Exiles of the Fold

Part I - The Constant of Isolation

Cory was shaking when the guard shoved a heavy duffel into his hands and pushed him through the turnstile. Once he was through, there was no going back. Not that he had a choice. He was a short walk from a punishment handed down by the Directive—banishment through the Door to Nowhere.

He blinked, caught the rising bile in his throat, and tried to swallow it down.

“Trash can’s right there,” said a young woman in uniform, pointing at a bin lined with thick black plastic. Her tone was flat, almost bored.

He nodded, cheeks puffed, then lost the fight. He bent over the bin and retched until his ribs hurt—violent bursts, hot and sour, a string of acid fire burning his throat and nose.

She waited, one hand resting on her sidearm, the other holding the duffel he’d dropped.

When he finally straightened, she said, “Let’s go. We’re both on the clock. Door opens in six minutes. You go through, or I put a bullet in your head.”

She led him down a sterile hallway that opened into what looked like a convenience store stripped bare and restocked by survivalists.

“Bag,” she said, tossing it at his chest. “You’ve got four minutes.”

He froze.

She sighed. “Don’t overthink it.”

He reached for a pouch at a time until she swept her arm across the shelf and dumped a whole row into the bag.

“Water,” she said. “Sometimes people forget. When it runs out, so do you.”

He stuffed liter bottles until the zipper strained. The whole thing felt like a dream he couldn’t wake from—fast-forwarded and senseless.

She slid a pistol and three clips across the counter. “Don’t touch until you’re through. Otherwise, I’ll shoot you.”

“What’s it for?”

“For when the water runs out,” she said, expression unreadable.

She added three cartons of cigarettes and a handful of lighters.

“I don’t smoke.”

“Then start. Or trade. If that’s a thing. You’re not the first to go through, and definitely not the last.”

“Over here,” she said. He followed, still caught in a haze of confusion—more so when he saw another duffel bag already packed and waiting on the floor.

Then she reached into her vest, pulled out a thin packet wrapped in waterproof foil, and slipped it into the second duffel before he could look.

“What was that?”

“A love letter. Leave your bag here. Take this one. It has everything you’ll need.”

His jaw moved as if to speak, but nothing came out.

“We’ve got less than a minute. Leave your bag. Take that one and follow me.”

He did as he was told.

They walked the corridor to a seamless steel door pulsing with faint light. A desk and chair stood beside it—both empty.

She ushered him to a line painted on the floor. “Stand here and try to relax.”

She took her place beside him, posture loose but ready. “Twenty seconds.”

He stared at the door, then at her. He was sweating. She looked cool as ice in a glass.

She raised an eyebrow. “What did you do?”

“I liked a girl.”

She smirked. “That’s not a crime—yet.”

“The wrong girl. Prime Director’s daughter. Section Seven.”

“Ooh. Yeah, that’ll do it. Still—romantic, in a dumb way.”

He gave a helpless shrug. “They say Nowhere’s worse than dying.”

She glanced at him—something soft flickered and vanished. “It’s not too late to eat a bullet.”

He blinked at her, trying to look horrified, but it came out as simple disbelief.

Then the shouting started—boots hammering the corridor, guards moving fast, rifles raised.

She seemed ready for it. Her pistol came up, and her shots cracked in a controlled rhythm, sending the guards diving for cover that didn’t exist.

The light from the door flared white—soundless and total.

She caught his arm. “Time’s up, Buttercup.”

And before he could resist, she dragged him through.

---

The light was warm, and it hummed—low, steady, like a current. The air shimmered, gold and endless. There was no horizon, no ceiling, no walls. Only distance, repeating itself in every direction.

Cory stumbled forward, feet sinking into a surface that wasn’t quite sand. It felt soft, elastic—white against his skin. He blinked hard, trying to force the afterimage of the door out of his eyes.

“Holy shit,” he said, voice flat against the stillness. “Where—”

“Nowhere,” she said, then frowned. “Or everywhere. Depends on which theory you prefer.”

She lowered the pistol, scanning the expanse. The light made her look bleached. “Hotter than I expected. So at least one of the calculations is off.”

He crouched, running his hand through the ground. It parted like flour, leaving no mark. “Everything feels wrong.”

“Wrong, different—get used to it. We’re going to be here a while.”

Silence settled again—too clean, too total. Even their breathing seemed to come back delayed, like an echo running on a different clock.

He looked up. “Where’s the door?”

“Gone.”

“But we just came through it.”

“Yeah. And now it’s gone. Move on.”

She knelt, unzipped the duffel, removed the “love letter,” and slid it behind her vest. “We need to get off the surface.”

“Off? If you mean underground, I hope you brought a shovel.”

She shook her head. She wasn’t going to be able to explain this—not yet anyway.

“No. Beneath the surface of the Fold—through the cracks.”

“Cracks in what?”

“Time. Dimensions. It’s complicated.”

Cory’s voice came out small. “You’ve done this before?”

She gave him a look halfway between pity and irritation. “No one’s ever escaped Nowhere. This is my first time—same as you.”

She reloaded her pistol and chambered a round.

“Everything I know about this place is theoretical—based on a model. And judging by the temperature, that model isn’t entirely accurate.” She paused. “But all models are wrong—”

“But some are useful,” he finished.

She nodded, impressed. “Maybe you’re not completely useless after all.”

He shrugged. “I read a lot.”

“Look,” she said, “I can’t explain everything—at least not quickly. You’re going to have to trust me. Have patience, and with a little firsthand experience, things might start to make sense.”

“Tell me one thing, and be honest. Why are you here?”

“Three months ago, my father sent the first theory into Nowhere,” she said. “He called it The Constant of Isolation. The model said this place doesn’t end—it loops. Folded space. Time caught in the crease. But nothing on the outside changed. No one found their way out, so he went back to the drawing board.”

She patted her chest, indicating the hidden packet. “A new model.”

“So you just—what—decided to tag along for a field test?”

“Something like that.”

He studied her, then the horizon. “Did you know they’d try to stop you? The other guards.”

“It was something I prepared for.”

“You planned this.”

“Well, I hadn’t decided for sure I was going through. They decided for me.”

“And I just happened to be the guy who showed up today?”

“Not exactly. I profiled you. They were sending you in alone, and I needed a partner.” She gave him a once-over. “First offense. Nonviolent. Not too bright. Just my type.”

He scowled. “Thanks.”

She smiled. “You were going through regardless, so look on the bright side: now you’ve got a cute, smart, and very witty companion. Someone who has a general idea of how this place works. Your odds of survival just went way up.”

“Forgive me for not being optimistic at the moment.”

She watched him scan the infinite horizon, the hopelessness written in his posture. She couldn’t fault him for that. She knew it would be a long time—if ever—before he felt anything different.

“What now?”

“Now,” she said, hoisting the bag, “we find Ward. With a little luck, he knows the way.”

“Who’s Ward?”

“Ward’s like you. Exiled. He brought the first theory in three months ago. I selected him because he had a certain sensitivity—a dimensional gift, for lack of a better term. My father developed a method for mapping the space. I trained Ward to use it. If he was able to put it to use, he might be able to get us where we need to go.”

“Where would that be?”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “My mother.”

---

He wasn’t sure how long they’d walked before she stopped and pulled a coil of pale fiber rope from her pack.

“What’s that for?” Cory asked.

“Rule number one: stay together. If you wander more than a hundred yards from me, we probably won’t find each other again.”

He frowned. “What? I’d just retrace my steps.”

“You could,” she said, unspooling the rope between them, “but you’d probably end up somewhere else. The Fold isn’t linear. In some places, space folds faster than you can turn around.”

She knotted the rope to his belt with brisk, practiced movements.

“How did you figure all this out?”

“A lot of thinking. Computer simulation. Some intuition. Mostly my father’s work—and my mother’s. Before she was forced into Nowhere. That was seven months ago.”

She crouched and dropped a few marbles, rolling them across the white ground. They skittered away in three clean arcs, each veering off before slowing to a stop.

“Simple test,” she said. “Gravity’s not consistent here. Somewhere out there it pools—like the bottom of a misshapen bowl.”

“So what, we just follow the marbles?”

“More or less.” She pulled a compass from her vest and held it flat. The needle didn’t spin—it twitched, paused, then leaned toward one of the errant marbles. “When the compass agrees with the marbles, we’re near a fold.”

Cory hesitated. “Why was your mom banished here?”

“She was a woman with dangerous ideas,” Lira said. “But that’s not the real reason.”

He waited.

“The Directorate had no use for a brilliant woman who didn’t obey orders. But they knew if anyone could make sense of Nowhere, it was her. So they solved two problems at once—removed a threat and sent in the best mind they had.”

She stood, pocketed the compass. “Did you know that when it was first discovered, people thought it was a doorway to heaven? There were riots. Thousands of believers forced their way through before they sealed it. When that proved inconvenient, the Directorate changed the story.”

“Rebranded it as Hell,” Cory said.

She nodded. “Exactly. A convenient place to dispose of the unfaithful, the criminally insane, or anyone who didn’t fit. The Directorate became gods—passing judgment, demanding devotion. And anyone who disagreed or displeased?” She looked at him. “Easily discarded.”

Cory turned in a slow circle, staring at the golden distance. “I’m not sure they were wrong about this being Hell.”

She almost smiled. “The problem with gods is that they’re drunk on their own moral certainty. This isn’t Hell any more than the outside is. It’s just… different.”

The rope pulled taut between them as she moved forward. He followed, just putting one foot in front of the other.

After a while, she glanced over. “Isn’t there something you’re forgetting to ask me?”

He looked confused. “I have a million questions. Where would you like me to start?”

“Nothing obvious? Something you’re missing or curious about… Cory?”

“Oh.” He thought for a second, then laughed. “I don’t know your name.”

She gave a small, humorless smile. “Lira. Lira Tesh.”

“Nice to meet you, Lira,” he said, awkward but sincere.

They walked in silence for a while, their shadows circling like clock hands around invisible centers.

“So,” he said like it was no big thing, “do you have a boyfriend?”

“Nope. But if we don’t find Ward, you and I will be spending eternity together. Unless I get tired of you.”

“That seems certain.”

“One hundred percent.”

---

Time had stretched on, and Cory felt more confused than ever. He tugged the tether between them, and she stopped.

“How long do you think we’ve been chasing marbles?” he asked.

She tilted her head, considering. “About three days, maybe.”

“Two days, twenty-two hours, twenty-two minutes, and twenty-two seconds,” he said.

She blinked. “How oddly specific.”

“I thought it’d sound more dramatic.”

“Why?”

“Well, I’ve been thinking—are you thirsty?”

“No.”

“Hungry?”

“No.”

“Need to pee?”

“No, Cory. What’s your point?”

He gestured vaguely. “The point seems obvious. We’ve been walking for days, but we’re not tired. We don’t need food or water. I haven’t even had to, you know, go—which happens pretty regularly on the outside. Side effect of all the tea. Or a tiny bladder. I should’ve seen a doctor about it.”

“All right, slow down.” She raised a hand. “How’s your math?”

“Fine, I guess.”

“Never mind. I’ll keep it simple. Not everyone’s a rocket scientist. Some people do the heavy lifting.” She gave him a quick once-over. “Or write poetry. Some people still appreciate poetry.”

“Ugh. Just tell me.”

“Time works differently here,” she said, as if it should’ve been obvious. “Your biological clock is still synced to the outside. It’s been almost three days here, but back home…”

She closed her eyes, running a quick calculation. “About fifteen minutes.”

He blinked. “Fifteen minutes?”

“Give or take. I’m approximating, but the ratio’s about 288 to 1—roughly one second outside for every 288 seconds in here.”

“That’s crazy. That’s impossible.”

“Sure.” Lira shrugged. “You’ll get hungry every hundred days or so. Drink small sips of water daily—if you actually feel thirsty, drink a little more. Bodily functions? Maybe once a month.” She smiled. “Less for you, though.”

He made a face. “Why less for me?”

“Tiny bladder, remember?”

He sighed, then picked a marble from her pouch and flicked it across the ground. It rolled a few yards, slowed—then suddenly sped up, vanishing into the haze.

She froze. “How did you know that was there?”

“I can feel it,” he said. “Sort of. It’s like I can see it because I feel it. Does that make sense?”

“Doesn’t have to make sense,” she murmured, staring at where the marble had disappeared. “Any idea where it goes?”

He shook his head. “Not a clue.”

“Okay.” She tightened the rope on her belt. “That’s our first crack. You coming?”

He tugged the tether. “Do I have a choice?”

“Nope. But fifteen minutes ago I thought you were cute but useless. Now I’m starting to think I might be the luckiest girl in the world.”