyptic Vampire Librarian Saved the World", or the wlw romance "The Coffee Shop AU".

Book preview

The True Ship

By Ursula Katherine Spiller

Copyright 2023 Ursula Katherine Spiller

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes:

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Table of Contents

Prologue: Reality Is a Piece of Junk

Chapter 1: Adventure Cruise

Chapter 2: Well, That's Inconvenient

Chapter 3: Never Tried and Untested

Chapter 4: Off We Go

Chapter 5: What Even?

Chapter 6: Layer Cake

Chapter 7: Stop and Go

Chapter 8: Breaks

Chapter 9: Reality Is What You Make of It

About the Author

For Sheila

Prologue: Reality Is a Piece of Junk

I did always like the comedies best, she rasped as she stumbled out of the transportation capsule and shook off the residue of disorientation that always clung to her like bees clinging to the protective suit of a beekeeper.

She hurried across the cold hangar – 12C, her usual one – the hissing steam of the engine billowing behind her as she reset herself to the physical reality that the machine had pulled her back into. Well, she tried to hurry. Her legs were rubbery and her joints stiff, and all she wanted was to get back to her cabin to bask in the happy ending she got to witness. Just a few minutes of basking.

Agent! the spatial technician on duty barked after her. You need to stay for your debrief!

She waved him off. You can wait for your damn report for a few hours! She grabbed the emergency lever that would override the technician's settings and open the door.

Hey! the technician tried again, but she ignored him and let the door hiss closed behind her.

Oh, he's new, she muttered into the empty corridor and stumbled along, getting away before the overeager technician could catch up with her. Not that she thought that he actually would. She'd done this job for too long to let bossy little jumpstarts, well, boss her around. And even the bossiest jumpstarts were afraid of her. There was an upside to having a 'reputation'. The downside was that she was usually saddled with the kinds of assignments that nobody else wanted to touch in this reality, never mind any others.

Down the corridor to the agents' quarters, the lights were flickering, but that didn't even garner an eyeroll anymore. She held the secret belief that the whole ship was probably held together by imagination and good (and sometimes bad) intentions, trundling through space.

The door to her room opened to her touch, and she all but fell inside and sighed in relief, once the door shut out the rest of the world behind her. She picked a bottle from her desk and sat down hard in the corner of her bunk before taking a large gulp of the tasteless, nutritious gunk that vaguely set her energy levels to rights.

She closed her eyes, mindlessly kept sipping her drink, and waited for her body to catch up with the flow of reality again.

They always felt so real, the days, months, and sometimes even years that she spent on missions. But the moment she returned, her body made her aware of the fact that time moved differently again, that reality was a groaning hunk of metal in deep space and not hot coffee with sunshine filtering through windows, lush forests, or bustling people.

Her eyes opened listlessly. Perhaps the food on missions wasn't real in terms of aligning with the perception of true reality, but at least it pretended to taste of something, very unlike whatever had been concocted and filled into their ever-present food and drink containers. She absentmindedly studied her hands toying with the bottle, gazed along her arms and old marks from old missions. Well. At least no new ones had been acquired this time. That was just one of the many perks of being assigned a romantic comedy. She'd even been allowed to mostly keep her actual body without too many modifications. Not that she usually minded those modifications, but once more getting used to her reality in the aftermath was... She shook off the thought and focused on basking in whatever traces of the happy ending still clung to her.

Protagonist getting her happily ever after, true love and true friends, a safe and homey space...

She had closed her eyes again without noticing, a small smile gracing her lips. She could leave the ending of the last page with no doubts or hard feelings. And she hadn't even had to carry out any dirty deeds. No assassinations, no infiltrations, no setting fires to whole cities to make sure the protagonist would move in the intended direction. This time, her only job had been to be present, be vigilant, and leave a newspaper for someone to find. She even got to observe the happy ending, which was by no means a given. The worse the scenario, the less likely she got to see everything turning out alright.

But someone had to do it, right? Someone had to manipulate the story in such a way that there could be a happy ending. Who would do that if not them?

She fell asleep, propped up against the cold wall of her cabin, dreams of coffee and cake and sunshine following her.

She startled awake at the perfunctory knock on her door before it swished open and the intruder started talking.

Good morning, Carnelian. I convinced the higher-ups to let me check on you first, before they come hauling you to the bridge. You're welcome.

Carnelian groaned, and then groaned some more when she noticed the kink in her neck.

The intruder smiled at her smugly.

One of these days, Carnelian said, "I'm just going to not return at all and stay in a world full of sunshine and daisies."

They'd find you and drag you back. You know the story cycle collapses on our end once it's completed.

Carnelian rolled her eyes. Then I'll just start a sequel myself.

Ah! Nothing quite like heresy before breakfast.

Carnelian sighed. What do you want, Rogue?

Rogue leaned against the closed door. What do you think? You haven't handed in your report yet, and you know how everyone loves their reports...

I do hand in my reports. I just don't do it right upon return.

When the recollection would be the most accurate, Rogue argued back.

Carnelian rubbed her face. "I don't understand why we need to have this fight every damn time. You know why I don't do it right away. Our superiors know it too. The whole damn ship knows it. And yet, here we are, after every mission, arguing about reports."

Rogue's expression softened. "And I'm going to tell you yet again that getting involved just a little less with your designated missions would be healthier for you."

Carnelian rolled her eyes. My mental involvement makes me good at what I do. That's why I was moved to this division, and you know it.

You don't have to be top of the class! Doing your job well is good enough. You don't have to be the best. No one asks that of you.

Carnelian unscrewed the bottle that was still in her hand from the night before and drank deeply, finishing it. Rogue wouldn't stop before they'd unburdened their soul, anyway.

The displacement confusion would be a lot less severe if you reigned yourself in a bit, Rogue pointed out another old argument.

Carnelian tapped her temple. I only have this head to work with, and I can't do the work any other way. What do you want me to do? Swap my brain with someone else's? Refuse soul-threads? She moved about to sit more comfortably. The higher-ups want me to do the work the way I do it, but they won't adapt their regulations to meet me halfway. She shrugged. That's the way it is, that's the way it's going to stay, unless they fire me, which they probably won't.

Not yet.

Carnelian huffed and lay down again. Fine, she snapped and rolled to the side to face the wall. So, there's nothing either of us can do about it. They'll get the report by noon. Now go away.

It took a moment for the door to open and close again, and Carnelian dozed for another hour or so to get her thoughts in order, then she (very grudgingly) got up to make her report.

On her way to the bridge with the much sought-after report, her legs even felt mostly like her own legs again, and the groaning metal and the humming engines of the ship felt less like a weird dream. Reality had her in its grasp again.

The door hissed open, and she briefly struggled to remember the current captain's name. They never did manage to keep their positions for a particularly long time. Carnelian supposed that was understandable; she certainly wouldn't have wanted to be captain or even any other member of the bridge crew. Handling her missions in far-away worlds was more to her liking. It would have been to her liking long before she was ever picked after her numerous evaluations that were desperately trying to figure out how she could be of use to her society. That had been a trip and a half and had taken half her life (provided that she got really old).

It wasn't that she hadn't wanted to work; it was just that the result of all the jobs she'd ever had was the same: not too bad, but someone else is better suited, to be honest.

Until the powers that be had figured out that her way of processing reality was what made it particularly easy for her to be dropped in any world – any at all – and land on her feet (or whatever that world's equivalent of feet was). She could be given the part of a mentor, friend, or observer as well as that of an assassin, spy, or arsonist. All the worlds bent to her will. All the worlds except one.

This one.

Captain, she greeted her current superior officer, in lieu of having to remember his name and remained standing just inside the door.

Agent, the captain replied in kind and stood, waving her into the conference room to the side. He took the tablet with her report and gestured her to take a seat.

Carnelian sat and suppressed a sigh. So, it was time for another chat, then.

When was your last evaluation with the psychologist? the captain asked, coming straight to the point.

One week before the last mission. Luckily. She'd seen another intervention coming and had struck pre-emptively.

The captain nodded, skimming the report absently. Good, good. You are to meet with them between every mission, from now on.

Carnelian blinked. What? Captain?

The captain raised an eyebrow at her. Was I being unclear?

Captain... the evaluations are unlikely to change that quickly.

You may view it as a kind of support more than an evaluation, if you wish, he said, not appearing to understand the purpose of such an order either. New regulations from high command.

Carnelian was still confused. For everyone? Do we even have that capacity?

No, the captain said pointedly. This has been issued for you specifically – or for anyone else with your... predisposition. I have not been informed of other operatives such as yourself, but there may well be others on other vessels. Your unorthodox methods and success rate aside, you're not that unique.

So, why am I forced to do this?

See it as a way to justify your constantly late reports, the captain stated firmly.

Carnelian thought that this was almost a good enough reason to pull herself together and write the damn reports as soon as she touched down on solid ship ground after a mission. And she almost voiced it, but she knew herself well enough to know that she wouldn't be able to do it. Her reports wouldn't be useful, even if she could drag them from the depths of her being.

I see you understand, the captain said, reading her expression with satisfaction. Then he tapped the tablet. Your mission went well?

Carnelian nodded, swallowing her most sour expression. Yes, Captain. It was... pleasant.

It says here that the protagonist has, and I quote, jokingly referred to the operative as a secret agent. Is that correct?

Carnelian sighed. The captain must have been reading her report as she'd been writing earlier. He couldn't have read it quite so quickly while in the conference room with her now. Yes, Captain, she confirmed.

The captain shrugged expectantly. And? You don't believe that being recognised is a problem?

No, Captain. It was a gamble. The protagonist of that world had a very vivid imagination and frequently assigned adventurous personalities to random people. It allowed for me to watch the proceedings without appearing suspicious, because everyone would merely assume that they viewed me as a secret agent because that is what the protagonist saw in me.

I see. He clearly didn't.

Captain, nobody blew my cover, she said.

None of our readings suggested that, no, he admitted grudgingly.

Will that be all, Captain?

The captain tapped the tablet some more in contemplation. Yeah, fine. Get out of here and report to the psychologist. It'll do you some good or something.

Carnelian closed her eyes to avoid rolling them. Yes, Captain. The captain looked like he was about to get a headache, but she didn't see how he should be better off than her and just left with a nod.

At first, she wanted to just return to her quarters and wait for that summons to the psychologist, but then the captain's words sneaked back in. Obviously not the words about evaluations, but the ones about monitoring her missions.

She never thought much about the readings. She knew of them, of course. They were part of the training, but they didn't have any bearing on her everyday life. Her steps slowed when the thought crossed her mind that they should have been part of her routine, as they were for all the other agents, but theory and practice were so much more detached for her than other operatives. Most agents used the readings to improve their success rate, their approach to any given case. Carnelian, however, saw herself as a kind of James Bond, and rules were for other people. She acted on instinct, and that got her results. Why, oh why, couldn't superiors just accept that? Things would be so much easier for her.

Still, the captain's words made her think of something. She bent the non-disclosure rules every now and again (often), and she had just assumed that this would show on the readings, and that nobody ever said anything to her, because her missions still turned out okay. Since this was the first time anyone mentioned such an (insignificant) infraction even without the readings saying so, it appeared that, for some reason, the readings had never shown any aberrations. As insignificant as she thought said infractions to be, they should still have shown up. And now she was both curious and suspicious enough to want to investigate.

Records storage, then.

The young records keeper on duty was surprised enough to see her, having had the pleasure so rarely.

Ah! Agent. Uh. Can I... help you with something?

Carnelian smiled winningly. Yes, Larry, she said. She had no problems with remembering relevant names. None of the captains had so far been particularly relevant to her, and they helpfully insisted on being addressed with their rank anyway. Could you call up my latest mission log, please?

Larry blinked, surprised. Of course, he said and got up to the pile of the most recent files that were still cluttering about, waiting to be stored. He picked up the chunky metal box that must have been cut-of-the-edge technology a century ago but that their society's more recent developments couldn't surpass anyway. Much like anything else on their ship. The inside of the computer whirred and rattled when he pushed the disc inside.

Were you on duty when the information was pulled, Larry?

And some of the live recording, he confirmed and sent her another vaguely baffled look. Everything seemed to go swimmingly... He left the sentence hanging, clearly waiting for her to explain her uncharacteristic appearance.

Hm, Carnelian hummed when she read the summary readout on the dingy screen. Any meta level breaches?

Goodness, no, Larry said, chuckling. The alarm would have woken the whole ship.

Right.

Larry leaned closer and lowered his voice. "Mind you, you did get into red levels on that other mission. His eyes nervously flickered to the door behind Carnelian to make sure that nobody was walking in on them. You know the one."

Yes, but that story was about the protagonist realising that she was part of a story. We expected red levels. Even an alert or two. She raised an eyebrow at him. "But I wasn't the one who set it off. That was someone else and an approved meta level breach. I just had to set it up."

I was very disappointed to have missed the live recording, Larry admitted. I did get the readouts, though. He slowly shook his head in amazement and puffed out his cheeks,