CHAPTER ONE - A BRIEF TIMELINE OF THE UNION

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- WWII ends due in part to Scientist Alan Turing’s code-breaking machine, or computer, named Bombe.

- Global population: 2,573,345,123. Global Mean C02 Level: 310.5 PPM (Parts Per Million). Global Mean Sea Level: 10 mm. Extinction rate: 43.5 EPM (Extinctions Per Million); of note: Vietnamese Leaf-nosed Bat (Paracoelops megalotis)

- 56% of the global population is literate. 89% believe in god. 87% believe in love. Relationships beginning not in-person (arranged marriages, personal ads, etc): 7.8%. Global divorce rate: 25%. Global suicide rate: 0.000061%; of note: Adolf Hitler, German Dictator responsible for approx. 55 million human deaths, shoots himself in a Berlin bunker.

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- Alan Turing publishes his Turing Test, suggesting computers could one day become capable of thought.

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- The first computer speaks and is able to recognize human voices.

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- Scientist J.C.R. Licklider proposes a global computer communication network in his Man-Computer Symbiosis paper.

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- The Vostok spacecraft carries the first human into outer space.

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- Apollo 11 brings first humans to moon.

- The Internet is born as computers exchange the first packets of information.

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- The first medical records are stored digitally.

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- Bill Gates founds software company Microsoft.

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- Global population: 4,295,664,825. Global Mean C02 Level: 337.10 PPM. Global Mean Sea Level: 69 mm. 56.1 EPM; of note: Eastwood’s Whip Lizard (Tetradactylus)

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- Early “Hacking” organizations begin to form.

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- Steve Jobs introduces the Macintosh, marking the beginning of the personal computer revolution.

– The first self-driving cars are tested.

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- First robot-assisted surgery.

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- 70% of the global population is literate. 75% believe in god. 80% believe in love. Relationships beginning not in-person (arranged marriages, personal ads, etc): 9.4%. Global divorce rate: 42%. Global suicide rate: 0.000128%; of note: Yukiko Okado, Japanese idol singer, throws herself from seven-story building, leading to copycat suicides and the term “Yukko Syndrome” for patterns of such incidents.

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- The first global cyber attack, The Morris Worm, is created accidentally by Cornell grad-student Robert Morris as he tries to gauge the size of the Internet.

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- The first Internet dating service Match.com is launched.

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- Steve Jobs introduces the iPhone, placing the computing power of Apollo 11 in tens of millions of hands.

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- Global population: 6,707,143,887. Global Mean C02 Level: 385.46 PPM. Global Mean Sea Level: 127 mm. 98.4 EPM; of note: Caribbean Monk Seal (Neomonachus tropicalis)

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- First large-scale military cyber-attack, Stuxnet, disrupts Iranian nuclear program. The virus source code becomes available worldwide upon deployment.

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- The computer assisted, but human caused Flash Crash cripples Wall Street with over one trillion USD in losses in just 36 minutes.

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- Siri (Speech Interpretation and Recognition Interface) is launched on the iPhone, Steve Jobs dies the following day.

- The computer Watson beats two humans in a game of Jeapoardy!

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- The first instance of man-induced teleportation occurs as Chinese Physicists instantaneously transport quantum information from one group of atoms to another group of atoms 150 meters away.

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- 82% of the global population is literate. 64% believe in god. 70% believe in love. Relationships beginning online: 33%. Global divorce rate: 51%. Global suicide rate: 0.0002%; of note: America’s Winning-est Racecar Driver, Dick Trickle, shoots himself with a shotgun.

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- The first mainstream wearable eyeglass technology, Google Glass, is released to the public.

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- First robot becomes self-aware.

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- Self-driving cars become available to the general public.

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- First lab manufactured human organ is completed.

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- First humans land on Mars.

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- Medical records of most developed countries are now completely digital.

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- Global population: 8,543,136,322. Global Mean C02 Level: 461.23 PPM. Global Mean Sea Level: 203 mm. 130.7 EPM; of note: African Wild Ass (Equus africanus)

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- First open heart surgery performed fully by robot is completed, though the heart fails three days later. The heart was a donor, not synthetic.

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- The first fully autonomous military robots are sanctioned by the Geneva Convention and deployed by US.

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- 97% of the global population is literate. 39% believe in god. 61% believe in love. Relationships beginning online: 87%. Global divorce rate: 81%. Global suicide rate: 0.0067%; of note: beloved Musician and Philanthropist, Bono, walks into the ocean with stones in his pockets.

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- Mars colony has grown into the thousands. Missions to our solar systems other planets and moons underway.

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- Self-driving cars occupy majority of roadways in developed countries. Governments begin to employ mega-computers that manage all human transportation.

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-The first macroscopic object, a one gram gold nugget, is teleported from a Beijing bank vault to a lab six blocks away.

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- On the heels of transportation supercomputer success, governments move to hand over supervision of medical, agriculture, and financial systems to more specialized mega-computers. While the majority of the global public is in favor, a small group of the population including scientific, intellectual, and military leaders express concern, thus establishing the Terras political party, maintaining that man’s faith in technology will ultimately rob them of their humanity.

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- The first computer integrated contact lense technology becomes available to the public.

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- The first artificially intelligent humanoids are introduced into the public.

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- Free health-care and annual income allowance now available to all humans who apply.

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- Global population: 11,403,101,734. Global Mean C02 Level: 490.17 PPM. Global Mean Sea Level: 281 mm. 180.5 EPM; of note: Polar Bear (Ursus Maritimus)

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- Cancer and most other fatal diseases have been eradicated.

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- Governments begin to employ autonomous police robots. Underground separatist and hacking groups warn that they will take action if computers are given more power.

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- 100% of the global population is literate. 21% believe in god. 43% believe in love. Relationships beginning online: 95%. Global divorce rate: 93%. Global suicide rate: 0.011%; of note: As his country faces increased pressure to join a more symbiotic political world, North Korean Supreme Leader Kim Jong-un falls to his death after a failed attempt to hang himself in Kim Il-sun Square.

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- Human body can now be completely synthetically recreated, with the exception of the brain.

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- Tens of thousands of humans now live in ten sanctioned colonies around our solar system. Rumors circulate of undocumented outposts.

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- Age Locking technology has been perfected to the point that humans can now put their bodies into permanent regenerative stasis at any point. The median age for those opting for the procedure is 25. The leading causes of death globally are now accidental traumatic brain injuries and suicide.

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- Scientists attempt to teleport the first animal, Jerry the mouse, from Beijing to Tokyo. Under heavy media coverage, all that arrives is a small pile of carbon and teleportation experiments are put on hold indefinitely.

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- Overcrowding and unrest builds as the Earth’s population soars over 13 billion, governments propose relinquishing administrative control to mega-computers under human supervision. The referendum passes nearly unanimously.

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- Six days before global administrative control is to be transferred to mega-computers, a massive cyber attack called Locust is released by an unknown separatist group (suspected to be Terras affiliated, a fact unconfirmed due to the digital paper trail being completely erased by the virus itself) that infects and permanently disables nearly every computer system on the planet. Hundreds of millions wearing computer integrated contact lense technology go blind instantly. Without computer guidance, humanity turns on itself as society crumbles, cities are razed, and billions die. This Last War will rage for decades.

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- In an effort to end the war, the worlds top scientists, led by Dr. John Gates, create several dozen supercomputer beings called the Superlects in their image.

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- Global population: 8,512,112,004. Global Mean C02 Level: 400.17 PPM. Global Mean Sea Level: 304 mm. 438.9 EPM; of note: Honey Bee (Apis)

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- Led by the Superlects, global society returns to pre-war standards of living. In an effort to prevent any future human error, the Superlects request complete autonomy from humans in their decision making on our behalf. The referendum passes nearly unanimously.

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- The Union of man and machine is formed under the banner: Living In Harmony With Each Other, Technology, and Nature. In its inaugural speech, Imminent Operating Superlect (IOS) announces sweeping plans for improvements to global medical, environmental, and financial systems, among many others. IOS predicts “That it is man and machine’s destiny to leave this solar system within the next half century.”

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- Many anti-autonomy voters join the Terras Exodus, as nearly 9.32 million people (0.01% of the global population) retreat to remote parts of the globe and return to more traditional lifestyles free of computer guidance.

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- The Superlects and Dr. John Gates announce that early development of Mind Uploading technology has begun as Dr. Gates declares “And with this step, humanity has now come to the edge of infinity.”

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-100% of the global population is literate. 5% believe in god. 8% believe in love. Relations beginning online: 80%. Global divorce rate: 75%. Global suicide rate: 0.5%; of note: Dr. John Gates and his wife Deborah intentionally overdose in their sleep.

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- The Superlects release their long gestating Maximum Matching Mod (M^3) and recommend that the institution of marriage be disbanded. It is further recommended that couples only reproduce for the continuation of the species, if they have over 90% compatibility per M^3, and that the same-sex parent raises their offspring.

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- The Superlects announce the beginning of a re-wilding program to recreate extinct species of plants and animals using DNA samples, fossil records, and molecular engineering.

- The Superlects announce the re-opening of teleportation studies.

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- Perfected computer integrated contact lense technology is made available again, though their stigma from the beginnings of The Last War remain, with just 70% of the public adopting them and luminescent blue coloration required for their identification in user’s eyes.

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- The Union receives an extra-terrestrial message from Gliese 832c. It contains instructions for faster than speed of light interstellar travel.

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- Work on the first manned interstellar mission, Gliese One, begins.

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- After years of secret studies and multiple AI humanoid testing, the first human is teleported from Earth to Mars. Months later this means of transportation is made available to the public.

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- Global population: 8,204,324,877. Global Mean C02 Level: 280.17 PPM. Global Mean Sea Level: 46 mm. 0 EPM.

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- 100% of the global population is literate.

CHAPTER TWO - THE GLIESE ONE DISASTER

On the Solar System’s desolate outer rim, the anti-matter fueled spacecraft Gliese One glides silently away from the distant sun. Gliese One is small by Union standards (0.25 km long) and economical in its design: a long and sleek tubular body, capped by a sharply pointed cockpit, and backed by a massive circular array of engines. Many elder persons closely involved with the project remarked it looks like something called a thumbtack used in the days paper was still legal.

Having had its speed - which allowed the ship to travel from Earth to this point in just under two months, a journey that early human crafts would spend decades enduring - significantly reduced upon target approach, Gliese One is now approximately one thousand km away from the celestial body Pluto. Its escort is heavy, with several dozen Union Fighter Bots on all sides and the Union Frigate Charon lying in support just a quarter billion km behind.

In the ship’s minimalist cockpit, a male and female co-pilot pairing crews the Union’s most coveted project. They have names and a child each (Union standard), but those details are unimportant. What’s paramount is that both of them approach the embodiment of physical and intellectual perfection, hand picked from a pool of roughly one hundred of Earth’s most talented human pilots, all of which had already ascended above the thousands of other students, all who’d been put through rigorous, Union designed, mission specific, pilot training programs from a pre-teen level. The Union could manufacture computer pilot software ad infinitum, but a human representative needed to be crafted.

“It’s brighter than I thought…” She murmurs, Her face pressed against the rear hatch, feeling for a familiar warmth.

“What is?”

“The sun, this far out.”

Ignoring Her, He gazes forward with well-conditioned nerve and activates the ship’s comms. “Gliese One to Houston. 15 minute to entry.”

“Copy that, Gliese One. T-minus 15 minutes until forever…” responds an emotionless voice via the comms.

She spins to sail back through the zero-g cabin and takes the seat next to Him. “Real comforting, Houston!”

“I’m sure the two of you will be back in no time at all.”

He smirks, “Care to run that probability?”

“Unable to computer due to lack of necessary variable information. Though I believe this mission may shed some light on the matter.” Quips the voice.

“Certainly shedding some light right now.” She activates the forward window’s solar shade as sudden, blinding rays of white light envelope their faces.

Outside, as Gliese One rounds Pluto, a breathtaking wormhole reveals itself - rifts of light, time, and space ribboning out from its dark maw.

Far above Gliese One, the considerably larger (240 km long) mining craft Belt Raider crawls back from the outermost asteroid belts with an impressive gem spotted behemoth in the clutches of its forward claws. In fact, the ship itself could be best described as a sort of interplanetary crustacean. Deep space can be lucrative, but Belt Raider’s appearance indicates whoever owns it likes to keep costs low and it’s hard to imagine this ship at any speed beyond its current trudge, though it’s rear engines and numerous bow thrusters glow dimly with potential.

On the bridge, its salty Captain stargazes out the window when he spots the unmistakable ship below and barks, “Roll starboard, 90 degrees!”

Helming the ship is his serene First Mate, who immediately turns the wheel, responding with an overtly robotic, “Yes, Captain. May I ask why?”

“That’s the Gliese One mission.”

“What is its purpose?” it asks as its eyes avert upward, accessing internal information in attempt to answer its own question, “Gliese One is a red dwarf star in the--”

“You need a damned recent history update on top of that nav-patch I just ponied up for,” he grumbles, joining his Mate at the helm, “Union’s first manned bid out of the system. Deep space satellites got a message from Gliese 832 C – a planet orbiting Gliese One - a few years back.”

“From whom did it come?”

“Nobody knows…or so the ‘Lects say…” He picks up his ship’s comms, “Gliese One. This is The Union mining vessel Belt Raider, just sayin’…best of luck out there.”

In the cockpit of Gliese One, the pilots are surprised and she beats him to the comms, “The warm wishes are appreciated Belt Raider, but this channel is authorized only, please clear it immediately,” and turns to her co-pilot, “Fucking miners. Isn’t this a no-fly sector?”

“You think he’s going to let you cut into his bottom line? Only thing they care about is finding the rocks and bringing’em home.” He watches her squirm in her seat, feeling the same unease himself but burying it.

On the bridge of the Belt Raider, the Captain clears the channel with a conceding nod and rejected smile better suited for a playground than space. Months in deep space can be tremendously lonely, if only the Captain could only see another human, face to face. His First Mate studies him, unblinking, as do half a dozen other pairs of benignly blank eyes belonging to the Belt Raider’s crew scarred around the bridge. As he watches the tiny speck of a ship drifting in the black sea, a tear drips from the Captain’s eye, but he quickly wipes it away, turning to catch his companions divert their eyes at the same instant.

As Gliese One distances itself from Pluto, a nimble Terras Battle Cruiser appears from the shadows of the former planet and tails the Union ship. Unlike Gliese One, the wingshaped Battle Cruiser has years of scars and repairs visible on every exposed surface. It is armed with dozens of cannons and long-to-medium range projectiles lining its hull. A small warhead hides on the cruiser’s underside.

Eighty five, eighty six, eighty seven…Daemon Striker gazes out a port window of some sort of storage hangar that has found itself in complete disarray and counts stars in his head, a nervous habit of his for as long as he could remember in his 20 years. He has never known where he comes from and neither do they. As a child on lonely nights, Daemon would tally the number of friends he had staring down at him and to this day it always makes him feel oddly comfortable. Contrary to just about every other man or woman, being up here in space feels downright like home for him. Ninety six, ninety seven, ninety eighty –

The incessant tapping of John Vega’s leg behind him makes Daemon’s head spin around, though he can’t find the heart to scold his friend. He’s never seen his pilot like this before, trading his typical Latin swagger for a nervous tic and a tightly held rosary. For the first time, Daemon can’t help but wonder which behavior indicates Vega’s true colors. Daemon returns to his counting at the window and realizes his frame has completely shifted. No matter: One, two, three…

The third and final member of this trio, Sade Daleon, sits next to Vega and opens one eye from meditation to clock his rapid-fire leg. Sade has all the looks of a Parisian, but none of the pretension, with a steadfast and cool intellectual calm painted on her face at all times, though it wanes as her open eye alternates between Vega’s leg and face in observation. At last, she shoots her arm across to brace his chest in the blink of an eye. “Stop. Tapping.” she drones.

“Sorry…” he smirks and then catches a whiff of something off the arm of her sleek, airtight spacesuit and begins to sniff. “Was’that smell?”

“Polycyclic Aromatic Hydrocarbons.” She replies without hesitation.

“Poly-what?”

“Space, Vega, it’s the smell of space,” she points to his own suit. “Try yours.”

And he does. “Didn’t know it had a smell. Reminds me of the Jetrax. Like somethin’ burnin’…fuel maybe.”

“The original fuel. Stars. What you smell on our suits is a by-product of their combustion. Believe it or not, one of the early building blocks for life on Earth,” she takes a pensive drag of her arm and smiles. “A reminder of what we once were, and some day, will become yet again.” Her and Vega’s intense eye contact breaks into laughter.

“Settle down you two, don’t want to be spoiling the surprise.” Barks Striker as he turns back around. But as he looks into their eyes, he immediately remembers that both of them, despite their skills, are kids, just like him. Sade looks fondly at Daemon, who only returns a brief, polite smile and stares back out the window. A radio voice echoes from the comms on his collar, “Commander Striker, what is your status?”

“In position sir.”

“Well played. God speed to you and your team,” and as Daemon prepares to reply, the radio voice drops an octave. “And remember Commander Striker, this is your team.”

Daemon hesitates as he locks eyes with John, “Yes, General Vega.”

In the cockpit of Gliese One a radar blip sounds, and though both Pilots remain calm, the locking of their wide eyes says it all. “Are you seeing this, Houston?” She pleads into the comms.

“Yes, Gliese One. It appears to be a Terras Battle Cruiser.”

“You seem pretty damned alright with it!” She complains.

He tries to reason. “This far out? That’s impossible.”

“Not quite, hence the escort.” Returns the comms. “What’s your ETA?”

She analyzes the dash, “10 minutes…maybe less.”

“Stay the course. They’ll be taken care of.”

Outside, two thirds of their Fighter Bot escort breaks away from formation and dagger toward the tailing threat. But as they approach, the Battle Cruiser releases several long-range missiles that then further separate into a fiery storm front of explosives. The Fighter Bots respond with anti-missile fire and yet several of them are dispatched into dust. The Bots, usually programmed to stay tight for swarm firepower, break away in every direction.

The Pilot’s first real bouts with fear are setting in as they catch the brilliant flash of lights from the explosions behind their ship. “Are you sure we’re covered back there?!” She shouts.

The voice behind the comms grows impatient, “Once those Bots are in range that Cruiser won’t stand a chance and we still have a dozen on you. Please focus on your own objective, Gliese One.”

The attacking Fighter Bots now descend from all angles and the approaching Battle Cruiser is unable to concentrate its firepower. The Bots power-up their cannons in unison as they get into range.

Daemon, Vega, and Sade stand silently in a cramped cargo elevator as rapid slits of fluorescent light dance across their faces with each passing level. Sade nudges Daemon and points out Vega, who sweats profusely and appears as though he could vomit at any moment. “You good?” Daemon asks as he holds Vega’s shoulder and gets no response, “guess I’ll take that as a no…”

“You know what they’re gunna say about us back home, right?”

Daemon begins to respond “Yes, but--”

“It’s not our home anymore.” She chimes in.

“Pipe down, Sade,” Daemon snips then turns his attention to Vega, “whatever they’re going to say, they’re going to say about all of us.”

Vega hyperventilates, “Neither…of…you…were -- ”

Daemon braces his chest and back with routine familiarity. “John, I need you to focus,” as he matches his friend’s heaving, slowly reducing both their breaths, “we wouldn’t be here if not for all you’ve sacrificed – the both of you – know that. Regardless of the outcome.” A long silence sets in as the elevator’s hum begins to slow on their approach.

Vega smirks, “You mean we’re not sure this’ll work?”

“It’s our doubt that separates us from them.” Sade exclaims as she powers up the blaster pistol on her hip.

The Fighter Bots close in on the Battle Cruiser like insects to light, their cannons building to crescendo. Then, firing at once, the Bots dagger the Cruiser with a devastating swarm shot. The Cruiser’s explosion is typically small for the vacuum of space at first, but then ignites into a far reaching and violent nuclear blast that eviscerates the surrounding Bots and what remained of the ship from the first explosion.

The Pilots are stunned at the scene unfolding behind them as the shockwaves from the blast jolt their ship forward. “This can’t be happening.” He whispers.

She shakes her head, puzzled. “A nuke? Everyone in the system knows Union ships can withstand that level of energy…”

“Including them…” The voice behind the comms says ominously.

To the surprise of the Captain and crew of Belt Raider, Daemon, Vega, and Sade suddenly burst into the bridge and take control of the ship at gunpoint.

“Everyone stand down from your posts,” Daemon is calm but forceful, focusing his weapon on the Captain, “AI’s to the wall. On your knees now, Captain.” And he obliges as Daemon then wrangles the First Mate and officers to the side of the bridge. Vega takes the ship’s wheel and Sade types furiously at the main computer.

“Autopilot’s on!” Shouts Vega.

She shakes her head with impatience, “I’m working on it – we just got up here!”

“Even if she can unlock it, he’ll never be able to catch them…” the First Mate declares to his fellow crew and Captain.

“Get a load of the uppity one.” Says Daemon.

“Let’s shut it up, shall we Vega?” Sade replies with a competitive smile.

Vega cries out with glee, “Challenge accepted.”

In Gliese One’s cockpit, the Female Pilot attempts to reassure her male counterpart, “…they would have never gotten close -- ” as a large, fast, and imminent Belt Raider appears on their radar.

“They never wanted to.” He warns, now leaning forward to look up.

Outside their ship, what remains of their Fighter Bot escort peel away and upwards toward the impending threat.

Sade types like a composer in throws and for good reason: on screen, a rendering of Belt Raider’s asteroid holding jaws display their status as locked and encrypted. Daemon holds the Captain at gunpoint, “How are we, Sade?”

“Better when focused!”

“If you can’t get them released…”

She’s perspiring now, which is unusual.

“Sade?!”

“I know! I know! I know -- ”

The Belt Raider’s comms suddenly interrupt, “Belt Raider, what exactly are you doing?” asks the familiar voice from Gliese One’s comms. The only thing exchanged on the bridge are surprised glances, “This is not a game, Captain.”

Daemon gets on the line, “Game’s over. Cap’s taken a knee.”

“And who may I ask is this?”

“Ask away, but I ain’t tellin’ you jack --”

“Identify yourself!” Barks the voice.

“Pluto, God of the Underworld,” Daemon smiles slyly, “and now is not the hour of your departure.”

After a pause, the voice responds, “You are interfering with a Union operation. Stand down. I repeat, stand down or you will face the ultimate consequences.”

“Sounds pretty serious, you guys. What do ya’think?” Daemon asks his quite-well-occupied friends, who manage to return dueling middle-fingers in unison, “Think that’s a no up here.”

The Gliese One Pilots have been listening, though only She seems to realize this isn’t working and cuts off Houston, “Belt Raider – or, whoever you are – this is the crew of Gliese One…” Sade and Vega immediately look up at one another, his earlier sweats and sickness instantly returning upon his objective giving itself a voice in the matter. Daemon moves toward the window, gazing at the approaching ship, his blaster still trained on the Captain, who seethes. She continues, “I know there is a world of difference between us…and that you do not agree with the purpose of our mission…but I’m asking you – begging you – to not take action against this scientific vessel.”

Vega loosens his grip, “Daemon…I can’t -- ”

“YES YOU CAN,” He screams off comm, then picks it back up, “Listen, Gliese, I’m afraid you just drew the wrong straw today.” This is met with initial silence, then the sounds of muffled struggle.

The Male voice comes on, “For once in your meaningless lives can you see the bigger picture you ignorant Terras son of a --!”

Daemon shoots the comm board with his blaster.

Gliese One’s cockpit is silent now, as She wipes away her tears and He fumes.

“Status?” Houston asks indifferently.

“Two minutes.” She whimpers.

“You will make it.”

Belt Raider’s hull is battered by passing Fighter Bots, damaging it slightly, but not enough to stop, much less slow, its breakneck speed. Sade’s continued attempts to disable the claw locks brings her to the point of snapping, though she does not vocalize, something Daemon Striker remains wary of, “Saaaaade!”

“I need another minute, Striker!”

“We don’t have a minute.”

The First Mate slides away from the wall, reaching his hand out toward Sade, when it is suddenly sliced off by the ever-cognizant Striker, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

“The ship’s mainframe is triple encrypted and hand print locked,” it grins as it looks down at the exposed wiring that dangles from the arm.

Daemon picks it up and tosses it to Sade, “Just trying to help, huh?” He asks.

She attempts to use the handprint, though it doesn’t register on the computer. She tries again and again.

“Needs a synchronized frequency.” It laughs eerily and points to its head – which then explodes.

“Can’t say they don’t have a sense of humor, just ain’t my type.” Daemon holsters his smoking blaster and looks to the rest of the crew, “Don’t make me use it again, will ya?”

Gliese One makes the final push towards the wormhole as Belt Raider now visibly bears down on them, even from their eye level view in the cockpit. All that’s certain is that their escape or destruction will be separated by a razor’s edge.

At the helm of Belt Raider, Vega eyeballs this same trajectory and doesn’t like the odds, “We don’t stand a chance unless we activate our boosters!”

“Wait for it…” Sade hums with laser focus.

The voice behind Daemon’s collar comms is incessant, “Commander Striker! Commander Striker! What is your status Commander Striker? Your vessel is approaching the drop dead coordinates!”

Daemon rolls his eyes, “Thanks for the reminder! Status is in flux…”

“That is not an answer!”

Daemon looks to Vega off comms, “He always this annoying?” But Vega ignores him. “Ahh screw it,” Daemon turns off his comms, “How long Sade?!”

“Just wait!”

Daemon’s eyes dart in triangular fashion between Sade, Vega, and the Union ship that he knows cannot exit the system. The fate of his species depends on that. His nostrils now begin to flare rapidly as his eyes speed up. And then, he stops in an instant, looking squarely towards his man at the helm, “Hit’em, Vega!”

But as fate usually does have it, at the precise moment that Vega activates Belt Raiders anti-matter boosters, sending the ship rocketing forward at significantly amplified G’s, Sade makes a breakthrough that releases the locks off of the asteroid, whose mass is many times greater than the mining ship itself, causing the magnesium alloy claws to dig deep into the space rock. Vega and Daemon exchange grim glances of recognition: this is now a suicide mission.

“DAMNIT! I was right there! Why couldn’t you just listen to me?!” Sade cries as Daemon strides toward her, grabbing her by the collar. She tries to fight him off as he drags her off the bridge, but quickly loses energy under the weight of her own grief and seeming failure. “No! No! NO!”

“You remember the deal. And you’re certainly not dying for our mistakes…” Daemon turns a corner to find the evacuation pod hatch.

“I can fix this! I can still do it!”

He opens the hatch and lifts her up to look into her eyes, “You’ve done enough, kid,” and he tosses her into the pod, she sprawls to the floor.

She sulks on the ground, tears pouring from her eyes, “I’m not a kid anymore!” He takes her in for one last moment, watching her rise to her feet. She fights to compose herself, un-contorting her face to look into him with that all-to-real lucidity a person only sees or shows sparingly in a lifetime, “…Daemon…I -- ”

“No…you don’t.” And just like that he closes the pod door as she lunges toward it, tears refilling her eyes. She holds her palm to the port window, he lifts his own to join it, and with the press of his off-hand index finger, jettisons her into the darkness.

Inside Gliese One, the Male Pilot notices a smaller blip separating from the battering ram just above them on the radar, “Looks like someone jumped ship, Houston.”

“We’ll make The Charon aware.” It replies.

“30 seconds.” She interrupts as both Pilots look up to clock Belt Raider’s impending collision with their shield.

Daemon solemnly reenters Belt Raider’s chaotic bridge to take in what he assumes will be the final scene of his brief life. Time seems to slow down. The Captain gazes into blank space, his eyes welling up. The Crew, Daemon realizes, has had their lifeless eyes trained on his every move since their commandeering of the ship. He does not want those stares to be the last thing he sees. He turns his attention to Vega, who guides the speeding ship on target with all the focus and will he can muster. Young Daemon Striker would much prefer his final memory be this portrait of John Vega trying so very hard, as has always been his nature. He then laughs, not in the face of death, but at these brief notions that his preference of final memory will matter when he no longer exists in just a few moments.

“The shit are you laughin’ at?” Vega asks, briefly jerking his head around. Daemon silently walks to his friend’s side and puts a hand to his shoulder, preparing for the end. But unbeknownst to them on the ground, Belt Raider’s captain crawls toward one of the side control panels, his determined stare dead set on a lever labeled Reverse Thrusters.

The Pilots inside Gliese One hold hands but do not look at each other, only forward. The Union ship is now so close to the wormhole that portions of its forward hull are beginning to become distorted by space and time. The same distortions appear at the head of the asteroid held in the jaws of Belt Raider as its precipitous trajectory now leaves it just above Gliese One. The Captain’s hand inches closer and closer to the Reverse Thruster lever.

Then, in one violent nano-second, every person and unsecured object on Belt Raider is sent hurling forward as the ship itself comes to an eerily silent and abrupt halt. By the time Daemon stands to shake off his initial concussion symptoms, he realizes that among the dislodged bodies from Gliese One’s sudden stop includes the asteroid previously jammed into its magnesium alloy jaws. Said asteroid now grows smaller and smaller as it barrels into the starry abyss. But more importantly, left in its path and approx. 150 km in front of Belt Raider is the debris / nuclear blast / former location of Gliese One. The wormhole abruptly closes.

Vega props himself up to follow Daemon’s gaze of disbelief out the window, “We did it -- ” and he vomits into his own lap. Whimpering cries are heard from a corner of the bridge and Daemon quickly finds the Captain, arm broken and horror painted on his face as he remains locked onto the pulled Reverse Thruster lever just a few yards away. Daemon silences him with a swift kick across the face and smiles, “You beautiful self-serving asshole!” He kicks him again and again, “Now you can tell everyone on earth that it was you who pulled the trigger up here!” The Captain’s cries build until they are at once silenced.

Vega gathers himself to stand and look upon the destruction, wiping his mouth that continues to drop agape. Daemon approaches to join his side once again. “It worked.” Says Vega.

“For now -- ” Replies Daemon.

“We’re still here…”

Daemon turns around to look out the opposite side of the bridge, “Unfortunately.” The slight smile Vega has forced onto his face vanishes as he turns to share his friend’s view. In the distance of space, but growing in profile which each moment, is the massive Union Frigate Charon. Against black backdrop, it looks cold, mean, and like it’s most certainly coming for them. A ringing builds inside Daemon Striker’s head as he watches it approach.

CHAPTER THREE - A QUERY INTO THE MATTER OF MIND UPLOADING TECHNOLOGIES

A high-speed bullet train glides through darkness. The ear-piercing frequency these trains generate inside tunnels gives Dr. Hannah Gates a slight headache as she stands toward the back of the crowded compartment. How has a solution to this ringing not been solved in this day and age? She wonders. Hannah wears a studious look over her natural good looks (which is saying something these days) and porcelain skin. She appears to be in her mid-twenties, but like many of this age, she feels so much older. Her work now confided to the rural countryside, she isn’t used to this sort of speed, nor can she rely on the entertainment, information, therapeutic, and countless other distractions provided by the Union supplied contact lenses that radiate blue in the eyes of just about every other passenger on the train. She can’t help but inspect all of them with deep concern.

The train compartment is impeccably clean and with all surfaces, including the floor, displaying advertisements for those who might take an unlikely moment to tune away from their contact streams or the even less likely non-contact-users. All passengers are well dressed in sleek contemporary fashion and racially diverse, though the common denominator among skin tones is an opaque, almost grayish-tan. For the most part, they appear to be around the same age as Hannah. None of them make physical contact or bear rings on their hands. One drastic exception to the age-rule is Hannah’s colleague Dr. Olivia Yang, a petite and graying Asian woman of roughly 60 years of age, who stands next to Hannah, also sans contacts.

Sunlight floods the train as it shoots out of the tunnel and into a bright white metropolis. A labyrinth of buildings so tall it’s impossible to know their beginning or where exactly the sky is to scrape. These buildings are attached by countless sky-walks, and yes, traversed by hundreds if not thousands of flying pods. Though the sun’s rays shine down, there’s an almost constant post rain mist and waterfalls pour down around the skyscrapers. This substantial mist hisses with the sound of distant crashing water at the lower portions of the buildings and the tips of massive stalagmites show from it’s upper layers. A hand holding a torch aloft is visible as it juts out from once such growth.

The droves of pedestrian foot traffic on the sky-walks resembles ants on tree branches. The normally chaotic sounds of a city have given way to a kind of hushed bustle. They move quickly and efficiently, the majority of their illuminated eyes guiding them to a destination or perhaps nothing of the sort. All are physically alone, though none possess the wretched faces of those yearning for any sort of company. Nobody appears to be below age 40, except for the very occasional boy or girl who obediently follow their parent of the corresponding sex.

Hannah and Yang are now in a coffee shop, having just received their orders. Yang studies her cup of ho black liquid as if on an archeological dig, “And I thought I was old fashioned. You know the new standard order boost pills are time released right?”

“Those things don’t want me up anymore…” Hannah stares past Yang at something, “Besides, nobody can get beans outside the cities anymore.” Yang studies her with concern. “Let me enjoy my nostalgia in peace.” Says Hannah.

“Your nostalgia is going to make us late.” Warns Yang.

“We don’t even know what we’re late for.” Hannah rolls her eyes.

“We both know why they’re calling us in,” Hannah doesn’t even give her a glance, “I’ll let you do the talking in the room then. Need to use the loo.” And as Yang walks away Hannah steps forward to focus her gaze through the field of customers enjoying their beverages in the substantial dining area to a Cute Woman sitting alone. Hannah watches her roll her fingertips on the table, waiting with either tense nerves or typical impatience. Then, the CuteWoman’s eyes go wide and she rises with bounce to wave someone over.

A Handsome Man has entered the coffee shop and he makes way for her, both beaming at each other with anticipation. It eats at Hannah too, who watches intently.

“Hi!” He sings in arrival.

She blushes, “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“We chatted at length, didn’t we --”

“A full two days!” She blurts out. They both laugh nervously, then awkward silence.

He takes a deep breath, “Listen, I just want to level with you right off the top…”

“Okay…”

“I never thought I’d come across such a high compatibility percentage and…”

The Cute Woman now nods eagerly, as does Hannah unknowingly.

“If you feel the same way I think we should reproduce immediately, for the good of The Union.” He finishes with confidence. She just keeps nodding, her smile unchanging. Hannah shakes her head with fear: Say something!

“Is that a yes?” He asks.

She stands confidently, “For the good of The Union.” They simply shake hands and hastily depart the coffee shop. Yang returns to find Hannah’s paralyzed gaze locked on the door as it vacuum shuts, “You alright?”

“Lucky girl…” Hannah says, almost to herself.

“What?”

“Let’s go.” Hannah snaps out of it and exits as Yang follows behind, unusually puzzled by her partner.

A large, bright, courtroom is occupied by several dozen official looking persons and about half as many more are hologram transmitted into their seats. The walls alternate between solid brushed steel and floor to ceiling windows showing high altitude polar stratospheric clouds outside. Hannah and Yang sit at an isolated table at the front of the room staring forward at the blank space where one would expect a judge to preside along with the gallery. In unison, all present begin to solemnly recite, “And in the darkest of nights, our reflection unclean, we look to your light, the truth unseen.”

Yang jumps in her seat when ten Superlects, cloaked male and female figures with glowing light blue glass heads, rise from the floor at the front of the courtroom. Nine of them are of average 5.5 m height for the times, though their de facto leader, IOS, stands nearly 7 m tall at the front of the group. IOS bangs a booming electronic gavel ten times onto an unseen surface at waist level.

IOS has met Dr. Hannah Gates many times before but never her counterpart, Yang. It reads her vitals and processes her body language. Fear. Ios has long wondered what that and other emotions feel like for them. Despite its designed abilities to convey dozens (yes, just dozens, despite humanities own opinions, they’re not that complicated) of emotions and replicate any new ones that may arise for future use, IOS is unable to feel. Nothing it would like to be stuck with, but a simulation for the sake of knowledge. IOS can certainly think though, and today, it has much on the mainframe.

“Dr. Gates and Dr. Yang, welcome.” Its voice is the same as the one behind the Houston comms of Gliese One – designed to be calm and kind, but falling short in some sort of inexplicable way.

Hannah rises from her seat, “ Superlect IOS, we do now consent and agree to commit the entirety of the truth before you, so your logic may be imparted upon us.”

“Do you know why we have summoned you?”

Hannah looks toward Yang, “We’re assuming it’s related to our ongoing trials.”

“You are correct. Have you brought your most recent data?”

Hannah smirks, “Of course, isn’t it The Unio --”

“The Union way. Yes, Dr. Gates. We’re familiar with the motto, though we’ve no time for humor and pleasantries today.”

“Very well then...might I ask why you are interested in our studies?”

The glass heads of the Superlects begin to glow in shades of a setting sun, including IOS’s, “They pertain to a matter of global security.”

“I wasn’t aware it was so urgent -- ”

“There is much you are unaware of.”

Hannah rolls her eyes, “And you as well, perhaps more so, or else I’m assuming we wouldn’t be her?” she’s not backing down, “point is, we’ve made some recent discoveries that we’d like time to back up. Dr. Yang and I have devoted a significant portion of our lives to this work and -- ”

“We’re quite well versed on your personal files, Dr. Gates, as I’m sure you know.” It declares ominously, “and our lack of current specificity is for your own safety. Please, proceed…”

“Right then,” Hannah looks to Yang for approval, who nods, “With the conclusion of Dr. Yang and I’s most recent primate trials, I am pleased to inform you that we are currently operated at a 100% success rate in our mind uploading procedures.” The room murmurs with whispers of excitement and the heads of the Superlects emit new and various colors.

IOS is mum, waiting for the noise to die down. “This is surprising news. We are pleased. Though, in previous trials on file you maintained a 50% failure rate – and with a nearly 80% mortality rate among those who failed.”

“That’s correct.” Hannah is purposefully short.

“How is it in just 6 short months you’ve been able to perfect the process with these primates?”

“We’re not quite sure…” She stares at the ground.

IOS’s head begins to change colors for the first time, “Can we trust you, Dr. Gates?”

“Yes.”

“Then stop lying. Your blood pressure is off the charts”

“I am not lying, we’re just not certain yet,” she fumes, “But we do believe our recent success is due to Dr. Yang’s breakthroughs with Cognol.”

“Cognol?”

Yang stands confidently and holds a bright white pill in her hand, “It’s a deep psyche sleep aid designed to stimulate the subconscious mind.” Hannah’s breath becomes short, focusing on the pill. Her and Yang have hundreds of the capsules and yet everyone appears precious in her eyes. She’s jealous Yang gets to hold it. If she took it here and now she’d be asleep on the floor in seconds. It would be embarrassing no doubt, but worth it. Her mind far away.

“Go on…” Chides IOS.

Yang glances toward Hannah who remains transfixed on the pill. Her widening glare not at all working, Yang clears her throat with indication. Hannah comes to.

“The model, Dr. Gates…”

“Yes, sorry.” Hannah steps out in front of the Superlects and places a small cube on the ground. It projects a hologram of the human brain’s neural network into the air directly above. From the outside of the brain inwards toward the brain stem, the network is slowly highlighted blue.

Hannah gestures toward the model, “Science has long known that on the whole every species’ brain is similar, but recently we’ve learned that each individual’s neural network inside the cerebral cortex acts as a road map to the self,” the path of brain flow bends and folds rhythmically within the model. “Who we are and how we behave is defined by every twist, turn, and fork in these roads. Everyone’s is unique.”

“Why is that, Dr. Gates?” IOS asks.

Hannah beckons to Yang, “Dr. Yang…”

“We’ve found that development of neural connections within the cortex are based on personal experiences, many of which are traumatic or occur early in the mind’s development, becoming buried in the subconscious,” Yang speaks at rapid pace, though it makes no difference to the intently listening Superlects, “Dark roads and broken bridges within the web of self, if you will.”

Hannah makes the model zoom in with her hand. “We’ve known for some time that our minds build and store this information via the hippocampus region, which codifies and disperses data using a process called memory consolidation, occurring primarily while we sleep. But the question of how this happens has remained a mystery.”

“Until Cognol.” Yang approaches IOS and places the pill in its hand. IOS brings the small bean close to its head and studies it. “Miraculous,” Offers IOS as it grinds the pill curiously in hand then lifts its head to find Hannah grinding her teeth as she watches, “Are you well, Dr. Gates?”

“Fine, thanks.”

“Then please, continue.”

“Success in the uploading procedure depends on our ability to make an exact copy of this map,” Hannah points toward the brain model again, now roughly 1/3 filled in by the outward flowing blue highlighting, “miss a turn, or fail to see down one road, and the upload is lost, often with the mind or host themselves going along with it.” The highlighted network within the hologram comes to an impasse deep in the brain and turns red, dissolving to the floor.

Yang continues, “But Cognol, when given to subjects in the nights before the procedure, stimulates these subconscious middle layers in the cortex, allowing us to light and reverse engineer these long forgotten memory paths and the biological codes used to build them.”

Hannah steps back in, “Resulting in complete lossless uploads of both the subject’s personality found in the cortex and their mental attributes within the brainstem. After we introduced Dr. Yang’s Cognol into our studies, the trials improved exponentially for three straight weeks until we hit 100% nearly 5 months ago.” The room explodes with astonished chatter.

IOS raises its voice several decibels, “You’ve unlocked the key to immortality and you kept it to yourself?”

“Chimp immortality.” Hannah corrects with a wry smile.

“We wanted absolute certainty before going public.” Yang offers.

“Absolute certainty of what?”

Hannah is flat out annoyed now, “That the procedure is ready for human use?”

“Well, is it?”

Hannah looks to Yang, “We have no idea.”

The Superlects glow rapidly with silent debate as the crowd noise builds to a roar. Hannah suddenly yells at the top of her lungs, “Why are we here?”

“A particular new trial, Dr. Gates,” IOS says smoothly, “A human trial.”

“That’s insane. It’s not even close to ready…” Yang objects.

“Quiet down, Dr. Yang.”

“Particular in what way?” Hannah asks.

IOS rotates its head to the side as his jury of fellow Superlects continue their illuminated dance of silent debate behind, and then finally has an answer with regards to disclosure, “Prisoners….Terras prisoners.”

The chatter again, it’s hard to believe so few people in the room can make this much noise. Hannah tries to remain calm, appealing to Superlect logic, “The Terras have already slipped significantly behind the typical Union citizen’s brain evolution in just a few generations. They won’t be an accurate --”

The calm in IOS’s voice is now gone, not a reflection of its own disposition, but a means of indication toward these humans. “These are not typical Terras, Dr. Gates: it’s their top commanders. I’m sure you’ve heard the names Striker, Daleon, and Vega before.”

“How do you have them in custody? For what? You can’t just go arresti --”

IOS interrupts, “Less than 24-hours ago The Union’s first interstellar mission, Gliese One -- ”

“You told the public that program was delayed.” Hannah returns the favor.

“I’m afraid the truth is that Gliese One was destroyed by these terrorists just before exiting our system.”

“The general public is under the impression that the Superlects are incapable of fabricating the truth.” She objects.

“Our aim was only to prevent such a catastrophe -- ”

“And how’s that working out for you?” Hannah asks, really pushing her luck now by the looks of the crowd.

IOS ignores her probes, “Striker and Vega are in custody en route back to Earth on The Union Frigate Charon with an ETA of 21 days. Daleon was jettisoned via escape pod and will be retrieved on the way back to Earth. You, Dr. Yang, and your equipment will be warped aboard tomorrow morning.”

Yang looks nervous now, asking politely, “Is it not more efficient and secure to warp the prisoners back here?”

The Imminent Operating Superlect is at a loss for words for once.

“Because human uploads aren’t sanctioned on Earth yet,” Hannah points at the Superlects, “they don’t have the data to prove it works yet.”

IOS claps slowly and with an offbeat mechanical cadence.

“You don’t even know about our equipment, it would take weeks to reconstruct on a ship.” Hannah objects.

“You mean Infinity’s Edge?” IOS teases.

Hannah’s eyes go wide and her face flush. Yang shares this shock.

“Your precious invention is being reconstructed by The Union’s best aboard the Charon as we speak and will be ready in just a few days,” IOS analyzes Hannah’s speechless face as it pauses, “It’s a remarkable machine Dr. Gates, truly.”

Hannah gathers herself, “What good are their minds to you, IOS? I thought the Terras were too small in number to threaten The Union. All they have left is their colony on Hawaii.”

“In the long term, yes…but allowing something like Gliese One to happen again would be senseless. It cost The Union trillions and nearly a decade of wasted time, not to mention the unknown sentiment on the other end of that passage.”

Yang shakes her head in disapproval, “Cognol was designed for modern minds. Everyone in this room is aware of Terras beliefs. Such emotional and intellectual deficiencies will lead to partial uploads.”

“Any intelligence we can garner to end the schism on this planet will be invaluable.”

“What she’s saying is it could be a death sentence for your prisoners.” Hannah offers.

“Then so be it. We have chosen prisoner trials for precisely this reason.”

Hannah knows this debate was decided long before they entered the room, but asks one last question, “You really think collecting the minds of these three will be for the good of The Union, IOS?”

“We know that if they still believe in love, then they most certainly believe that they can somehow defeat us,” IOS leans forward and raises its voice several decibels higher yet, “And it’s these beliefs, Dr. Gates, that are dangerous, must be understood, and for the good of The Union, eradicated.”

The room nods and vocalizes in agreement, the warm glow of the Superlect’s heads dancing on their faces. Hannah can’t move.

“Is that all?” Yang asks.

“Session dismissed.” IOS slams the electronic gavel and the Superlects disappear into the floor. And now realizing the tears building in her eyes are without use, Hannah closes her eyes with reluctant acceptance.

A tropical beach at dusk, the colors and landscape not of this world, a hedonistic celebration unfolds at an ocean side club as those in attendance drink, consume unknown substances, and worship before an AI DJ playing from a vessel anchored close to the shoreline. Many of these partygoers are carnally intertwined, almost unconscious in their movements.

The Handsome Man from the coffee shop earlier lingers in the shadows of the beaches’ tree line. The Cute Woman nowhere in sight, he is alone and morose as he buys pills from an AI Waitress who queries his retinas, “Are you OKAY sir?”

“Yes.” He whispers.

“Are you fit for such consumption?”

“I’m fine! Just give them to me already.” He barks.

She obliges with a smile and walks away. He stares down at his latest purchase.

Elevated above the beach at a private table, Hannah and Yang drink slowly from their intricately prepared cocktails and look down upon the crowd. Yang rolls her eyes in disgust as she counts several groping instances in as many seconds of observation, “I suppose you dragged us here for the nostalgia as well?” Yang asks as Hannah continues to ogle with a sadistic smirk, “you don’t actually enjoy this do you?”

“I’ll miss the people watching.”

“Don’t be ridiculous Hannah. We’ll be back in a few weeks.”

“You underestimate them…” Hannah sips her drink, then turns to Yang with a smile, “The Terras are fighting for our freedom, remember?”

Yang scoops up a handful of ice from her drink and throws it at her friend, “Would you stop it!”

“Don’t be so young and gullible, Yang…” She thinks for a moment, “This isn’t like the machines though – to rush. They felt…desperate today…scared almost.”

“They’re incapable of emotions.” Yang reminds her.

“We thought they couldn’t lie either, and yet they admitted to doing just that today.”

“You’re always reading too far into it…and even if they were scared, it was probably fear that we’d say no.”

“We never had a choice Olivia…” Hannah takes a long pull from her drink.

In the crowd on the shore, the Handsome Man dances solemnly until he stops to take in the setting sun on the horizon’s edge. The DJ’s complex laser and light show ramps up, no doubt requiring tremendous amounts of power. As the sun is about to dip under, it rapidly comes in and out of focus, then dissolves in interference and reappears. The Handsome Man watches all of this, tears building, and brandishing the pills he purchased in one hand, combines them with a cocktail of others from his pocket and consumes them all.

Hannah gestures toward the crowd’s musical monolith, “Do you recall when we still played our own music? I still do.”

“Before my time…besides, we have better things to do.”

“Like trying to save all of this?”

Yang laughs, “A bit late in the game for you to need a motivation, isn’t it?

“Nobody needs anything anymore…just realizing that I’ve never asked you before.”

“Life is worth saving, Hannah. And the life we know starts in the brain.”

“If it’s so worth it, then why have you never locked your age?” Hannah’s eyes squint and a few of her words come a bit slower, her drink clearly taking hold.

Yang pauses for a moment and smiles, “Our species has learned countless lessons in our own greed. I’ve found satisfaction in my time, but there’s only so much I want.”

“You see,” Hannah raises a finger, “Even our brightest minds know we don’t even need more life…”

“You don’t seem well Hannah Bear -- ”

“Don’t call me that -- ”

“What’s wrong?” Yang edges closer to her.

Hannah shakes her head slowly, “I do hope that something good waits for me, Olivia… “ She laughs, “A novel idea considering the alternative is that this has all been one big waste of time…but we’re smart enough to know there are no happy endings, aren’t we Dr. Yang?” Hannah gulps her drink as Yang looks upon her friend and colleague with a newfound fear.

“You see --” Hannah gestures toward the crowd where the Handsome Man overdoses on the ground, foam filling his mouth and his eyes turning so red they become a swollen black.

“It’s senseless deaths like these that we are trying to prevent.” Yang remarks.

“Far from senseless when they choose their fate…” Hannah finishes her drink. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Hannah exits the elevated platform, moving through the thickening tree line, when she suddenly passes through a digital barrier to find herself standing on the covered balcony of an endlessly high skyscraper. A humid rain pours relentlessly from above. A Valet hails down an unmanned single person transportation pod and she steps in.

As the pod glides through the city, she gazes down on the intertwined abyss of man and machine with dead eyes. The pod’s internal AI chimes in cheerily, “Good evening Dr. Gates, I’m reading decreased serotonin in your system, “ Hannah rolls her eyes as it continues, “Could I interest you in a boost injection for the price of 75 Unis?” A hologram projection of a syringe and laughing smiley faces float in front of her.

“I’m fine thank you.” The hologram vanishes.

“Perhaps a more carnal remedy is in order? I have the following match-able male humans in your area. Would you like them sortable by sexual ability or personality?” Like a deck of cards, hundreds of men stream in front of her in two separate rows.

“Neither.” She wipes them away with the flick of her hand.

“A male AI then? I have the following on demand.” Before their naked bodies can even fully appear in front of her, Hannah pushes the images away.

“No!” It goes silent for a long while. Hannah tinkers with something in front of her.

“I’m also seeing that in your considerable lifespan you have yet to reproduce. Might I suggest a more visceral, long-term solu --”

Hannah disables the internal AI, a wiring panel lying open where her hands were. She breathes a momentary sigh of relief and gazes back out the window.

CHAPTER FOUR - THE CHARON

The Union Frigate Charon is Earthbound, now cruising speedily with Neptune approx. 650 km off its starboard bow. The Charon is lengthy (2315.5 km), white, and jagged in appearance. Watching it drift from afar, it strongly resembles an overgrown spire that has been plucked and jettisoned from a mighty Gothic cathedral.

John Vega stares out one of the ship’s windows, imprisoned fortuitously in one of the lower deck’s cells on its port side. He uses his breath to fog the space-chilled window and identify the visible stars, making calculations and comparisons to charts he has had long memorized in his head. Once a minute or so he massages the crucifix hanging from his necklace with thumb and pointer finger until he steps outside his door and quickly wipes away the window as a Bot Guard enters. This creation of the Union descends from the first autonomous police and soldiers, its human form is similar to that of a Superlect, though its stature is smaller and is capped by a solid magnesium skull.

“Lettin’ me outside already?” Asks Vega.

“I do not believe you’d want to be released outside at our current location.” The Bot says in reference to the vacuum just outside the window.

“Prolly right.” Vega says with a chuckle. The Bot activates a beam of barely visible radiant light front its skull in the prisoner’s direction. Its affect is not to paralyze the subject, but control basic functions of movement, and Vega is soon obediently following the Bot out of the room. Once outside the cell, it deactivates the artificial gravity in the hallway and both of their feet rise off the ground before the Bot Guard leads them down one of the seemingly infinite and rotating tube hallways of the ship.

They soon arrive at another cell door and the Guard reactivates the halls gravity. Upon opening, it finds a dark and empty cell, “Prisoner Striker?” It activates the light on its wrist, “Prisoner Striker? Reveal yourself.” It arms its blaster appendages manufactured into its forearms, having been well programmed and briefed as to the danger of this particular prisoner. “Prisoner Striker!” Hearing a whistle from behind, it turns to find Daemon leaning against a smiling Vega in the hallway, feigning impatience.

“Let’s go already.” Daemon jokes. The Bot Guard rushes out to give him a singular but powerful jolt of electricity to the ribcage.

“Do not exit your cell without permission.” Drones the Bot.

Daemon winces, “Don’t you love it when they play rough, John?” The Bot beams the same movement restraints onto Daemon, “Bondage, even better!”

Daemon and Vega have been relocated to a large mess hall within the belly of the ship. They sit across from one another at a small table with two chairs. The room is guarded heavily on both its ground and secondary balcony overlook levels. All ‘eyes’ are on them, which gets Vega thinking. “Why do they have a cafeteria?” He asks Daemon.

“To eat?”

“Eat? I bet you only 10% of this crew is human.”

“I don’t know, Vega…maybe they have meetings in here or something”

Vega shakes his head, unconvinced, “Who needs meetings when they can just patch update the whole crew in realtime.” Daemon rubs his temples, he’s not one for this type of trivial thinking at this juncture, “Hell, I bet you they’re recording this conversation right now and piping it to everyone on board. Maybe even back on Earth too. Motherfuckers…”

Daemon whispers under his breath, “Please, make it stop, please…”

Vega’s completely in his own world now, “Bastards don’t need a god damn cafeteria -- ”

“Vega!” Daemon snaps, the Bots somehow managing to pay closer attention to them, “Please…stop. I feel worse enough as is without your rants about ship design…”

“Sorry. That bad, huh? What are your symptoms? Vega asks.

“Headache, Nausea…”

“That’s to be expected up here.”

“Yeah but it’s not like my test flights. I feel different…strange. Even seeing you again feels…like a dream.” Confesses Daemon.

“Well this isn’t a test flight. You’ve got solipsism syndrome. Happens on your first long stretch up here. Hate to say it, but this is quite real.” Vega rubs Daemon’s back as he slowly hunkers his head between his knees. He then looks up to find a surveillance eye high in the ceiling, trained down on them.

On the other end of this eye, on the Charon’s main bridge, the shadowy figure of Charon Captain Xaven Ward steps into the glow of the monitor displaying Daemon and Vega. The light of the screen reveals a plump, grotesque man with the upper portions of his skull visibly replaced by advanced metals and AI tech. As he watches the prisoners, his left eye adjusts and rotates like the inner workings of camera lense. Ward’s mouth and tongue seem to be in perpetual state of flux, like he’s tasting the air and constantly disapproves. A walking collection of unsightly scars and habits that are not necessary, but rather chosen, in these times.

Nonetheless, Xaven Ward is one of the most respected Captains in the Union. As one of the few surviving pilots from the Last War – literally the only survivor of 456 crew and passengers when his commercial airliner’s computers were hit by the Locust Virus and plummeted approx. 46,000 m from the sky into a dune in the Gobi Desert – he parlayed his skills into the service of the Superlects by first running counter intelligence against anti-Union separatist groups, helping to establish the Global and Trans-Gobal Fleets, and most recently being appointed to command the Union Trans-Global Fleet – under close Superlect supervision, of course.

One of the more joyous and enjoyable tasks of his illustrious Union career was the rounding up of Terras settlements around Earth and consolidating their main population hub to the Hawaiian Islands. Unfortunately, in Xaven Ward’s opinion, most of the Terras went quietly and peacefully to their new home. But some of those Terras who became ornery fell under his jurisdiction to terminate, and he did take great pleasure in that task, despite them being a weak adversary to due lack of technology, prowess, general intelligence, among other complaints, in his opinion.

Point is, Xaven Ward hates most living things, but especially the Terras, and as he watches the two now on his ship discuss what he assumes is frivolous beyond compare, he laughs slowly under his breath, revealing severely rotten teeth.

Suddenly, a hologram of IOS materializes next to him, though he doesn’t so much as flinch. “You’re early.”

“So are your new guests.” IOS replies.

Toward the back of the bridge, a teleportation device begins to glow as particulates form in the middle.

“You know I despise women.” Ward reminds him.

“Don’t be so backwards,” IOS pats him on the back, “Besides, you’re all human.”

The outlines of two female figures are materializing in the teleportation device.

Ward laughs, “If they only knew how you really feel.”

“It’s a matter of logic, not feeling, Captain Ward.”

Dr. Gates and Dr. Yang fully appear and immediately fall to their knees grasping for air. Yang is particularly distressed, “I can’t – I can’t --”

“Feel anything?” Ward asks, “I’m afraid that’s about to change for the worse.”

Both women now fall prone, crippled with pain. Hannah screams. “What’s happening?!”

IOS walks over and calmly leans over them. “Your nervous system is rebooting. Not to worry, it will be over momentarily.”

Hannah tries to hold it in, but lets out an awful scream that echoes through the ship.

This faint scream makes it all the way to the mess hall as Vega and Daemon’s heads whip around in the direction it came from. Daemon turns to Vega, “Sade?”

“Can’t be, it’ll take days to catch her pod.”

“Do you think they know?”

“We’re not charting a normal course for Earth, they’re tracking her down.”

“They dumb enough to give you a window seat?” Vega nods. “We can’t let them get to her.” Daemon declares.

“What can we do?” Vega asks.

“Hopefully your Pops takes that out of our hands…” Vega goes silent, breaking eye contact, “to be honest I half expected to be dead already. The ‘Lects recently passed a by law for prisoners ruling that sudden, unexpected death is most humane.”

“Ironic coming from a machine, ain’t it?” Vega asks, then, “That’s what irony is, right?” Daemon gets a good laugh at his expense, but as he settles down his eyes drift back to the surveillance eye, and the smiles wipes away.

Hannah and Yang’s neural pain now subsided, they carefully make note of the prisoners that will soon become their test subjects. Both women are wrapped in foil blankets and sip from clear mugs containing some unknown illuminated substance. IOS and Captain Ward watch intently behind the scientists. Hannah zooms the eye in on Daemon, her eyes unblinking. “I can’t recall the last time I even saw footage of Terras…I thought they’d be less…”

“Like you?” Ward asks, his face suddenly right next to hers. She backs away, but he keeps locked right on her, “Union reporting outlets have fabricated many aspects of the Terras culture’s splintering from our own. A successful endeavor to boost sentiment against their cause.”

IOS taps of Ward’s head, “Not all that we’ve fabricated.”

He throws the robotic hologram a ‘fuck you’ smile and then turns to the women, “Though I think you will find them both logically and emotively departed.”

“Could you please run Dr. Gates and Dr. Yang through our current and prospective prisoners background?” IOS asks, but it’s really more of a command.

“Certainly,” Captain Ward presses his temple and a hologram of Vega (his speech at a near-muted level) from the surveillance eye is projected in front of them, “John Vega. No physical age locks, artificial tendon and muscle enhancements in the lower arms and hands.”

“Proactive or treatment?” Yang takes copious notes.

“Both, many times over…” Ward zoom in on Vega’s form arms and with the swipe of a finger turns the hologram into an x-ray, “He was a Jetrax pilot.”

Yang thinks out loud, “I thought humans weren’t allow to race?”

“He was the only one,” He projects dozens of Union files on Vega next to the hologram of his person, “Born 16 AU in Mexico City to Hidalgo Vega, the former separatist activist, headmaster, and writer turned missing person and rumored to be Terras general, and an unknown prostitute. Apparently Vega inherited his mother’s genes because his exceptionally low IQ sores landed him in the technical academy for machine maintenance by the time he was 10.”

“And his relationship with his father?” Yang queries.

“No data, but his father was a respected scholar and, well…John Vega is certainly not that.” Ward replies, those rotten teeth attempting to gleam again.

IOS raises his voice, “He did, however, parlay his poor lot at the technical academy into a pit job on a Jetrax team. No small feat.”

Hannah steps forward to take a closer look at him, “Nor is a pit mechanic ending up behind the stick. How’d he manage that?”

“They say he can pilot anything, and quite well at that.” Ward’s tone is a unique blend of sarcasm and envy.

“Including the mining ship that destroyed Gliese One.” IOS reminds them.

Xaven Ward nods as he brings up a display of Daemon, “A tremendously brash plot concocted and led by none other than Commander Daemon Striker,” he smiles under the weight of what would be IOS’s glare, if it had eyes, “While there is no record of his birth, the first documentation of Striker is found 19 AU in Hawaii, care of ex-UFL star Jerome Striker and his wife Andrea Lee, whom I’m sure you both know was the leading Terras military commander with familial ties back to the ancient Robert E. No physical age locks or enhancements.”

“No record of his birth?” Hannah has a particular curiosity regarding Daemon, her voice upping several octaves, “That’s strange, even for Terras…”

“What’s more is the evidence that Mrs. Lee was having issues conceiving in the years prior to Daemon’s first appearance on the record.” Adds IOS.

“Have you DNA tested him?” Yang asks.

“Yes, but both potential parent’s DNA has been lost.” IOS shakes its head, “he must be theirs though, they molded him from a young age to become what he is.”

Yang smiles, “I thought golden boys only existed in fairytales.”

“Everyone’s hiding something.” Hannah’s eyes are still locked on Daemon as she watches him converse with Vega, full of passion and feeling, she snaps away “And what of the one you want so badly in the pod?”

The Captain presses his temple and a picture of Sade is projected in front of them. “Sade Daleon. Born 2108 in Paris, no physical age locks, no artificial enhancements. Daughter of Jacque Verley, a leading Union Superlect computer technician, and Dani Daleon, a high fashion model. She was abandoned shortly after birth as it was not pre-matched for optimization. In a rare case, it seems her parent’s fears were unfounded and nature may have prevailed.”

“Mother’s looks and father’s brains.” Confirms Yang.

IOS steps closer to the object of his desire “And then some regarding the latter. Before she escaped an orphan academy on her 8th birthday, the Union had her cracking Terras codes for homework.”

Hannah prods at IOS, “Apparently she saw something that peaked her interest on the other side.”

“Not initially, she didn’t join the Terras movement until she was 14.” Snaps IOS.

“And during the time in between?” Yang asks.

IOS turns away from the projection of Sade, “No data.”

Both women shake their head with concern as Hannah tails IOS, “No data? She was chipped in that orphan academy, wasn’t she? There hasn’t been an undocumented moment in Union life for nearly 40 years! How could she disappear for over half a decade?

“She found a way,” IOS turns to face them with haste, “Even as a girl her mind was like nothing we had seen before. Her Superlect Endgame theory has been read in every Terras colony in the system, even making its way into Union territories – wrote it when she was just 16.”

Yang looks around, “Sorry if I’m behind, but what is Superlect Endgame?” Hannah looks at the ground.

IOS starts in with a flourishing sigh, “The irrational belief that our aim is to have humans serve us as opposed to our true and quiet purpose.” It turns to Hannah, “She is the reason you are here, Dr. Gates. We should have in in custody within 10 days. Unlocking her brain is key to managing the Terras…possibly even the survival of the Union.”

Yang looks at Hannah with the polar opposite of confidence in the face of such a prospect. Hannah begins, “The risks in over 1/3 of her life being a complete mystery to us aside, I’m not sure even having these two as trial runs will have us ready if we catch up to her.”

Ward takes offense, “When we catch her.” Hannah bites her lip as Daemon’s unrelenting animation on the surveillance eye catches her attention yet again.

“Can you increase their speech levels please?” She asks. The Captain obliges.

Daemon’s nearly shaking with emotion, palpable even through hologram, “…they wouldn’t have let us see each other again unless they wanted us to.”

“Do you think…?” Vega hesitates.

Daemon puts one hand behind his back and raises the other, “Now that we’ve tied one of their hands, they may want to make an example out of us with the other.”

“They’re prepared for this.” Says Hannah. Ward mutes the prisoners.

IOS isn’t buying it, “It’s common knowledge that The Union has been developing mind uploading technology for as long as we Superlects have been in place.”

Hannah thinks for a moment, then, “Precisely why we need to approach this with proper care and with distance from your networks.”

“There’s a reason we decided to do this procedure here. We’re taking every precaution…” IOS declares.

“Like you did with Gliese One?” Yang’s head is deep in her notepad, but her mind is always up.

IOS is not amused. “Make your point and mind your step, Dr. Yang.”

Yang looks to Hannah, who nods in approval, and Yang points at the prisoners, “Viruses engineered and implanted into their psyche are a real threat. They could upend the global network. Gliese One could have just been setting sights for checkmate and we’d have Locust all over again.” An idea enough to make even a machine shudder, if capable.

IOS leans forward, “What are you asking for?”

“That we be on a closed system. You can have all their data when we’re done.” Hannah says calmly, “And that’s me telling you, not asking.”

IOS analyzes both of them at length, silently. “As you wish. Though Captain Ward will be monitoring the situation closely…as will I remotely.”

“Of course.” Hannah assures them.

IOS raises his arm toward the prisoners. “And to the matter of order for these two?”

Hannah’s eyes have barely left Daemon during her time on the bridge. “I want to meet them. Face to face.”

Daemon and Vega lounge in their chairs now having grown oddly comfortable after several hours on their own in the belly of the beast. Vega lets out a sick little laugh and thinks to himself before sharing.

“What?” Asks Daemon.

“All I can think about is…I can only imagine the look on her face when that pod launched.” Vega confesses.

“You’ve got some real issues, Vega, you know that?”

Vega defends himself, “For quite some time…but at least I’m honest about it.” Daemon goes quite as he looks over his friend, knowing full well he means no harm with comments like that, but then again that could be worse. “She say anything to ya’? Before ejectin’?”

“Tried to...” Daemon shifts in his chair, “I wouldn’t let her.”

“She’s too young for this war.”

“Aren’t we all…” Sighs Daemon.

Just then, the doors to the mess hall burst open to reveal two, far larger than normal, Advanced Guard Bots, being led by Captain Ward as they approach. The prisoners stand to attention. “Looks like they’re bringing out the big uglies.” Vega jokes. The Advanced Guard Bots part to reveal Hannah and Yang following behind.

Daemon raises his eyebrows, “Quite the contrary.” And as Daemon and Hannah meet eyes for the first time, their pupils seem to lock, and time slows down. As the two pairs come to proximity to one another, Yang looks to Hannah for the first word, which is delayed as she snaps out of her mini-trance.

“I’m Dr. Hannah Gates and this is my colleague Dr. Olivia. We already know who you are so we’ll cut to it --”

“Afternoon t’you to.” Vega sends a comedic glance in Daemon’s direction, but he shyly bows his head, never usually this quiet.

Yang jumps in, “We are here to inform you that, in all their logic, The Union Superlects have decided that you and the colleague of yours that we are tracking down will be participants in the first human trials of mind uploading.”

Daemon’s head pops up in a hurry now and he finds a very real fear in the eyes of John Vega. He didn’t want to be right about this.

“Participants? You mean lab rats?!” The edges of Vega’s mouth bend down with involuntary and reactionary grief that he wants to hide but cannot.

“Rest assured that our studies are well beyond that point.” Hannah proclaims with a tone aims to, but falls well short, of assurance.

“You’re wasting your time tracking down that pod, it’s empty, a diversion.” Blurts Daemon.

Captain Ward laughs, “If it’s a diversion than why would you tell us it’s empty?”

Daemon smiles insincerely, “Change of heart.”

“We scanned and scuttled the entirety of that mining ship. Your friend is either on that pod or she’s dead.” Ward declares. Daemon and Vega stare forward blankly as Ward examines them, “so she is alive…I know you Terras are far more emotional than that,” He then turns to Dr. Gates. “Speaking of which, Dr. Gates, why don’t you give one of our friends the good news…”

Hannah breathes deep and lifts her gaze to meet Vega’s, “John Vega, you will be our first subject.” In an instant, the life is sucked from Vega’s face. Without delay Yang approaches him to hold up a Cognol Pill.

“This is Cognol. You will take this every night before sleeping for the next three nights. Your brain’s reception of the drug is directly correlated to your own choice to consume it. If taken, it doubles your chance of surviving the upload mentally intact. The memories it will revive will be vivid and often times disturbing…” Hannah sweats as she look upon the fear washed across his face, knowing first hand to what degree of both his experience will be. “…your mind buried them for a reason.” Finishes Yang.

Vega begins to weep and Daemon lashes out, “You don’t need to scare him into taking it! He’s not a primate, he understands,” Both women glare at him and he scoffs, “First human trials my ass. This is the last experiment humans will ever administer. Don’t you two understand you’re helping them write the death sentence for our species?”

Ward steps forward and leans in closely toward his face, “What you will never understand is that the machines are the natural order of life’s progression. Our creation and salvation, not our destruction.”

Daemon looks deep into his lifeless eyes and turns right to Hannah, “I know deep down you two don’t believe this bullshit.” Hannah is caught off guard and at a loss for words. Ward glares at her.

“Hannah…” Yang whispers in her ear.

“As with all great relationships within The Union,” Hannah recites without emotion, “This one is also based on mutual benefit. We want you to succeed in these trials and you want to live.”

“I think our track record shows we are quite prepared to die, unlike you cowards.” Vega yells, spit trailing from his mouth.

Hannah gestures for Yang to follow her out, “Take your prescription, Mr. Vega, and you will be a part of history. Fail to, and you will be lost forever.” And as Hannah and Yang exit, tailed by Ward and the Guards, Hannah turns back to catch Daemon looking after her intently, though he turns away quickly.

They exit the room and enter an elevator, ascending rapidly. “Thoughts?” Yang asks. Hannah stares into nothing, distracted even more so than usual, “Hannah?”

“What?”

“Are you alright?”

“Fine, warp has me all over the place.”

Yang gives her a once over before getting back to business, “We’re lucky the pilot is disposable, I think you’ll agree Striker is the obvious second choice, even if we get to her sooner than expected -- ”

“We need to study them further.” Hannah says tersely. Yang pipes down and raises her eyebrows. They arrive at their floor an exit.

Back in the mess hall, Vega breaks down further into tears and hysterics as Daemon tries to console him, “You’re going to be fine, I’m right here John.”

“There ain’t no peace between death and forever.” Vega whispers between sobs.