"I have a proposition," March announced over breakfast, her pink hair catching the morning light streaming through the dining car's windows. She had that particular gleam in her eyes that Alex was learning to associate with Plans that would probably end with someone getting into trouble—usually March herself.
"Should I be worried?" Alex asked, pausing with their fork halfway to their mouth. The Express's chef program had produced something that tasted remarkably like scrambled eggs, though Alex suspected the actual ingredients were probably more exotic than anything they'd find on Earth.
"Never!" March said, which was not particularly reassuring. "I've been thinking about what Dan Heng said about finding meaning at a human scale, and I realized we haven't really done anything just for fun since you joined us. You've been learning about navigation and technology and cosmic horror, but you haven't gotten to experience the sheer joy of discovery."
"What exactly are you proposing?" Himeko asked from across the table, though her tone suggested she already suspected the answer.
"A photography expedition!" March spread what looked like a star chart across the table, pointing to a small notation near their current position. "There's a cosmic phenomenon called the Prismatic Gardens about six hours from our current trajectory. It's this amazing region where stellar winds interact with crystallized space-time to create the most incredible light displays."
Alex studied the chart, noting the small warning symbols clustered around the marked area. "What do those symbols mean?"
"Minor spatial distortions," March said dismissively. "Nothing dangerous—just some gravitational eddies and temporal fluctuations. Completely normal for that type of phenomenon."
Dan Heng looked up from his data pad with the expression of someone who had learned to be suspicious of March's definition of "completely normal." "Have you cleared this with Pom-Pom? Deviation from our planned route requires conductor approval."
"Already done!" March produced a form stamped with the conductor's official seal. "Six-hour detour, educational purposes, minimal risk assessment. Pom-Pom was very thorough about the paperwork."
"I notice they didn't ask for my opinion," Alex said.
"Because they know you'd say yes," March replied with utter confidence. "You're curious about everything, and this is probably the most photogenic cosmic phenomenon within fifty light-years. Plus, you need more practice with the camera."
It was true that Alex had become fascinated with photography over the past week. March's lessons had revealed an artistic side they'd never known they possessed, and capturing the beauty of their journey had helped them process the emotional complexity of their situation. The idea of witnessing something as spectacular as the Prismatic Gardens was genuinely appealing.
"What about the spatial distortions?" Alex asked.
"That's actually part of why I want to go," March said, her enthusiasm becoming more serious. "I've been thinking about what you said at Herta Space Station, about dimensional membrane instabilities. The Prismatic Gardens are formed by similar phenomena—places where the normal rules of space-time become... flexible."
Alex felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature in the dining car. "You think they might be connected to whatever brought me here?"
"Maybe. Or maybe they'll help us understand more about how dimensional transitions work." March's expression softened. "I know you want to find a way home, Alex. This might be a step toward understanding how that could be possible."
The weight of hope and fear that settled in Alex's chest was almost overwhelming. Since arriving on the Express, they'd been trying not to think too hard about their original life—about the finals they'd missed, the family who probably thought they were dead, the future they'd been planning before the aurora changed everything. March's suggestion forced all of those suppressed concerns back to the surface.
"Okay," Alex said quietly. "Let's do it."
The journey to the Prismatic Gardens took them through a region of space that seemed to shimmer with barely contained energy. As they approached the phenomenon, the Express's instruments began registering readings that made no sense according to conventional physics—negative energy densities, temporal loops, gravity that flowed in directions that shouldn't exist.
"There," March breathed, pressing her face against the observation deck window.
The Prismatic Gardens defied easy description. Imagine crystalline structures the size of moons, growing from nothing and dissolving back into pure light according to no rhythm that mortal minds could follow. Stellar wind caught in the crystal formations created aurora displays that painted space in colors that had no names, while temporal distortions caused some regions to flicker between past and future states like cosmic strobelights.
"It's beautiful," Alex whispered, raising their camera to capture what they could of the impossible vista.
"And scientifically fascinating," March added, already snapping pictures with professional efficiency. "Look at how the crystalline formations affect local space-time. The distortions aren't random—they're following patterns related to the underlying quantum structure."
Alex adjusted their camera settings, trying to capture not just the visual spectacle but the sense of standing at the edge of something that touched the fundamental nature of reality. Through the viewfinder, they watched crystal formations grow and dissolve in fast-forward, their lifecycles compressed into moments by the temporal fluctuations surrounding them.
"March," Alex said slowly, lowering their camera. "Look at the formation directly ahead of us. The large one with the spiral structure."
March followed their gaze, then caught her breath. "Those aren't natural crystal growth patterns. That's... that's artificial construction."
The spiral structure was indeed showing signs of deliberate design—mathematical precision in its curves, architectural elements that suggested purpose rather than random formation. And as they watched, other structures became visible through the dancing lights, the remnants of what might have been buildings or monuments, all crafted from the same crystalline material that made up the natural formations.
"We need to get closer," March said, already heading for the Express's communication system to contact Himeko.
"Is that safe?" Alex asked, though they were already following her.
"Probably not. But that's never stopped us before."
The next hour was a careful dance of navigation as Himeko guided the Express through the gravitational eddies surrounding the artificial structures. The closer they got, the more obvious it became that they were looking at the remains of some kind of settlement—buildings and walkways and what might have been gardens, all constructed from crystallized space-time and slowly dissolving back into the cosmic light from which they'd been formed.
"A civilization that learned to build with the fabric of reality itself," March murmured, documenting everything with her camera. "Can you imagine the level of technological advancement that would require?"
Alex was thinking about something else entirely. "March, what if this isn't ancient? What if we're seeing the effects of dimensional instability in real time?"
"What do you mean?"
"The dimensional membrane fluctuations I detected at Herta Space Station—what if they're not just random disturbances? What if they're echoes of civilizations that exist in parallel realities, bleeding through into our space-time?"
March lowered her camera, staring at Alex with wide eyes. "You think this place is a... a cross-dimensional reflection?"
"I think this place is where the walls between realities are thin enough for things to leak through." Alex felt a growing certainty that had no rational basis. "And I think that's exactly how I ended up on the Express."
The implications hung between them like a charged particle field. If Alex was right, then the Prismatic Gardens weren't just a beautiful cosmic phenomenon—they were a wound in reality itself, a place where the normal rules that kept different dimensions separate had broken down.
"We need to tell Dan Heng about this," March said finally. "And Himeko. And probably Welt—he might have insights about dimensional transition mechanics."
"Yeah," Alex agreed, though part of them wanted to stay here among the dissolving crystal cities, watching the ghostly remains of impossible civilizations dance in the stellar wind. "But March? Thank you. For bringing me here, for helping me see this. Even if it's terrifying, it's also..."
"Beautiful," March finished. "The best discoveries usually are."
As the Express began its careful withdrawal from the Prismatic Gardens, Alex captured one final image—a crystal spire reaching toward distant stars, its surface reflecting light that came from no visible source. In the photograph, it almost looked like a lighthouse, a beacon calling across the vast darkness to guide lost travelers home.