Prologue 

Lives of the rich and famous 

You’re here. The largest party in the whole sector—some would even say the whole galaxy—is just a few cubic parsecs away. You would have gotten right in, but valet was much more than you’d anticipated. Deciding to keep what little change you have, you opted for parking in the back of a nearby asteroid. A crumpled piece of paper is your ticket to the good life for just one night. The anticipation is killing you. So—as quickly as one can wait for a taxi to come—you wait. Finally, your impatience pays off, and the taxi floats up to you. It's an old model, stained the traditional yellow. Ion repulsors making that annoying low hum. Climbing in, you show the driver your ticket to the party. He glances at it and shrugs. You settle in. Sweat forms beads on your forehead. The paper ticket slides between your fingers in a nervous rhythm.  

“Gum?” The driver offers you a pack of verdant-green, proton-foil-wrapped gum. 

You breathe into your hand to check. Realizing your desperate need for mints to overshadow whatever it is you ate for lunch, you take the pack. Quickly and somewhat slyly, you pop out two pieces. You chomp on one before you hand back the pack. Quick fingers quickly comb the waves in your hair back. The rear-view mirror will have to be your final dressing room. A second to straighten up your clothes. This is the best you’ve ever looked. Of course, it’s all rented, but for tonight, you look like a star.

The taxi glides to a stop before the huge manor. The hum finally lets up. A line, choked full of terrans and non-terrans alike, stretches further than the naked eye can see. Nervousness begins to make your hands slippery as you step out. If you have to wait in that line, you’ll never make it in! Desperately, you look for anyone who works in the mansion. Surely, one of the employees will let you in if you show them your special ticket. Consciously slowing your breathing, you speed walk around, searching for someone in shades and a dark suit. A nearby bouncer matches that description. The only problem is; they have some things to add to it.  

The non-terran bouncer in the suit is an eight-foot-tall Anngorian. With muscles bigger than some of the apartments you’ve lived in. His coarse, red-skinned face is pinched and tense. His sunglasses rest upon twin horns, and his suit sleeves are ripped from his biceps down. You put aside any nervousness. As you approach, he glares down at you in disapproval. From shaking hands, you offer up your ticket. He holds out a clawed hand to take it. You place it, gently. Your trembling vocal cords force out something about being a “special” guest. He peers at the ticket with disdain. You mull over the minty gum in your mouth and decide to put the other piece in. The rejuvenated flavor cools your sweating brow. The Anngorian turns over the ticket, but stops right as he’s about to hand it back to you. His five eyes squint. They blink. He brings the ticket closer. Two of his eyes glance up at you. You nervously swallow the gum. He nods and steps aside to let you in.

You try to say something as you walk past, but the wadded gum is stuck in your throat. No words come, and neither does the flavored oxygen. You stumble into the galaxy’s biggest party, choking to death on gum. Trying desperately not to die, but at the same time not to make a bigger fool of yourself, you attempt to hide your predicament. Guests whirl and twirl gracefully. Singers from other dimensions play their hearts out on stage. Acrobats leap from heights above into floating balls of water suspended by gravitational dissonance. And you are choking to death.

Shambling inside, you frantically motion for a drink. Lucky for you, the architect of this fine establishment had efficiency on the mind. The bar is front and center. You fall forward against the unobtainium counter and waver your hand feverishly. The Voron bartender gives you a weird glance but then shrugs. He produces a four dimensional glass from under the counter. Quickly polishing it off, he slides the glass to you, empty. As it touches your hand, the sensor reads your biosigns before beaming a drink of glowing sangria and incandescent lime directly into the glass. You pick up the cup, downing the whole thing in one shot. The gum dislodges, and you breathe in the passion fruit and bubble gum-flavored air. Your starved lungs fill once more with the life-giving mixture of nitrogen and oxygen and that tiny .01 percent of other chemicals that keep terrans such as yourself alive. Once your respiratory system has had time to recuperate, you recover your demeanor. Standing up from the bar, you look around at all this night will have in store.

Along with all the previously mentioned, the party includes celebrities and dignitaries from all systems. Famous people from this timeline and the next reminisce together at this pinnacle of luxury and niceties. You walk across the floor, finding a Tanzanite table to plan your attack. There was a zero-g lounge right next to the temporal light show. You could watch the light show there and still have time to meet some locals. Then you could stop by the bar again. This time, you would make sure to savor the drink. Maybe you could try one of those Asimov-compound liquors that were only stable enough to exist for a couple of moments before atomizing. After that, maybe you could go to the dance floor. With enough liquid courage, you could easily find a nice partner to dance across the inter-dimensional disco.

You nod to yourself. A solid plan. Bravo. You’ve certainly done it again. However, just as you’re about to stand up, someone sits down across from you. His smug smile is the first sign that you should sit back down. He waits for you to settle in before opening his mouth. Something about him seems strangely familiar… 

“I couldn’t help but notice you sitting by yourself,” he says, peering into your eyes.Nervously, you try to mutter something akin to an excuse. Are you supposed to know him? Gleaming eyes, dapper hair. 

“Not a problem, Friend. I totally get being alone, but nobody should do that at a party. Say, did you bring somebody with you?”

You shake your head. Your eyes peer down at the carbon-quartz marble sheen of the table. Your mouth moves, offering a half-baked excuse about timing and other plans..

“Yeah, nothing ever really goes as planned,” he muses. “That is, of course, unless you’ve got the means to change fate.” Bewildered, you ask what he could mean by that. He chuckles. His black coat bunches ever so slightly at the shoulder as he pulls something from his inner pocket. A pocket watch made of an ethereal, purple, glowing material. “This can fix nearly anything, even that loneliness. Cheer up, Friend. How do they look?” the man says, pointing at three Avian actors– famous ones, you recognize a few from their holo-movies.

You nod and smile.

“What if I said all three could be your dates for tonight?” 

You laugh and say that, if that were true, you wouldn’t be sitting here alone.

“All we need is a bit of magic.” The watch twinkles. From behind a pillar, an older, white-haired terran appeared. He leaned down, waiting for a command,

“Yes? Mr. Donavan?”

“Sebastian, get my new friend here a drink and those Avians there,” Donavan commanded, pointing at the models. “Oh, and compensate them. We want ingratiated company this evening.” 

Awestruck by Donavan’s generosity, you thank him, but ask how he can do all this.

“Well, it is my party after all,” Donavan boasts. “I own the whole place, and beyond you, everyone knows me here. So, don’t worry about it, Friend.”

Astonished, you ask if he’s the host of this whole thing, the richest and most powerful person in the galaxy, the owner of over twenty-thousand different solar systems, and the man who single-handedly changed the course of fate with the fall of COPSTY.

Donavan glanced away for a moment, nodding his head as if reminiscing about the whole ordeal. A smirk started on one side of his mouth and slowly slid across, turning his whole face into a smug smile. “You’d better believe it.”

You ask in disbelief how someone could possibly do all those things.

“Well, so long as your new date doesn’t mind hearing a story, too,” Donavan begins, “I’ll be happy to tell you.”

Sebastian returns with drinks for five and the Avian actors.

“May I sit down beside you?” the superstar smiles at you and asks. 

You nod enthusiastically. You stand up, making an effort to get chairs for your new friends. They sit down, sipping the liquor. 

Donavan smiles. Iridescent white teeth. Perfectly placed. “Alright, I have let you know this story is equal parts comedy and tragedy. I would have had bards put this tale in stone on over forty-million planets. But it was too heart wrenching to show.” He tuts softly to himself, “Those 4.4 billion planets, just wasted… Well I digress. It is a great story, full of adventure, heroics, pirates, shoot-outs, a super mysterious substance, and most importantly a turtle-like creature known as a hortile. COPSTY’s downfall started small in a learning lab far above my home planet…