Jack's breakfast interrupted itself.
He was halfway through Professor Wobbles' morning lecture on "The Quantum Nature of Marmalade" when every alarm on Station Zeta-9 achieved harmonious panic.
"URGENT: PATTERN EATERS DETECTED IN SECTOR NULL-SEVEN," the station AI announced with caffeinated anxiety. "RANGER CASTELLAN TO BRIEFING ROOM MAYBE. GRAVITY STATUS: YES? SHADOWS: PROBABLY UNIONIZED. BREAKFAST: NOW PHILOSOPHICAL."
Jack's cereal was indeed debating whether milk was a beverage or a sauce. He left it mid-argument and magnetized his way to the briefing room, currently located on what used to be the east wall.
Commander Reeves hung from the ceiling like a disgruntled bat. The holo-display showed upside-down Pattern Eaters doing something impossible to a bank that flickered between existing and not.
"Castellan! The Pattern Eaters have stolen—" Reeves paused dramatically.
Jack's shadow ate the pause.
"—the concept of—"
Chomp.
"—vault security from—"
Munch.
"STOP EATING MY DRAMATIC TIMING!"
"Sorry," Jack apologized as his shadow burped temporal satisfaction. "Continue?"
"They've stolen the concept of vault security from every bank that never existed," Reeves said in one breath, defeating the shadow's appetite. "Banks in parallel dimensions are retroactively unsecured. Even fictional banks in novels are affected. Harry Potter's Gringotts is apparently now just an open cave."
"How do you steal from something that never existed?"
"That's why we need you. Someone who 'thinks sideways' and has experience with temporal anomalies. Also your shadow ate all our other volunteers' enthusiasm."
Jack accepted the mission because arguing with upside-down authority felt impolite. He navigated back to his quarters to pack, only to discover his room had opinions about him leaving.
"But we just achieved optimal feng shui!" his quarters protested, doors refusing to open. "Your satisfaction ratings increased 23% this week! Was it something I said? I can change! I'll be less helpful!"
"It's not you, it's me," Jack tried. "I have to save reality from Pattern Eaters."
"You always have to save reality," the room sulked. "What about saving our relationship?"
His shadow tried to eat the redundant relationship drama, but the room had invested too much emotional processing into their bond. Every drawer Jack opened slammed shut. His packed bag unpacked itself in protest. The walls displayed a slideshow of their "best moments together"—mostly Jack sleeping while the room optimized around him.
"I'll be back," Jack promised.
"They all say that," the room accused. "Ranger Martinez said the same thing. Now his quarters are on the dating market! Do you know how hard it is for a sentient room to find love?"
Echo appeared at his door, which reluctantly dilated. "Transport leaves in ten. Your room giving you the business?"
"It thinks we're breaking up."
"Mine proposed last week. I had to let it down gently." She helped him wrestle his belongings from possessive furniture. "At least yours hasn't started composing poetry."
They made it to the docking bay where the Prometheus waited, having somehow acquired racing stripes that definitely weren't there before.
"ARIA?"
"The station's helpfulness virus left some residual effects," she admitted. "I'm 13% sportier and my cargo hold reorganized itself by color. Also, I maybe adopted a small maintenance subroutine that thinks I'm its mother?"
A tiny cleaning bot peeked out from behind a panel and waved.
"We'll deal with that later," Jack decided, boarding his increasingly complex ship. His shadow followed, still digesting dramatic pauses.
Pi materialized to see him off, their numbers arranging into a farewell equation. "Visit again! Next month we're having Paradox Day where cause and effect switch places. Should be mathematically disturbing!"
"Can't wait," Jack lied.
As the Prometheus departed Zeta-9, Jack watched the station ripple through its daily impossibilities. The cafeteria was teaching a master class, shadows were on their union-mandated break, and his abandoned quarters had already posted a "seeking new occupant" ad on the station bulletin.
"Setting course for Sector Null-Seven," ARIA announced. "Where Pattern Eaters are robbing the conceptually non-existent. Should I pack extra paradox shielding?"
"Pack everything," Jack said, settling into his pilot chair. "Something tells me this is going to get weird."
His shadow gave him a look that suggested 'weird' was their default setting now.
Behind them, Station Zeta-9 continued its existence in 4.7 dimensions, where the coffee argued philosophy, gravity voted on direction, and sentient quarters waited for Rangers who'd appreciate optimal feng shui.
"Maybe the field work IS easier," Jack muttered, flying toward impossible crime scenes.
At least Pattern Eaters probably wouldn't try to optimize his sleep schedule.
Probably.