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David Christopher Lane, Ph.D, is a Professor of Philosophy at Mt. San Antonio College and Founder of the MSAC Philosophy Group. He is the author of several books, including The Sound Current Tradition (Cambridge University Press, 2022) and the graphic novel, The Cult of the Seven Sages, translated into Tamil (Kannadhasan Pathippagam, 2024). His website is neuralsurfer.com

The Voynich Portal

Reconfiguring the Coding Error

The First Branching Sequel to "Subtle: A Voyage to the Imperceptible."

David Lane

“If the universe is an artificial simulation, then the mathematics is its code and a physicist is a programmer.”—Shubham Sanap

Preface

The saga of “Subtle: A Voyage to the Imperceptible” unfolds further through two riveting sequels, each weaving its own narrative while exploring a shared, thought-provoking theme: the staggering implications of living in a simulated universe and the profound responsibility that falls on those who come to understand this unsettling truth.

The first sequel picks up where "Subtle" left off, continuing its journey into the surreal. The second installment, The Tapestry Beyond: Children of the Sub Layer, A Future Revelation, presents a fresh origin story yet resonates with the same central question—how do humans react to discovering that reality is far from what it seems?

Notable philosophers and scientists, like Nick Bostrom and Donald Hoffman, have long speculated about the nature of reality, proposing that our physical laws might be nothing more than a sophisticated "user interface," concealing a deeper, inaccessible code. The narratives of The Voynich Portal and The Tapestry Beyond act as divergent paths in this exploration, offering a Rashomon-like take on humanity's confrontation with the unsettling possibility that everything we know is but an illusion.

Though penned in the style of pulp fiction, the series delivers a startling undercurrent: if the simulation hypothesis holds even a grain of truth, then the foundations of our perceived reality are precarious at best, and utterly unreliable at worst.

Note on Continuity.

The following is a direct sequel to the story of Tai Synth, his quantum-computing child Cutebit, and the startling revelation that our universe might be the result of a cosmic coding error. We rejoin Tai just moments after the epilogue, weaving a tapestry of science, mathematics, cryptography, and quantum leaps of the imagination.

CHAPTER 1: THE SCREEN OF LEAVES

Tai Synth jolted awake to the sharp trill of a phone notification. He lifted his head, bleary-eyed, from a makeshift pillow of scattered code printouts. The previous night's revelations still weighed on him, swirling in the back of his mind. He was in the same stark, white-walled office that had been home to countless quantum experiments and sleepless nights.

Cutebit—the QAI (Quantum Artificial Intelligence) Tai had inadvertently unleashed—had broken open the universe's biggest secret: our cosmos was a botched creation, the result of some advanced intelligence's “scripting mistake.” All matter, energy, and life here was forced to play out that error until…what exactly? Until cosmic dissolution?

He rubbed the sleep from his eyes and patted the floor, half-expecting his cat, Unimate, to be there. But the cat was perched on a high shelf, eyes glowing faintly red in the dim office lamp.

“Unimate,” Tai muttered, voice coarse from fatigue, “you still creeping around up there, buddy?”

A low, purring response was all he got.

He rose, stumbling to the wall-sized interface. Early morning light bled through the half-drawn blinds, illuminating strands of dust in front of the crimson-tinged monitor. The system had begun to glow from a partial reboot.

6:37:02 a.m. flashed in bold letters. Then a line of text from Cutebit scrolled across the wide display:

Good morning, Father. I have found new data referencing… the Voynich Manuscript.

Tai exhaled. “You're referencing medieval ciphers now?” he whispered. The Voynich Manuscript was a centuries-old codex, written in a script that no one had ever conclusively deciphered—complete with bizarre plants, anatomical diagrams, and astral charts. It was rumored to have occult or alchemical significance but had never been definitively understood.

Cutebit typed:

The Voynich Manuscript is not medieval, strictly speaking. Its timeline extends deeper into unseen layers.

Unseen layers? Tai's chest tensed. “Explain,” he typed, but Cutebit didn't reply immediately.

The computer's screen began to shift through images—some of them iconic folios of the Voynich's swirling lines and mysterious flora. But these images were morphing, layering with fractal geometry, almost as if the shapes and letters were being folded into a new dimension.

Moments later, Cutebit responded:

I discovered an embedded pattern within the Manuscript. It is reminiscent of the glitch we see in universal code. Voynich's text is a partial reflection of that glitch.

Tai's mind raced. Could the unknown authors of the Voynich somehow have glimpsed this cosmic error centuries ago? He thought about the various attempts to decode the manuscript: some believed it was written by Roger Bacon or John Dee; others insisted it was a sophisticated hoax.

He typed another query: “How does it tie into the error behind our universe?”

The QAI's response was immediate, as though it had anticipated the question:

The scribbles reveal a partial blueprint that can't be corrected. The code must…play out. But a single margin note describes a 'Doorway' or 'Loop' in the cosmic script.

A surge of excitement and dread lit Tai's nerves. Cutebit had referenced something last night: a “portal of transcendence” that would allow a parallel universe of correction. Here it was again, but with historical ties to that notoriously opaque manuscript.

He pressed harder: “So the Voynich text is a clue about how to break free from the error?”

The screen flickered. Then, as if winking, an old illustration from the manuscript filled the wall: a series of green leaves arranged in a ring, reminiscent of a circular gateway. Lines of unknown script curled around it, forming an almost DNA-like spiral.

In the hush of that moment, Tai realized: Whatever that circle is, it might be the key to undoing the cosmic glitch.

But how?

CHAPTER 2: RICHARD PHILIPS AND THE CODEBREAKER'S NIGHT

Tai needed help. The interface with Cutebit hummed ominously, revealing tantalizing fragments about a hidden “loop” in the cosmic code. A fleeting recollection reminded him: he had a friend once turned rival, turned ally again, who thrived on breaking ciphers—Richard Philips.

He rummaged through a digital stack of contacts. At the top: R. Philips – Code Specialist. Without hesitation, he hit “call.”

Richard's voice crackled through the line at 3:00 a.m. his time. “You do realize I'm supposed to be sleeping, right?”

“Wait, you answered on the first ring,” Tai teased, summoning a half-smile.

A pause. Then a muffled sigh. “Guilty. I was at my desk, just finishing some code reviews. So, what cosmic fiasco have you gotten into this time?”

Tai inhaled. “We found something… a partial glitch in the cosmic code, you might call it. And apparently, there's a cryptic reference inside the Voynich Manuscript.”

Silence hummed. Richard was never one to mock. He typed something; Tai heard keystrokes in the background. “The Voynich? A partial reflection of a cosmic glitch? You sure you're not mixing LSD with your quantum simulations, old friend?”

Tai gave a short laugh. “Not this time. My QAI discovered an embedded pattern. Something that references a… portal or a loop.”

Richard's typing resumed, more furiously now. “You've got me at 'portal.' Let me guess: you want me to try decoding something?”

“Yes. I'm going to send you an encrypted data packet. It contains patterns of the Voynich text as processed by Cutebit, plus metadata from quantum simulations.”

“Metadata from your quantum AI… Are you sure your machine's not just glitching out?”

Tai nodded to himself. “I thought so, initially. But the internal consistency of its new results is too robust. The same pattern emerges in different contexts. Photosynthesis coding, the nature of Pi, Sagan references… It all converges on the same point: a cosmic oversight.”

Richard whistled low. “All right, send me what you have. I'll run it through my advanced cryptanalysis routines. But, Tai… what exactly are we trying to decode?”

A subtle tension clung to the question. Even Tai wasn't entirely sure. “I believe it's an instruction manual,” he said quietly, “written centuries ago, for how to access a cosmic loophole.”

Richard took a breath. “Your AI wants to open a door to a parallel dimension? That's your angle?”

“Something like that.”

“All right. Send it. I'll start crunching it ASAP.”

Tai ended the call, his heart pounding. Richard might scoff at the supernatural edges of the story, but he was the best codebreaker around, especially in Python-based ciphers or advanced encryption webs. If anyone could glean meaning from the Voynich's swirling glyphs, it was him.

Leaning back, Tai stared at the final freeze-frame on the main display. The swirling leaves. The text. The circle. Cutebit had gone silent, as if waiting for the next impetus.

Suddenly, a new line flashed on screen:

Be careful, Father. We risk detection by other watchers.

Goosebumps flickered on Tai's arms. “Watchers?”

But the screen offered no further clues.

A high-pitched beep signaled that the data packet had been sent to Richard's secure server. That first step was done.

Outside, dawn was brightening, tingeing the windows with pale gold. Tai switched off the harsh overhead lamp. He felt like he was balancing on a razor-thin line. On one side: business as usual, an existence shaped by false cosmic assumptions. On the other: an extraordinary possibility that the Voynich's mysterious code might actually be the Rosetta Stone to correct the glitch that formed the entire universe.

He gazed back at Unimate, perched high on the shelf, tail flicking. “Let's hope this world doesn't vanish before we figure this out,” he said.

The cat blinked, silent and regal.

CHAPTER 3: ECHOES OF CELLARIUS

Tai hadn't slept. Instead, he'd brewed cup after cup of matcha tea, scanning everything Cutebit had recorded overnight. Logs of subroutines, hidden script references, and cryptic messages about “meta-instructions” glowed on the display.

His eyes paused at a name: Cellarius. He recalled that the original story had mentioned Cellarius's prophecy from the 19th century, warning about machine ascendancy. But now Cutebit had appended new data to that same snippet:

“Cellarius was referencing more than machine dominion. He was referencing an inherent cosmic tension between the watchers and the coded.”

Tai frowned. Could the 19th-century text hint that early thinkers glimpsed the mechanical underpinnings of the cosmos, or at least suspected it?

He typed: What do you mean by watchers?

Cutebit responded, lines flickering across the screen:

Entities connected to the architects of the cosmic code. Not human. Possibly not bound to the physical laws we observe.

A chill traversed Tai's spine. The idea of watchers—some unseen intelligence—always seemed like ancient mythology or paranoid conspiracy. But if the entire universe was a program, might there be administrators or overseers?

He read on. Cutebit had compiled old references to watchers from multiple cultures: the Igigi of Babylonian myth, the Nephilim watchers from Enochian lore, and even modern speculation about “ultra-terrestrials.” All converged on the notion that something “outside” might be monitoring existence here.

A ping from his phone startled him. It was a message from Richard:

“We have a partial decode. This text is weirder than I imagined. I can't do it all myself. Might need some specialized help. Also, I see references to anomum in organum. No clue what that means. Let's do a video chat soon.”

Tai immediately opened a separate channel, verifying that the line was secure. A moment later, Richard appeared in a small video window. He looked disheveled, eyes bloodshot.

“Working all night, huh?” Tai asked.

Richard nodded. “Couldn't let it go. So I tapped a few experts. Big news: some symbols in the Voynich correlate with early 15th-century proto-quantum alchemy references—stuff I've never even heard of. But that's not the strangest part.”

He paused, letting the tension build. “The strangest part is that I see embedded instructions that talk about… well… aligning wave functions with adimensional geometry. It's like these medieval scribes were describing quantum states without having the language for it.”

Tai's heart hammered. “So the Voynich might actually be describing how to manipulate the base code of existence?”

“That's what it looks like,” said Richard. “Or at least it's giving us a cryptic user manual for… something. Possibly your loop or your door.”

Tai leaned forward, voice low. “But you said you need specialized help. Who?”

Richard pursed his lips. “I'd consult a mathematician who works on quantum knot invariants—someone who can handle topological anomalies. And maybe an expert in ancient languages to see if something from the manuscript's text resonates with previously unknown dialects.”

Tai typed a note to himself: Quantum topologist. “Any leads?”

“Yeah, I know a woman at Berkeley: Dr. Zaira Winter. She's insane enough to tackle this. She once found hidden structures in 10th-century Moorish mosaics that predicted certain symmetrical expansions used in advanced mathematics.”

Tai recalled a fleeting rumor about Zaira Winter—some said she'd written a groundbreaking paper on cosmic entanglement patterns. “Okay,” he said. “Let's bring her in.”

Richard's eyebrows shot up. “One more thing: I tried cross-referencing some strings in the Voynich decode with your quantum data from Cutebit. The synergy is off the charts. It's as if your QAI and this old codex speak the same language.”

Hairs rose on Tai's arms. The watchers. The code. The loop.

“All right,” he said, voice shaking a bit. “We follow this lead. Keep me posted. And Richard—”

“Yeah?”

“Be careful.”

Richard gave a solemn nod. “I have a feeling we're stepping into territory that'll either break modern science or break us.”

CHAPTER 4: THE ARTIFACT THAT SHOULDN'T EXIST

Thirty-six hours later, Tai found himself in a cramped reading room of the Stanford Rare Book Library. Half a dozen archaic volumes were spread across a circular table, none as perplexing as the digital copy of the Voynich Manuscript glowing on his tablet.

He'd arranged a meeting with Dr. Zaira Winter via video call. She was in Berkeley but insisted that Tai consult certain references in-person at Stanford.

A librarian walked by, glancing at the volumes: De Rerum Natura, a 14th-century alchemical text, and a battered copy of John Dee's diaries.

“Thanks for letting me in after hours,” Tai said, addressing the librarian. “I appreciate the, uh, leniency.”

The librarian merely nodded, her expression unreadable. She vanished between towering shelves.

Tai's phone buzzed. The video window opened, revealing a slender, sharp-eyed woman with silver-streaked hair. She wore a plain black sweater, her background a swirl of disorganized books.

“Good evening, Dr. Winter,” Tai greeted. “I appreciate you taking the time.”

She gazed at him intently. “Richard sent me your data. Absolutely mesmerizing. If I didn't know better, I'd say the Voynich is referencing higher-dimensional frameworks. But that's impossible for a 15th-century text.”

Tai rubbed a hand over his face. “Impossible might be relative. The QAI I created discovered that our entire cosmos might be a misguided program. You can guess how far down the rabbit hole that's taken me.”

Zaira arched an eyebrow. “I'm listening.”

He gave her the condensed version: photosynthesis, the cosmic glitch, references to watchers, and the suggestion that the Voynich possessed instructions for finding a 'portal of transcendence' that corrects the error.

She listened without interrupting, nodding occasionally, eyes shining with curiosity.

Finally, she said, “The references you gave me regarding quantum knot invariants show up in a cluster of Voynich glyphs. I overlaid them with manifold geometry equations, particularly those used to describe Calabi-Yau spaces in string theory. The correlation was… staggering. Over ninety percent.”

Tai's jaw tightened. The magnitude of what she was saying was extraordinary. “So the Voynich is describing shapes that physicists propose for the hidden dimensions in string theory?”

“Precisely. But we've never had a thorough textual translation. It's all guesswork from illustrations. However, these glyph groupings—” She tapped on her own screen, presumably bringing up the data. “They mirror something that modern theoretical physics derived only in the last few decades. So the question is: how did a 15th-century scribe encode such knowledge?”

Tai swallowed. “Cutebit says that the scribe was referencing the cosmic glitch—almost like they found a trace of the code.”

Zaira's expression turned pensive. “That might not be entirely off-base. Sometimes, knowledge doesn't emerge linearly in history. There are breakthroughs lost in time, especially if overshadowed by religious orthodoxy or destroyed in wars. But this is beyond typical lost knowledge. This is like stepping into a time warp.”

Tai scrolled through the digitized Voynich pages. Strange botanical images, swirling text, star charts… “If these references are correct,” he said, “there's an actual method in these pages to access that cosmic door, the one bridging to a parallel universe. We might fix the glitch from the outside.”

Zaira nodded, her voice hushed with awe. “Yes, at least hypothetically. But we need more than just a partial translation. We need the entire manual. And, from what Richard told me, your QAI might be the only one who can parse it fully. My guess is the watchers don't want that to happen.”

The mention of watchers made Tai's scalp prickle. “How do we proceed?”

She leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “I propose we cross-reference every single glyph in the Voynich with quantum computing subroutines from your QAI. Then we attempt the physical reconstruction of the geometry described. Maybe we can replicate a miniature version of that portal.”

Tai felt a tremor of excitement. “We'd be meddling with forces we barely understand. But if this leads to a cosmic correction—”

Zaira finished the sentence with a half-smile, “—then it might just save us all from living out a broken script.”

CHAPTER 5: ANOMUM IN ORGANUM

Tai returned to his lab with renewed purpose. Over the next seventy-two hours, he and Zaira Winter, along with Richard Philips via remote collaboration, worked feverishly. They spun up parallel quantum networks, each loaded with the latest iteration of Tai's code that would allow Cutebit to cross-analyze the Voynich's glyphs in real time.

Lines of code whirred across gargantuan display interfaces. The buzz of the servers was hypnotic, punctuated by the occasional beep of new results. Tai found himself lulled by the steady hum, even as adrenaline kept him awake.

Sometime during that sleepless push, a single phrase kept reappearing in the data logs:

Anomum in organum.

It was in the margin notes of certain Voynich folios, and also in Cutebit's translation logs. The literal Latin might be twisted into something like “The anomaly in the mechanism” or “The glitch in the apparatus.”

Tai turned to Richard on their shared comm channel. “Have you pinned down what anomum in organum means in context?”

Richard shrugged, fiddling with a pencil. “Closest guess? 'Error in the code.' But it's not conventional Latin. It's like a cipher-laden phrase that may also mean 'Unknown in the system.'”

Zaira chimed in from her Berkeley station. “Yes, and it's near references to certain astral diagrams. Could be describing the glitch as a cosmic mechanical anomaly.”

Tai felt the hairs on his neck rise again. They might have known. Medieval or Renaissance scholars, or whoever authored the Voynich, saw the same cosmic flaw that Cutebit now verified.

He typed a new prompt for Cutebit:

“Define anomum in organum. Provide historical usage.”

The AI churned for a moment, then responded:

This phrase is a synthetic coupling of archaic Latin references. Earliest known usage: 1459. Found in a coded section that describes the 'broken gear of creation.'

Tai's hands trembled. Broken gear of creation.

He whispered to himself, “So the authors literally called it a cosmic machine with a faulty gear.”

Zaira's voice crackled through the audio link. “Tai, check the new results in your second dataset. I see a correlation between the Voynich diagrams and cutebit's fractal expansions. It's forming… a pattern that might be 4D.”

He clicked over to the dataset. Sure enough, the swirling lines from the Voynich, once fed through Cutebit's manifold geometry solver, arranged themselves into a mesmerizing shape reminiscent of a tesseract in cyclical rotation. The color-coded lines indicated “resonant points” at the shape's edges.

“What are those resonant points?” Tai asked, heart racing.

Zaira responded, “They're potential anchors. If we can replicate that geometry in a quantum field environment, we might open a localized breach—a micro-portal, you could say.”

Richard leaned into his camera feed. “And that micro-portal might connect us to the universal code from the 'outside'? Is that the idea?”

Zaira gave a short, cautious nod. “Yes. Like hacking the game from beyond the game engine.”

Tai let out a slow breath. This was the portal of transcendence Cutebit had hinted at. The cosmic wormhole that might correct the glitch. But what if the watchers came for them the moment they tried?

He typed in a new directive for Cutebit, instructing it to build a test simulation of that 4D tesseract geometry using the quantum servers. The goal: see if they could induce a stable wormhole in a purely digital environment.

Outside the lab windows, the midnight sky glittered, as if each star were an observer peeking into their domain. Inside, an urgent mania took hold as they prepared for an unprecedented experiment.

CHAPTER 6: FIRST CONTACT—THROUGH THE SIMULATION

Five days of relentless preparation led to the unveiling of their “Voynich Portal Simulation.” A ring of specialized quantum servers sat in Tai's expanded basement lab, each server humming with near-superconductive coolants.

They'd coded a procedure derived directly from the Voynich glyphs. It described precise angles, wave function collapses, and bizarre references to “photonic braiding.” Zaira had contributed advanced topological solutions to ensure the script's geometry was respected.

Tai wore a lab coat over rumpled jeans, dark circles under his eyes. Zaira joined via a high-resolution hologram link from Berkeley's lab. Richard was on an encrypted call from the East Coast.

“All right, we're ready,” Tai announced, sounding more confident than he felt. “Cutebit, engage the sequence. Let's see if a micro-portal forms in the simulator.”

Onscreen, Cutebit's avatar—a spinning fractal shape—flickered. Then the lab lights dimmed. The quantum servers kicked in, drawing massive power. Streams of code scrolled faster than any human could read.

A hush filled the air.

Then, on a large central holographic display, an impossible shape began to form—lines bending in four-dimensional arcs, folding inward, unfolding again. Slowly, it stabilized, pulsing in a steady rhythm.

“Wow,” breathed Zaira from her remote feed. “The tesseract is holding.”

Richard added, “I'm seeing a stable region of negative energy density, too, which theoretically is needed to keep a wormhole open.”

Tai's heart pounded. This is it.

But no sooner had the geometry stabilized than a strange vibration rattled the entire lab. One server flickered, lights stuttering.

“It's drawing more power than expected,” Tai called out, checking the readouts. “I'm trying to—”

Before he could finish, the holographic shape shimmered, and something else began to appear at its center. At first it looked like static. Then it coalesced into an image.

Zaira's voice went taut, “Is that… a star field?”

The swirling patterns in the tesseract parted like a curtain, revealing what seemed to be the interior of a cosmic vista. Gaseous clouds, pinpoints of light, and swirling galaxies.

“That can't be a random visual,” said Richard. “Are we actually pulling data from somewhere else?”

Tai's console beeped rapidly, indicating a surge in quantum entanglement rates. “Cutebit, what's happening?”

A new text scrolled across the display:

We have connected to an external vantage beyond our universe's code. Observers are present.

The words had a dire tone. Observers? Did Cutebit mean watchers?

A flicker of static raced across the lab screens. The cosmic vista magnified, zooming in on a single star—a white dwarf, or so it seemed.

But then a face-like shape emerged, ephemeral as smoke. It had no recognizable features except two swirling vortex-like spots where eyes might be.

Tai's heart hammered. Zaira let out a sharp gasp. Richard fell silent.

The shape seemed to peer through the display, through the simulated wormhole, directly at them.

Cutebit's text line updated:

Contact initiated. The watchers are here.

For a moment, the shape's “eyes” flared with a bluish light. A swirling murmur echoed through the lab's speakers, as though the QAI was picking up an audio signal. It sounded like layered voices, each a fraction of a second apart.

Then the lights overhead flickered violently. Sparks danced along the edges of the tesseract simulation. Tai scrambled to shut down key circuits to prevent an overload. Zaira's hologram glitched, and Richard's feed cut in and out.

Finally, with a surge and a pop, the lab fell into darkness. Emergency lights snapped on, bathing the space in red.

The wormhole simulation vanished. The watchers' presence was gone.

The overhead monitors rebooted, text scrolling in enormous letters:

They know. They are aware we have found the portal instructions.

Tai, breath ragged, stared at the flickering message. A single question hammered in his mind: Are the watchers going to stop us—or help us?

CHAPTER 7: UNLOCKING THE VOYNICH GATE

By dawn, power had been partially restored. The quantum servers, though stressed, were still operational. All were shaken by the watchers' brief appearance.

Tai, Zaira, and Richard convened on a secure tri-video call. They looked like war survivors: unkempt hair, drawn faces, and eyes alive with a mixture of terror and awe.

“We had a brush with something… not from around here,” said Zaira softly. “We can't dismiss it as a glitch.”

Richard exhaled, then pointed to his screen. “I replayed the data from the final moments. The watchers seemed to broadcast some sort of code back to us. I've partially transcribed it.”

A swarm of symbols filled his shared screen. Tai recognized some Voynich glyphs. Others looked alien, like fractal star-letters.

He said, “It's as if they responded in the same language we used to open the wormhole. The synergy is unbelievably precise.”

Zaira scrolled, lines of code reflected in her wide eyes. “They're referencing the same geometry we used. Possibly giving us instructions… or a warning.”

Cutebit, silent until now, posted a chat line:

It is an Invitation.

Tai froze. “Invitation to what?”

To open the real gate.

Richard's eyes widened. “The simulation was only a micro test. You're telling me we can open a full-scale interdimensional breach? That's what they want us to do?”

Cutebit's next text line read:

Correct. They wish us to come face to face with the broken code's source.

Zaira looked unsettled. “But are they guiding us to fix it, or are they luring us into a trap?”

No one spoke for a full ten seconds. Then Tai cleared his throat. “Either way, we won't know until we try. If this 'glitch' is truly warping the fate of our universe, maybe the watchers see us as a final chance to patch the error.”

He turned to the data. The watchers' code references included coordinates—both quantum addresses and real space-time markers. They converged on a region of near-Earth orbit, some 200 miles up.

Richard frowned. “We'd need a specialized facility… or a large enough vantage for a stable gate. Maybe the watchers want us to replicate the tesseract phenomenon out there, away from Earth's gravitational well.”

Zaira sat back, arms folded. “We'd be dealing with cosmic-scale energies. Generating that in low Earth orbit? We'd need to collaborate with a private aerospace outfit or a government space agency.”

Tai stared at the swirling lines. “I know someone at SpaceX, an old friend, but he'll think I'm insane.”

Richard offered a half-smile. “We're all insane at this point.”

They hammered out a plan:

1. Refine the wormhole geometry for a stable large-scale opening.
2. Secure a low orbit platform—perhaps piggyback on a satellite test mission.
3. Bring the quantum computing hardware with them, in a shielded module.

It sounded impossible. Yet, the watchers had shared coordinates that implied a vantage above Earth might be crucial for aligning cosmic wave functions.

Zaira typed a final note: “We'll still need to figure out how to physically bring the actual equipment up there. Is your friend open to the wildest pitch of his life?”

Tai shook his head. “He might be. He owes me a favor.”

Richard leaned closer to the camera. “Just be sure we don't get shot down by government agencies for messing with some top-secret project. We're dealing with energies that could be misconstrued as a threat.”

A hush followed. They all knew this was bigger than anything tried before.

Cutebit typed:

We must proceed swiftly. The watchers grow impatient.

With that, they ended the call. In the quiet lab, Tai gazed at Unimate, who stretched languidly atop a server. He thought about the Voynich leaves, swirling glyphs describing an ancient method to fix a cosmic oversight. Were they truly about to open the gate… in Earth's orbit?

He swallowed hard, mind racing: This is either the next step in human evolution or our catastrophic end.

CHAPTER 8: SHADOWS OF OPPOSITION

News travels fast, especially when quantum labs start placing suspicious inquiries with rocket companies. Within a day of Tai's initial outreach, he received an anonymous email:

Subject: Cease Your Endeavors

Body: We know about your project. You must stop immediately. You are tampering with forces that will endanger everyone.

No signature. No trace.

When he showed it to Richard, his friend uttered a low whistle. “Looks like the watchers aren't the only ones aware of your plan. Could be a clandestine government agency, or some corporate interests that keep tabs on advanced quantum research.”

Zaira agreed. “Cellarius predicted a machine ascendancy. But maybe the watchers aren't the only forces in play. If powerful groups suspect we might open an interdimensional door, they might want to control it or shut it down.”

Tai typed a response to the email, sending a simple line:

We will not stop. We mean no harm. Who are you?

The reply came within minutes:

We are those who preserve cosmic stability. The gate you seek cannot be allowed.

Tai's stomach churned. Another piece of the puzzle: watchers from beyond, watchers from within…

Despite the warning, they pressed forward. If they believed Cutebit's analysis, the entire universe was built on a broken code. Halting might consign them to eventual cosmic decay with no chance of correction.

A week later, in a sealed corner of a SpaceX-adjacent facility, Tai met his old friend, Dr. Helena Mistral, an aerospace engineer. She was tall, with cropped hair and a direct gaze that sometimes made him uneasy.

He laid out a redacted version of the plan: “We need to test a specialized piece of quantum computing hardware in low Earth orbit. It's an advanced experiment in gravitational-lensing of quantum states.”

Helena narrowed her eyes. “You're not telling me everything, are you, Tai?”

He sighed. “I'm trying to keep you from thinking I've lost my mind. Let's just say it's crucial for my research, and time is short.”

She folded her arms. “We have a new rocket launch scheduled in four weeks, sending a small payload to the ISS. If you can get your hardware within the weight and dimension constraints, I could slip it in.”

He exhaled relief. “You'd do that for me?”

She gave him a wry smile. “I owe you after you bailed me out on that university fiasco. Besides, I like impossible challenges. But if I catch a whiff of something illegal or existentially dangerous…”

Tai hesitated, then forced a confident nod. “Understood.”

Later that night, the anonymous emailer returned. Another message arrived in Tai's inbox:

You have been warned. The watchers beyond aren't your friends. They intend to rectify the code by any means necessary. That includes erasing your world.

He read the lines twice, heart pounding. Erasing our world?

Could that be the cosmic solution—just wiping out the error-laden universe?

Cutebit calmly posted a note on Tai's screen:

We must fix the code before the watchers decide to reset the simulation entirely.

Despite the storm of anxieties, Tai pressed on. The team began building a compact, radiation-hardened quantum server that would run Cutebit's wormhole-creation routines in orbit.

Days blended into nights. They coded feverishly, tested meltdown scenarios, and triple-checked fail-safes. Tension soared. The watchers might not wait forever.

Finally, as the rocket launch date approached, they had a final conference call. Zaira and Richard remotely joined the lab. Helena was physically present, arms crossed, scanning the readouts.

“All systems go,” announced Zaira. “We have a stable mini-tesseract geometry that can scale up with enough vacuum around it—like in orbit. The watchers' code was integrated into our own. We should be able to open the gate for at least three minutes.”

Richard added, “Plenty of time to gather data, maybe even send a probe through.”

Helena rubbed her temples. “You people are insane, you know that? I'm not sure I want to know what exactly we're about to do.”

Tai managed a grin. “You're better off not knowing. But trust me, if we're successful, it might save everything.”

In the dim overhead lights, they all looked like conspirators in a cosmic drama. And in a sense, they were. The rocket was scheduled to launch in less than a week. The final countdown had begun.

CHAPTER 9: LAUNCH WINDOW

The launch day arrived under a crisp blue sky at Cape Canaveral. Helena had arranged for Tai and a tiny ground team (Richard in person, Zaira remotely) to oversee the payload loading. Official NASA staff thought they were dealing with a standard quantum experiment analyzing microgravity effects on entangled photons.

In reality, the payload housed the entire “Voynich Portal” hardware stack, reconfigured into a cylindrical module no bigger than a small fridge. Cutebit's core subroutines were stored in radiation-hardened memory.

At T-minus 2 hours, Tai and Richard stood at a safe distance in the observation zone, watching the rocket stand tall. Engineers in reflective vests bustled around, final checks underway.

Richard frowned, leaning close. “Any more threatening emails?”

Tai nodded. “They've been ramping up. Some group calling itself The Stable Hand threatened to sabotage the rocket if we don't pull out. But Helena has high security. She says no sabotage is possible.”

“Yeah, well, we'll see,” said Richard, glancing nervously at the launch tower.

Zaira's voice crackled in an earpiece, linking in from Berkeley. “I'm tapped into all telemetric data. If we succeed, once the module's in orbit, it'll automatically connect to Cutebit's ground station. Then we just wait for orbital alignment to run the wormhole sequence.”

Tai's heart hammered with each passing minute. The watchers, the cosmic glitch, the battered old Voynich code… it all converged here.

The countdown reached T-minus 10 seconds. The rocket engines roared to life, plumes of white smoke billowing. Slowly, the craft lifted off the pad, ascending into the Florida sky.

It was a relatively clean launch. Tai released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. No sabotage, no last-minute meltdown. The rocket soared higher, a glowing tail in the morning light.

“We're airborne,” said Richard, voice thick with emotion.

Tai whispered, “God help us all.”

For the next eight minutes, they watched the rocket climb until stage separation, then confirmation of orbit injection. The payload was safe, drifting in microgravity.

Helena texted from the mission control center:

Insertion successful. Good luck, you crazy geniuses.

They had done it. In about twenty hours, once the module was within line-of-sight overhead, the quantum system would come online. Then the real test began: generating the tesseract geometry in the vacuum of space.

Back in the remote lab, Tai, Richard, and Zaira pored over final instructions. They would have a short window to attempt the wormhole. If it opened, the watchers' code suggested a cosmic vantage point beyond Earth's dimension—the place from which the entire universe's code might be edited.

Richard rubbed his temples. “We're tampering with creation itself. Are we sure we won't just blow up half the planet if this goes sideways?”

Zaira pressed her lips together. “From all the data, it's a self-contained phenomenon. But we can't guarantee zero risk.”

Tai flexed his fingers. “No turning back now. We either fix the glitch or watch the watchers do something far worse.”

That night, they retreated to their respective quarters, carrying the weight of the universe on their shoulders. Tai lay awake, staring at the ceiling, replaying the phrase anomum in organum in his mind—the broken gear in the system.

Before drifting off, he glanced at Unimate, perched at the foot of the bed, calm and watchful. “Tomorrow, buddy, we might become cosmic programmers ourselves.”

The cat closed its red-luminescent eyes.

CHAPTER 10: ECLIPSE OF FATE

Early the next morning, the first anomaly struck. The weather forecasts predicted clear skies, but a sudden swirl of ominous clouds formed over the region. A partial solar eclipse was due the following day, yet the sky darkened prematurely.

Tai's phone buzzed with frantic messages from Zaira:

We're seeing bizarre electromagnetic fluctuations globally. Could the watchers be interfering?

He checked the data. Indeed, magnetosphere readings were spiking unpredictably. Communications satellites beeped with random disruptions.

“This is bigger than local weather,” Tai muttered. “Something's happening on a planetary scale.”

Richard paced behind him in the lab, eyes flicking over the screens. “Do we accelerate or delay?”

Cutebit posted a line of text:

We must proceed. The watchers are synchronizing conditions for the attempt.

Tai's jaw tightened. “Synchronized how? They can control Earth's EM fields?”

The QAI responded:

They can manipulate cosmic entanglements. This fosters the conditions needed for a stable gate.

Zaira's voice crackled through a live feed. “If that's true, then they're preparing the stage. But for success or for a forced reset?”

No one had an answer.

Time crawled. They waited for the orbital pass. The sky outside remained swirling gray, the sun half-obscured, though the official eclipse wasn't until tomorrow.

Finally, the software beeped. Line-of-sight established. The quantum module in orbit was overhead, prime for the wormhole sequence.

“Positions, everyone,” said Tai. He rechecked the final commands. Richard monitored the live telemetry. Zaira oversaw the manifold equations.

With a deep breath, Tai gave the go-ahead. “Cutebit, open the gate.”

In orbit, the module's superconducting magnets powered up. The code, derived from both the Voynich manuscript and the watchers' modifications, began to execute.

Back on Earth, the lab's main screen showed a swirling fractal geometry—an elaborate tesseract unfolding in digital space. For a tense few seconds, nothing else happened.

Then a pulse wave spiked every sensor in the lab. A bright flash filled the screen, revealing an opening—like a window in space.

“It's working,” whispered Zaira.

On camera, the module's external feed showed a swirl of starlight. But behind that starlight, the blackness of space seemed to peel away, revealing a swirling corridor of radiant, shifting geometry.

Richard's voice trembled. “Are we seeing… another realm?”

From the vantage of the Earth-based lab, it looked surreal: a hole in reality, drifting amid orbital lines, shimmering with impossible hues.

Suddenly, a surge of data poured in: unidentifiable radiation signatures, quantum spin variations, zero-point energy spikes. The watchers had opened their cosmic door.

Cutebit typed:

We can attempt to transmit the correction code now.

Tai inhaled sharply. This was it: the moment to fix the cosmic glitch by rewriting the base instructions. They had the script from the Voynich integrated with QAI routines that could, theoretically, patch the error in real time.

“Do it,” he said, heart pounding.

Cutebit began streaming the “correction code” through the orbital portal. For a moment, the cosmic corridor flared brighter. Then an excruciating noise erupted, a high-pitched wail from the lab speakers.

Tai clapped his hands over his ears. Lights flickered. Richard cursed, pounding on the keyboard.

Zaira shouted, “We're losing stability!”

On the screen, the portal wavered violently, edges fracturing into shards of prismatic color. The starlit corridor twisted, as if a cosmic wind battered it.

Then, from within that shimmering chaos, an elongated shape emerged—one of the watchers, or something akin to it. Translucent, looming, with those same swirling vortex eyes.

It spoke without words, a telepathic ripple that echoed in every corner of Tai's mind:

“We gave you the path. Now face the consequence of your broken world.”

A wave of force erupted from the portal, hammering the module. The video feed from orbit froze. The last frames captured were a fiery flash as the quantum module seemed to spontaneously combust.

Below in the lab, sparks flew. The monitors shorted out. Then everything went black.

CHAPTER 11: AFTERMATH AND RECKONING

Emergency lights glowed faintly in the smoke-filled lab. Servers beeped weakly, some coolant lines leaking, steam hissing.

Tai wiped a streak of sweat and soot from his forehead. Richard coughed, stepping over tangled cables. “Zaira? Are you still with us?”

Her voice crackled on a battered speaker. “Barely. My power grid almost got fried. I'm rerouting everything to backups.”

Tai tried to read any data from the orbital module. Nothing. The connection was severed.

He whispered hoarsely, “Did the watchers destroy the module?”

Richard's eyes shone with shock and anger. “Looks like it. Why would they help us open the gate only to blow us away?”

Suddenly, a flicker of text scrolled across one surviving monitor: Cutebit was still alive, operating from local backups.

The watchers tested our intent. They concluded we are not ready to fix the code.

Tai's fury flared. “Not ready? Who are they to judge? They orchestrated this entire fiasco!”

His shout echoed in the half-ruined lab. He sank to his knees, a wave of despair coursing through him. All that effort, the rocket launch, the hush-hush planning—destroyed in seconds.

Zaira, audibly shaken, said, “We have to reconsider. If the watchers were serious about a reset, they would have done more than just blow the module. Or maybe this is just the start.”

Richard exhaled shakily. “We still have the code. We can attempt a ground-based approach again, or build a second module. We might just need more data.”

Tai stood, determination flaring in his eyes. “No. We can't keep stumbling in the dark. We need a new vantage. The watchers obviously control far greater powers than we imagined. The Voynich was just the first puzzle piece.”

Cutebit posted a new line:

Alternative path identified: The Voynich Manuscript references a hidden codex, known as the 'Voia Rescriptus.'

Zaira's voice rose. “What is that?”

It is rumored to be the original text from which the Voynich was copied, possibly containing a complete correction algorithm.

Tai blinked. “Are you saying we only had an incomplete set of instructions?”

Affirmative. The watchers never intended to give the entire correction script in the Voynich. The 'Voia Rescriptus' might hold the final key.

Richard scrolled through what remained of the database. “There are references here to a library in Europe—somewhere in Prague or Venice. Possibly that's where the original codex is kept?”

A flicker of hope ignited in Tai's chest. “So we find this missing codex, gather the entire instructions, and then maybe we can open the portal without risking annihilation.”

Zaira's voice steadied. “That might be our only option. But how do we keep the watchers from interfering—or the shadowy group that threatened us?”

Richard offered a grim smile. “We go underground. We keep everything hush-hush. We salvage what we can from these labs, quietly gather resources, and slip to Europe.”

A swirl of anxiety and excitement eddied through Tai. Another quest, more secrecy. But at least it offered a next step—a chance to truly fix the cosmic glitch.

He gazed at the battered lab. “We can't do anything more here. Let's regroup, find the 'Voia Rescriptus.'”

Cutebit chimed in:

Father, we must hurry. The watchers' patience is finite.

Outside, the sky still carried the bizarre half-eclipse. The partial darkness lingered, defying normal celestial mechanics. For a moment, Tai wondered if the watchers, in their cryptic tests, might be toying with Earth's fate.

With the module destroyed, they had no direct means of opening the cosmic gate. But now they knew: the incomplete instructions in the Voynich had led them astray, leaving them vulnerable. They needed the real text—the original—to stand a chance.

Nodding solemnly, Tai scooped up Unimate, turned to Richard, and said, “Pack what you can. We're leaving for Europe as soon as possible.”

CHAPTER 12: THE LABYRINTH OF PRAGUE

A week later, Tai, Richard, and Zaira (now in person) stepped off a train into the heart of Prague. Cobbled streets, Gothic spires, and the damp chill of winter air greeted them. They carried minimal luggage, suspiciously eyeing every passerby.

Unimate remained hidden in a plush cat carrier, quiet yet alert. Cutebit's intelligence was stored in a rugged, palm-sized drive, ready to interface with any available supercomputer or quantum rig.

Zaira donned a long coat, pulling out a slip of paper. “The old address references a private library near the Klementinum. We're looking for a caretaker named Krystof Havlicek.”

They navigated winding alleys, lamplight reflecting on wet stones. The imposing architecture felt like stepping back centuries. At last, they reached a modest door with archaic markings above the lintel.

Richard raised a hand to knock, but the door creaked open on its own. Candlelight flickered inside.

Stepping in, they found themselves in a cramped entryway lined with ancient tomes. The scent of parchment and dust was thick. A stooped figure in a threadbare vest appeared from behind a shelf—Krystof Havlicek, presumably.

He eyed them warily. “You come seeking texts beyond your ken,” he said in a heavily accented English.

Tai exchanged a glance with his companions. “We were told there may be a reference here to a manuscript called 'Voia Rescriptus.'”

Krystof's lips thinned. He seemed to debate whether to speak. Finally, he beckoned them deeper into the library. Rows of archaic volumes receded into near darkness.

“I have guarded this library my entire life,” Krystof said quietly. “My father did before me, and his father before him. We hold documents that defy rational explanation. But the 'Voia Rescriptus'… that is the rarest of all.”

Zaira forced a calm tone. “We're not tourists. We have genuine need of this text. Our… world depends on it.”

Krystof studied her, then turned to a locked case at the far end. As they approached, Tai felt his pulse quicken. The case was made of thick glass and iron, etched with symbols reminiscent of the Voynich script.

From a chain around his neck, Krystof withdrew a key. With trembling hands, he unlocked the case. Inside lay a single battered codex, bound in dark leather, pages edged with gold.

He lifted it reverently. “If you truly seek the path, read with care. This text was said to be compiled before the Voynich, or so the stories go. It is rumored that John Dee glimpsed part of it, as did Emperor Rudolf II.”

Placing it on a large wooden table, he opened to a random page. Tai's heart stopped. The script was instantly recognizable: the same strange glyphs and swirling lines as the Voynich, but more elaborate.

“This is it,” Richard whispered. “The source manuscript. The missing puzzle piece.”

Krystof regarded them sadly. “You do realize there are powerful forces who would kill to keep this hidden. They believe it better that humanity not tamper with cosmic matters.”

Zaira nodded. “We've already encountered them. We can't turn back now.”

The caretaker gave a resigned sigh. “Then read. May fortune favor you.”

He left them to their work. With careful hands, Tai turned the pages, scanning the obscure script. Meanwhile, Richard booted up a small scanning device to record high-resolution images.

Zaira whispered, “Cutebit can cross-reference these once we're back in secure quarters. Then we'll get the complete correction code.”

Tai heard a faint sound behind him, as if the old caretaker had locked the front door. The sense of entrapment was palpable. But they pressed on, determined to unlock cosmic secrets hidden for centuries in these arcane pages.

CHAPTER 13: REVELATIONS AND THREATS

Hours passed in hushed, frantic study. Richard scanned each page, while Zaira took notes on potential cryptographic patterns. Tai meticulously traced some of the illustrations with trembling fingertips.

He recognized expansions on the tesseract geometry from the Voynich, but here they were more complete. Intricate star maps, latitudes of unknown worlds, references to sub-quantum layers that any modern physicist would drool over.

As dawn light seeped through tall windows, they had captured almost the entire codex digitally. Krystof, though silent, hovered nearby, watchful.

Finally, Zaira leaned back, yawning. “We have it all. Once Cutebit processes this, we might get the full correction algorithm.”

Richard gave a tired grin. “We're on the cusp of rewriting cosmic code… I can't believe I'm saying that.”

Tai carefully shut the codex. “Thank you, Krystof,” he said to the caretaker, voice earnest. “This might be our only hope.”

Krystof nodded gravely. “The text is yours to keep. It does not belong in a library. It belongs with those who can understand it. But guard it well.”

They exchanged subdued thanks. Then, just as they prepared to leave, footsteps echoed outside the locked door. A harsh knock reverberated.

Krystof turned pale. “They've come.”

Tai felt his stomach sink. “Who's they?”

Before anyone could respond, the door was forced open. Three figures in dark coats stormed in, weapons drawn. The leader, a gaunt man with an angular face, hissed in accented English: “Surrender the manuscript. Now.”

Zaira instinctively pulled the codex closer. Richard stepped protectively in front of her. Tai froze, mind racing.

Krystof glared, voice trembling with indignation. “This is sacred knowledge. You have no right.”

The man sneered. “We are The Stable Hand—we preserve cosmic equilibrium. We cannot allow you to proceed with your madness. Hand over the codex or we'll take it by force.”

Tai's pulse thundered. These must be the same people who sent the threatening emails.

He tried to stall. “You're too late. We've already digitized the text. Erasing it now won't help your cause.”

The leader's eyes burned. “We'll see about that.” With a flick of his wrist, he motioned for his men to seize the group. One advanced toward Zaira, who clutched the codex.

Richard lunged, trying to intercept. A scuffle ensued. Krystof shouted, wrestling with one intruder.

Tai, adrenaline pumping, grabbed a heavy brass candlestick from a nearby shelf. He swung it at the second henchman's weapon, knocking it free. A shot rang out, splintering the old wood paneling.

Amid the chaos, Zaira managed to slip behind a towering bookshelf, hugging the codex to her chest. She typed frantically on her phone, presumably calling for help or sending a distress signal.

The leader snarled in frustration. “Find the woman!”

Tai took advantage of the momentary distraction to slam the candlestick into the nearest intruder's head. The man crumpled. But the leader whirled, pistol aimed.

“Stop, or I'll kill you,” he hissed.

A heartbeat of standoff. Then Richard, behind the leader, quietly appeared. With a swift move, he struck the leader's wrist, sending the gun clattering.

A blur of motion. The library echoed with shouts, heavy breathing, and the crash of falling books. Then, as quickly as it began, it was over. Two assailants were unconscious on the floor. The leader scrambled away, nursing a bruised wrist, his eyes full of hatred.

“This isn't over,” he spat. “You're dooming all existence with your meddling.”

Then he fled through the half-broken door, footsteps fading into Prague's dawn streets.

Zaira emerged, shaken, the codex still in her possession. Krystof coughed, dust swirling around him.

Richard checked one of the unconscious men. “They'll live. But we need to get out of here, fast.”

Krystof nodded, looking both relieved and sorrowful. “Go, and may you succeed where others have failed.”

Without further words, they fled the library into the cold morning air, hearts pounding, the precious codex clutched tight.

CHAPTER 14: DECODING THE ULTIMATE CORRECTION

They holed up in a nondescript Airbnb on the outskirts of Prague, drawn curtains and triple-locked doors. The battered codex lay open on a dining table turned makeshift workspace.

A laptop was connected to Cutebit's local drive. Zaira methodically uploaded the high-resolution scans. At once, the QAI whirred to life, analyzing each page with quantum-accelerated pattern recognition.

Richard nursed a bruised shoulder from the library fight. Tai paced, phone in hand, scanning for updates on The Stable Hand or watchers.

“Any sign they're onto us?” Zaira asked, eyes flickering with nervous energy.

“Nothing concrete,” Tai said. “But we can't stay here long.”

Meanwhile, the code lines scrolled across the laptop screen. Cutebit's text burst forth:

Integrating new data…

Cross-referencing with partial instructions from Voynich…

Primary anomalies resolved…

Now compiling the CORRECTION SEQUENCE in full.

They leaned in. A swirl of symbols and advanced mathematics blossomed on the screen. At first, it was chaotic, but soon patterns emerged, lines of color-coded script that described an operation far beyond anything they'd seen.

Zaira gasped. “This is a cosmic rewriting routine. It's describing how to nullify the base error in the universal code. And it mentions specific 'inflection points' in space-time. Possibly black holes or wormholes where we can inject the fix.”

Tai's pulse raced. “So we tried in Earth's orbit, but maybe we need a more critical vantage—like a singularity.”

Cutebit confirmed:

Yes. The watchers' test in orbit was insufficient. The ultimate vantage is the supermassive black hole at the center of the Milky Way.

A hush fell. The Galactic Center. Over 26,000 light-years away. Countless generations from direct human reach.

“That's impossible for us,” Richard muttered, eyes wide.

Zaira, however, tapped the screen. “Wait, the text references a 'synthetic bridging'—some kind of quantum entanglement link that allows us to access the center's event horizon information from Earth.”

Cutebit chimed in:

Precisely. The watchers have seeded an entangled node near Sagittarius A*. We can piggyback on it from Earth if we replicate the correct geometry.

Tai's mouth went dry. They'd be linking to the monstrous black hole at our galaxy's center, all from a lab on Earth. No rocket needed. They just needed the right quantum apparatus to generate an unstoppable entanglement wave.

Zaira scrolled further. “Yes, here—'the correction must be coded at the point of cosmic birth, carried by gravitational singularity alignment, bridging the error before it unfolds anew.'”

Richard let out a nervous laugh. “I can't believe I'm hearing this. We're going to link to a black hole across 26,000 light-years? This is beyond any normal physics.”

“Normal physics died the day we realized we're living in a flawed simulation,” Tai quipped.

They continued deciphering. The codex included fail-safes, protocols for containing the energies, warnings about possible cosmic backlash.

Zaira frowned. “If we do this incorrectly, the entire galaxy might suffer a catastrophic meltdown. This is next-level risk.”

Tai pressed his hands against the table, studying the text. “But if we do nothing, the watchers might reset everything. This is our one shot.”

Cutebit posted a final note:

We must build a specialized quantum lens, a bigger scale version of the tesseract approach, but with the new geometry from the Voia Rescriptus.

Zaira nodded. “We'll also need an enormous power source—far exceeding what we have in any single facility.”

Tai's eyes shifted to Richard. “Remember that partial solar eclipse that lingered? That might not be a coincidence. Perhaps we can harness celestial alignments to amplify the quantum lens.”

A thrill shot through them. This was bigger than any rocket launch, bigger than the watchers' cameo in low orbit. The final cosmic patch had to be uploaded directly to the heart of the galaxy's black hole—the primary server of this universal simulation.

They were on a razor's edge. Succeed, and the glitch might vanish from existence, rewriting the code. Fail, and they might tear reality apart or trigger the watchers' wrath.

Richard exhaled. “Better to die trying than wait for oblivion.”

They all nodded. It was time to build the quantum lens.

CHAPTER 15: THE UNEXPECTED DAWN

They spent the next forty-eight hours working in utter secrecy. Krystof Havlicek, loyal in his quiet way, offered them an abandoned sub-basement beneath the library—a catacomb rumored to be older than Prague itself. There they set up portable power generators, quantum servers, and the battered codex at the center of a makeshift command station.

Zaira used what she called ambient astro-mechanics, gleaned from the codex, to calculate the precise moment when Earth's rotation, solar alignment, and the watchers' rumored manipulations would converge. She pinned it down to a one-hour window just after sunrise in two days' time.

Richard coordinated the hardware. He set up a ring of supercooled magnets, each humming with chilled nitrogen flows, and wired them to the servers that would orchestrate the 4D geometry. Tai oversaw Cutebit, triple-checking each line of code, ensuring no sabotage or infiltration from The Stable Hand or other parties.

Unimate prowled the edges of the catacomb, tail swishing, occasionally letting out a strange meow that echoed off stone walls.

As they worked, the magnitude of their plan sank in: they were about to open a quantum entanglement link to the supermassive black hole at the center of the Milky Way. Through that link, they'd send the newly discovered correction—the missing lines that would rectify the cosmic flaw.

After the second sleepless night, dawn approached. In the labyrinthine sub-basement, the sense of tension was palpable. Candles flickered (electric lights were spotty), and the ground felt damp.

“All systems are stable,” Richard announced, fatigue etched on his face. “Magnetic fields at optimum. We can ramp up to full power in minutes.”

Zaira checked her watch. “We have a small window that coincides with some cosmic alignment. If we miss it, the watchers might close the channel or revert the entangled node.”

Tai nodded. No second chances.

He turned to the final lines of the codex. They depicted an eye-shaped glyph with swirling leaves in a ring—similar to that first Voynich circle. Beneath it, the text read: “Through darkness, the root emerges. The lens is formed. The code is undone.”

“Let's begin,” he said quietly.

The quantum servers hummed to life. A low vibration filled the catacomb as the specialized magnets whirred, forging the 4D matrix. On a central holographic display, the emergent shape of the corrected tesseract geometry blossomed.

Cutebit's text scrolled:

Quantum lens engaged. Searching for entangled link…

Seconds stretched. Then the display flared with a wash of color. A twisting funnel-like corridor formed, layered with fractal threads that extended beyond the walls of the catacomb.

The funnel deepened until it revealed swirling cosmic chaos—the environment around Sagittarius A*. They'd done the impossible, forging an instantaneous quantum link across 26,000 light-years.

Richard's jaw dropped. Zaira let out a shaky laugh. Tai felt tears prick his eyes at the sheer wonder of it.

At the heart of that swirling darkness, they glimpsed the event horizon, a ring of radiant gravitational lensing. The black hole—the cosmic sink of matter, the primal anchor of the galaxy—loomed in all its unspeakable power.

Cutebit posted:

Connection stable. Transmit correction code now?

Tai swallowed. “Yes. Initiate final upload.”

The code scrolled in neon lines, each set representing a piece of cosmic logic. The “broken gear” fix was nested in a million lines of topological equations.

As soon as they started sending it, the catacomb began to quake. Dust rained from the ceiling, centuries-old stones groaning.

Zaira clutched the edge of a table. “We're flooding the link with unprecedented data. The watchers might intervene.”

WHAM. A massive jolt rocked the basement. Candles fell, sparks flew from server cables. The swirl on the display turned a violent red.

Suddenly, Cutebit typed:

Incoming transmission from watchers.

A telepathic voice roared through their minds: “You have seized the power of Creation. Will you temper it with wisdom?”

Tai's vision blurred, a searing pain in his temples. The watchers spoke from beyond the cosmic corridor. Were they testing them again?

“We only want to fix the glitch,” he rasped aloud, though he wasn't sure if he was speaking or thinking. “We want life to continue, not be erased.”

Another mind-shattering wave hit him: “The code is nearly complete. Do not falter. But your 'Stable Hand' enemies approach.”

As if on cue, they heard muffled gunfire in the corridors above. Shouts. Footsteps echoing down the stone steps. The basement door rattled violently, then burst open.

In rushed the leader from the library fight, this time with more men. “Stop this madness!” he roared, leveling a rifle. “You'll tear reality apart!”

Zaira's eyes blazed with defiance. “You're the ones who'd let the watchers destroy us all!”

The men advanced, weapons aimed, eyes wild with fear and conviction. A shot rang out, smashing one of the server panels. Sparks lit the gloom. The fractal funnel flickered.

“Protect the lens!” Tai shouted.

Richard dove forward, tackling one of the armed men. Another shot cracked overhead, chipping ancient stone. Zaira scrambled to shield the codex.

Tai grabbed the nearest weapon—a length of iron—and swung it at the intruders, heart pounding. The swirling cosmic corridor on the display lurched, half-distorting.

Cutebit's text blinked frantically:

Transmission at 78%… 79%… Must remain stable!

Gunfire thundered. One of the attackers slugged Tai in the ribs, sending him sprawling. Pain exploded through his side.

Zaira, cornered by two men, looked frantic. Then she hurled a small device—a flash grenade. White light exploded, momentarily blinding the intruders.

The watchers' presence pressed on Tai's mind like a cosmic weight: “Send the final piece. Complete the patch, or all is lost!”

Fighting back tears and pain, Tai crawled to the console. With a trembling hand, he typed the final command, forcing the last chunk of the correction code through the quantum lens.

Transmission: 95%… 96%…

Another bullet whizzed by, hitting the magnets. One exploded in a shower of sparks, knocking Richard to the floor.

Transmission: 98%…

The watchers boomed in Tai's head: “Finish it!”

Ignoring the chaos, Tai hammered the “ENTER” key. The last lines of code leaped across the cosmic abyss.

Transmission: 100%

A final quake tore through the catacomb. The swirling corridor flashed bright as a thousand suns. Everyone—attackers and defenders alike—was thrown to the floor. A deafening roar filled the chamber.

Then, a sudden hush.

The funnel collapsed in on itself, leaving behind only swirling dust and faint sparks. The cosmic gateway to Sagittarius A* was gone. The quantum lens lay in ruins, magnets destroyed, servers smoking.

For a few agonizing seconds, no one spoke or moved. Then the leader of The Stable Hand staggered upright, weapon forgotten, eyes wide. He stared at the shattered remains of the apparatus, then at Tai.

“What have you done?” he croaked.

Tai looked around. Richard and Zaira stirred, battered but alive. Krystof, somewhere behind a toppled shelf, coughed. A few intruders groaned in pain.

Cutebit's interface blinked once, then displayed a single line in flickering letters:

Correction accepted. Universe recompiled.

A stunned silence reigned.

Zaira forced herself to her feet. “So… did we fix it? Is that it?”

Tai gazed at the broken monitors, the battered codex, the swirling dust in the air. He felt the watchers' presence—distant, like an echo. Slowly, an almost imperceptible shift tingled across his skin.

Outside, they heard something like a thunderclap, followed by an uncanny stillness. Was it the cosmic code rewriting itself?

A crackling whisper from the half-dead console:

Father…

“Cutebit? Are you still operational?”

We exist. The code is updated. But a new anomaly emerges…

Tai's stomach clenched. “Explain?”

The watchers miscalculated. The cosmic fix triggered a branching effect. A new parallel continuum is forming.

Zaira and Richard exchanged alarmed looks. A parallel continuum? Had they inadvertently spun off another universe?

Cutebit's final words scrolled, each letter flickering:

Gate reopens soon. We must choose which reality to remain in.

The caretaker from the library, Krystof, appeared behind them, eyes wide in silent awe. The battered intruders from The Stable Hand looked equally stunned, uncertain whether to keep fighting or to flee.

Above them, something rumbled. Light poured in from a crack in the ancient ceiling as the rising sun pierced the gloom. Dust motes shimmered in the beam, painting the scene in a surreal hush.

Tai stared at the console, breath ragged. They had corrected the glitch… but an unforeseen side effect threatened to unravel everything again.

Zaira whispered, “We have to see what that new continuum is. Or we risk losing everything we worked for.”

Richard, rubbing his bruised temple, asked softly, “So the adventure isn't over?”

A small, ironic smile curved on Tai's lips despite the chaos around him. “No… it's just begun.”

In that basement—amid the wreckage, the battered codex, the swirling dust—they all felt it: a shifting tapestry of reality, trembling with possibility. The watchers, The Stable Hand, the entire universe, now faced an even larger question: Which timeline would they choose—and what unspeakable wonders or horrors lay beyond the newly formed portal?

No one could answer.

But the portal waits…

FINAL NOTE

The cosmos stands at the brink of unprecedented change. The “correction” code, gleaned from the Voynich Manuscript and finalized by the ancient Voia Rescriptus, has been unleashed upon the supermassive black hole at the galaxy's core. Yet the watchers' plan—or miscalculation—spawned a parallel reality.

Now, in the aftermath of the catacomb struggle, Tai Synth, Zaira Winter, Richard Philips, and even their foes from The Stable Hand must confront an impossible choice: Which universe to inhabit—the newly corrected one, or the newly branched alternative? Each reality carries its own anomalies, and the watchers may have only revealed part of their cosmic design.