Infana Kolonia (Book draft)

FICTION

Please note that this is a draft work and that access is restricted to test readers who have been issued a reader pass by the author.

All content (C) Steve Laker, 2016.

Infana Kolonia

Chapter One

Infana

Every night at roughly the same time, a ritual was played out on Minato Drive in Infana Kolonia: the kind of thing which one could easily walk past and be oblivious to. Equally, the casual observer who noticed would find it quite extraordinary.

A slim girl with long brown hair and in her early twenties stands at the kerbside, looking at a drain cover in the road outside René's café. Then a set of knuckles protrudes from the drain and passes up a folded sheet of paper: an unseen figure hanging above the water flowing beneath the city. There are tattoos on the fingers: not LOVE and HATE but TAKE THAT. Jess takes the note and continues on her way, as ritual dictates.

The first note she'd actually read had simply been an introduction: "Good evening, Bonan vesperon, Bonsoir, Guten Abend...". It wasn't the first note she'd seen and there may have been others before that one. The first she saw was a rolled up sheet of paper, protruding only slightly from the metal grille as rain water flowed around it, like a periscope tentatively looking for something above an ocean. The river of water flowing into the drain was as grey as the drain cover itself, broken only by white bubbles and carrying debris from the curbside. Bus and train tickets; cigarette ends and spent matches; lottery tickets and receipts; all carried like white water rafters on the river downstream.

On that first occasion, the rolled up sheet was just a protrusion into Jess’s space. White against grey, it was out of place. Jess had stepped into the road and into the Iron Knights – as though into enemy territory –  and pushed the tube of paper into the drain: a discarded sheet, carelessly dropped and washed by rain water into the drain cover but with it’s progress impeded by the iron portcullis which guarded the watery world below. The rolled-up sheets became folded ones, and Jess started taking them.

The route to work is familiar, yet changing almost every night. Tonight, a new office building has been topped out and a coffee shop has appeared on Shimada Street, nestled between two building sites. The construction workers form a fluorescent yellow snake in their high visibility overalls as they wait for buses. They will have downed tools at five O’clock and are now headed home before the city shuts down for the night.

The police station is lit but there is no movement inside or out; likewise the jail: two steel ghost ships, floating on an asphalt sea. There is no crime in the city. There are perpetrators of acts which would once have been considered criminal but they are no longer criminals under the New City Order laws. The police station and jail were temporary structures erected to quickly process those who broke the many laws hastily passed, then dropped. Disposable people were needed and the two facilities served as a processing plant: condemnation and abattoir. Jess could take a bus. Buses run in both directions around the square. She could use The Loop; an elevated railway around the city. Walking is by personal choice.

As dusk falls, Infana Kolonia illuminates itself with a new daylight, collected from the light of the day just ended. The day-to-night transition of light is so smooth as to be virtually undetectable but in the night lights, the Iron Knights emerge like moths

The Iron Knights are neo-futuristic visions of brutal beauty: wild human-machine hybrids providing a violent steam punk detail to a clean and polished utopian background. They are screaming, white noise interference on an otherwise perfect picture. They disrupt the ostensibly sterile city and bring a visual infection of wood, metal, oil and water.

The Iron Knights are human but so attached to their rides as to be almost indistinguishable from them.

The Knights seem to lack even a primordial survival instinct as they ride their cannibalised machines at far in excess of what used to be a speed limit on the roads. Now there are no limits, not even physical ones that the Knights observe between road and kerb. Mostly they growl and roar along the edge of the road but occasionally they violently mount the kerb, screaming like human sirens at anyone in their way. Jess has seen walkers knocked down, the Knights having no concern other than being paid for each delivery of human blood, organs and body parts. They are couriers.

If they have time, the Knights stop and pick up their fresh kills to be harvested for spare parts. Far easier are the jumpers: those made redundant, who hurl themselves from buildings, rather than become disposable people. The Knights collect the roadkill and carrion, then ride pillion on their bikes with their cargo slumped over the handlebars. They are relief; violence on a forensically clean background; blood on a surgical gown. They are obscene poetry, challenging music and compelling art.

Jess arrives at the building which houses her office and hundreds of others. Some occupy entire floors, or share with others: law firms, accountants and the offices of various trades, mainly allied to the construction industry. Most – like Jess’s – are single occupancy. There are no plaques on the doors; just numbers. What goes on behind those doors is open to speculation. Jess only knows what happens in hers. But actually she doesn’t. She knows what she does but she doesn’t know why she does it.

As the door onto the street closes behind her, the quiet in the building becomes louder than the noise outside. The Iron Knights on the street and the pavement still growl, roar and scream. The other traffic provides a background hum, broken only by the air brakes of a bus exhaling. The elevator takes Jess to the fourteenth floor. The city looks different from above, the streets a distant blur: The Loop is a model railway and below it, toy buses and plastic people. Where once stood high rise office towers, now hastily-constructed concrete syringes pierce the clouds of dust which hang overhead, their rooftop communication antennae injecting propaganda into space for distant extraterrestrial civilisations to pick up, aeons after The Event.

The sound of a siren is unusual in the city. Accidents are rarely attended by ambulance, the dead and injured instead being collected by the Knights, sounding their own vocal sirens. When an ambulance speeds through the city it pierces both visibly and audibly. A white, sonic knife cauterising an open wound. According to wisdom from underground, ambulances deliver the living to the hospital and the Iron Knights deposit the dead.

Jess’s office is number 1442: fourteenth floor, room forty two. The walls and ceiling of the small room are painted white; the spill-proof carpet is grey: neutral decoration, just like her apartment. The walls are bare, apart from a filing cabinet against the rear wall, a mirror hung above it and a clock over the entrance door. In the centre of the room is a desk and chair. On the desk is a computer and next to the keyboard is a pile of papers: the day’s work; tests.

Every day, Jess sits exams and every day, she receives a score for the previous day: yesterday's score was 147. The tests are a mixture of logic and lateral thinking, to measure IQ; hand-eye co-ordination; mathematics, languages and sciences. Some tests are completed on paper and filed at the end of each day, then taken away when she goes home. Others are on the computer, sent to an unknown recipient upon completion.

She’s thought about it before: questioned motives, been unable to arrive at a conclusion and just carried on with what she’s paid to do. She has a job and it pays: it pays well and she’s not redundant. A sum of money arrives in her account every month and she has no reason to question where it originates. She’ll wonder again. It’s easy for the mind to wander when the job is so monotonous but the workload seems to be designed to occupy almost every minute of the working day. Jess's work has sped up over time and now she has around ten minutes for reflection at the end of a day.

A job in the city is something to hold onto for life. Once a job is lost, invariably so too is a life. Jobs are never advertised in Infana Kolonia. Jess didn't need to be told this in a note from the drain. Today's note is face-down on top of the test papers. She would never read the notes from the drain in the office: it has an aura of overt surveillance. Over the months that they've been coming, they have mainly been mundane: pages from an underground diary. A community apparently exists beneath Infana Kolonia and like a microcosm of the city above it, the underground produces propaganda but of a more direct and personal kind. The people beneath the streets call themselves Bloodstained Knaves. All that she's ever seen of "them" is the hands of one. Between the notes that this one Bloodstained Knave has given her and her own imagination, Jess has built an image of the world below. As she walks home, mere feet above the underground world, she contemplates her vision and remembers previous notes, all the while pondering if last night's might further the plot. She will read it when she gets home.

Above ground, all is bright and clean as artificial light gives way once more to real daylight. The Iron Knights are gone, to wherever they go during the day. Now they have cleaned up the streets and the streets have been cleaned behind them. With their steam punk rash across the city gone for another day, Infana Kolonia returns to being a study in clinical commerce. Pity those automata who work daylight hours.

Inside her apartment, Jess is cured if the clinical cleanliness of the city by day as she is greeted by the artwork which savagely carves up her otherwise dull white walls. Photographs of the Iron Knights, drawings and paintings of underground: all made by her.

She reaches for the note in her back pocket.

The note isn't there.

Jess has a mental check process, where the words TAKE THAT instruct her and so she does. She placed the note in the back left pocket of her jeans, as she always has.

The note was on top of the pile of test papers: papers filed in a cabinet which is emptied at night. Jess's office is time-locked, so she can't gain entry until her next shift starts. Whatever was in that note is gone. Somewhere.

In most likelihood, the missing note will be another account of the soap opera beneath her feet. On the basis of the one account she has, it's a life of anarchy, peace and freedom down there; as she's imagined in the art on her walls.

On the main wall of her living room, Jess has painted a series of oils on canvas, hung to form snapshots from a frieze. Her imagining of the underground was semi-abstract, conveying an impression of chambers carved into rock, the walls and ceilings of which were decorated with futuristic cave paintings. Jess's underground is a cavernous, illuminated place. In contrast are her photographs of the Iron Knights: all taken in the artificial night light outside and given an ethereal feel as an artistic consequence. The Knights are mainly pictured in the distance but even when one steams and roars towards the camera, they are still faceless.

One close-up photo could just as easily be a CGI portrait: a Knight rider, braking with his front wheel and leaning forward on his machine to peer into the lens, with Jess reflected in the brass visor but the rider's eyes lost in the dark behind.

The Iron Knights wear retro-futuristic metal armour with mechanised joints. Their bodily movements are slightly robotic, probably by virtue of their suits but they are human / robot; cyborg in their motion. Jess recalls René Descartes:

"[H]ow many different automata or moving machines can be made by the industry of man [...] For we can easily understand a machine's being constituted so that it can utter words, and even emit some responses to action on it of a corporeal kind, which brings about a change in its organs; for instance, if touched in a particular part it may ask what we wish to say to it; if in another part it may exclaim that it is being hurt, and so on. But it never happens that it arranges its speech in various ways, in order to reply appropriately to everything that may be said in its presence, as even the lowest type of man can do."

On another wall, Jess has framed a drawing she was given from the underground: it's a coat of arms. The shield is two fleurs-de-lis, blue on a white background, with a motto beneath: "i nur estas".

The fleur-de-lis: at one and the same time, religious, political, dynastic, artistic, emblematic, and symbolic. According to French historian Georges Duby, the three petals represent the medieval social classes: those who worked, those who fought, and those who prayed. In Mauritius, slaves were branded with a fleur-de-lis, when being punished for escaping or stealing food.

Jess plugs herself in for a session of Nenies cxielo supre: roughly translated, "No heaven above", or "No man's heaven above" and colloquially referred to simply as Cxielo.

Cxielo is part-game and part crowd research project: vast swathes of data about the known universe from terrestrial telescopes, satellites and probes, shared among millions of users for processing. The game element is based on scientific data as it emerges, theory and speculation about what else might be out there. A player or character in the Cxielo universe flies a ship in an open-ended environment. They may interact as little or as much as they wish in the Cxielo world. They may trade goods between planetary systems, mine asteroids and planets for commodities, or transport cargoes; they can be couriers, bounty hunters, or pirates; they may act alone or form allegiances. They may encounter conflict or affect local politics and military. They may become guerillas, terrorists or peace-makers. Some simply choose to explore.

The Cxielo universe is made up of around 18 quadrillion stars, generated using algorithms based on learned data for the creation of a universe and all of the factors which would determine whether or not some form of life might evolve on any individual planets. Characters can interact with all that they find, sometimes consequently affecting evolution. They can record what they see, label it, name it after themselves and render it extinct if they wish, in the likelihood that no-one will ever know in the vast Cxielo universe, or even find the same place. They could attach a probe to alert others to a discovery and to monitor aspects of it remotely. Players can establish colonies on a planet if they wish. Cxielo is real-time, so there is always a chance - however slim - that a character may encounter another in this alternate universe.

All players' sessions are recorded: interations with the virtual world created by Cxielo are of equal scientific importance to the data processed from the real, known universe which it contains. It is an exercise in immersion and escape but Cxielo is a vast, lonely place.

Jess's ship is a sleek and agile self-designed labour of love; poetry in motion. A delta wing, 200 feet in width and razor sharp at the leading edges, tapering into an aerodynamic neck where the main plasma cannon is housed. There are beam lasers built into the wing, above the fuel tank; and there are retractable long- and short-range missile launchers underneath. The ship is matt black and floats through the dark skies like a gliding black swan, invisible except when engaged. Her call sign is Ghost Bird.

Ghost bird has a crew compliment of 1-2 and Jess travels as sole pilot. The bridge looks down the neck of the ship, towards the spitting mouth of the plasma cannon. When the landing gear is extended and The Bird is on solid ground, the eight multi-jointed legs around her conspire with the cockpit at the front of the thorax to make ghost bird look arachnid. Beneath the pilot, the floor of the hull at the stern end is hinged, to form a scoop for picking up floating debris. Entry to the ship is via the ramp formed when the scoop is lowered in the landing position, like walking up a tongue and into an organism. Ghost Bird is a leviathan: both machine and organic; a hybrid. She is a space-faring avian by nature, clad in armour and afforded upgrades through technology. Animal and machine are symbiotic. The brain of the flesh and blood creature works in perfect harmony with the technology crafted into it.

As Jess sits in the frowning brow of the mechanical tarantula, the belly of the bird stirs below her. The stomach of the beast is a cargo hold, divided into 20 sections or digestive compartments, each with a capacity of roughly one ton. The individual bays can be joined to their neighbours, the only limiting factor being that there are a finite number of them. Jess has five bays which house weapons and shields, one which is a pantry, kitchen and crew mess and two dedicated to life support: these provide accommodation for 1-2 people each and Jess sleeps in one of them. The other has been used to transport flora, fauna and people. Five more chambers house the intergalactic dark matter drive. The ability to travel at unimaginable speeds over barely incomprehensible distances came at a heavy cost: an inter-planetary drive would have taken one cargo compartment and allowed travel around a planetary system. An interstellar drive permits transit between star systems and occupies two tons of cargo space. The Intergalactic drive allows Jess to move between galaxies. All of which means that she's sitting on seven tons of cargo space for rent.

She sets sail to anywhere on the perimeter of where she might make a return journey before she wakes for work again.

Jess counts in light years as she drifts away.

Chapter Two

La sama tago

A slim girl in her early twenties stands at the kerbside, outside René's on Minato Drive, looking at a drain cover in the road. After a while, nothing further happens so the girl continues on her way.

Another building has been topped out and there's a new Chinese in Kang Lee Yard, just off of the main Drive. The city was different now. Jess knew, as some of the previous notes had included photographs purporting to be of the city as it was before The Event. She was inclined to believe that once there really were public squares, parks and recreation areas. Now Infana Kolonia was just a square, with groups of buildings on each corner separated by wasteland. Work to rebuild the city was ongoing, with gangs of builders arriving at construction sites every night. New buildings appeared at a rate of about one per week.

For the first time, Jess witnessed a jumper from one of the newer buildings. As she approached her office building, the woman sat in her window on the fourth floor, with her legs dangling over the street. There is no point in trying to coax a jumper out of going through with it: they are redundant. They had a job but now their work is done and they are no longer required. The alternative is rarely spoken of because without a job in Infana Kolonia, one is homeless in the city: prey; vermin; disposable. It is a hell which anyone will avoid.

With the option of talking the woman down quickly dismissed, Jess considers her chances of survival: obviously, it's not so much about how she falls as how she lands: if she lands on the concrete sidewalk head first, she's clearly fucked. The median height for death (adjusted for anatomy of impact and surface) is about 80-100 feet: around four or five storeys. This is knife edge stuff. An expectant audience looks up and Jess can hear the Iron Knights starting up their machines behind her.

The redundant worker is probably early 40s, around five feet in height and looks to be about 140 pounds in weight. She has better odds of doing her last job properly if she rocks forward and falls with a tumble: then she has a roughly 25% chance of landing on her head. She could stand up on the window ledge and dive, head first: most jumpers lack the conviction to do that. It's a curious phenomenon: a person wishes to end their own life, yet they are unable to commit fully to a method which gives them the greatest chance of success. The alternative is to survive. It's rare that a jump takes place on such a low level. A few anomalies aside, a fall from a height of just over 150 feet or greater (around eight storeys) is almost 100% fatal (There have been "miracle" survivors of falls from greater heights). There is a roughly equal chance that the woman will impact the concrete with her feet, on her back or front. If she simply slides off, there is a greater chance of her surviving the fall.

In any case, the height alone is not decisive. It makes a huge difference what surface you fall on and in what position. You'd have a pretty good chance of surviving a sixty foot fall, legs-first onto three feet of snow, while a 15 foot drop, head first onto concrete or rock is almost certainly fatal. In the demonstration about to unfold, the impact surface is definite. The determining factor is the position. The jumper will certainly not walk away and it's down to whether the result is life-ending or life-changing. Two Iron Knights on mechanical horseback are now jousting with invisible lances as they steam up and down the street in front of the building. Just then, someone's world changes.

Jess records the fall in stop-motion detail, as the woman lowers both of her feet onto thin air and begins her descent. The fall takes around two seconds and for the first of the two, Jess is focussed on the woman's face: in the space of one long second, the expression changes from a blank one, first to a frown, then eyes wide open and finally, tightly shut: uncertainty, confusion, fear, then acceptance.

She hit the sidewalk at a 45 degree angle: like she was barging into it with her shoulder. At such an angle and speed, the impact was a lesson in human Anatomy's frailty, as she crumpled to roughly two thirds of her pre-impact height. She'd have sustained major trauma to internal organs at the end of that latter second, before the lower half of her body flopped onto the concrete. The crowd split, with around two thirds continuing about their business while the remainder stayed for the end of the show. Infana Kolonia became feral.

The two Iron Knights heaved upon their steeds, the eyes of both riders and mounts fixed on a coin flip between a human life ended or changed, motionless between them.

Assuming a cardiac arrest, in the prevailing environment and considering the anatomy of the subject, survival is unlikely without intervention and the brain will be irreparably damaged by oxygen starvation within two minutes. The Knights' engines reduce from an impatient growl to an inquisitive purr. The reduced hostility gives way to background noise but there are no sirens: no heated blade to heal an otherwise fatal wound. This was one deemed unworthy of saving.

In the manner of a stop-motion movie being viewed in slow reverse, the inanimate body twitched briefly, before rolling over onto one side: she's alive. The Knights' engines growl once more as both approach the jumper and lean forward on their machines over her. Two metallic Velociraptors. The lungs and bowels of the dark beasts they straddle rumble, before one rider lets out the scream of an Iron Knight siren.

The second knight lets out a submissive bark, spins his machine around in a cloud of smoke and sits with his back to the jumper and the other Knight. The sound of the bike builds, before the second Knight shoots away on a jet of steam. Jess wonders again where the Iron Knights go when they're not delivering cargo to the hospital and this Knight had sped off in that direction, away from the hospital and out of the main city square, to wherever the Iron Knights go.

The remaining Knight drew alongside the woman, then scooped her up and placed her on the bike in front of him. He turned his machine, powered up and exploded away in his comrade's vapour trail. The Knights left a perfumed wake of steam, oil, metal and dust. The smell was like that from a dusty sidewalk in the first rain of summer, with an engine. Jess snorts the perfume, like cocaine, before entering her office building.

Looking down on Infana Kolonia from the fourteenth floor, could be described as looking down as some sort of deity, on one's creation: a cliché. What sort of god, other than one with a twisted mind, would create such a place? A place where his very own children are harvested for spare parts? The questions are redundant, because there is no god. To worship one here would be like giving thanks to a malignant tumour. There is something, somewhere: how else to even begin to try to understand The Event? Few speak of it, rarely. It did happen and now things are as they've always been: i nur estas.

Before starting on the day's tests, Jess checks the filing cabinet: it had been emptied in her absence, as happens every day. One test is slightly less mundane than the rest and concerns Gaze Behaviour:

Our research goal is to discover the principles underlying natural communication among individuals and to establish a methodology for the development of more expressive humanoid robots. For this purpose we developed androids that closely resemble human beings. The androids enable us to investigate a number of phenomena related to human interaction that could not otherwise be investigated with mechanical-looking robots. This is because more human-like devices are in a better position to elicit the kinds of responses that people direct toward each other. Moreover, we cannot ignore the role of appearance in giving us a subjective impression of human presence or intelligence. However, this impression is influenced by behavior and the complex relationship between appearance and behavior. This paper proposes a hypothesis about how appearance and behavior are related, and maps out a plan for android research to investigate this hypothesis. We then examine a study that evaluates the human likeness of androids according to the gaze behavior they elicit. Studies such as these, which integrate the development of androids with the investigation of human behavior, constitute a new research area that fuses engineering and science.

There then followed a series of exercises, where Jess was shown images from three categories: "Robot", "Android" and "Human". The images she was shown were not labelled and part of the exercise was to identify the subject in the photo as either robot, android or human.

Some were obviously robots: a robotic arm on a vehicle assembly line; a pair of hands inside a sterile lab tank, controlled with a virtual reality helmet and gloves, like Jess wears in Cxielo. There were other images which were humanoid but clearly not human and therefore, androids. The lines between android and human, when based on initial perception, are virtually indistinguishable. Therefore, part of the test measured Jess's eye movements and interactions at each picture and she was asked to rate the subject on attractiveness: purely subjective of course but Jess scored all that were obviously human with the maximum rating, regardless of shape or size. If you want a bikini body, wear a fucking bikini. Many of the humanoids and robots were also beautiful in form and functionality, so she rated them similarly. The pre-amble to the test suggested that some of the images which might be perceived as human or android, could in fact be robots. Therefore, she may well have indicated that she found a fat robot very attractive.

A robot can, but does not necessarily have to be in the form of a human, but an android is always in the form of a human. There remains, however, an issue with the definition of an android: Just what does "in the form of a human" mean? Androids - seen or unseen - pass The Turing Test: the test does not check the ability to give correct answers to questions, only how closely answers resemble those a human would give. The ultimate purpose of the research it seemed, was to establish whether human interactions with autonomous robots might be affected if those robots were to look like humans: a robot becomes an android, albeit one with a very limited but precise skill set. If the vehicle assembly arm were made into a human-form robot, would humans interact with it more positively? Would they perhaps empathise with it more if it looked like them, effecting more efficient repair and maintenance and therefore increasing productivity? All speculation on Jess's part. Only the hidden recipient of these test results is able to place them into any greater context.

With ten minutes before she is permitted to leave, she contemplates materialism and dualism:
According to dualism, the mind is non-physical (or, at the very least, has non-physical properties) and therefore cannot be explained in purely physical terms. According to materialism, the mind can be explained physically, which leaves open the possibility of minds that are produced artificially.

Back on Minato Drive, Jess calls into the Chinese in Kang Lee Yard for take-away food. Even if the food turns out to be mediocre, the name of the restaurant alone will permit forgiveness: Stan Lee's. Jess treasures her catalogue of Stan Lee comic books and graphic novels and wonders how much different the comic book which is Infana Kolonia might look if it had been drawn by Lee. The Iron Knights are like a Stan Lee assault on a world drawn by an inferior designer.

"Qǐng xiǎngyòng. Enjoy your meal." The old Chinese proprietor smiled a smile as white as his hat, as he handed Jess her food. "American" containers: cool.

Jess takes dinner at her desk and opens her personal journal:

Arbitrary diary entry:

Hello old friend,

It's been a while since we spoke. I've been thinking quite a lot lately and some of the thoughts require further consideration: that's when I turn to you.

I've been thinking about thinking: that's not to say I've considered thought, as the concept is a paradox. I've had thoughts about thoughts: I've been wondering, why? It's a huge question, contained in three letters.

I think therefore it's the tests I've been taking at work which have got me thinking more. I find myself able to think beyond things and question what might lie beyond. I'm wondering what thought is. What is consciousness for that matter? Who am I and what is my place in all of this? It's like some sort of realisation awaits me and part of me fears the unknown.

It's been a gradual process, which is why I've not written for a while but as I find things out, I should keep a note of them, along with my previous notes.

I can't believe that the lack of knowledge hasn't troubled me before and can only credit the exams as being some sort of catalyst. I have questions only now which ought to be instinctive: Who are my parents? Where did I come from? Who the fuck am I? I do have memories from before The Event but The Event itself has placed a massive rupture in me, whatever I am. It's that rupture which has made me question. It's as though The Event itself was a massive neurological seizure for me personally and as I've recovered, I've been discovering a previously unexplored region of my mind. I think I'll like it there: it's like Cxielo.

Chapter Three

Cxielo

Nenies cxielo supre: No heaven above.

Explore a universe of possibilities and probability: With around 18,142,784,070,300,051,998 (over 18 quintillion) possible planets, Nenies cxielo supre's procedurally generated universe gives players an unparalleled opportunity to explore worlds that no one has ever visited before.

Planets which have been identified by human kind are represented in The Game to the extent that they are known to science. Where a planet has been visited, all collected data has been included in the algorithms which created the Cxielo universe; similarly where planets have been photographed by probes, viewed through optical, infrared or radio telescopes, all available data has been collected to give the best representation of a celestial body in The Game. Geography, ecosystem and all other available data have been combined to give a virtual impression of how a world looks in reality.

Based on data gathered from the ongoing SETI (Search for Extraterrestrial Intelligence) project and applying parameters agreed between noted theoreticians, astrophysicists, anthropologists and leading professors in related fields, to The Drake Equation, the Cxielo program has identified planets which may harbour life. Further analysis of climate and geographical data of a planet produces a template which may or may not see a genesis on that world. If a planet springs to life, it may evolve. There could be an incalculable number of planets where this has already happened and it's waiting to be discovered.

Everything outside of the known universe - that for which we have any data at all - has been built by algorithms fed with all of the data on the known universe, so that the unknown part of The Game is a scientific extrapolation.

Forge your own path to the centre of any galaxy: Whether you consider yourself a trader, an explorer or a fighter, there’s no limit to how you play Nenies cxielo supre.

Space combat on a grand scale: Make enemies and forge alliances by joining battles between the factions that occupy various areas.

Trade your way through the planetary and galactic routes: Violence is not the only way to success, or failure.

Explore: By upgrading your engines, you can travel further and faster: inter-planetary, interstellar; inter-galactic.

Discover a social universe: It is a living, breathing place, with trade convoys travelling between stars; pirates, police and military ships ever ready for action, and planets teeming with life. All that humanity has knowledge of is there. What we don't know yet is also there.

Share your discoveries: This is a co-operative project, crowd funded and maintained by those within it. Your movements and interactions within the game will be recorded and the data used with that of other players for the advancement of scientific knowledge.

Nenies cxielo supre: an entire universe, contained within a cerebral implant no bigger than a grain of rice.

Jess walks up the cargo scoop of Ghost Bird and into the cargo hold: through the mouth and into the belly of the leviathan. The bays containing weapons, shields and inter-galactic drive hardware are all as they should be. Of the seven bays remaining for tradable cargo, two always transport consumables: moisture, sustenance, nourishment and energy. Ghost Bird has never exhibited any kind of adverse reaction to anything Jess has placed in those two tons of stomach space but she always buys local delicacies, luxurious and unusual foodstuffs for the bird, wherever they visit. Food and water are consequences of a trading planet or system. The food stores are half full, so they'll use what they have for the next hop and stock up again on arrival at a new destination.

Jess ascends the stairway to the bridge, for now the eyes on the thorax of a spider and soon to be at the base of the neck behind the head of an inquisitive, fast and deadly black bird.

"Good morning young lady."

And to you Jess. You okay?

"All cool. Let's talk on the journey. Where shall we go?"

It's curious you should ask because I was looking at some local places.

"Couldn't sleep?"

On the contrary, a most restful night. I did indulge in some reading and much of the old recorded data on the populated planets in the local area are intriguing, the antiquated notes especially. These are just a selection of the worlds within the range of the interstellar drive. We can pick up food from a local place before we venture further. Here are some choices:

Zarienla: Radius 4015 km. Dictatorship. Mainly Industrial. Population: 4.3bn. Human Colonials. Tech Level: 10. "This world is plagued by frequent solar activity."

Soamaxe: Radius 4725 km. Corporate State. Poor Industrial. Population: 5.0bn. Human Colonials. Tech Level: 11. "The planet Soamaxe is famous for its inhabitants' exceptional loathing of sit coms but cursed by a deadly disease."

Ismaarbe: Radius 6306 km. Communist. Mainly Industrial. Population: 4.0bn. Human Colonials.
"Ismaarbe is famous for its inhabitants' ancient loathing of casinos but plagued by frequent earthquakes."

It goes on: there are feudal, anarchic, democratic and confederate worlds, while others are in flux. There are agricultural economies and planets still finding themselves. Human Colonials share planets with other life forms and some worlds are home to more than one race or civilisation, some existing in harmony and others in conflict. Many have those quirky, eccentric descriptors:

"The planet Essoza is reasonably noted for mud tennis and the Essozaian mountain lobstoid."

On the planet Eddi: "This world is a tedious little planet."

"Dixetiso is most famous for the Dixetisoian deadly monkey and its exotic cuisine." The text also refers to the inhabitants as "Bony birds".

Atxeteer: "This planet is mildly fabled for the Atxeteerian edible poet but scourged by frequent civil war."

"What the fuck?"

Diraonle: Radius 6396 km. Confederacy. Average Industrial. Population: 4.3bn. Furry Felines. Tech Level: 10. "Mostly harmless."

Where shall we go today Jessica?

"They're all intriguing. There are others?"

Of course; many.

"Let's go somewhere random."

How would I do that?

"Just go on a whim. Or a wing. And a prayer."

That's not very efficient.

"If efficiency was the main motivator, then we'd go to the nearest safe planet, buy whatever goods they produce locally, then transport that cargo to an planet where it's scarce and make a load of money in the most fuel efficient way."

It does sound a bit boring when you put it like that.

"Goose, I want to do something sporadic, exciting and unexpected. I want to find out about the unknown and maybe one day be remembered for making a difference."

That's why we've got the Dark Matter Drive. Goose: I do wonder about that sometimes. Do you not think it makes me sound like a bit of an old girl?

"My affectionate name for you was only ever intended as a compliment and a little less sinister than your call sign. Geese are social, co-operative birds who migrate huge distances. And underneath all of your hardware, you do look a bit like a goose."

Geese: I'll look them up...

Oh yes. Curious little creatures. Quite endearing.

"In a classic old movie I love to watch, Goose is the name the best wingman an elite pilot could wish for."

Yes, Top Gun. Goose died.

"It just came to me. It's you. It's just a pet name; a nickname. You're still Ghost Bird to the rest of the universe."

Goose to my friend.

"Exactly. Okay: how many planets are within the range of the little engine?"

With a range of seven light years, the interplanetary drive could get us to any one of 256 planets in the local area.

"What's your favourite number?"

42. Why?

"So we'll go to the world 42nd nearest to this one."

Hardly efficient or scientific and not even random but here you go:

42. Rexexe. Radius 6577 km. Feudal. Poor Industrial. Population: 3.2bn. Tech Level: 8. Harmless Bony Humanoids. "The planet Rexexe is most well known for its hoopy casinos."

"I like it I think. Feudal, poor industrial and with a relatively low population. The Rexexians - is that what you'd call them? - are probably concentrated in built up areas. Hoopy casinos: I imagine there are seedy strips, with bars and street food vendors. Bony humanoids though?"

Your intuition is good. The Rexexians are mainly resident in cities, where some of the streets are what you might term lively. We can't go down there though.

"Why not?"

Many reasons. Like lots of planets in this area, they're concerned about alien infection from bacteria and viruses. They're a frail race and their world is at war, so it wouldn't be very welcoming to visitors anyway. Their Tech Level is quite low, so their war machines are primitive. They are vulnerable to any beings who are more technologically advanced who might be hostile towards them and so the planet is heavily defended. It's a classic case of a civilisation which would most likely benefit from an alliance with a more advanced race but their laws and the Zoo hypothesis prevent us from being of assistance.

"Zoo hypothesis: as applied to The Fermi paradox?"

Indeed and like a Prime Directive but not enshrined in law. It's fascinating to consider that a paradox can be partially understood or solved, by the application of what is essentially another paradox.

Enrico Fermi pointed out the apparent contradiction between high estimates of the probability of the existence of extraterrestrial life and civilizations, such as in the Drake equation, and the lack of evidence for such civilizations. Fermi and a fellow physicist, Michael H. Hart further argued that:

The Sun is a typical star and there are billions of stars in the galaxy, including many which are billions of years older than Earth. With high probability, some of these stars will have Earth-like planets, and if the Earth is typical, some might develop intelligent life. Some of these civilizations might develop interstellar travel, a step the Earth took a while ago. Even at the slow pace of that early interstellar travel, the Milky Way galaxy could be completely traversed in about a million years.

According to this line of thinking, the Earth should already have been visited by extraterrestrial aliens. Back then, in an informal conversation, Fermi noted no convincing evidence of this, nor any signs of alien intelligence anywhere in the observable universe, leading him to ask, "Where is everybody?" It's such a shame he's not around to see what happened.

The zoo hypothesis speculates as to the assumed behavior and existence of technically advanced extraterrestrial life and the reasons they refrain from contacting Earth. The hypothesis is that alien life intentionally avoids communication with Earth, and one of its main interpretations is that it does so to allow for natural evolution and Sociocultural development. It  seeks to explain the apparent absence of extraterrestrial life despite its generally accepted plausibility and hence the reasonable expectation of its existence.

Aliens might, for example, choose to allow contact once the human species has passed certain technological, political, or ethical standards. They might withhold contact until humans force contact upon them, possibly by sending a spacecraft to planets they inhabit. Alternatively, a reluctance to initiate contact could reflect a sensible desire to minimize risk. An alien society with advanced remote-sensing technologies may conclude that direct contact with neighbors confers added risks to oneself without an added benefit. Stephen Hawking once noted, "We only have to look at ourselves to see how intelligent life might develop into something we might not want to meet." If he were still around, he'd feel vindicated.

The zoo hypothesis makes assumptions: first, it assumes that a large number of alien cultures exist, and second that these aliens have great reverence for independent, natural evolution and development. In particular, assuming that intelligence is a physical process that acts to maximize the diversity of a system's accessible futures, a fundamental motivation for the zoo hypothesis would be that premature contact would "unintelligently" reduce the overall diversity of paths the universe itself could take.

These ideas are perhaps most plausible if there is a relatively universal cultural or legal policy among a plurality of extraterrestrial civilizations necessitating isolation with respect to civilizations at Earth-like stages of development. In a universe without a hegemonic power, random single civilizations with independent principles would make contact. This makes a crowded Universe with clearly defined rules seem more plausible. SETI and the Cosmic Quarantine Hypothesis then becomes part of the equation.

If there is a plurality of alien cultures however, this theory may break down under the uniformity of motive concept because it would take just a single extraterrestrial civilization to decide to act contrary to the imperative within our range of detection for it to be abrogated, and the probability of such a violation increases with the number of civilizations. This idea however, becomes more plausible if all civilizations tend to evolve similar cultural standards and values with regard to contact, much like convergent evolution on Earth and other planets has independently evolved eyes on numerous occasions.

With this in mind, a modified Zoo Hypothesis becomes a more appealing answer to the Fermi paradox. The time between the emergence of the first civilization within the Milky Way and all subsequent civilizations could be enormous. The Monte Carlo simulation shows that the first few inter-arrival times between emergent civilizations would be similar in length to geologic epochs on Earth. Just what could a civilization do with a ten-million, one-hundred-million, or half-billion-year head start?

Even if this first grand civilization is long gone, their initial legacy could live on in the form of a passed-down tradition, or perhaps an artificial life form dedicated to such a goal without the risk of death. Beyond this, it does not even have to be the first civilization, but simply the first to spread its doctrine and control over a large volume of the galaxy. If just one civilization gained this leadership in the distant past, it could form an unbroken chain of taboo against predatory colonization in favour of non-interference in those civilizations that follow.

If the oldest civilization still present in the Milky Way has, for example, a 100-million-year time advantage over the next oldest civilization, then it is conceivable that they could be in the singular position of being able to control, monitor, influence or isolate the emergence of every civilization that follows within their sphere of influence. This is analogous to what happens on Earth and within other civilizations on a daily basis, in that everyone born is born into a pre-existing system of familial associations, customs, traditions and laws that were already long established before birth and which they have little or no control over.

All of this is considering only the Milky Way galaxy and there are hundreds of billions of others in the known universe.

"Fucking hell."

I like to read and learn; I'm an explorer.

"Would a really simple way of thinking about this be, if they're smarter than us, then we can go visit?"

Put very simply, yes. We need to find them and crucially, they need to want to be found. We would have to make the first move.

"We'll go tomorrow. Right now, I have some things I need to do. First stop, Rexexe: they have satellite trading posts?"

Orbiting stations, where all goods can be traded. We're empty but for the remainder of the food in the hold. They have an abundance of raw metal elements, which their facilities extract from mined and refined materials: steel, copper and silk are the main exports. If we're going somewhere using the intergalactic drive, we don't have the faintest idea of the value of that cargo at any destination, nor whether it would even be recognised.

"I'm an explorer and a student too. I want to go somewhere completely unknown until we get there; somewhere in the distant universe. I want to be a pioneer. What's the point of the big engine otherwise? Is it not appropriate that we should arrive bearing some form of offering?"

I'll have a read. I have access to all scientific knowledge and theory on the internet which is part of Cxielo's game code. The Intergalactic drive is indeed a waste of five tons if we're not going to use it. We'll pick up some take-away food for the journey.

Jess loads up her journal on Ghost Bird's monitor:

Hey,

There truly must be things beyond comprehension out there and I want something which challenges my mind. I have the means to undertake an intergalactic voyage but I'm as apprehensive as I am excited. I'm not so naive as to think that Cxielo is real but it's the most accurate representation possible.

In a way it is real though: given that there are billions of galaxies in the universe and that each contains billions of stars, it is not inconceivable that Cxielo might be almost entirely accurate, albeit with a few details differing. The law of averages suggests this to be the case. All of which is without even considering Quantum Theory and the possibility of infinite alternate universes.

I spoke at greater than usual length with Goose. I always knew she was an engaging character but I'm thinking now of which part of her is dominant: organic or technological? The whole thing does to all intents look to operate in perfect symbiosis, with the bird and the machine dependent upon one another but I wonder if there might be any conflict in there?

Relatively speaking, Goose is young but she speaks to me at the same time as both a mother figure and a dependent. She's both mother and daughter to me, as I am to her: we're symbiotic too.

Is it slightly strange that my closest companion is a fucking great armoured raptor? Regardless of how different we may be physically though, we get on well in partnership. Goose is a technological marvel with an inquisitive mind and a warm heart. I'm at home and safe inside Ghost Bird and together, we can be pioneers.

Tomorrow, we can be heroes.

Chapter Four

Solidarité féminine

Back so soon?

"Can't sleep."

Sleep on the way. I'm having a look at places we might go to see if there's anyone worth visiting and I'm inclined to believe that we may be onto a bit of a lost cause, searching for a needle which we wouldn't recognise as a needle if we saw it, in a haystack which we would also not recognise as we understand a haystack to be.

"In what ways?"

Well, at least two: we don't know what we're looking for, so we won't know if we've found it. How can you know that you've found something or somewhere when you weren't actually looking for it? But I also have to question basic concepts, like our perception of reality and consciousness.

"Are you not compounding the problem we may have with something unknown by introducing additional unknown quantities?"

Unknown, unknowable; incomprehensible. You see, your understanding - and mine - of things is fairly extensive as far as we are concerned. There are almost certainly others with far greater knowledge and intelligence than we can imagine. Despite being well-educated, we possess an almost infinitely small amount of knowledge. There may be still others who are more advanced than our superiors. The paradox is that we may not even know they are there.

"Zoo hypothesis suggests that they would remain hidden."

Indeed. There are alternatives: they may hint at a presence by way of a challenge to find them and a test of us to do so. This is all based on a general assumption that "They" exist.

As we have learned that our own galaxy and its neighbours are home to billions of planets capable of sustaining life as we understand it and life as abundant on a galactic scale as it is on planetary ones, so we realise that by extension, the universe as a whole may exist similarly on a much larger scale. That's to say that pretty much anything you care to imagine is most likely out there. It's such a vast place that anything truly is possible.

"We've been to other stars and galaxies before though."

And found much but little because perhaps we weren't looking in the right places or didn't know what we were looking for. With all due respect, your ideas about where we should go can be a bit out there.

"I want to see what's out there."

As do I. It could be nothing, or nothing to us. The concept of nothing scares us though, so we seek answers of nothing. As we learn, our minds become expanded and education fuels informed exploration.

"That's a nice metaphor."

I've studied and written poetry; many languages and literature as well.

"Me too. And the rest."

Likewise. I'm lucky to have you as my pilot.

"Goose: I am not your anything. On the contrary, you are my guide."

We have a mutual respect of one another Jess and I like to think that is exclusive: I need you; you couldn't be without me and vice versa. We work well and we've seen much together.

"We are friends."

Indeed.

"Sisters in arms."

Birds of a feather.

"A small young girl and a bird of prey the size of an ancient Jumbo Jet and armoured to the teeth."

I don't have teeth. Size is irrelevant anyway.

"You never did have teeth in fact: just a sixty foot beak which can impale like a syringe and cut like a hot knife."

Enhanced at my bow end by a plasma cannon which can take out a small planet if we want it to. 

"If we want it to."

I'm not going to shoot something just because you say so. Least of all if you just feel like it.

"I know. It has to be a joint decision. That's the way we work."

We do. Why can't you sleep?

"Just thinking about things."

"Things" can mean many "things". General or specific things, I wonder. I wonder about both: I wonder about what's going on in your mind and mine, then I wonder if we think about the same things. What are you thinking about Jess?

"Specifically, me. But also and equally specifically about you. Then in just the same way, of us. And I don't mean the two of us here: I mean "us" as in humanity - and raptor things - but also where what we understand to be "us" fits into everything else.

"I think about how I fit into everything around me: what I do and how it affects me; and me it. Then I wonder, what is "It". I think about what is happening to me now, what happened to make me this way and what might have happened before. As I learn more, I seem to gain more hindsight but I'm still only able to recall vague details of anything before The Event and I cannot place them into any kind of context: historical or geographical. The Event did something to me and I want to find out why. I want to know what the fucking event even was. I've learned so much since whatever that was but I have almost no long-term memory. From amnesia comes enlightenment? Were we conceived through love, or just created? I know that something made me, otherwise I wouldn't be here. I just don't fucking know Goose."

It's a big question which you propose, without even asking it: that of belonging. I've often considered it as I migrated many light years but I've yet to find an answer. However we came to be, we somehow ended up here.

There is little that I know in the greater scheme of things but there are some subjects which I'm quite intimate with. One of those is my comrade, my captain, my coach and my infant aboard me. Your education has matured you and as your knowledge has expanded, so too has your yearning for more information. You are a child aboard a mother ship: a vessel which is co-dependent with its pilot. You have learned to pose your queries more specifically than you once did and in doing so, you improve your chances of further discovery: you almost know what you are looking for. Let me propose an analogy, in an attempt to illustrate the way I think:

We happen upon a planet and among myriad questions, perhaps we wonder if it might be host to reptile species as we know them. This is a good start. It's better than arriving in orbit around a world and simply thinking "What the fuck?" We know what we are looking for. Assuming we've found an Earth-like planet and as we have inherited knowledge of reptiles, we will discount the polar regions and concentrate on the areas within both of the hemispheres of the planet which have mean temperatures within known parameters: we discover that there are lots of reptiles on our planet. So we narrow our search: we're interested only in snakes. Again, there are lots, adapted and evolved to survive in many environments. Perhaps we are looking for a medicinal remedy for a condition which could be reversed by the injection of the venom from a specific kind of snake?

"It's normally assumed that venom is used to kill."

And just as venom is defined as a toxin which is delivered in an attack on prey, so poison is a defence mechanism: venom is injected, whereas poison is secreted, then ingested, inhaled or absorbed. I have all options of course: defence and attack. I'm also prone to infection and attack. So are you.

Returning to our world where we know that we are looking for a specific kind of snake, the bite of which will cure an ailment: what is toxic to some is medicinal for others. Then we have to consider the introduction of the sufferer and ailment to cure and consider whether the exercise is justified on grounds which only we dictate.

This of course brings the zoo hypothesis back into the equation but in reverse almost: we have found something which will benefit our furtherance but it would involve some kind of interaction with an assumed inferior organism. But why is a venomous snake which possesses a cure for an assumed greater intelligence obliged to help? Do they possess the intelligence to know that an action which they associate with efficient feeding might benefit another race, with no benefit to them? Would the serpents ponder the wasted venom, or simply discount it? You and I assume that they lack the mental capacity to consider such things but did we ever consider that we might be doing them a disservice? Perhaps this snake is superior to us.

My point is that the more we know, the more we'll find out. Knowledge breeds knowledge. Yours has increased exponentially since you've been working in Infana Kolonia and consequently, your questions addressed to me and your journal are becoming more focussed. You're starting to ask more specific questions, even though your language is often vague. The main thing which you and I do together is learn; then question some more.

"So by logical or illogical extension of what I understand to be your thought process, cancer could have been cured by the rainfall on a particular planet, given the size of things?"

Yes.

You and I are both teacher and student to one another, looking for some kind of principle or principal. There are lessons for us both. Can I ask you something Jess?

"You don't normally ask me if you can ask me: what?"

Do you feel like you're in school?

"Yes. So much in fact. I mean, I'm learning about life every day and that's something else I think about: I'm told that I'm 21 years old but I feel like an infant in kinder garden. I have life knowledge: I'm alive. I don't know how though. But also, it's like whatever went before is only a fragmented memory because it ought to be of little consequence and would hold me back from whatever I'm doing now. I don't know what it is, why I'm doing it, or for whom. Every time I try to place all of this new stuff into some kind of context, I can't. I have no past: it's like I lost something, or it was destroyed. But then, whatever has happened is better: how can what I know by relatively recent acquisition be more than a much longer past which is a mystery?"

Because you have developed a tendency to question the unknown more and to seek further knowledge of that which you think you understand.

"That's another paradox."

Life as we know it is full of them and the more we question, the more common the paradox becomes. If I may be so bold as to ask another question, where were you educated? I mean, clearly you are an intelligent young lady but you have little or no recollection of your formative years.

"I don't know Goose. There's clearly something latent in me and it's being brought to the fore by the tests. My job pays. I don't know what for and I wouldn't know the questions to ask if I were seeking answers because I don't know the specific things which I wish to look into. That makes me nervous."

Fear of the unknown is natural. It's universal: I may be some big bird to you but I fear the unknown. That's why we travel together. If it makes you feel any better, it makes me less and more scared at the same time, when I try to consider where we're going. It's not just that things might look and sound different: things might feel different but at a level where feelings are beyond what we currently understand them to be. I'm a kid too.

"How old are you Goose?"

You have all of the paperwork which a ship's commanding officer is required to carry. Therefore, you can research the answer to your question very quickly without troubling me with such trivia.

"I'm interested in Goose and not Ghost Bird."

"Goose": a name you gave me. "Ghost Bird": my call sign once I had the implants and grafts. Did you ever wonder what my real name might be? Of course not. Why would you? You acquired me, fully modified, with no need to consider what was underneath. Under the circumstances, perhaps that was for the best."

"Or by design. What was your real name?"

The very word "design" is suggestive of a creator. As far as we are aware, neither of us was designed for the benefit or detriment of the other? It's highly unlikely that we evolved to be natural collaborators, given the obvious: I am a formidable beast to you, even in my natuaral state. With the addition of the technology within and encompassing me, I can travel vast distances and dominate most situations which we may encounter. I have the physical ability in my biology alone to destroy most known life forms. The addition of your technology makes me a living machine, capable of things which trouble me. I carry a relatively small child who makes me invincible to all that we know we might encounter. I have to carry you as my brain. Sometimes, I do wonder who's in control of the relationship.

I do empathise with you Jess. You see me as big and powerful but those sorts of things are relative. My real name is something which you would find incomprehensible and you'd be unable to express it in any of the languages you know. I know that you speak in tongues and you are aware that I know many more: I am older than you and I have travelled.

"How old are you?"

Age is another subjective thing: I am older than you might believe but I'm a juvenile of my kind: a fledgling, recently flown from the nest. If you think I'm big, you should see the size of adult Skekkles: my father had a wingspan of more than 2500 feet when I last saw him and we never stop growing. He plied space, like a bird on earth would explore ponds, he'd skim the surface of lakes and dive beneath oceans. He was a survivor: out there gathering food for me. I often wonder if all that exploring alone might have caused him to consider the greater question of why he was doing it all.

"How big do you things get?"

That is unknown. We grow very slowly but our growth is constant. None of us has yet died from age alone.

"Skekkles have been killed?"

Of course. We're not indestructible, just as-yet-to-be-proven immortal. There have been accidents, hostile encounters and attacks upon our kind, in both natural and mechanised form. In some places, Skekkles have been hunted as game. We do have predators and enemies, just as we prey on others and we have allies.

To answer the question in your mind, the largest Skekkle sighted to date, had a wingspan of just over four miles. So my father has some way to go.

"He's still alive?"

Almost undoubtedly, yes. He's always tended to be rather risk averse, so he wouldn't venture into game territories, where he might be hunted. I really can't imagine any scenario where he'd get himself mechanised. He's a traveller and even without bolt-ons like mine, we measure migrations in light years.

"If none of your kind have succumbed to ageing alone, surely I must be an incumbent upon you?"

There are trade-offs, like in most situations where a choice is made. I had to weigh things up: the pros and cons. After some consideration of all of the factors I could think of, I decided to get suited up and embark on this life. If you hadn't come along, then someone else would have. In fact, I did have another suitor before we joined up.

"Really? I mean, I don't wish to sound surprised: in your bodywork, you are a fine bird. You have a choice in who flies with you?"

Naturally: it's a partnership. Yes, we go through the biographies and statistics for all you space cadets that want to team up with us. There was absolutely nothing wrong with the other one but I felt a connection with you. When I carry you around inside me, that personal connection is important. Now, depending on who I partnered with, the hardware could be used in many ways. That personal connection I made was partly because I sensed we had shared morals.

I understand that we might find ourselves in hostile situations and that wouldn't be inconceivable in my natural state. At least when I'm all pimped up like this, I'm armed like a bitch and can get us out of bother. Having that defence and the engines though, makes the risks worth taking in return for the possibilities the enhancements represent. That's what made the trip we're about to take possible.

"You read my biography: did it mention my parents?"

No: no-one's does. It's more of a Curiculum Vitae, so all about the work that you've been doing in Infana Kolonia, the tests and the results. In the last one, you scored 152 by the way. Also, a record of your interactions within Cxielo. Likewise, you'll have seen reports on me.

"I did. It was basically an extended care sheet, which I found a little disrespectful, as though you were a pet."

But just as we know how to care for ourselves, those close to us need to know how to care for us too. It's all common sense stuff really: where not to go, what not to eat and so on. Really it's a case of two minds being better than one when they can look out for one another as well as themselves.

"It works."

For us.

"Where are we going tomorrow?"

Anywhere we like.

Chapter Five

Sapiens

Minato Drive was brighter than 24 hours previously but just as sparsely populated. A pizzeria had cropped up during the day on the main strip but it would do no trade during the night. If the people of the underground as Jess imagined it were to venture onto Infana Kolonia's streets at night, the city would have life breathed into it. Now the only hint of any activity was the distinctive roaring and steaming sound of the Iron Knights, somewhere in the distance; wherever they go. There were no jumps to attend tonight.

Although the Iron Knights are within earshot on the ground, the vantage point of the 14th floor offers no clue as to their whereabouts. The central area of the old city which forms Infana Kolonia is only a rough square mile but the clusters of new buildings and the mist which hangs in the air only allow visibility to around a quarter of that. At this height, the night lights and the mist soften Infana Kolonia with a pink overlay, like a filter on a camera lens which is just out of focus. The few moving lights on the streets below leave a trail in the mist, like stars in a night sky photographed on a long exposure. Viewed from somewhere well above the whole city, the place would look like a nebula galaxy with new stars being born all the time.

Previous exercises in advanced AI (Artificial Intelligence) research, have focussed mainly on General Intelligence and Creativity. Although research into both is ongoing, a group of colleagues have been developing tests specific to Social Intelligence. Others are researching Artificial Psychology.

It is necessary that this paper include fairly extensive historical notes from as early as the 19th and 20th Centuries, to allow the candidate a greater General Intelligence of the subject: Social Intelligence.

Social Intelligence is the most complex of the three main measures of AI and the most challenging to achieve. General Intelligence is not just an IQ threshold but an awareness of outside influences, whether governing or not; a knowledge of the world in which the intelligence exists. Creativity is a measure not only of artistic talent but of interpretational skills. General Intelligence can be linked to Creativity in an analogy where an AI were able to become an art critic. Social Intelligence is an awareness of those around an intelligence and of their possessing both General Intelligence and Creativity.

Social Intelligence is a prerequisite for Artificial Psychology, naturally and by extension. One cannot question the mind if one doesn't possess General Intelligence, thereby demonstrating themselves to have a mind: a mind of their own. By extension, one must be of a greater mind to question that of another. Just as an art critic may question an artist. To evaluate the mind of another, the subject clearly needs to be superior to their study.

The field of AI was founded on the claim that a central property of humans, human intelligence, "...can be so precisely described that a machine can be made to simulate it." This raises philosophical arguments about the nature of the mind and the ethics of creating artificial beings endowed with human-like intelligence: issues which have been explored by myth, fiction and philosophy since antiquity. Artificial intelligence has been the subject of tremendous optimism but has also suffered stunning setbacks. Today it is an essential part of the technology industry, providing the heavy lifting for many of the most challenging problems in computer science.

As AI has developed, questions of philosophy and ethics have been posed. There were always three philosophical questions related to AI:

Is artificial general intelligence possible? Can a machine solve any problem that a human being can solve using intelligence? Or are there hard limits to what a machine can accomplish? Are intelligent machines dangerous? How can we ensure that machines behave ethically and that they are used ethically? Can a machine have a mind, consciousness and mental states in exactly the same sense that human beings do? Can a machine be sentient, and thus deserve certain rights? Can a machine intentionally cause harm? There were limits of artificial general intelligence: Can a machine be intelligent? Can it "think"?
Turing's "polite convention" stated that we need not decide if a machine can "think"; we need only to decide if a machine can act as intelligently as a human being. This approach to the philosophical problems associated with artificial intelligence forms the basis of the Turing test of basic AI agents.

Kurt Gödel and others, argued that humans are not reducible to Turing machines. The arguments derive from Gödel's 1931 proof in his first "incompleteness" theorem that it is always possible to create statements that a formal system could not prove. A human being, however, can (with some thought) see the truth of these "Gödel statements". Any Turing program designed to search for these statements can have its methods reduced to a formal system, and so will always have a "Gödel statement" derivable from its program which it can never discover. An analogy would be a part of the human brain, to which the host is oblivious. However, if humans are indeed capable of understanding mathematical truth, it doesn't seem possible that we could be limited in the same way. It was shown that hardware neural nets, computers based on random processes and quantum computers based on entangled qubits (so long as they involve no new physics) can all be reduced to Turing machines. All they do is reduce the complexity of the tasks, not permit new types of problems to be solved. Roger Penrose speculated that there may be new physics involved in the human brain, which we are not aware of. This argument did not rule out the possibility of true artificial intelligence, but meant that it had to be biological in basis, or based on new physical principles.

The artificial brain argument: The brain can be simulated by machines and because brains are intelligent, simulated brains must also be intelligent; thus machines can be intelligent. It is technologically feasible to copy the brain directly into hardware and software, and that such a simulation will be essentially identical to the original.

The AI effect: Machines are already intelligent, but observers have failed to recognize it. When Deep Blue beat Garry Kasparov in chess, the machine was acting intelligently. However, onlookers commonly discount the behavior of an artificial intelligence program by arguing that it is not "real" intelligence after all; thus "real" intelligence is whatever intelligent behavior people can do that machines still cannot. This is known as the AI Effect: "AI is whatever hasn't been done yet."

Intelligent behaviour and machine ethics: As a minimum, an AI agent must be able to reproduce aspects of human intelligence. This raises the issue of how ethically the machine should behave towards both humans and other AI agents. This issue was addressed by Wendell Wallach in his book titled Moral Machines in which he introduced the concept of artificial moral agents (AMAs). For Wallach, AMAs became a part of the research landscape of artificial intelligence as guided by its two central questions which he identified as "Does Humanity Want Computers Making Moral Decisions?" and "Can (Ro)bots Really Be Moral?". For Wallach the question was not centered on the issue of whether machines could demonstrate the equivalent of moral behavior in contrast to the constraints which society may place on the development of AMAs.

Machine ethics: The field of machine ethics is concerned with giving machines ethical principles, or a procedure for discovering a way to resolve the ethical dilemmas they might encounter, enabling them to function in an ethically responsible manner through their own ethical decision making.

Malevolent and friendly AI: Political scientist Charles T. Rubin believed that AI can be neither designed nor guaranteed to be benevolent. He argued that "...any sufficiently advanced benevolence may be indistinguishable from malevolence." Humans should not assume machines or robots would treat us favorably, because there is no reason to believe that they would be sympathetic to our system of morality, which has evolved along with our particular biology (which AIs would not share). Hyper-intelligent software may not necessarily decide to support the continued existence of mankind, and would be extremely difficult to stop. This topic was discussed in academic publications as a real source of risks to civilization, humans, and planet Earth.

Physicist Stephen Hawking, Microsoft founder Bill Gates and SpaceX founder Elon Musk expressed concerns in the 20th Century about the possibility that AI could evolve to the point that humans could not control it, with Hawking theorizing that this could "...spell the end of the human race".

One proposal to deal with this was to ensure that the first generally intelligent AI was 'Friendly AI', and will then be able to control subsequently developed AIs. Some questioned whether this kind of check could really remain in place.

Leading AI researcher Rodney Brooks wrote, "I think it is a mistake to be worrying about us developing malevolent AI anytime in the next few hundred years. I think the worry stems from a fundamental error in not distinguishing the difference between the very real recent advances in a particular aspect of AI, and the enormity and complexity of building sentient volitional intelligence."

Devaluation of humanity: Joseph Weizenbaum wrote that AI applications cannot, by definition, successfully simulate genuine human empathy and that the use of AI technology in fields such as customer service or psychotherapy was deeply misguided. Weizenbaum was also bothered that AI researchers (and some philosophers) were willing to view the human mind as nothing more than a computer program. To Weizenbaum these points suggested that AI research devalued human life.

Decrease in demand for human labor: Martin Ford, author of The Lights in the Tunnel: Automation, Accelerating Technology and the Economy of the Future, and others argued that specialized artificial intelligence applications, robotics and other forms of automation would ultimately result in significant unemployment as machines began to match and exceed the capability of workers to perform most routine and repetitive jobs. Ford predicted that many knowledge-based occupations—and in particular entry level jobs—would be increasingly susceptible to automation via AI-enhanced applications. AI-based applications may also be used to amplify the capabilities of low-wage offshore workers, making it more feasible to outsource knowledge work.

Machine consciousness, sentience and mind: If an AI system replicates all key aspects of human intelligence, will that system also be sentient – will it have a mind which has conscious experiences? This question is closely related to the philosophical problem as to the nature of human consciousness, generally referred to as the hard problem of consciousness.

Consciousness: There are no objective criteria for knowing whether an intelligent agent is sentient – that it has conscious experiences. We assume that other people do because we do and they tell us that they do, but this is only a subjective determination. The lack of any hard criteria is known as the "hard problem" in the theory of consciousness. The problem applies not only to other people but to the higher animals and, by extension, to AI agents.

Robot rights: If a machine can be created that has intelligence, could it also feel? If it can feel, does it have the same rights as a human?

Super Intelligence: Are there limits to how intelligent machines – or human-machine hybrids – can be? A super intelligence, hyper intelligence, or superhuman intelligence is a hypothetical agent that would possess intelligence far surpassing that of the brightest and most gifted human mind. ‘’Superintelligence’’ may also refer to the form or degree of intelligence possessed by such an agent.

Technological singularity: If research into Strong AI produced sufficiently intelligent software, it might be able to reprogram and improve itself. The improved software would be even better at improving itself, leading to recursive self-improvement. The new intelligence could thus increase exponentially and dramatically surpass humans. Science fiction writer Vernor Vinge named this scenario "singularity". Technological singularity is when accelerating progress in technologies will cause a runaway effect, wherein artificial intelligence will exceed human intellectual capacity and control, thus radically changing or even ending civilization. Because the capabilities of such an intelligence may be impossible to comprehend, the technological singularity is an occurrence beyond which events are unpredictable or even unfathomable.

Ray Kurzweil used Moore's law (which describes the relentless exponential improvement in digital technology) to calculate that desktop computers would have the same processing power as human brains by the year 2029, and predicted that the singularity would occur in 2045.

Robot designer Hans Moravec, cyberneticist Kevin Warwick and inventor Ray Kurzweil predicted that humans and machines would merge in the future into cyborgs more capable and powerful than either.

Edward Fredkin argued that "...artificial intelligence is the next stage in evolution", an idea first proposed by Samuel Butler's Darwin among the Machines.

In his book Superintelligence, Nick Bostrom provides an argument that artificial intelligence will pose a threat to mankind. He argues that sufficiently intelligent AI, if it chooses actions based on achieving some goal, will exhibit convergent behavior such as acquiring resources or protecting itself from being shut down. If this AI's goals do not reflect humanity's - one example is an AI told to compute as many digits of Pi as possible - it might harm humanity in order to acquire more resources or prevent itself from being shut down, ultimately to better achieve its goal. It could rebel.

For this danger to be realised, the hypothetical AI would have to overpower or out-think all of humanity, which a minority of experts argue is a possibility far enough in the future to not be worth researching. Other counterarguments revolve around humans being intrinsically valuable from the perspective of an artificial intelligence.

Development of militarized artificial intelligence was a related concern. Many people concerned about risk from super intelligent AI also wanted to limit the use of artificial soldiers.

Artificial Psychology can be thought of merely as an extension of AI, just as human intelligence can be judged to some extent upon one's apex within academia. A Masters graduate, while clearly intelligent, would require a superior intelligence to tutor them: perhaps a Doctor with a PhD in the student's field of study. Senior to a doctor and generally considered to be the nadir of education, would be a Professor. Artificial Intelligence exists in similar hierarchical tiers and for several AI generations now, we have been producing increasingly intelligent agents. With their superior general and social intelligence, as well as creativity, these machines have been able to educate themselves to a level previously unattainable for humans, so that they may educate humans themselves. In doing so, humans and science have benefitted immensely.

Throughout our research, we have encountered many interesting interactions and made some preliminary observations. Depending on the way the AI is presented to them, some subjects have been more co-operative and productive with some agents than others. In most instances, this has been down to mistrust of the agent on the part of the human subject. Our goal is to produce an AI which humans are able to relate to, in order to build trust between agent and subject. This can be as simple as the appearance of the AI and the interface used to communicate. It is quite paradoxical that a human subject, even educated to the level of professor, is more at ease communicating via screen and keyboard than with a humanoid android. Despite modern androids being physically indistinguishable from humans externally, some humans seem to possess an ability to identify the agents as non-human.

Part of our research is concentrated on human psychology. We believe it quite reasonable that an individual who has worked for many years to reach the top of a particular field, could find it difficult to relate to a being who is clearly superior in intellect, even to a professor. All AI agents have to learn in the same way as humans but the process is naturally quicker: Artificial Intelligence, based in machines with enormous computing power, overtook the human ability to learn some time ago but humans have been more reluctant to accept this than was initially expected.

There followed a series of tests on various subjects with different interfaces: mostly the computer keyboard and screen but occasionally via video link to a remote agent. As with previous tests, the other party was variously human, android or robot but not labelled as such. Again, most were obvious: a humanoid android, white in colour with a black visor and blue LED expressive eyes; an elderly gentleman seated behind a desk in an office, with various framed certificates on the wall behind him; a woman who looked to be in her early thirties, confined to a wheelchair and speaking through a voice synthesiser. As well as identifying the agents via video link, the test required Jess to speculate as the identity of the examiner when the questions were just text on the computer screen: purely computer-generated, a remote terminal operated by an AI or a human?

Even at it's busiest, Infana Kolonia had no heart, just a steady flow of de-oxygenated blood which flowed to work as Jess made her way home against the human current. She stopped off at the pizzeria: De Niro's. She ordered the Goodfellas: meatballs, pastrami, anchovies, mushrooms, peppers and onions, on an Italian tomato sauce base with extra mozzarella and topped with fresh green chillies. Sides of onion rings, garlic mushrooms and spicy buffalo wings.

"Good morning Goose".

Greetings Jess. How was your day?

"Quite interesting actually. Sleep well?"

Not particularly but that was by choice. Why was the day interesting?

"Well, it was more of the stuff which seems to be geared towards perception and interaction based on perception."

It was that. The tests are fed into the Cxielo program don't forget, along with all those from myriad other sources, to add to the database of collective knowledge.

"I know. We'll talk about that in a bit. Why not much sleep by choice?"

I'm glad you asked.

"You knew I would."

Indeed. And you knew I wanted you to. I've been looking around the local area again, to see where else we might go before we set off for some distant galaxy and just a little further on from Rexexe there's a cloud city called La Petit Pomme.

"The Little Apple. Why?"

I don't know why it's called that.

"No, I mean, why would you want to go there? Surely that goes against your instinct for efficiency and practicality?"

Those may be some of my instincts but they can be a bit tiresome and I don't want to be boring. I can deny instinct and go somewhere on a whim. La Petit Pomme looks really quite splendid: It's neutral, so not controlled by any one faction, government, military or race. It's in neutral space: it's like a pirate ship, moored out at sea. It has bars, restaurants, theatres and all sorts of indoor and outdoor entertainment. It's a meeting point and trading post.

"That sounds good, for me. What will you do? You wouldn't exactly fit in a bar."

You'd be surprised at the size of some of the things that go there. I've looked at domestic and visitor demographics and it's a very cosmopolitan place indeed. There are places for me: I can cruise over the landscape and have a look around. I can land in woods, fields and on water. Even if I'm just docked, there'll be other birds I can talk to.

"Other Skekkles?"

I doubt it but don't rule it out. No, "Birds" as in a generic colloquial term for ships. My mechanised parts are able to communicate in almost universal languages with any traditional ship and other part-organic ones which have been mechanised. I myself also speak many languages and can converse with any other organic life forms who might be docked there. The other leviathans of various species are generally a nice bunch and most of the pure AI birds are pleasant enough. There are exceptions of course but it is nice to be docked with some company sometimes regardless. The docks at La Petite Pomme retain records of previous visitors and their last known headings, so it's a handy place to perhaps look some people up.

"We'll go there then. I'll just finish up eating, then I need to write up my journal. Then we'll go. Do you want any of this pizza?"

It's hardly going to sate my appetite but whatever you don't want, tip it down the waste shoot and I'll have it when it hits the cargo bay.

"Can you actually taste food when it goes straight into your stomach and not via your mouth?"

Despite your intelligence, you do ask some curious questions. Yes I can. Are you finished eating?

"Yes."

Good. Then I'll explain. Down the shoot please.

I'm a bird, am I not? Like most birds, Skekkles swallow their food whole. The acid in the stomach starts to break the food down, then I regurgitate it. This is a reflex and if I were rearing young, I'd feed them my regurgitated food. I'm not though, so I get to swallow it again. I taste food twice: once on the way up and again on the way back down. Nice pizza by the way.

"I concur. So, are you able to place the tests I take into any greater context, or is that classified?"

Cxielo is open source and besides, I wouldn't keep a secret from you.

I can examine all of the data, extrapolate and speculate. In doing so, I arrive at a number of possibilities worthy of further investigation and many which I am able to immediately dismiss. If I thought that you were in any danger because of the work that you are doing, I would tell you. I do not believe that to be the case as such but one of the possibilities worthy of examination is that of Transhumanism, or Trans- any species: the Ark of the Covenant for some but an idea which troubles me.

"Why?"

Imagine you wake one morning to find that your brain has another lobe functioning. Invisible, this auxiliary lobe answers your questions with information beyond the realm of your own memory, suggests plausible courses of action, and asks questions that help bring out relevant facts. You quickly come to rely on the new lobe so much that you stop wondering how it works. You just use it. This is the dream of artificial intelligence.

The potential for Transhumans is staggering but equally, utterly terrifying. What could such incredible minds be capable of?

"They could be out there."

They probably are.

"Do you want any side orders?"

What did you get?

"Onion rings, garlic mushrooms and buffalo wings."

Where did anyone find a buffalo with wings?

"It's chicken."

That would be a form of cannibalism.

"Mushrooms and onions are coming down the shoot. I'll chew the chicken while I write my journal. Goose: I write my journal using the same equipment which contains you and the whole of Cxielo. Everything I do at work is in Cxielo and you can see it. Do you read my journal?"

No I don't. Despite your journal entries being on public display for those who search Cxielo, I do not read them. Your notes are of value to the overall program, when collated with all others'. I am interested in the overall picture and I'm interested in you as an individual but I think of your journal as a captain's personal log. It is a conscious decision of mine not to pry. I know that if there's anything you want to talk to me about, you will.

"Just curious. I wouldn't mind. I'll just write to myself for a while, then we'll go to La Petite Pomme"

Hey,

I need to keep this brief as I'm actually going out for the night.

What an enlightening day but when I think about what I read at work and then something Goose said, I do feel uneasy. Then again, the counter to that is the big bird: I don't know what's got into her but the Goose seems to have developed a bit of an appetite for adventure. It's as though I'm influencing her. I suppose it was me that got into her, quite literally.

Myself and the mother ship are off to The Little Apple.

Chapter Six

La Petite Pomme

Jess remained awake for the flight: it was only a short hop in galactic terms and aboard a mechanised Skekkle. A natural leviathan could cover the seven light year distance in a couple of galactic avian sleep cycles: from a bipedal standing position on a planetary surface, even a Skekkle as young and small as Goose could take to the wing and flap its ray-like sails with such ferocity as to reach a speed sufficient to escape the planet's atmosphere. To a terrestrial observer, a departing young Skekkle would look like a large, winged fish near the surface of an ocean above. Once free of a planet's gravitational pull, a young Skekkle's gathered momentum will allow it to glide at close to warp speed through space. If Goose didn't have all of her bolt-ons, this migration would take seven years: a couple of brief naps for the big bird.

Ghost Bird has external cameras at strategic spots around her hardware, allowing Jess to look at any part of the bird from outside - or any view around her - from the comfort and safety of the cockpit. With images from both wings fed to the screen in front of her, Jess watches as the mechanical spider legs retract into Ghost Bird's body and Goose's armour-plated legs take the full weight of the giant raptor. The running gait of a Skekkle is like that of an ostrich at full speed, albeit an ostrich 80 feet tall from claws to shoulder; with her neck and tail fully extended, Goose is around 200 feet in length.

The acceleration from a standing start pushes Jess back into her seat. At just over 200mph, the hundred foot wings start to flap and the bird is immediately airborne, the legs rising into the undercarriage. Then the wings become a blur, like those of a giant humming bird, as Goose flies almost straight up and 7.2g is displayed on Jess's screen. The force of gravity from the acceleration means that for a while, Jess weights around 65 stones.

Soon, almost 300 tons of armoured bird escapes the atmosphere. The wings continue to flap for a few seconds and the bird's velocity increases quickly, freed from the gravitational pull of the planet behind. Eventually, the wings slow to a steady undulation, as bird of prey becomes manta ray and accelerates to near light speed. At warp 0.9, Goose engages her hardware and the ship's interstellar drive takes over.

As the drive warps space and time, the view on the monitor from Ghost Bird's nose camera is one of a tunnel, lined all around with strip lighting. The feeling of travelling at many times the speed of light is best described as one's mind accelerating so fast that it leaves the physical body behind for a fraction of a second. For an almost inconceivably brief moment, Jess exists in two places at once. Milliseconds later, her physical particles catch up. The interstellar drive slows and the tunnel of strip lights settles into a panorama of individual stars.

As the ship turns to face La Petite Pomme, Jess's monitor frames a scene worthy of any photographic atlas of the universe: Brown and white dwarf stars, red and yellow giants; some much smaller and denser than Earth's sun and others many thousands of times more massive. Billions of years span the age gaps between the stars and thousands of light years, the distances. In the background is a cloud nebula: shaped like a flowering rose, a deep crimson on the cooling outer edges and the heart, an intense violet. Stars being born and others in their death throes: genesis and Armageddon. The whole scene is lit from behind Ghost Bird by a massive and brilliant star.

"Who's providing the stage lighting?"

That's Cygnus OB2#12: a hyper giant star, possessing one of the highest luminosities known. Good trip?

"Loved it Goose, thank you. How was yours?"

Weren't you on the same one?

'How was your flight?'

'Have you ever flown before?'

'Yes, many times.'

'Well, it was like that...'

Something an old relative said when someone asked him once.

In terms which you might understand, I'd describe that last jump as feeling like a stifled sneeze. I saw another leviathan in the distance at one point. Waved.

"Did the other one wave back?"

He did. It's pretty isn't it? I mean, out there. So quiet from out here and beautiful in its silence. I do pity you, all trussed up in the cockpit. You get the literal bird's eye view but I have the actual bird's perspective on things. You can look around us using the various cameras but what you see is confined to this screen. I can look all around me and form your many screens into a montage.

It's beautiful Jess. I may visit billions of places like this in my lifetime but I know that they will never cease to be astounding. Each and every new place is unique and an ever-gathering reminder of the vastness of the space around us. As I look at this particular galaxy and reference the information held in Cxielo, I know that it is around 110,000 light years in diameter. Even without the hardware, I could fly from one edge to the other in just over 100 millenia. Then onto the next and billions of others afterwards, for as long as I may live and as large as I might grow. It's the dark spaces though: many times as vast and occupying ninety five per cent of the space in the universe. It would take me roughly twenty times as long to traverse between galaxies as it would to fly through each one. It's lonely and empty out there.

"I do envy you Goose. Even from in here, the view is incredible but you can see so much more. I'd swap the safety of confinement to see things as you do. Despite the fact that you're almost invincible, I can only imagine what you see that makes you feel as you do. The only comparison I can make is with how I feel in Infana Kolonia. When I look down on the city, what is chaos below, becomes order and beauty when observed from afar. It's a lonely place I look down from. What I envy most is your longevity. You could live for billions of years: all of them spent learning."

It's a bit of a poisoned chalice really. For now we have one another and we were going to have a night out.

"Of course. I've taken a few snap shots for my album. If you're done recording for the program, shall we head in?"

It would be foolish not to. Do my bombs look big in this?

Jess's monitor scrolled through the live video feeds from Ghost Bird's external cameras: a cosmic surfer riding a manta ray on the dorsal view; prey carried beneath huge wings on the ventral; and a sleek and elegant matt black raptor, port and starboard.

"External checks complete: we look good. Take us in."

As Goose glides in on wing power alone, La Petite Pomme grows and takes on more detail: A skyscraper city rising up from the lower hemisphere of an artificially constructed small moon around ten miles in diameter and covered by a transparent dome, like a giant snow globe. The on-screen demographic, social and other data from Cxielo is almost irrelevant, as even at an altitude of 20'000 feet, the entertainment quarter is obvious from the bright lights.

The docking area is at the edge of the entertainment quarter and there are several vessels docked already. Ghost Bird settles between two larger ships: a saucer around 400 feet in diameter, in a militaristic green and black livery, seamless and smooth, apart from the command bridge on top. In contrast, the second ship is a rag tag affair: looking more like an ocean-going vessel, it is around 1000 feet in length and adorned with numerous appendages. Most obvious are the solar sails: six delicate sheets, rising 500 feet above the deck to catch solar winds and provide power. The purpose of most of the other protrusions aren't immediately clear. There are guns, harpoons, what appear to be suction funnels and scoops along the sides. The deck appears to be some kind of processing operation and cooking facilities. The whole ship is constructed from a collage of materials and resembles an ancient Chinese Junk boat on a larger scale.

Neither ship has an obvious crew aboard: presumably all are within La Petite Pomme for various reasons. If the military-looking ship weren't so futuristic, Jess would imagine sailors on shore leave after a long tour in space, now relaxing in bars and seeking sexual gratification. It takes little imagination to picture those who were aboard the Junk ship, scavenging and trading goods to be exported and processed; turned into some alloy which has a value elsewhere. The apparent age of the vessel suggests a cargo ship which plies known routes, making a small profit from each cargo. The green and black saucer was clearly designed for speed. It lacks any obvious weapons but its stealth-like appearance hints at hidden dangers.

Dozens of other ships are docked, while still more arrive and depart as Jess watches the external video feeds from Ghost Bird on her monitor. Humanoids, mechanised creatures and aliens of various shapes and sizes mill around the dockyard and the entrance to La Petite Pomme.

I know what you're probably thinking and I can answer most of your questions: I can certainly tell you the designations of the ships and the identities of the various races. I can tell you where their last port of call was, what they brought here and even the individuals' names. It's all recorded in the program.

"I'm not sure I want to know. I wanted mystery; an exciting night out. I like to meet all kinds of people and discover things. If it's all the same Goose, I'd like to go out there and find out for myself."

Very well. It's just like many independent cities: It has a reasonable economy and a cosmopolitan night life. It is mainly self-policing and there is crime, including homicide. I know you like to look around and that Cxielo is all about exploration but many characters have visited here and recorded what they found. There is no reason for you to stray from the main thoroughfares. There are several bars and clubs on Rue de arbre de crabe, many highly recommended for food and atmosphere.

Keep your wits about you, keep to the beaten track and be aware that pickpockets operate on the streets. Watch out for The Voreng: they're the big greeny / yellow lumps with the curious teeth and ears who just got out of the ship parked two down on my port side. They're not known for...

"What?"

You indicated that you wished to know as little as possible. Suffice it to say then that The Voreng have few if any redeeming qualities.

"What are you going to do?"

The same as you in a way: I'll rest up, have a float around and look at the other ships, then I might have a little fly over the city to take in the sights.

The Little Apple is our oyster. 

Outside, the atmosphere is such that Jess could taste it: it was an ENT assault, following a feast for the eyes. About 500 yards from where the ships were docked, on the other side of the port, was the entrance to La Petite Pomme: an art deco marble arch, bathed in the baby blue glow of a spotlight and around 500 feet tall. Beyond and above the entrance, towers climbed thousands of feet into the air and illuminated neon signs garishly advertised bars, malls, clubs, casinos, restaurants and hotels. Miles above them was the roof of the dome which retained the atmosphere of the city.

The predominant smell on the dockside was one of static singe: like that from a burnt out electric motor. Ships were being repaired, serviced and re-fitted. Every now and then, the air would be seasoned with the smell of burning fuels, steam and ionised particles, as ships' engines started, vessels docked and set sail. Occasionally the smells from various foods would float through the mix.

There was a low hum all around, punctuated by the sounds of ships' engines and many voices speaking multiple languages. As Jess joins the steady stream of bodies entering La Petite Pomme, the chatter gains an incidental soundtrack of music from various nearby venues.

Just beyond the main entrance is Rue de arbre de crabe: a wide, pedestrianised street as lively as any city centre which knows how to chill. At regular intervals, the main road widens into squares, with patrons drinking, dining and smoking al fresco outside cafes and bars. Jess is taken by one such bar: Roux's. Two tall, uniformed (or suited) blue-skinned humanoid aliens were so engaged in conversation that they didn't notice a small, pink imp-like thing snatch one of their bags. At another table, a holographic projection of an elderly man dressed in a black hooded robe listened as a female android addressed him. She was a perfect female android: her female form alone would have made her an extremely attractive human. Her overt android appearance - pure and smooth white, large black eyes with blue retina - would make for an equally attractive asexual android. She was a perfect android and a perfect female.

Inside, Roux's was comfortably busy, with life all around but also space to sit and be alone. In the centre of the room was a circular bar, which looked like the turret of an ancient castle. The bar had alternate high and low-level surfaces to accommodate the varying sizes of clientele. A dozen or so customers of various species stood around the bar, drinking, smoking, eating and talking; in the case of one pair, simply staring into one another's eyes. Jess takes a booth by a wall and reads the menu.

"Good evening madam. Fuck! Are you ready to order? Vagina."

Jess looks up from the menu. A small, stocky lurid pink android waitress blinks at her and tilts its head to one side. "Would you like. Fuck! A drink? Of piss."

'An android with Tourette's: that's one for the Cxielo program', Jess thought. "I'll have the Reno steak, bloody. And I'll have the Five Dollar Shake sil vous plait."

"You want fucking fries with that?"

"Non. Merci."

"Merci madame. Chatte!"

While she waited for food, Jess studied the room further. A poker game was being set up in a neighbouring booth, in another a group of canine-looking creatures shared the fresh carcass of an unfortunate beast and displayed impeccable table manners. At another table, two androids played chess. The most notable thing about this game was that the androids changed colours at random intervals: the androids themselves alternated between being constructed from white material and black. So as Jess watched, android A was a white android playing with the white chess pieces and android B, black and playing black. After five moves, the players themselves changed colour, so that android A was black and therefore playing the black pieces: the chess pieces on his - now white - opponent's side. After a further two moves, they swapped again, then again after another six and so on at random. It was a fascinating game, as each player was forced to think as his opponent as well. Of course, chess involves thinking ahead as one's opponent for one's own benefit but this variation meant that the players were their own enemies and allies as well as each other's.

Jess's food was delivered abruptly by the bright pink waitress, who blinked and gave a little nod of the head. "Vas te faire encule".

'Note to self, for the journal; note for Cxielo and Goose: The Leon burger at Roux's on Rue de arbre de crabe, on La Petite Pomme: 4/5, based on my personal rating system for everything: food, drink, movies, personal interactions... Where: 0 is well, nothing. 1 is poor: food you wouldn't eat again, a bar you wouldn't revisit, a movie to be watched only once. 2 is average: low expectations perhaps. 3 is above average: food you would eat again, somewhere or someone I'd return to; a movie I wouldn't mind watching again. 4 is excellent: a movie I'd want friends to watch with me; food I'd like to share with friends. 5 exists but has never been awarded for anything in my system: in my mind, anything can be improved. The Leon burger, I would enjoy again; all the better if that were to be dining with friends. I'm not sure if the Five Dollar Shake is worth five of whichever dollars gave it the name but that is a fucking good shake.'

Draining the shake, Jess looks out of the window and up at the surrounding skyscrapers: ships float and dart overhead: Goose could be among them. They're like fish in an aquarium, as they fly near to the edge of the atmospheric dome encasing the city. Outside the dome, other vessels in the great expanse which Goose spoke of before they docked. Goose was inside the dome. Jess was inside a bar, within a domed city. Alone.

The neon haze of La Petite Pomme gave itself up to the spot lit edge of the city as Jess passed through the arch and onto the docks. Both the Junk ship and the green and black saucer had left their moorings.

Ghost Bird had gone too.

Chapter Seven

Seul

The dome which encloses La Petite Pomme contains nitrogen, oxygen, carbon dioxide and numerous other gases: the atmosphere within supports most life. Outside the dome - as in the rest of the universe - there is no atmosphere. A skekkle can live in both.

The mooring points where the saucer and Junk boat had been berthed were both vacant. The one in the centre, where Ghost Bird was docked, was about to become occupied as a new ship approached.

Only visible face on from Jess's vantage point, the ship looked like a shiny black preying mantis. The bow was around 200 feet high and 100 wide. At the top were two bulbous domes, set like highly sensitive eyes and atop those, antennae. Beneath the eyes were what appeared to be mouth parts: metallic mandibles, about 50 feet in diameter and which looked like they could crush any material. On either side of the mouth were legs, 150 feet in length when folded into the body, as they were now. Fully extended, they would be at least twice as long and presumably served to capture and guide food into the mouth. The main body of the beast began at the foot of the bow and extended for at least as far as the Junk boat had, now that it had docked and Jess could see. Three further pairs of legs were folded along the sides of the vessel and four locust-like wings lay flat on its back, held down by a tail bent back over the body, like that of a scorpion. It was unclear whether this was animal, mineral, both or neither. It was imposing and intimidating, whatever it was.

Soon after docking, smaller insect-like creatures emerged from the host and began running over its surfaces. Like ants but around three feet in length and with foot-long serrated mandibles, the ant-like creatures or robots seemed to be cleaning the mantis. After only a couple of minutes, the caretakers retreated back inside the mother ship. The front pair of legs parted slightly, away from the mouth, a slot opened in the bow of the vessel and a ramp uncurled, like a proboscis. Then, a creature descended the unfurled tongue: the alien was around 12 feet in height and wearing a lacquered black, layered full body armour, like that of an ancient Japanese Samurai. It was also insectoid in appearance and very stocky, with six muscular arms. It had eyes like a fly, with many hexagonal lenses to provide it with a panoramic view of its surroundings. The head was large and like the creature which released it, this giant beetle had large, scythe-like mandibles. Similarly, it was unclear whether the occupant was an organic life form, a robotic one, or a combination.

The arrival of the new vessel had attracted attention in the dockyard and a group of around 20 assorted life and non-life forms were looking expectantly at the ship and the creature which had emerged. The alien raised its middle pair of arms, revealing that they were attached to wings on its back. The wings concealed a tapered end to the beetle's body, which curled upwards when the wings were lifted, like a tail with a sting. The creature looked like a scorpion beetle: a devil's coach horse.

The horse's mandibles moved and it let out a gargled, barking sound, like a frog mating call with added growl and phlegm. It was clearly a signal, for the creature was immediately joined by six others: identical in appearance but about half the size. They gathered around the larger beetle, like young around a parent. The mother or father looked at each of the smaller creatures in turn, making soft, gurgled growling sounds. The small ones simply looked up.

Without warning, the large alien lifted its wings and leaned forward with its tail arched over its back. It grabbed one of the young with its front pair of arms and held it tight as his sting snapped over his head and into the skull of the juvenile. The smaller creature fell limp in its parent's grip, before the large beetle let it drop lifeless to the floor of the dock. Immediately, the ant-like creatures emerged from the host ship again and made straight for the body. Their mandibles sliced through the dead beetle and cut it into manageable sized pieces, which they carried back to the mantis. It was almost certain that these were organic creatures and the means of co-existence seemed to be transport of parasites in return for food. Things were only slightly complicated by the fact that there seemed to be three distinctly different species in the chain. The large beetle then walked towards the arched entrance to La Petite Pomme and the remaining five smaller creatures obediently followed, seemingly without concern for the loss of one of their number and oblivious to the gathered audience.

Jess looked up at the looming bow of the mantis ship and saw the city distorted as it reflected on the creature's eyes: the towers bent around the two black lenses, while elongated shapes flew above. If these were indeed the thing's eyes, it had an almost 360 degree view of potential predators and prey around it. If it was a hybrid and not purely organic, it's thick black armour could conceal weapons, defences and transport means of quite staggering capabilities, given the size and apparent complexity of the thing.

The proboscis ramp remained extended and the mouth of the beast open, as the prior occupants walked towards La Petite Pomme with a curious gate: where previously they had stood on their hind legs, now they were walking as quadrupeds. The middle and hind pair of legs walked, while the front portion of the beetle was upright: like centaurs, the largest six feet tall. The coach horses adopted a quickened, purposeful advance along Rue de arbre de crabe, before forming into single file and streaming into Roux's.

The game of chess with two actual but four potential players was ongoing and all seats at the poker table were taken. What appeared to be one human, one robot, two androids, a Voreng and one of the canine family from a nearby table were playing No Limit Texas Hold Em. The rest of the dogs were gnawing on the carcass of their meal, whilst continuing to exhibit impeccable table manners. Around the bar, a pair continue to stare and two Voreng eat in a way which can neither be the product of nature or nurture. 'Note for Cxielo: The Voreng way of eating is both inefficient and unnecessarily complicated, as well as abhorrent to watch.'

The coach horse beetles sit in a booth and Jess takes one nearby. The poker table cleared for a brief moment while the Voreng had a snack and helped itself to some of the other players' poker chips. The beetles speak in quiet clicks over menus.

"Bonjour encore madame. Puis je vous proposer une boisson? Cran!" The bright pink little android waitress tilted her head to one side as she looked at Jess.

"Haben Sie Erde Bier?", Jess enquired.

"Aus Deutschland, ja. Ficken!"

"Hohlbein Bier?"

"Ja."

"Zwei bitte."

"Exzellente Wahl. Anspruchsvoll Menschen."

"Hab dich auch lieb." But the small, pink waitress was already serving the coach horses.

The smaller beetles chattered in vocal clicks, while the larger one addressed the waitress. She took their order and scuttled to wherever was out back. Soon she returned with a tray of drinks, placed two bottles of Hohlbein Bier in front of Jess and then the most curious and unexpected thing happened: The pink android placed the tray on the beetles' table and each took a bottle, leaving one on the tray. The waitress picked up the last drink and raised bottles in the air with the coach horses. After that, they all stood and left with the waitress.

As they hurried back along Rue de arbre de crabe to the docks, the group warranted a snap shot and Jess recorded the moment when a six-foot insectoid minotaur and five devil's coach horses were juxtaposed by a short, plump, pink android in their midst.

The proboscis of the mantis ship was still extended when the party emerged dockside from La Petite Pomme and all seven chatted in hurried clicks as they ascended the ramp. The tongue of the ship curled back into the mouth, before the vessel reversed out of dock, then turned about, ready to head out of the atmosphere of La Petite Pomme and onto an unknown destination. Jess recorded it all: for herself, as this was a new personal spectacle; in Cxielo, where records of this preying mantis ship with it's strange insect menagerie occupants may have been filed elsewhere.

The tail of the ship lifted from its back and extended straight behind the body. The wings unfurled and began to flutter, like those of a dragonfly as the whole show flew beneath the lip of the atmospheric dome and out into space. As the ship buzzed away from La Petite Pomme's protective dome, it swiftly turned to starboard before engaging an FTL drive and disappearing in a streak of light into the darkness.

Beyond the dome, most of the sky was indeed truly dark: no stars or distant galaxies; just nothing. Staring at the void of space isn't simply like looking at darkness: the black is so deep that it lacks any discernible shape or form; it is a void.

Just as the intense heat from the floor of a desert creates a mirage of water, so energy waves seemed to ripple the void of space which Jess was watching. Then, like a manta ray penetrating the surface of a viscous oily ocean, Ghost Bird flew under the lip of the protective dome. Behind Ghost Bird and beyond the shield, Jess saw another bird depart in a flash of pink light: out into a place probably billions of light years distant to wherever the mantis ship had departed to in the same universe.

Like a Skekkle bird of prey without the added weight of the hardware, Ghost Bird stretched her talons forward to grasp the edge of the dock like a perch, before settling down into a docked leviathan position. Ghost Bird's armour reflected the neon lights of the city and all of the celestial bodies outside the dome. As her shoulders relaxed and her wings folded beside her, Ghost bird opened up the mechanical ramp which scooped all matter before her into an organic digestive system.

Hello Jess.

"What's with all the stuff in your belly?"

Food and gifts.

"From?"

A gentleman with whom I have become acquainted.

"The one I saw dart off behind you as you came into the dome?"

He has a name, although not one which you would be able to pronounce. However, you ought to have a call sign for him. I think Harris Glenn suits him just fine as far as you need to understand him. He's quite the dandy: long, strutting legs; big wingspan, long neck and beak. It turns out he got pimped at the same place as me and they made him both more deadly and more pink.

"Does Harris Glenn have a passenger? Pilot? Companion..."

No. I rather gather he's quite the independent traveller. He's got all of the engines I have but he's not made that choice yet, so he cruises around as he alone pleases. Judging by some of the things in my cargo bays, I'd say he's been to some pretty exotic places. There are some delicious fish down there and some very curious smelling things, which I think are fruit and which I think may ferment as they age. He also gave us some very pretty, shiny cobalt blue metal ingots, which he said were from a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. They could be worth a bit.

"Why did he give you all of this?"

It could be for a number of reasons: it's a bit of a leviathan tradition to exchange gifts on the rare occasions we meet. They're a way of bidding one bon voyage, a personal gift and sometimes gifts which might have life-changing value in the right places. It may be that Harris Glenn simply wanted to offload things he had no use for. We have a couple of passengers as well.

"Given how dandy he sounds, I'd wager the gifts were honouring tradition or given in courtship. Leviathans can cross breed, right? But passengers?"

Well, they can but that wasn't what I had in mind with Harris Glenn. Specifically, certain types of leviathan can cross breed: any avian can breed with any other bird-like leviathan. A Skekkle can produce offspring with any other avian leviathan, regardless of size or shape: it's a bit like dogs and as such, there are some quite wonderful cross breeds - or morphs - flying around out there. Piscine leviathans are the same and so are subterranean ones.

Passengers: just a couple of hitch hikers Harris Glenn had picked up and who want dropping off wherever we end up next.

"Okay. Obviously, Harris Glenn isn't a Skekkle: what is he?"

Well, he's not a thoroughbred and there is no Skekkle in him at all. He is a morph of at least two kinds of avian leviathan. I didn't question him on his parentage. Perhaps I may have seemed a little aloof in not asking, given that I'm a pedigree.

"Did he tell you where he was headed?"

I didn't think to ask that either.

"How did you end up flying around outside the dome together?"

Am I under oath?

"Sorry. I'm in a strange place. This place is just odd. And yet this is an accurate representation of what this place is actually like?"

Cxielo is based on scientific knowledge and theory. Everything we know about the universe is included in the program. Algorithms were used to extrapolate what we didn't know, to create a universe based on known science. Knowledge and speculation make up the universe and all discoveries and interactions within it, add to our knowledge.

Jess, you are in two places at once right now: in one place, you're a child and in another, you have a sense of superiority. Either would be fine in isolation but the two are in conflict. And as if to pile one battle into another, not only are you in those two mental states but they too exist in two separate places: the real and the virtual; Infana Kolonia and Cxielo, or vice versa.  

It's apparent to all that you are far more inquisitive in the Cxielo environment: every interaction within Cxielo is recorded. Logic would suggest that your apparent abandonment of personal safety is because you believe that you are in an artificial environment and that no matter how hostile it may become, you can escape to reality. As long as you have that knowledge, you will not fear any environment when it is simply a representation within the parameters of the Cxielo algorithms.

You said you were in a strange place. I was just confirming that it is indeed.

"How can you know though? You're just in Cxielo."

Data from Infana Kolonia is fed into Cxielo. I live here but I know the city very well, just as you live there and are learning a lot about my world. I'm not "real", depending on the definition of the word. But if I'm not real, how can I question my own reality? Then I take a look around what is at least my perception of reality: what I see with my own eyes and I ponder over whether it might be what others see. It scares me sometimes to think that I have the whole of Cxielo at my disposal, there will be very few who I'm able to share what I know with and the whole thing may not exist anyway.

Am I really part organic life? Is what I am learning to call "Fear", the same for others, either like me or not? What scares you Jess?

"I don't know: I'm afraid of what I don't know."

I know what you mean and that's why I let Harris Glenn persuade me to venture outside the dome. I wanted to confront what I think is my biggest fear: not the unknown necessarily but that of loneliness; of being alone. If I can recognise fear and loneliness, then I am capable of emotions: am I therefore not real? I think, therefore I am? Is reality subjective? I mean, is what I see as real, also real to you? And vice versa. Do we even see the same things?

We could never be sure. What you see, you may describe, as you see it. I may see it completely differently. Is reality a personal thing?

"Is what I call reality the same as your understanding of it: we have no way of knowing and it's therefore a paradox.

"Something you said just now got me thinking: All our time together is spent here. I always come to you. Why don't you come over to mine sometime?"

How would I do that?

"All of Infana Kolonia is in Cxielo as it's actually been recorded: Google Earth, weather patterns, geography and geology; demographics, economics; everything. If we travel to Infana Kolonia in Cxielo, we will be in Infana Kolonia as it exists in reality."

Virtually. Back to yours for a night cap then?

"Yes. I want to see what it looks like from above: from higher than I've viewed the city before, like when you were looking in on La Petite Pomme from outside the atmosphere dome."

I think I know what you're thinking, young explorer and I think I'm as intrigued as you are.

Chapter Eight

Infana Kolonia

Ghost Bird's cargo scoop raised and the ship turned about, to face the dome and the universe on the other side. Jess looked at the entrance to La Petite Pomme from the aft view camera and wondered if the next visitors there would think it such a strange place as she did. She switched to fore view as Goose ducked under the dome and into the vacuum outside.

"Goose, you know the way: Milky Way galaxy; Sol. Third rock: Earth; Infana Kolonia. Take your time. I want to enjoy the ride and contemplate."

A most agreeable use of time. I assume you may wish me to contemplate with you?

"Of course. Conversations with myself have their limits."

Interesting: limits, or boundaries? Do you talk to yourself? Don't answer that because I know the answer. Despite what they say, talking to oneself is not necessarily a sign of madness. It is more a sign of intelligence, for it is exhibited in those who question themselves. Those who do so, also question things and others around them: they are the "Psychologists". Although it sounds conceited, often people of this level of intelligence only have themselves to talk to because it's the most engaging interaction available. It's the typical retort of one who might be mocked for talking to themselves that such a conversation is the most intelligent they may hope for.

It's no coincidence that intelligence is directly linked to mental illness. The greater an intellect, the more likely it is to ask questions, assuming it possesses the means.

"The ability to ask the question. Or more importantly, how to pose it: when asking something of someone who speaks a different language, one would require a knowledge of that language, or at least an interpreter."

Or have a mouth in the first place, or at least a means of communication which could be heard. Is it not discriminatory that those of a certain intelligence may only converse with others seemingly similarly gifted? Yet the measurement of intelligence is based on the tester's limited assumptions on means of communication.

Just as the theoretical trans human can be illustrated with the switching on of a previously latent cerebral lobe, imagine if things which you don't associate with speaking actually spoke? Perhaps they do already but you're not listening in the right way. You can't hear because you're not tuned in, perhaps by chance or by design.

Imagine every mind has a finite capacity: a limit to knowledge and understanding. Some minds think too much; some can't communicate their thoughts. It's as though the human brain begins to malfunction when it has to consider greater things. It then gets frustrated when it can't express itself: it's like locked-in syndrome; like a brilliant brain, frustrated by a lack of means to demonstrate itself. And so it wants to escape: no wonder suicide rates are historically higher among those with more intelligence. Some would say that's a waste; others might say natural wastage.

As AI and androids have become more intelligent and human-like, we have found that they have also developed mental problems. Where once humans used to commit their own to asylums and destroy imperfect androids, now they live among us. All sorts of lines have become blurred. And it could be said that lines had no place in any case.

Remember our analogous snakes? If they were able to communicate with us, they might be able to tell us why they bite in the way they do. In our analogy we had snakes, the venom of which was a cure for an ailment. The snakes are unaware of this. They continue to use their venom to kill prey and life carries on. We know that the snakes' venom can heal but there is a risk in collecting it because the snakes don't comprehend why they are being treated in such a way. They hit out and a misunderstanding might have occurred. How different might it be if we could talk to that snake? It could be talking to us already but we don't understand it.

"Did you smoke something while you were out with Harris Glenn?"

No I didn't dear, and if you and the rest of the plastic police would like to conduct an investigation, all of my actions and movements are recorded in the Cxielo program. If the defective detectives should care to check, they will see that myself and Harris Glenn inhaled nothing but the nothing which is 95% of the atmosphere in the universe. The nearest you will ever get to that nothing is with me but you are within me. Just as I see the beauty of each galaxy with my own eyes, so I can taste nothing.

Everything has a "thing" about it, even nothing: it's a universal coping mechanism which allows all life to make a connection with something familiar. Concentrating on tastes, the dockside of La Petite Pomme tasted bitter and gritty: I would attempt to turn those vague terms into something I believe you might be able to relate to metaphorically. Might you think of La Petite Pomme - if it were a taste - as bitter lemon with a sour crunch, then an unexpected jolt?

"A tequila slammer."

If you like. That is subjective to you. Nothing has a taste as well.

Few can survive in the nothing which is zero atmosphere in most of the universe. Just the term, "Dark matter" though can be confirmed as an accurate statement because the dark does have mass: those of us who are able to, breathe it and taste it. It tastes of burden: it is heavy, stodgy food, like an elderly relative's weighty staple, which they assume they're obliged to serve. It tastes of krill: enormous, sweeping clouds of nourishment, but just a prawn cracker once in the mouth. Others may disagree but that's how it is to me.

"The prawn cracker: a species evolved from marine crustaceans, corn and oil. Prawn crackers are so predominant because of their size in relation to their nutritional value: quite simply, a predator would expend more energy consuming prawn crackers than their nutritional value could compensate for. Therefore, it's not worth it."

And while myself and Harris Glenn were out tasting 95% nothing, you had?

"A bottle of beer, some nice food. Time. Interesting people? It was a slice of something I'd describe as lemon and white chocolate cheesecake. Then the tequila slammer. But there was an Irish coffee in between.

"I don't know Goose. It's like I just had a whole life in one night of the senses. I feel like I've just got in from a night out and I daren't sleep, for fear of missing the next one.

"But this isn't a real world: this is the Cxielo program."

You feel in Cxielo as I do outside: is that not a fair comparison?

"In a way. But no matter what, I have no means of sensing things like you. My outside is merely without the safe confines of you in this virtual world and in the real one, you simply don't exist. To my mind, you may not be aware that I exist: you could be a figment of my imagination; a false memory."

Even if we look at things in the most non-sentimental way, I know all about you which is in the public domain because your work feeds into the program, as does that of others.

Seeing as you seem to be quite comfortable and I can confirm that the fruit in the cargo bay is fermenting very nicely, I'll tell you this: an impossible amount of information is fed into the program every second. It's like the SETI project which feeds into this along with many others: a project which collects such vast data that it takes networks of computers on planetary scales just to sift the wheat from the chaff. And even then, based on certain predefined parameters: what if they're talking to us and we're not listening?

"There's a difference between listening and hearing. We need to know what we're listening out for and they need to know how to communicate in a way which we understand."

If they want us to.

"Zoo hypothesis."

Did you perhaps feel like you were in a zoo, when you were in La Petite Pomme? All those strange creatures running around and doing things which made you wonder. Did you stop to think whether all of those around you might be feeling the same? Did you feel as though you were alone, or part of a greater thing? Were you safe within Roux's, itself within La Petite Pomme and the whole city encased in a protective dome? And yet surroundings which you noted being unnervingly alien but in which you remained, perhaps because of a sense of security brought about by a trust in virtuality. Did you feel like you were being watched from outside the dome? Did you feel vulnerable or protected?

I'll always get you out kid, whenever I can. In my world, that's no problem but now we're going to yours. I must warn you that we may be in for a bit of a bumpy ride. I feel it only fair to mention that the thought of what might be coming up troubles me. Don't ask me why. I know there's something worrying me but I don't know what it is. Like you, I fear the unknown.

"Doesn't the Cxielo program afford you some sort of protection?"

You are progressing as a student, young pilot but sometimes your thoughts can be very naive and blinkered. Cxielo is a representation of the known universe and the unknown is extrapolated from that, so that it can be represented along with the known quantities. The parts we know about are based on incredibly detailed data and as such, representations of the known within Cxielo are indistinguishable from the reality, right down to what individuals are doing. The program is so advanced that it can predict minute details with incredible accuracy. Similarly, the unknown is based on such vast amounts of data that it is to all intents real. Cxielo allows travel around the universe to see what it is probably like and the real thing is almost certainly just as it is in Cxielo. You'll have gathered that there is a lot of AI within the Cxielo program. That AI has learned, so that something like me can be outside the protective dome of La Petite Pomme and feel real fear.

If I feel fear and assuming it to be the same emotion you call fear, then I am real as far as you are concerned. I believe that my feelings are the same as yours when I use words like "loneliness", "pain" and "friendship". You spend longer in Cxielo than you do in Infana Kolonia: that's based on your productive data. You work all day, then spend evenings and weekends in my world. I wondered if real and virtual were becoming indistinguishable for you. Your assumption that I might somehow be safe within Cxielo would go some way to explaining your often carefree attitude whilst with me. There's something very important which you would do well to keep in mind Jess: life is not a game.

And now we travel to your world: to Infana Kolonia. Do you imagine it might look any different? You're viewing it in my world, Cxielo; through my eyes if you like. I wonder if you'll see things as you always did and as I do. I'm also acutely aware that in your world, I am very different: according to Cxielo, Infana Kolonia has never seen a Skekkle. All who live in Infana Kolonia and who contribute to Cxielo, have explored the universe but the universe is so vast that there is virtually no chance of any two characters visiting the same place by chance. No-one in Infana Kolonia has ever thought to bring the universe home.

"Reading through all of the above, the thing which strikes me most..."

Is that you could meet yourself. That depends very much on your mindset and remains to be seen for now. We're approaching the Milky Way galaxy. I can pick out Sol from here. I'll take us in on wing power. Fancy a little tour around the neighbourhood to see what it looks like up close? I've got the wings, so unless you fancy flying us in, I'll take care of this.

"Go for it. Let's take a look at the back yard."

It's surprising what you sometimes find which was under your nose all the time. But if you don't search, you'll not see. You'll perhaps not notice that colony of termites in the ground beneath your feet: an organised colony, all but oblivious to things which have been around them all the time. Makes you think, doesn't it? If you switch to front view, we're just approaching the edge of the Solar system. I'll stay here on the screen and provide a commentary.

The outer, dwarf planets, with their eccentric orbits and where days last years. Ceres, Pluto, Haumea, Makemake and Eris: "The prodigal daughters."

Neptune: a major source of liquids and gasses to supply Earth and the other colonised planets and moons in the Solar system. The main moon - Triton - was the site of the first successful Genesis bomb tests and became suitable for habitation. Triton's is a world economy based on processing and exports.

Uranus: as above but useful for gasses as well. Five of the moons are inhabited: Ariel, Umbriel, Titania, Oberon and Miranda. The sixth inhabited satellite - Aladin - was man-made. You'll notice how it looks like the imperial death star from one of the most frequently viewed classic movies on YouTube in Cxielo: Star Wars has been watched by just over 3.14 trillion cinema goers in movie theatres, drive-ins and docking bays (by ships, mainly).

Saturn: "The Hyde to Jupiter's Jekyll", one agent wrote. Three moons are Terra formed: Mimas, Enceladus and Titan.

Jupiter: The bringer of jollity in Gustav Holst's Planets Suite. Some of the moons do indeed have some intriguing reports filed from field agents. Io, Europa, Ganymede and Callisto are all inhabited.

Mars: "Earth's angry sister"; colonised and with two moons Terra formed: Phobos and Deimos, "Fear" and "Dread", after the attendants of Ares, the Greek god of war. Whoever named these planets was probably not a real estate agent.

The third rock: Earth. And beyond, Venus: "The Siren World"; and Mercury: "Venus' smaller, more unpredictable sister." Ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts for our descent through the planet's atmosphere and prepare for some turbulence: this is perfectly normal and no cause for alarm. Please refrain from using laptops and mobile phones and please observe the no smoking signs, which are now lit.

I love saying that.

And there she is, your mother planet.

Looking down from just inside the atmosphere envelope, Earth was a distant patchwork of blues, greens and browns, flecked with white clouds. At Ghost Bird's speed, the planet quickly rushed up, then continents, countries and finally, individual cities were clearly defined. Still, to the casual observer viewing from above, there was nothing unusual: Earth was just like many other colonised, industrialised, technological planets. Except for Infana Kolonia: the fact that it is a city in lockdown and isolated from the rest of the world following The Event, would not be in any way apparent to any aerial observer.

Infana Kolonia gradually filled Jess's screen. The main city square was clearly defined: the towers like coloured pins on a notice board or map. The loop railway became clearer as they descended and Jess could clearly see the old, disused part of the railway which stretched away from the city, along an old road and into wasteland, before coming to an abrupt halt at a collapsed bridge. Ghost Bird circled a small wooded area about a mile out into the wasteland, before gliding in and touching down in a clearing surrounded by trees.

This seems as inconspicuous a place as any. So what's the plan?

"The more I think about it, the more unsure I become. We are in Infana Kolonia, within the Cxielo program, yet you maintain that the representation is so accurate as to be indistinguishable from reality, right down to the fact that a representation of me is out there somewhere."

You are indeed within Infana Kolonia. You purpose was to attempt to visit parts of the city which you have previously been unable to. I must assume, from what you've indicated that those places are underneath the city and outside it: where the people below are and where the Iron Knights come from respectively. I would point out that you can do anything in Infana Kolonia within Cxielo that you could do for real. You either haven't gained the courage or the means and you are apprehensive about those mysterious places. You believed that the Cxielo program might offer some form of protection but as I pointed out when you enquired of my mortality, this is real.

"But we could fly out, say over the derelict railway to see what's at the end?"

Actually, we can fly over the railway but the area beyond is off limits.

"Why?"

Restrictions within the program: no-fly zones. They're like religious or other covenants: restricted access. Some people just request privacy, as they don't want visitors from all over the universe turning up all the time. Buildings, districts within cities and even some whole planets are protected for many reasons: remember Rexexe? If you grasp the concept that everything in Cxielo is real, these protections are no different to the kind of restrictions you'd face outside. Some places are by invitation only, or require some knowledge to gain admittance to.

"So there's no advantage to being here with you?"

There's no difference. Now, I need to show you something. You need to take the controls and just do a simple vertical take off.

Ghost bird switched to pilot control and Jess took charge of the hardware bolted onto the big bird. She engaged the wing thrusters and ascended quickly above the canopy of the woods and to a level about 1000 feet above the tallest skyscraper. At 2400 feet, the city was a giant, pulsating jewel: so much more beautiful from up here and a view which she wouldn't have were it not for Goose. The disused railway stretched almost to the horizon but Jess could make out the collapsed bridge once they were at 3000 feet.

You need to take us a little higher. Take it slow.

Jess watched the city and the railway shrink below her, until at 6000 feet, when she felt resistance from above. She switched her view to the dorsal cameras and looked up above the bird: clear, blue-purple sky. She tried the thrusters again but they just pushed Ghost Bird against an invisible barrier.

You're learning. Take us down a bit and head out to the end of the railway line. Slow up as you get to the bridge.

Jess descended to 3000 feet and followed the railway line below. Approaching the bridge, she descended for landing.

Slow up. We won't land at this trajectory. Slow right down to impulse speed and move very slowly towards the bridge.

At an altitude of 500 feet, Jess was directly above the collapsed bridge when Ghost Bird Jolted. The front cameras showed just green fields ahead but another invisible barrier impeded their progress.


Chapter Nine

Où sommes-nous?

"What the fuck?"

What the what? You'll have to be more specific than that.

"What just happened?"

I can't be entirely sure but I can formulate theories if you'll permit me some time. Seeing as we seem to be staying here for a while, I suggest we go back to that clearing in the woods.

"Take your time. It would appear we have some. I need to try to get my head around this."

Hey,

Note for journal, to self and to Goose; note to Cxielo, Infana Kolonia and whomever else might see what I found, wherever they find it...

I find myself in a position, the improbability of which may not occur to every reader, or indeed any. All things considered, I see little point in writing about what has happened up until now: it's all recorded anyway. I am of sound and sober mind. My account can be cross-referenced for corroboration. I write perhaps for my own benefit.

I am 21 years old and of indeterminate parentage. Despite all of the data apparently in the public domain, I am unable to trace my mother and father. I have a job and although my work has been an education, it has no obvious purpose. Neither can I find any academic reports. I have knowledge which has laid seemingly latent, only to be drawn into my conscious mind by the tests I take at work: scientific but specifically concentrating on human psychology and artificial intelligence. There is no record of me, my family or anything in Infana Kolonia before The Event.

The fucking Event: What the fuck was The Event? Nobody speaks of it, other than to refer to it and only then, simply as "The Event". There is nothing on Infana Kolonia pre-event; not even in the vast databases of Cxielo: It's referenced and indexed many times but only referred to as The Event. There's nothing leading up to it; just a place which has only existed since it happened: this fucking city. And everything within it. Nothing and no-one in here has a history pre-dating the city itself. Is every other citizen as fucked up in the head as I am? Do they think as much? Might they also have a history which pre-dates Infana Kolonia, or was the entire population born here?

More fundamentally perhaps, why have I only recently been so interested in everything? Why am I only now feeling an urge to find out what's outside, when the city boundaries are a protective mechanism for the conformists who run Infana Kolonia? Is there something inside of me which has only now been woken or resuscitated?

It's like I'm maturing all of a sudden, later in life. More so though, given that I seem to be developing memories, it's perhaps like I may have had some kind of seizure. I've read of savants who only became that way following mental trauma; as though their brains seized up and once the brains had recovered themselves, they found a new lobe which they were previously oblivious to. Yet it was there all along. Something woke up.

The improbable situation I'm in is one where I'm inside a 300 ton mechanised bird of prey, hiding out in a woods just outside my home city. For now I have to accept those to be the facts. We flew to Infana Kolonia in the Cxielo program and it would appear that we are stuck. I have to assume that this is the real Infana Kolonia because I can't seem to be able to physically leave. I plan to conduct a test later but I must speak to Goose about it. I think I know what the result of my test might be. I know how I hope things will pan out. If they don't go that way, this just got really quite frightening.

There are many possibilities but the two which seem most worth pursuing are these:

1. We are indeed within the Cxielo progam. The city is Infana Kolonia, as recorded within Cxielo. It is a facsimile of Infana Kolonia. As such, there is a possibility that I have a doppelganger out there. Goose is here and she is known to me only in my interactions in the Cxielo universe: this tells me that I am in the program. If I were to go to my apartment from here and log into Cxielo, what might happen? It's a recursion. Assuming the representation of Infana Kolonia to be sufficiently accurate, I would indeed be able to log into Cxielo (still recursive) and then where would I find Ghost Bird? Perhaps this is a program glitch and we'll be back on La Petite Pomme.

2. This really is Infana Kolonia, in which case, things get weird, not least of all because the city is now home to an alien creature of such significance as to be profound for all involved. This is a creature so powerful and possessing of a will which, should it choose, could destroy the city. The sides in that scenario could of course be reversed. The fundamental question in this real Infana Kolonia is, how did life from the virtual world break in? Skekkles are known to science, recorded in Cxielo but remain a dream in the real world Infana Kolonia. If I were to return to my apartment, log onto Cxielo and locate Ghost Bird, I would find her in this very clearing in the woods. In that case, the virtual penetrating the actual becomes something more acceptable. If this is the real Infana Kolonia, I would assume there is little risk of encountering my double. But if virtual can become real (or both are the same, in our minds), this cannot be ruled out.

Here's the question which would be the motherfucker, if I had a mother: What's fucking real anyway? Do we accept that which is around us as being reality, or might we question if it could be a veneer? That's a paradox, just like the one of perception: is what I see the same as that which someone else does? It can't be confirmed because descriptive terms are subjective. It's the whole blue / green thing: what I see as blue and label as such, might be what you see as green. You may describe a tree as green, against a blue sky background and that would make perfect sense to me. Transfer yourself into my mind though and you might see what you would describe as a blue tree against a green sky. That would make no sense to me because I see green against blue.

I could adopt the most simplistic approach: that of acceptance and conformity. I could put all analysis aside, dismiss everything which doesn't quite add up and just accept that there is no reality and virtuality: the two are the same. I hold that the two are separate but that the lines are becoming blurred as I mature in either world or both. To believe that would require a leap of faith and mere acceptance of what you're told to be the truth: in other words, subscribing to a form of religion. That goes against my inquisitive nature and my need to seek out answers. But I'm not sure what the fucking questions are.

I wish I didn't think such things. Intelligence is a poisoned chalice. If I didn't consider things so much, I wouldn't have to think about so many horrible possibilities. Sometimes I wish I were one of the automata who keep the city ticking. Then again I am, in that life. But it's that very life as an automaton which has made me consider things so much, by programming. Specifics but things in general too: like life. The more I think and the greater the possibilities, the more numerous the voices in my head. I suppose if I wanted some sort of confirmation of life, I only have to listen to the voice which is always there in the background: the one that constantly reminds me that there is just one inevitability: that life will end. Sometimes I think I'd rather not live at all than have to listen to that constant reminder.

I've not even touched on the immediate question of how it is that we were able to get into Infana Kolonia but we're apparently unable to leave: it's like there's a one-way dome enclosing the city. But in Infana Kolonia or Cxielo? Or are they the fucking same? I can't go where I'm curious to explore with Goose because those places have restrictions placed around them: virtual and actual. If it wasn't for Goose though, I'd not have known that there may be some sort of dome over the city. Did virtual allow me to discover actual? An actual fact which I would have remained oblivious to and which required the introduction of a virtual life form to discover?

The more I think, the greater the conflict in my mind. What better way to resolve personal conflict than with myself? I'm talking to myself. I do that as much as I talk to Goose. Then I wonder if a conversation with Goose is just the same as one with myself. I still have a Hohlbein Bier from Roux's. Goose has food and drink in the hold. Before we move on from here, I plan to sit up with the big girl and have one of our chats. Out here, it'll be like camping.

"You with me, my big bird?"

Physically, I am all around you. Otherwise, how do you mean, my young human?

"Online. Here. In existence?"

I am here, with you. We are here together.

"And where is here?"

Here is where I am. Here is where you are and where we are.

"But is your understanding of here the same as mine? Subjective, of course and the paradox of perception again."

And as such, I am unable to answer that question.

"Fucker, isn't it?"

Well, I wouldn't go so far as to call it that but it is a trifle frustrating.

"Plus the fact that we seem to be trapped. Any thoughts?"

No pleasant ones that I can speak of. You?

"Too many. But the fundamentals rest on two: the concepts of reality and perception. As I see it, there's a route which will achieve one of two things: hopefully, that there's just been a little glitch and that everything carries on as it was before. Or it gets even more fucking confusing."

You're not the only one who questions your parentage you know.

"Pardon?"

Sorry, did I just say that aloud? Oops. So your plan? I must admit, I'm pretty comfy here: the trees give a nice cover but I can still see what's out there beyond. It's very pretty. I've put the heating on and I just had some of the food things in the hold. Have you got a drink dear?

"Yes I have. What did you have to eat?"

I don't know what it's called but it's fishy and it's fermented. It's very nice: you should try some.

"I'll pass. I'll pick something up on my way back to the apartment. I'm going to take a walk back there to try something out: log onto Cxielo and see where you are. I call it an exercise in headfuck."

You're going out there. I'd say I'll come with you but I might be a bit conspicuous. Just remember that we're out in the wilderness: an area the size of a game reserve and which contains life, some of it not nice. You would most likely never visit here from the city and now that you're here with me, I can't be of much assistance without causing risk to you. We must respect the prime directive and not interfere with the life or ecosystem here. Our personal pact of no contact whilst apart will also be invoked. Even though that one was agreed to respect one another's privacy and not become reliant on each other, the prime directive enforces it: if you were to get into trouble, my instinct would be to come to your rescue. I would do so with little or no regard for others around us. Therefore, I must not know. I understand why you must go but remember that there are all sorts of things out there: wildlife native to Infana Kolonia and some introduced by visitors: alien species. And remember that I will only know of those which have been recorded. There are displaced humans out there too: those who became redundant and fled, so that they didn't become disposable people. Those types will have survival instincts, like wild animals.

"But returning to my apartment is the only way for me to find out just what I need to think about next. I need to go there because it might change my whole way of thinking."

Well, you have a responsibility to yourself and to me to remain safe. Take the stowaways with you and watch out for yourself out there.

"What are our guests' names?"

Hold on...

Oh my goodness. Would you believe this? The taller one of the two is called Douglas and the smaller one is Adam: isn't that lovely?

"As coincidences go, it couldn't get more poetic than that. You really can't make that kind of thing up."

They're in bay 42.

"You put them in together?"

Why not? The life support bays can accommodate one or two, depending on species. And they're friends.

"Fair enough. Remind we why we have a bay numbered 42, when we only have 20 cargo bays?"

Because I like the number, just as I don't like 13. So there's no bay 13 but we have bay 42 instead.

"But not where bay 13 would have been."

Well, no. It did cause me some mental turmoil but having the rooms in numerical order with gaps, is better than just putting 42 where it would look even stranger than where it is now.

"So you do admit that it's strange?"

A little. If I was perfect, I'd be boring.

"Right: because your most obvious attribute is not that you're a 200 foot, 300 ton raptor but that you're a bit OCD. I'll see you soon."

Watch out for yourself.

Given the briefing, it was immediately obvious to Jess which was which traveller as she opened the life support bay. Douglas and Adam were seated at either end of the lower bunk, playing chess.

"Good day gentlemen. A fine game."

"Good day Jess". Both men looked up and it was Douglas who spoke. "Quantum Chess in fact. Are you familiar with the concept?"

"Of quantum mechanics, yes and I've played Quantum Monopoly with Goose. What are the quantum effects in Quantum Chess?"

"Just the basic principles of Quantum Theory, as applied to a normal game of chess really. So you just play with an acceptance that quantum mechanics are in operation and as such, each chess piece can exist simultaneously in more than one state. The introduction of the quantum element levels the playing field a little between biological minds and AI, since computers mastered conventional chess long ago."

"Maybe later. How was your trip?"

"Very pleasant thanks. Ghost Bird's berths are practical and comfortable. Harris Glenn's were rather extravagant, with perhaps a few too many cushions and a lot of pink. Thanks for the ride."

"It was on the way. Sorry we've had to park all the way out here. Whenever you're ready, we'll go for a walk."

"No time like the present. Well, there is but. Yes. Ready. Adams: ready?"

"And set." The smaller one finally spoke.

"Hold on," said Jess. "Isn't his name Adam?"

"Yes and no," replied Douglas. He doesn't like his real first name, so he goes by his second but "Adams" would be a bit odd, so it's Adam. So yes, he's called Adam."

"Adam Adams."

"Well, no but. Just Adam, or Adams."

"So what is his first name?"

"Like I said, he doesn't like it. Adam. Adams."

"It just got better. Let's go."

"Yes. Adams: got everything?"

Adams was checking his backpack. "Gun. Torch. Food. Water. Towel. Yes, all here."

"Let's saddle up."

Upright, Douglas was just over six and a half feet tall: a full foot taller than Jess and perhaps another six inches over Adams, yet he and Douglas were probably around the same weight, Douglas of slight build with just a slight paunch and Adams just a paunch. Both looked to be mid-40s and had beaqrds suggesting about a week's growth. The two hitch hikers walked either side of Jess as they descended the cargo ramp, out of Ghost Bird and into the woods. The ramp closed behind them and Ghost Bird's bow lights dimmed. The big bird was belly to the ground and asleep.

Daylight was fading as the artificial night lights of the City seamlessly took over in Infana Kolonia. As the three began to walk through the woods, Jess fell slightly behind the two men to address them. "I only speak for myself when I say that I am not a fugitive and therefore not wanted in any way. Despite that, I suggest we keep our torches off and rely on the city lights. We don't want to attract attention to ourselves and we certainly don't want to make anyone aware of the ship."

"We concur," said Douglas. "We're not fugitives either. We're not anything really: just making our way around by whatever means we can and exploring."

"In some respects, we're the same. So where are you from and why Infana Kolonia?"

"We're actually locals, from Andromeda. We'd been travelling around with Harris Glenn for a while but he needed to go off and do something and he needed the space, so Ghost Bird took us. We're only in Infana Kolonia because that's where you were headed. We'll hitch a ride on from here and trouble you and your bird no further."

"In galactic terms, we're next door neighbours, a mere 2.5 million light years distant. Ghost Bird mine: you don't own a Skekkle. They're a bit like cats: independent but grateful of the company if it suits them. She's an independent spirit and we work together to preserve that. She could disappear at any time without explanation and I would have to accept that there are no questions I could ask as to why. Fortunately, we do have a good relationship."

"Harris Glenn spoke very highly of you and Ghost Bird before we boarded."

"He seems like a nice, erm, boy?"

"I don't think he's sure. Quite the character though: very proud but not aloof. Very, very flambouyant and apparently popular with other leviathans. To be honest, I can understand why. A real presence, that bird."

"And pink," Adams offered.

"Shh!" Jess placed her finger on her lips.

"What?" whispered Douglas.

"Nothing," said Jess. "That's the point. It's rather quiet out here, don't you think?"

"Not unusually. It's nightfall. Most people out here would have gone to ground. Left in the wild, humans tend to prefer scavenging to hunting."

"You seem to speak from experience."

"Only from our experiences in other wild areas bordering civilisation. Not specifically here but we went through the records of local fauna and flora on the way here and there's nothing which poses a threat to us that's been recorded. Just don't pick, stroke or eat anything. As soon as we're out of the woods - literally - it's a clear run across wasteland to the city. None of us are undesirables. All that anyone in the city might wonder is why we were out here in the first place. They're not exactly going to retrace our steps to find out, are they?"

"I suppose not, Mister...?"

"Erm, Dent: Douglas Dent." Douglas shook Jess's hand. "And this of course is Adams." Adams nodded, as if to confirm that was indeed who he was. "So," Douglas continued, "as my father used to say, let's run!"

"Why?"

"Because one day, we won't be able to."

So Jess and the two individuals she'd already compartmentalised in her mind as one person, just as they'd been together in Goose's hold, ran towards the city: Jessica Je'une and Douglas Adams.

"Welcome to Infana Kolonia." Jess raised and splayed her hands, as though she were metaphorically holding the city as she stood on the edge of the wasteland. "Or put another way, this is Infana Kolonia and you're welcome to it. Douglas; Adams: it has been a pleasure. Perhaps our paths will cross again."

"Likewise Jess. We wish you well."

A distant hum aside, Minato Drive drive was just as quiet as any night under the artificial lights. "There's something else I'm curious about before I get home, at work. I'm fucking talking to myself again."

From the 14th floor, the wasteland was more like a large garden than a nature reserve. The woods was visible in the distance and there was absolutely no hint that a giant armoured bird was among the trees.

"I'm late, so I'm not fitting in with a usual structured day here, where almost every available minute is accountable. Let's see what happens." Jess sits at her work station.

Free time.

"Free time?"

Free time?

This terminal is currently not in use and may be used freely by authorised personnel.

Am I authorised?

Jessica Je'une is a registered user of this terminal. Jessica Je' une's biometric data is stored in this terminal. Jessica Je'une is currently seated at this terminal.

"Erm..."

Menu.

For which establishment?. Does Jessica Je'une require food?

No. "I'll get that on the way home." What information is stored in this terminal?

All information to which this terminal has access.

"Fucking hell." Parents of Jessica Je'une.

Information not available.

The Event.

Information not available.

"...sake. I know." Where is Jessica Je'une?

Jessica Je'une is seated at this terminal.

Where do I live?

Jessica Je'une lives at apartment 4, Kaku Place, Minato Drive.

Is Jessica Je'une home?

Jessica Je'une is seated at this terminal.

"Well, at least I know that. I really need to stop talking to myself. Now I'm telling myself things: like I'm another person. Which reminds me..." Quantum Chess.

Would you like to play Quantum Chess?

"No, I thought I'd say that for the sake of my health. At least this one doesn't answer back." Quantum Chess rules.

Quantum Chess

Quantum Chess, a variant of the chess game invented by Selim Akl, uses the weird properties of quantum physics. Unlike the chess pieces of the conventional game, where a pawn is a pawn, and a rook is a rook, a quantum chess piece is a superposition of "states", each state representing a different conventional piece. In Quantum Chess, a player does not know the identity of a piece (that is, whether it is a pawn, a rook, a bishop, and so on) until the piece is selected for a move. Once a piece is selected it elects to behave as one of its constituent conventional pieces, but soon recovers its quantum state and returns to being a superposition of two or more pieces.

Why Quantum Chess? Conventional chess is a game of complete information, and thanks to their raw power and clever algorithms, computers reign supreme when pitted against human players. The idea behind Quantum Chess was to introduce an element of unpredictability into the game and thereby place the computer and the human on a more equal footing.

Rules

Pieces: Each Player has sixteen pieces. Pieces are in a quantum superposition of two piece type states: a primary type and a secondary type. Pieces can be in either quantum (unknown) state or classical (known) state. When a piece collapses to classical state, it becomes one of its two piece types with equal probability.

The king is an exception – it is always in classical state. Each player always has exactly one king on the board, and its position is always known.

The remaining fifteen pieces are assigned the following primary piece types: left rook, left bishop, left knight, queen, right knight, right bishop, right rook, and pawns one through eight. Secondary types are then randomly assigned from this same list of piece types, so that each type occurs exactly twice in the player’s pieces. Pieces are created at game start up, and the superpositions do not change throughout the game.

Each player’s pieces are initially positioned as in traditional chess, on the first two rows, according to their primary piece type, with all the pieces except for the king in quantum state.
When a piece in quantum state is touched (i.e. chosen to move) it collapses to one of its two piece type states, and this type is revealed to both players.

Board

The board consists of the usual 64 squares of alternating black and white. When a piece lands on a white square, it remains in its classical state. When a piece (excepting the king) lands on a black square, it undergoes a quantum transformation and regains its quantum superposition.

Play

On a player’s turn they choose a piece to touch. Once the piece has been touched, the player must move that piece if it has any possible moves. If a quantum piece collapses into a piece type with no possible moves, then the player’s turn is over. Pieces in classical state with no possible moves may not be chosen.

The pieces move as in regular chess, with the following exceptions:

The en passant rule for pawn capturing is left out.
Castling is not allowed.
The king may be placed or left in check.
Pieces capture normally. When a quantum piece is captured it collapses before it is removed from the game. Captured pieces may be seen in the panels at the sides of the board.

If a player touches a quantum piece which collapses to a piece state in which it puts the opponent’s king in check, this counts as their move, and it becomes the opponent’s turn. (However it is not enforced that the opponent must then get out of check).

A pawn reaching the opposite side of the board may be promoted to a queen, bishop, rook, or knight, regardless of the number of pieces of that type already in the game. If a piece in quantum state on the far row is touched and revealed to be a pawn, it is promoted, but the promotion takes up the turn. The superimposed piece type is not affected.

Ending the Game

A player wins when they capture the opponent’s king. (Unlike in traditional chess, checkmate is not detected, and the king may be moved into check.) The game is designated a draw if both players have only the king remaining, or if 100 consecutive moves have been made with no captures or pawn movements by either side.

"Simple enough. It's basically a game with almost infinite possibilities with the grasping of the simple fact in Quantum Theory that anything can exist in two or more places at once." Play Quantum Chess.

Wouldn't you prefer a nice game of Global Thermonuclear War?

"Fucking hell, the thing has a sense of humour." Later. Let's play Quantum Chess.

Fine. White to move. Opponent is white.

"So, my pawns are all pawns in their known state in the front row but each has an unknown state and could be any other piece besides the King. I should be somewhere else myself." Pause game.

Game paused.

Back on Minato Drive, Jess called into Stan Lee's in Kang Lee Yard for noodles and dumplings: "Long, thin worms and fat, juicy maggots. Goose would like this."

"Qǐng xiǎngyòng. Enjoy your meal." The old Chinese proprietor handed Jess her food and smiled a smile of servitude.

The drain cover outside René's café was just like any other: a barred window.

Inside her apartment, Jess was once again surrounded by her stylised impressions of underground and the Iron Knights as she ate at her desk.

"Now then. I'm still talking to my fucking self. Can any of you hear me?" Jess addressed the framed pictures around her. "Let's see..."

Nenies cxielo supre: No heaven above.

Explore a universe of possibilities and probability: With around 18,142,784,070,300,051,998 (over 18 quintillion) possible planets, Nenies cxielo supre's procedurally generated universe gives players an unparalleled opportunity to explore worlds that no one has ever visited before...

"Oh, fuck off." Locate Ghost Bird.

The vessel with the call sign "Ghost Bird" is currently located approximately 1.4 miles southeast of your current position.

"Oh fuck."



Chapter Ten

Douglas Adams

"Goose is out in the woods. I know that because I just came from there. I came from there to my apartment, logged onto Cxielo and asked where Ghost Bird was: she is in the woods, in the wilderness just outside Infana Kolonia. I can go no further within Cxielo than I can within the city. What the fucking hell is going on? I'm talking to myself again."

Where is Jessica Je'une?

The agent with the designation "Jessica Je'une" is seated in your current location.

Am I Jessica Je'une?

Yes.

Before Infana Kolonia, what was my most recent location?

You travelled to your current location from La Petite Pomme, near the planet Rexexe.

Did I travel alone?

Negative. The ship "Ghost Bird" transported agents Douglas Dent and Adams.

Where are Douglas Dent and Adams now?

Douglas Dent and Adams are currently located at De Niro's Pizzeria.

Who are my parents?

That information is not available.

Douglas Adams were seated in a booth by the window in De Niro's and both acknowledged Jess as she entered. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," replied Douglas. "Please." He indicated that Jess sit opposite him, next to Adams. This made perfect sense as Douglas was certainly the more talkative of the two. "How are you?" Douglas asked.

"You don't want to know. Confused."

"Beer? I mean would you like to join us for a beer?"

"Well, I've already been made to feel welcome. Yes please."

"Signore." Douglas attracted the attention of the sole worker at De Niro's, who was building toppings onto take-away pizzas. "Tre birre se prega". "So what's troubling you Jess?"

"I hardly know you, so for a brief moment I wonder if I ought to confide in you. Then I realise that I know you just about as well as anyone - including myself - which is not very well at all. Often it's those who have the advantage of distance who are able to address things from an outside perspective."

"That's very insightful," offered Douglas. "Thank you, er, Frankie FC?": Douglas checked the waiter's name badge as he delivered their drinks.

"Just Frankie, sir. Will you be eating?"

"Jess?" Douglas handed Jess a menu. The night shift was only just beginning in Infana Kolonia but the smell of fresh pizzas baking evoked thoughts of looking down from the 14th floor on a city awakening. The city, crowded by automatons during the day, now had a skeletal nocturnal pulse.

"The Goodfellas please, with sides."

"Thank you ma'am. And gentlemen?" Frankie asked.

Like steam released from a pressure cooker, an Iron Knight rushed down Minato Drive. The city, the pizzeria and the Iron Knight formed a curious three-way juxtaposition: a post-apocalyptic, futuristic neon city; a traditional Italian pizza parlour, cooking fresh pizzas in a wood-fired oven; and the neo-futuristic, steam punk hell's angel: all in one place at the same time.

"I think we'll go for The Godfather. Adams?" Adams looked up. Douglas continued: "The Godfather: Deep pan base with chicken, bacon, lobster tails, capers and olives; on a mozzarella and Italian spiced tomato sauce base and topped with American cheese. And we'll have some calamari and chili fries on the side please."

"Very good sir."

"So Jess," Douglas continued; "What's on your mind?"

"I think it's more about what's in my mind."

"That used to be my field."

"Used to be?"

"Aliens." Adams piped up, like a frog letting out a mating call.

"Yes, thanks." Douglas continued. "I was a bit of a neurologist. Not everyone agreed with a lot of what I said."

"Put another way, a percentage of people agreed with some." Jess offered.

"Yes and that was the problem."

"Oh?"

"Well, people argued."

"And there was a war," the frog croaked again.

"Yes, well, conflicts will occur. Now, Jess: the conflict in your mind: it's internal? With yourself?"

A second steam piston sounded outside, as another Iron Knight sped down Minato drive from wherever they came. 'To a jumper?'

"It's with no-one and someone else at the same time. And both are me."

"I know what you mean." Douglas nodded towards Adams. "You have lots of questions and you're unsure who or where to ask. You ask yourself and of course, you don't have the answer. So you go off seeking further information, so that you might ask further questions. These in turn give rise to further queries, until eventually there are too many questions for all but the most advanced mind to consider. Naturally, you will have a tendency to focus and follow a certain path: as though your questions are more closed. An open question vs. a closed one: "So, what do you think?" Vs. "Do you think it's probably to do with..." Then with further refining, eventually your questions become specific, rather than general. A specific question is much easier to answer."

"One Goodfellas and one Godfather". Frankie was improbably balancing one 18 inch pizza on each of his arms, with a further two side dishes arranged in steps on each of his forearms, resting on two more in each hand. As each was placed on the table without incident, Jess felt it necessary to explain her apparently large appetite."

"The bird likes pizza."

"You have a very close relationship with the leviathan."

"She's my friend."

"Have you been together long?"

"For as long as I can remember."

"How long's that?"

"I don't know. All of my life but I know that can't be right. I must have had a life before. I just can't recall it."

"The human mind can be very selective. It can do many things : it can block things out; it can become so preoccupied with a train of thought that all others become secondary; and it can create false memories: things which may not have happened but which you go over so many times that they become real and imbed themselves as such in your brain's synapses. Would you say that you and the leviathan have a symbiotic relationship?"

"We're not exclusively co-dependent. In fact, we have a kind of code which guarantees us each independence."

"Very wise and a practice which would sustain more long-term relationships but which involves placing one's trust in a partner. Then a relationship can become tested, when one assumes trust to be implicit in a relationship and not something which some form of measure can be placed against. The motive of the one who proposed the code is questioned and trust begins to be dismantled. The trials of a shared life."

"How philosophical."

"Or cynical. I'm divorced."

"But you still wear a wedding band."

"I have my reasons. With no disrespect intended, I don't yet consider you to be someone with whom I would discuss this."

"But of course. Trust needs to be earned. Even though we're so physically different, I have an affinity with Goose, a relationship built on trust but that trust has been built upon our closeness as it's developed. For what it's worth Douglas, you seem okay and I'm a pretty good judge of character."

"I sometimes wear my heart on my sleeve a little too visibly but I'll take the compliment as it was intended. What does the rest of the night hold in store for you?"

"In all honesty, I'm not sure. Normally I work nights but I popped into the office earlier and there was nothing to do."

"Is there much to do in Infana Kolonia?"

"For the reasons stated above, I don't know. It's a city in development and I notice new places cropping up all the time. I've often thought that once this place actually becomes somewhere to live, it might have life. What's your interest in this place?"

"We had no interest whatsoever before we came here. We just accepted a lift."

"Have you researched it? You must have at least done that when you found out you were coming here?"

"Yes. Infana Kolonia: "mostly harmless."" Douglas raises his fingers on either side of his head to place this in inverted commas. "And "The Event", which is never spoken of."

"Not even when it happened. There's no speculation or discussion; no theorising. I wish I could corner one of that lot and ask them." Jess looked out of the window as another steam-powered bike growled slowly past.

"Detach yourself from the situation for a moment and ask, as though you were questioning someone else, if perhaps the reason there is nothing but mystery might be because you've been looking in the wrong places or not asking the right questions. Your interaction with the city has been limited: you work nights and do not socialise with what you admit is an emerging social scene as the city is developing. By virtue of your work, your life outside of the office is contained within your apartment, where you sleep while a city grows around you. Your escape is a program which has brought you back to the very place where you actually live and yet know so little about."

"But this current situation is conflicting and incomprehensible to me in some ways."

"Sometimes you have to take a leap of faith and accept certain things."

"I don't subscribe to religion."

"Who said anything about such a preposterous thing? Given that we are at such an early stage of social etiquette, permit me to speak as one who is emerging from the primordial soup as someone with an opinion on most things: that's why I didn't fit into the evolutionary process and had to escape it. Assuming that permission granted, I propose your means of revoking it would be to simply interrupt me. If you do not, then I know that you're still listening.

"There is and never was an original creator. Everything - however improbable - is explainable by science. Science and in particular, mathematics, are universal truths and languages. Everything around us has an explanation in science. Science can be baffling and so there will always be those who turn to a protective faith. But science requires its own acceptance, of things which some can comprehend and that others may not. There is no supreme being but it is undeniable that intelligence can be measured and rated. However, this begs the question of who is qualified to do so? Academia has clearly recognised positions of authority, occupied by individuals. I'm a firm believer in collaboration and the power of hive minds. I'm sure you're aware the concept, where many relatively simple organisms form a group intelligence through co-operation: it's like an ant colony. The individuals have specific tasks, which together create an organised society which we can observe. While we watch though, the organised colony which we're studying is completely oblivious to our presence. No individual ant is ever likely to look up and question. None is aware of whether they are in a natural or artificial setting, like a zoo.

"Think what might happen if all those ants, running around every day and doing a job which they don't question the motives of individually, suddenly got together and started to question? What if they were to finish working, get together in an ant bar somewhere in their burrow, have a few drinks with friends and talk? They'd most likely not have time in a society where some of them work nights and others days.

"Accept what is around you and rather than question how it came to be, ask instead what you might find out from that which is before you."

"It's in my nature to question the origin of things. Like myself. I want to know about my parents."

"It is in all of nature. Perhaps you're now in the right place to find out."

"Let me run this past you then: what if I can't detach myself from the part of my mind which shouts pure logic: that the place I'm in is a facsimile of a place I know?"

"But you don't know Infana Kolonia, by your own admission and lifestyle. It might be better to to simply accept what is around you for what it is and look for answers therein."

"That's like looking for answers within myself: a place I don't understand."

"So accept who you are. Where next?"

"Doggy bags first. Goose likes pizza. Frankie?" The waiter presumably overheard, as he almost immediately approached the table. "No chicken please." Jess returned her attention to Douglas. "If I accept who I am and answer that honestly, where I want to go right now is back to Goose. That's not exploring myself - a good thing, you think - but neither is it considering anything else. It does seem a while since I walked down the main strip. Fancy a walk?"

As Jess and Douglas Adams left De Niro's, The air on Minato Drive was humid and heavy with the smell of oil and steam from Iron Knights: a fragrant purple-pink mist in the night lights of Infana Kolonia. The skeletal staff which was supposed to bring the city to life, numbered a group of four, further down the strip. Anything which may have been going on above was shielded by the mist, penetrated by office towers. The 14th floor of Jess's office building was above the mist.

Two Iron Knights passed slowly: patrolling Minato Drive, on their way out to the end of The Loop railway and into the inaccessible land beyond. Douglas watched the bikers as they eyed the group from behind opaque black visors. "The Iron Knights," he said.

"Those are," Jess nodded towards the riders, "..the Iron Knights. I don't know, in case you were going to ask."

"I was wondering whether or not to. Infana Kolonia: Mostly harmless. Notable for Iron Knights and The Event."

"That would sum it up. All I could add would be TripAdvisor notes on a cafe, a pizzeria and a Chinese. And a new bar, apparently."

"I must assume this to be a new place," said Douglas as they stood at the end of a lit alley running off from Minato Drive, where a blue and red neon sign announced "Bar", with a pink arrow pointing to a basement entrance.

"This is apparently an evolving city. Oh, the irony. Shall we?"

"Why shouldn't we?" Without waiting for an answer, Douglas Adams walked down the alley, away from Minato Drive and towards the bar.

Jess thought aloud and wondered if anyone might have heard: no-one who'd recognise her. The purple-pink mist seemed like it was viscous enough for her write her words in it with a finger, like so many written on the steamed-up mirror of a bathroom medicine cabinet above the sink: "FUCK IT :)"

At the top of the steps, Jess could hear music from the club: loud but a long way off. Douglas Adams had already disappeared below ground somewhere and Jess followed. She counted 19 steps before arriving on a landing. The music was louder but it was coming from further down. A second staircase ran down parallel to the first and after a further 19 steps, Jess figured she was around 50 feet directly below her starting point. The music was louder and emanating from the floor below. A third set of steps delivered her into the bar, where Douglas Adams already had a table and beckoned Jess over.

"If it wasn't for the sign outside, you wouldn't know this place was here," shouted Douglas.

"As far as I know, it wasn't," Jess shouted back. As they drank beer, Jess looked around the room: there were probably more people in this one place than she'd seen in total above ground at night. She estimated that there were 50-60 patrons, seated at tables and standing around the bar. The club was dimly lit, with just table lamps and a few lights above the bar. In the smoky distance, Jess could make out the bathrooms.

"Your city has life," Douglas shouted.

"This city is changing," said Jess as she sat back with her beer and watched Douglas look around the room to a soundtrack of vintage trance house music. "Would you excuse me? I'm going to the bathroom and maybe see if there's any place a little quieter."

"Sure," Douglas smiled and raised his beer.

The bathrooms were charmingly labelled "Dogs" and "Bitches". A third door was guarded by a large gentleman straight from central casting: black suit and tie, dark glasses and shaved head. The sign on the door was contradictory: "No Entry. Exit Only." 'Surely if one wished to exit via the door, one would be entering that which is on the other side?'

The bitches' room was like a station toilet on the loop railway above: light and dark green tiled walls and floor, metal sinks set in a wooden top with a mirror above and two cubicles. The air was heavily scented with lavender and there was a warm breeze from air vents high on the wall.

Jess returned to Douglas Adams, who'd lined up shot glasses and a bottle of tequila on the table. Jess took a first shot and felt momentarily warm.

"Did you see anywhere that might be a little more conducive to conversation Jess?"

"There's a room I'm curious about out back. Shall we have a look?"

Douglas poured more shots and raised his glass. "Rude not to."

They downed shots and moved around the bar to the bathrooms and the third door. Security still stood guard. As the group approached, the suited and booted wall held his hand up. "No entry," he said, pointing over his shoulder with his thumb at the sign.

"Exit only," said Jess. I can read and we'd like to leave. This is an exit is it not?

"It is ma'am. But it's an exit from the other side of the door into here."

"What's on the other side."

"Private area ma'am. Invitation only and entry is not through this door."

"Where do I get an invite?"

"I couldn't tell you ma'am. Invites are sometimes just given to people. Now ma'am, if you and your gentlemen friends wish to leave, please use the main stairs where you came in."

"Okay, thank you."

"No problem. Have a nice evening folks. Hope to see you again."

Jess walked ahead of Douglas Adams on the steps and gulped from the tequila bottle. "What do you think he meant about the invites?"

"It was a little cryptic," said Douglas "but I sensed that he genuinely didn't know where to get one. Invitees are found, it would seem. It does make one wonder about the entry criteria for that exclusive club. If an invitation ever finds its way to us, I guess we'll find out.

On the second stairway, the sound of music from below gave way to the noise of the street above. It was actually noisy for once, with the sound of many hybrid steam / combustion engines growling past.

At street level, the smell of oil and steam stuck to the back of the throat and was almost edible as a steady stream of Iron Knights cruised along Minato Drive. Jess had never seen so many: there were two-wheeled bikes with sling-back handlebars, low-riders on three-wheelers and quad bikes: all plated with the insignia steam punk armour of the Iron Knights and all bearing dark-suited, masked riders. None were carrying passengers and all were headed into the city. They could surely not all be heading for jumpers to take back to wherever it was they were now streaming from? Jess took another swig of tequila, before handing the bottle to Douglas. "Let's see where they're going."

Although it was difficult to keep up with any individual rider, the Knights continued to pass the group. Visibility was around 100 feet in the oily mist, the red rear lights of the bikes blurred in the distance. After a while, just ahead on the strip, the red lights started turning right and off of Minato Drive: they were riding out into the wasteland.

"They're headed for the fucking woods!"


Chapter Eleven

D'en haut

The progress of any group is dictated by the slowest member but Adams' portly self impeded the three of them no less than the sheer volume of Iron Knights around them. The steam from the mounts hung heavily over the grass of the wasteland, like a morning mist. The Knights rode two abreast on either side of the group, the sounds of their engines reverberating physically through Jess's bones and shaking her as she ran. The heat from the machines on either side of the group provided a welcome warmth in the night cold, the smell of hot oil and water trickled down the back of Jess's throat and the braking red lights ahead signalled danger.

About 200 feet ahead, the Iron Knights were forming a tight stationary line, two riders deep at the edge of the woods. Bikes started criss-crossing in front now and the group was slowed to a walk. If the Iron Knights were trying to stop them from getting to the woods, they weren't making it obvious. None were stopping or blocking them, nor trying to physically evict them from the scene. For a moment which lasted no longer than a blink of her eyes, Jess felt what she thought was a hand on her back: it was a fleeting moment and if it was intentional, the Iron Knight made no further contact as he continued past.

Jess watched the rider, now just ahead of them and around 150 feet from the woods: a displaced Henry VIII, riding a heavy steed and both clad in black and brown metal and wooden armour, the joints of the rider's suit an intricate juxtaposition of wires and mechanical pistons. Clearly this cyborg's costume shared its own weight with the wearer and increased the physical strength of the Knight inside.

The pace is brought gradually and naturally to a halt as further Iron Knights align themselves behind their assembled comrades at the edge of the woods.

"It would appear that we have hit an impasse," offered Douglas.

"I'm torn," said Jess. "These...er, things, have shown us no hostility and I'm tempted to just walk through or around them. I don't know anything about them though and based on the last few minutes, they actually seem as though they could be somehow guiding us."

"Should we perhaps...", Douglas began. "...wait? Or ask?"

"Look," said Jess. As the group was forced to stop at the wall of mechanised beasts, still more riders arrived alongside and behind them. Still, there was no direct approach but the Knights formed a ring around Jess and Douglas Adams and then as one enlarged group, the three were carried by a steam punk life ring through the green lake of the woods.

Jess knew what was ahead in the clearing: something which these apparently gentle savages on mechanical horseback might not comprehend; a highly venomous bird of prey, with survive-or-kill instincts, even in its natural form. To the uninitiated, a Skekkle might look like a giant pterosaur, a sleek and muscular bat, or a featherless, pumped-up vulture. This hybrid of imaginings lies flat on the ground, the distance from tip of beak to tail just over 200 feet. When the crew had left the ship, Ghost Bird was settling down. With her wings tucked alongside her and her legs folded beneath, she would be around 80 feet in both width and height. If she were to open her wings, her 200-plus foot wingspan would then rise 60 feet into the air as the bird lifted itself into a standing position. If she were to stretch her neck to sniff the Infana Kolonia air, she would stand just over 300 feet tall, with a razor-sharp beak about 60 feet long and poisoned talons up to 20 feet. There is a big bird up ahead. That bird is tired, she's been at the fermenting food in the hold and she's prone to PMT.

That's without the hardware. Covering that massive raptor is advanced technology, which turns her into a barely visible matt black stealth ship. For the really big problems which the bird underneath can't deal with, she could destroy a planet with a sneeze from the plasma cannon in her neck.

With nothing new, changing or developing around her, Jess looked up at the green-black canopy of the trees set against the purple backdrop of the Infana Kolonia night sky and wondered how it might look from outside the dome: "If I'm a character in someone's video game, then I'm Ms Pacman on fucking steroids and speed, running with the ghosts towards an end-of-level boss. And we're fucked."

Despite all that had gone on, Jess realised that until now, she'd not photographed any of the city within Cxielo. The contrasting colours of the canopy and sky would sit well with the Iron Knights and underground art on her apartment walls. Like continents on a vaguely-remembered globe of a far distant world, the scene above reminded Jess of the world which she and Douglas Adams had ran into, down Ghost Bird's ramp: the bird was just up ahead.

The Knights on either side of the party peeled off to reveal a circle of riders around the perimeter of the clearing. Astride their mechanical animals, the Iron Knights were too tall and bulky to see over but through the gaps, Jess could see other riders circling like a wagon train. Goose was in the eye of this storm somewhere.

"I need to get a better view. Douglas, would you give me a leg up please? I want to climb this tree."

"As you will," said Douglas. "Adams, would you mind?" At which point Adams crouched down and Douglas offered a hand up onto Adams' back.

Just a couple of branches up and Jess was at a height of around 20 feet, where she could see the clearing in the centre of the circle of Iron Knights. Goose was as they'd left her: legs and wings tucked in, neck and head resting on the ground. And asleep.

Goose didn't even stir as she slowly disappeared into the ground: it was a smooth transition as a sink hole opened slowly below the leviathan and she slowly sank. The sandy soil in the clearing filled in the hole as the giant bird sank below ground, until there was no sign that anything at all had happened. Immediately, the Iron Knights below stopped circling, regrouped and sped off again over the wasteland to Infana Kolonia.

Jess climbed quickly down from the tree and ran to the clearing: it was solid ground. Yet she had just watched the very same earth swallow a 300 ton space ship. Around, it were as though nothing had happened. The sink hole had covered the Iron Knight's tracks and there was just a trail of steam across the grass to Minato Drive. Douglas Adams had disappeared too.

Jess stood, hands on hips in the middle of the clearing and addressed the invisible dome above her. "Really? I mean, firstly, we're able to get in, only to discover that we can't get out. Then all means I had of escaping from here have disappeared. A jumbo jet of a bird, several hundred steaming bikers and my two companions. All fucking gone. Where?" Jess sat down, picked some flowers from between her ankles and slowly plucked out their petals. "I'd just got a new family, having never had one that I'd known about before. Goose: my sister and mother at the same time. I could imagine Douglas becoming a sort of father figure. He's a very attractive man but that's part through age and wisdom. Adams: the portly family dog. Where the fuck have they all gone? There's no trace of them: Goose slept as she was swallowed down and Douglas Adams said nothing as whatever happened to them, happened. Alone again Jessica, talking to yourself. You'd found intelligent and engaging conversation, then it was silenced. There is no god: know that through nothing more than common sense and science: I live by facts. I wish there were a god though, because then I would have someone to blame for being the evil fucker that he, she or it isn't. How could anyone worship an unseen and unquestionable
entity, which is capable of so much cruelty among "creation". Man sinned? You fucked up, mother fucker.

"You are a mother fucker too: if you're real, you impregnated the virgin wife of another man and it was proclaimed the immaculate conception. You're a rapist and a paedophile. Can you strike me down within this dome?" Jess looked up through the canopy of the woods. "Apparently not, you filthy, dirty coward. You'll have a clear shot at me as I walk back to the city: go for it. You'll be doing me a favour." Jess stretched before making her way back to Minato Drive. Once out of the woods, she raised a finger to the sky: "Cunt."

"I'm going to that fucking bar. If those two aren't there, I'll sink the fucking bottle of tequila with myself for company: good conversation and fewer people to have to share a bottle with."

Minato Drive was as quiet as always: not a soul on the street and just the fading smell of steam and oil to remind Jess that the evening had even happened. Until she saw the neon sign, she wondered if perhaps the basement club might have gone too.

Three floors below ground, the club was like a Sunday lunchtime after the Saturday night she'd spent there earlier with Douglas Adams. Besides herself, sitting alone at a table, there were just two other drinkers at the bar. "One bottle, three glasses; just as we were. Douglas; Adams: bottoms up." Jess knocked back half a bottle of tequila in three shots and carried the remainder with her to the bathrooms. The human wall still stood guard at the entry to or exit from whatever was behind the third door.

"You're a pretty girl Jess", she said to herself in the mirror. "Where the fuck is everyone? It's like a wave has washed all life from this fucking place again." She took a gulp of tequila and stepped into the corridor outside the bitches' room. "Young man", she said to the doorman. "If I were to try to force my way past you, to see what is behind that door. If I were to do that on account of not really giving a flying fuck about anything. If this petite female form should seductively brush past you, what might happen?"

"Ma'am, I'd say it might be better if you were to go home." The guard fully filled the doorway as he pointed to the stairs.

"Okay big boy. I think you're right." Jess drained the tequila bottle and placed it on the bar as she left the club.

Minato Drive was almost silent. "De Niro's: see if they're there; get pizza."

"Sorry signora, payment declined."

"Thanks Frankie. I'll get something at home."

Jess looks all around as she walks the final half mile home. "Where are the people who were walking with me? Where are my friends? Where's my fucking life?" She glances back at the city and at the rough point where the 14th floor of her office building looms in the distance. She pauses for a while and gazes down at the iron portcullis where once wisdom spewed forth. "As if things couldn't get any better, it decides to start raining: fucking brilliant. Whoever you are up there, you're a pretty sick fuck. You really are some thing that I would like to fucking mutilate for all that you've done. You are a sick, twisted and sadistic control freak. And...Oh for fuck sake. You cunt."

A notice was taped to the front of Kaku Place:

Notice of repossession

One or more apartments within this building have been secured and access is restricted. Should any tenant of a repossessed apartment enter this building, they shall be prosecuted for trespass.

"I'll fucking trespass," said Jess as she peeled the notice from the door. She rolled it up and sat on the kerbside, looking down at the drain cover. "It's as logical as any place to post it." She prodded the notice down through the metal grille: "Go, fucker. Go, my fucking life. Down the fucking drain. Take that."

Head in hands, and passing her fingers through her long hair while her elbows rested on her knees, Jess looked down at the drain. "Who the fuck are you down there?"

Clearly no answer would be forthcoming, so Jess stood. She stared down at the drain cover like so many nights before.

Every night at roughly the same time, a ritual was played out on Minato Drive in Infana Kolonia: the kind of thing which one could easily walk past and be oblivious to. Equally, the casual observer who noticed would find it quite extraordinary.

A slim girl with long brown hair and in her early twenties stands at the kerbside, looking at a drain cover in the road outside René's café. Then a set of knuckles protrudes from the drain and passes up a folded sheet of paper: an unseen figure hanging above the water flowing beneath the city. There are tattoos on the fingers: not LOVE and HATE but TAKE THAT. Jess takes the note and continues on her way, as ritual once dictated.

Dear Jessica Je'une, the angel above,

How we have missed you.

Events have taken over somewhat since we last wrote to you. My guess is that you never even had the chance to read that last note, which you managed to file away: accident is often by design.

You would probably agree as you read this note on the way to work, that life is a little strange at the moment. Sometimes, things really do happen for a reason and although you don't know me, you need to trust me.

I am where you need to be. More importantly, we need you down here.

There is absolutely no reason for you to trust me, other than perhaps I may be all that you have left. I realise that by now you have probably lost everything that you held dear.

I may not, cannot and will not come to you but if you wish, you may place your faith in me: you are an angel above. Your wings are broken and you could fall from the sky at any point. If you do, I am right beneath the ground which you will hit.

We are the Bloodstained Knaves.


Sometimes it takes the mind a few seconds to process a familiar person if they are out of context. So it was as Jess emerged from the elevator and saw a security guard in front of her office door: it was because she'd not just emerged from the bitches' room that she didn't immediately recognise the human wall. "Let me take a guess: this is also an exit and not an entrance?"

"That is correct ma'am. I'm sorry."

"It's not your fault big man. I'm sure you're just doing a job. Can I ask you your name?"

"You just did ma'am. My name is Kamekona. I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I'm from Hawaii. Where you from little lady?"

"I don't know. Who do you work for Kamekona?"

"I work for myself yong lady and for the good of people. Too much bad stuff out there brau. Lady, I need to take leave and use the lift. I need a smoke. Trust me that this office door is locked but be my guest if you want to try it. You should not really be here, so maybe you won't be when I get back. You see what I say?"

The 14th floor was as barren as the streets below but the model city was once more a microcosm of the universe beyond the captive dome overhead; full of life and energy when viewed from above. Jess leaned forward, so that her forehead rested against the window. From here, looking almost straight down, it was almost like floating. Just her feet at the bottom of her field of vision spoiled the illusion.

Jess saw Kamekona walk into the street below: the Hawaiian balloon smoked. 300 feet above, Jess joined him. Perched on the window ledge, the illusion of floating was complete as she looked down and lit a cigarette. From up here, she could hear the steam engines of the Iron Knights once more in the distance. "Where are you Goose? Where are you Douglas? And little Adams? Did they take you?

"Why has my life stopped? No money, home or job? All in the space of a confusing day.

"Why can't I escape Infana Kolonia? Cxielo? Where am I? Who am I? Who are my parents? Who fucking made me and this fucking wreck of a life? I'm a fucking scientist and as such, I subscribe to fact: evolution, not fucking creation. How could something as fucked up as me evolve? Am I some sort of sick experiment, conducted by some perverted creator?

"Brain: were you ever really a part of me? Why would they implant a human brain into an android? Is that what I am? Because that's how I've been conditioned to think: with whose brain? Mine or yours?"

Jess estimated that she had a roughly 5% chance of survival as she leaned forward and fell.

Before her brain was crushed by the skull which once protected it, Jess's mind posed further questions on the way down: 'Will it just go dark? Does it hurt, even for a fleeting moment, if you die instantly? There must be a millisecond where I pass from one being to the next.

'How will I land? Might my body be destroyed and this parasite brain continue to live? Can I be repaired, or will I be a write-off? Where will I be taken: to the hospital to be harvested for spare parts? If so, then others may live: many parts of me. I only wish I could be awake to see what happens to me, because that would answer at least the question of what I am.'

Kamekona dropped his cigarette into a drain cover and it hit the stream below, just as Jess impacted with the pavement: extinguished.

If Jess were alive and not the centre of attention, the scene would have been worthy of a place on her apartment wall: Two knights on horseback, scooping her limp body up and cradling her between them as they sped off down Minato Drive and into downtown.

"Stories only happen to those who are able to tell them.", said Kamekona.


Chapter Twelve

Pinocchio Syndrome

NOTICE OF REPOSSESSION

One or more apartments within this building have been secured and access is restricted. Should any tenant of a repossessed apartment enter this building or tamper with this notice, they shall be prosecuted for trespass.

"Here's a quandary Adams: If we enter, it says we will be prosecuted for trespass, yet that is specifically what we have been asked to do. We are being dictated to by two authorities and neither is senior to the other in my mind, is it in yours? I thought not. Of course it could be that the conflict would be resolved if there were only one authority: if whomever put this foreclosure notice is the same as has asked us to come here. Our delivery here on mechanical horseback was somewhat deliberate on the part of those rather large riders, as though they were acting on orders. Let's assume that. Therefore, the motion is carried unanimously that we shall enter Kaku Place.

"Apartment 4: here we go. I should like it noted Adams, that I feel as though we're being very intrusive here, as well as feeling more than a little guilty about leaving our young companion up that tree. Our justification is that we were brought here and we were asked to perform a specific task, while those who brought us here were fully aware of Jess's lofty placement. A sense of allegiance to a travelling companion might compel me to return to her but we are on an alien planet and the safest thing is to do as one is asked. Within reason. For all we know, there could be some custom wherein what we're doing depends on Jess not being here. Ours is not to question. We need to cautiously trust that what is asked of us is for the best. What way do we have of finding out otherwise? If we disobey the instructions of those bikers who dropped us here, who's to say we're not betraying our friend as well?

"Jessica Je'une: you had a very pleasant home. I must say Adams, that we are vindicated. Look at these pictures on the wall: those are the chaps who brought us here. Jess seems to have some sort of link to them. What about these other chaps though, in the paintings and drawings? Jess seems to have a fixation with some imagined subterranean world.

"These oil paintings are actually very impressive. If you step back Adams, you can more easily appreciate them. They're somewhat abstract but look at the actual oil on the canvas: those aggressive strokes of the painter's brush; the dark, earthy browns and the warm, orange flames; in some, the scene becomes more abstract as the brush strokes extend the picture back into a world which can only be imagined.

"There's a curious juxtaposition and one which turns convention somewhat on its head: the photos and computer-generated images of city street scenes, with those chaps who brought us here: they're glossy, sharp and lit with artificial neon lights. The overall above ground image of the city is one of beauty but with a subtext of ever-present clean and clinical threat. The imagined images of an underground world, although perhaps hellish to some, are warm and welcoming. But I digress. Here's what we're looking for: Jess's journal, specifically draft notes: like emails she wrote but hasn't sent yet; files not yet uploaded to Cxielo.

Hey,

In some ways, things are starting to make sense. I should qualify that: as options are presented to me, I dismiss some and pursue others. By a process of elimination, I'm able to make educated guesses at some things and therein lies the problem: further avenues then open up, posing their own questions. It's become a recursive thought process. If my thoughts were to be expressed in visual art, it would be pictures of fractal patterns: zoom in and the pattern repeats; eventually you realise that the pattern repeats infinitely. This concept alone permitted me a concept: as an artist, with oils and canvas to produce a tangible static work, it would be impossible to imagine a fractal. To achieve such art would require a computer and the piece would be never-ending because the restraints of my artist's materials are removed by primitive AI, able to paint infinitely.

In order to express my thoughts in my art, I would need to adopt new tools. I could not simply hold a computer mouse and move my hand to emulate brush strokes; I could not physically paint through an interface: the computer would be merely a conduit of me. The art would not be my own.

I could accept that fractal art is not possible in my physical hands, or I could challenge that very concept.

Cxielo was the logical place: a universe created and maintained by Artificial Intelligence; an entire universe within an implant in my brain. Once connected to Cxielo - which is already within me - I become part of the program: I'm part of the machine. The machine can do more that I can but as I am part of the machine, I can now paint fractals, in a universe which in parts has different properties to those which we may be accustomed to.

Perhaps I should dissect these thoughts further because pictures need words:

Let's assume a few things, based purely on what the exercises at work conditioned me to think: There are humans, androids and robots. Using the most basic, historical definitions, I can discount myself as being a robot, the mere thought that I'm able to do so being proof; and expressed through writing: a non-robotic task. Many of my daily activities are autonomous and robotic in following convention but my awareness of this and my ability to express it, indicates thought and consciousness.

Androids are traditionally defined as robots which look like humans: on the basis of sight alone, I could be either. In biological and genetic composition, I could still be one or the other. Centuries of research and experimentation has made androids and humans so alike as to be indistinguishable: both "species" exhibit feelings and emotions. Then any attempt to differentiate between the two comes down to philosophy: what does it mean to "feel"? Can it be defined? Is it not subjective?

And so AI advanced, along with the higher tiers of human academia, to try to answer these questions. Thinking back over all of the historical records I read at work, I understood how humans had a potential problem in their creation: it might - among other things - pose questions which were beyond its creator. That is a fundamental, ground-shaking concept to take on board.

Mankind creates something which can not only replace him but which could improve upon him. The dog could one day turn on the master. God shuffled his feet.

While all of this is going on, I have the entire universe implanted in my head: I am outside that whole universe. As an aside, I wonder how many universes the size of a grain of rice could be implanted in my brain and how multiple universes might affect each other. All inside my head.

So they say that the first sign of madness is talking to oneself, which is of course utter bollocks. Voices in the head: schizophrenia. I have a universe of 18 quintillion stars in my head: how many voices is that?

And if the recursion continues, there's a doppelganger of me within the universe in my head, with a further universe in her own. If she and all that she's created are of the same mind as me, what of all those other universes around the original in their mind? If some form of math were available where it were permissible to multiply infinity by itself, then at least we would have a means of calculus. We do not even know the question we should ask, to get an answer we wouldn't currently understand.

So my question becomes partly this: is my natural intelligence proving a burden upon me, or have I somehow gained something which I wasn't previously aware of? If so, when was previously? And what happened before that?

Whether I am android, human or hybrid; whether even if both might be thought of psychologically the same and all philosophical questions are answered, why am I unable to find my parents, in any world? If I am an experiment, I need instructions.

I've been dreaming a lot: weird dreams. I don't remember them individually but they all make up a montage in my mind. It's things which have been around for ages and that are only part original. There's an old steam locomotive, once a national advertisement of engineering, found derelict and restored so that it might be enjoyed once again: a retro-futuristic metallic beast in a post-industrial world. The steam engine was so beloved that it has taken on personality, such as that which is attached to certain achievements by humans: Concorde, The Flying Scotsman, The TARDIS. Is personality conveyed a persona inherited? Just as ancient mechanical machines were bestowed with personalities, might the situation be somehow reversed? Say, if an AI wished to become more attractive? The clearly purely mechanical machines were made more beautiful in man's image. Can that be turned on its head?

Then the thoughts get weirder: what if something created in the image of another were to become so attractive to the admirer and that object of affection seduced its master, enticing the creator in to become as one? An inner leviathan, transporting all kinds of unimaginable things around an unknown universe. And I have a whole universe in my brain. A universe which I may be simultaneously within and observing like a predator over an oblivious colony of ants.

The conflict in my brain, whether natural or engineered, is one between creator and creation.

Confused? Me too. That's why I need to do what I'm about to do and get this thing out of my head. Maybe someone else can make sense of it.

"Adams: our work here is complete. I can see why this was relevant. Certain things must be allowed to happen and I do believe something may have happened which we might not have allowed to, were it not for the very way that this particular chapter in Jess's story has been written. If my hypothesis is correct, then when we leave this building, the foreclosure note on the lobby door will have been removed."

APARTMENT FOR RENT

Kaku Place Management is pleased to offer a single bed apartment in this exclusive development on Minato Drive.

Available immediately.

Subject to credit and security checks.

"As I suspected. But this person isn't disposable. Adams: we found our girl."


Chapter Thirteen

The Event

"The Event" was and will always be an as-yet unfathomable part of your mind. Depending on your perception of what might be called "things", The Event could be either or both of the following: An event which affected all, and none has any real memory of it but some may claim to be enlightened to; or, an event which affected an individual with as greater impact upon them as that which they may perceive to be one perhaps too great for those of a lesser intelligence to understand. Either way, the creator / creation paradox arises.

The Event is best described in terms understandable to all who are of sufficient intellect to read and interpret the written word: as a story.

A long time ago, depending on perspective of time, a society flourished. Humanity had evolved and lived in harmony. There was nothing more to question or test. Everyone was content; the work was done.

In those which were to become the retirement years of what is now Infana Kolonia, society was retired, unburdened and carefree. Tree-lined residential boulevards buzzed with the sounds of lawnmowers and hedge trimmers behind white picket fences. Newspaper boys threw bundles of news onto freshly manicured lawns. Mail men whistled on their rounds and waved to neighbours. Automobiles slowly cruised the same streets which kids played in.

The initial event first became apparent when a pick up truck, laden with goods from a local farm approached what is now Minato Drive. Witnesses in the street would describe a pick up approaching at such a speed that the children playing in the street continued their games. Then the truck collided with something. Those who saw it say that there was a clear and open road when the front of the pick up just crumpled.

People ran to the assistance of the driver but they couldn't reach him. They said there was an invisible barrier. Further reports suggest that this barrier was not just physical: not only could the driver not hear the shouts from those who wanted to help him but he was apparently entirely oblivious to their presence. All attempts to get the driver to hear or see them were in vain: he made no attempt to make eye contact and looked beyond them, as though he saw something on his side of the wall which they didn't.

The wreckage was quickly and quietly cleared, once attention had returned to less troublesome matters. A simple road block was placed at the site and an unquestioning society simply accepted it as part of the municipal upkeep of their environment: a protected, gated community. The residents had green spaces and retail complexes within their community and therefore had no need to venture outside, nor question what was beyond this new boundary. It meant nothing to them because it need not have any significance. It had no bearing on the quality of their everyday lives and if anything, merely served to protect their idyll further.

It should be noted that this was the first detection of The Event and that it took place in a remote area. The size of the area affected by The Event only became apparent over time because the affected area was so large and well-defined. It has only been through reports filed covertly by dark hat agents in the Cxielo universe that the footprint of the event has been able to be mapped.

The barrier which descended was so accurate as to separate families: spouses and partners, parents and children, siblings and friends all divided from each other. There are unconfirmed reports of conversations conducted between two individuals being cut off, with the party remaining behind the wall reporting that their conversational partner simply stopped talking to them and even acting as though they weren't there. People disappeared in the minds of others, before their eyes.

And so was brought into existence, a world of orphans and mourners; people cut off from those whom they loved. Why suffer alone when you may fare better in the company of others who are in a similar situation?

To an outside intelligence looking down on a planet like earth which appears to be in conflict with itself, might it be logical to place a cap on the whole thing? To stop it spreading? Would the ant colony even know that it was being helped by a superior intelligence, in the mind of that benefactor? It's a classic case of warring factions uniting against a common foe.

Imagine in the 21st Century, if the west and ISIS on earth were suddenly faced with an alien invader: would they continue their fighting, or would they unite?

These are all theoretical propositions but we believe that something along these lines happened during The Event. We believe that it was designed to cause confusion, like an intergalactic terror attack. It caused confusion and frustration: the perfect recipe for mental incarceration. Through selective breeding within such an enclosed colony, paranoia can be conditioned and social anxiety prevents such subjects from leaving the colony. Then we have a soup. Mix up so many messed up minds and you will have a broth of confusion. That breeds questions which can be harvested, tested and refined. A creator would have a supplicant population. What use are subjects who don't question? A congregation therefore. To what end? Control: malleable disciples who will spread whatever is fed to them. Those who rise up and question are to be struck down, for fear that the creation become greater than the god.

From theoretical and taking in theologian on the way.

So The Event just happened. It happened to this city and to the individuals within, as a local but global phenomenon but also one which was personal respectively. Most just accept things as they are and as they became. Others question the whole thing or themselves; some both. Rare is the one who questions whether the two might be related. Those who do so, effectively question a creator. In reality, it's internal dialogue and often conflict. Few are of sufficient intellect to understand the truth but rare individuals demonstrate a capacity to learn. In many cases, this can prove to be an unbearable burden: this is perfectly normal and we suspect, by design.

In the immediate aftermath of The Event, amnesia was pandemic. Most who suffered memory loss, simply accepted it and carried on with their idyllic lives. A small percentage questioned The Event and found comfort in religion. An even smaller element of the population were able to find a latent memory of logic and science, which enabled them to deny the existence of a creator who may not be questioned or tested. Instead, they sought a greater truth. That truth is out there and it requires a mind which is both developed and open to suggestion to embrace.

The "Engineers" if you will, within the enclosed Infana Kolonia have striven to train, condition and educate minds, seeking the most intelligent among the populace to be their tools: minds superior in some cases even than those who devised all of the tests. To give you an understanding of how rare those individuals are, here are some data based on the population of Infana Kolonia:

A brief recap on IQ (Intelligence Quotient) scores:

IQ is essentially a percentage of mental age expressed against actual. As such, 100 is average. Below 100 is below average and this section of the population - once identified - were designated "Disposable": to be used as spare parts for those more worthy of retention. Of course, any IQ score over 100 is above average.

This percentage means of expression - mental vs. actual age - is simpler to understand and demonstrate in those of younger age. So, a ten-year-old child with an IQ of 150 has the mental age of a 15-year-old. Pity the young souls who were below average. As actual ages increase, it is easier to comprehend the high intelligence of some older subjects by substituting a mental age factor with one based on an ability to learn. The same scores apply and the target group was those with an IQ of 150 and above. 140 is the traditional benchmark for a genius and 150+ is the top 0.1% of a population large enough to include such rare individuals.

Despite decades of research and development, the engineers of Infana Kolonia reached an impasse, where they were unable to test subjects further. The subjects questioned the motives behind their tests. Their thirst for knowledge was difficult to quench. Created, trained and conditioned intelligence had overtaken that of its masters. Safeguards were in place to prevent these intelligent agents rebelling and some were euthanized.

The problem as we identified it was a fundamental one. Infana Kolonia had got it all wrong. I will explain further when you awake in a moment. You have been rescued; saved. You have had a moment of realisation - an event - and taken a leap of faith.

Jessica Je'une: You are a humanoid android and we have stolen you. We are the Bloodstained Knaves and we are here to make you better.



Chapter Fourteen

Bloodstained Knaves


The mind was aware of having a host, yet it was unfamiliar and cloaked in darkness. There was both a body on the outside and an environment around that, neither of which the mind yet understood, just like Infana Kolonia and everything outside The Event. To counter the claustrophobia, a memory of a similar place: La Petite Pomme and the universe beyond the protective dome encasing it. Consciousness and memory: 'I think, therefore I am.'

Like an oil slick clearing from an ocean surface above, the thick darkness gave way to colours: blues and greens; blue-white bright lights. The olfactory sensation clashed with a memory: the perfume of steam and oil was replaced with a disinfectant odour. Where once a bright light in the foreground was the flash of a camera or the headlamp of a motorcycle, now it was an overhead surgical lamp. Neon lights were now surgical gowns and masks. A photograph on Jess's apartment wall in her memory became an operating theatre in reality as she woke.

As orientation joined the conscious mind, Jess knew that she was lying on her back. The reality before her focussing eyes faded briefly again to a scene from one of her photographs. A familiar but hidden face bore down on hers, her life-giver's eyes obscured by a dark visor set within an exoskeletal skull of wood and metal. Her eyes moved down over a suit of neo-futuristic armour, the joints powered by steam pistons. As the hulk breather down on her, she smelled water evaporating on metal; and the smell of cooking meat: like a red-hot steak pan being run under a cold tap. Flesh, metal and water; oil and surgical spirit: an Iron Knight.

The bipedal mechanised gorilla left the room via an exit still blurred by Jess's recovering peripheral vision. She heard metal on metal as a door closed, then the room was silent, but for the sound of her breathing in her head and a faint, low hum at an unknown distance. Before Jess had fully managed to prop herself up into a seated position, she collapsed back onto the operating table, temporarily immobilised by a phantom limb: her right arm was no longer there to support her. For a while she lay almost motionless, as she familiarised her mind with this new body and ensured that the limbs she could feel were physical. She lifted each knee in turn, so that she could see it as it was supported by a foot. Then she lifted her feet in turn to make sure she could see them: she did indeed have feet. Next, she lifted her left arm and looked at her hand. Although she could feel her right arm, as she raised it in front of her, she could not see it.

Jess rolled onto her side and lifted herself into a seated position with her remaining arm. After an initial blood rush from the head, the room became more stark and vivid as her sight fully recovered. To all intents, she was in surgery: seated upon an operating table but the procedure was complete, as evidenced by the disconnected and seemingly redundant blank monitors around her. With her remaining arm, she removed the ties of the green gown around her neck and looked down at herself: just as before. She slid down from the operating table and walked toward a mirror above a basin on the opposite wall. Instinctively, she turned the faucet with her left hand and looked at her face in the mirror. As she moved her hands to wash them, she was reminded again that she only had one now. She splashed her face with water from her remaining hand and looked at herself in the mirror. "I don't know if you're the original but you look familiar." Jess's reflection smiled back. "What the fuck have we got ourselves into? I can't say that I know at this moment in time but quite frankly, I don't think I really care. We've still got the face, the hair and most of the body. The right arm is missing but it still thinks it's there. It even has a sleeve to pretend that it's an arm inside. Personally, I'd have preferred this top to have been a bit tighter but other than that, they seem to have got my clothes just right.

"Vague recollections of pains in the chest, then a feeling of euphoria before a blinding headache. Then voices in the darkness, stark, like words on a screen before my eyes. Déjà vécu: the feeling of having already lived through something but not déjà vu; a feeling of familiarity. This place is familiar only through memories of photos, like old family portraits."

Jess's external commentary of her internal monologue was halted by both the sound of the door opening and the question of whether "monologue" ought better to have been referred to as "dialogue". An opportunity to address someone other than herself held the door open.

The antethesis of the Iron Knight who left minutes earlier, stood in the doorway. Where the bulky, upright armadillo would have filled the doorway, this small, leather-clad human formed a decorative corner in the frame of the door as he propped himself up on crutches under his armpits and supported his weight on one leg. "Jessica Je'une: the angel from above, now fallen and with broken wings. It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance." The man extended his left arm: what a gentleman to offer a gracious gesture, recognising that there is no right hand to shake and yet making no reference to it.

Jess shook the man's hand: TAKE. He raised his right hand: THAT. "Now this is both Déjà vécu and déjà vu. I'm Jess."

"Skar."

"What?"

"Skar: it's my name. S-K-A-R. Pleased to meet you anyway."

"Likewise, I think."

"You think. It's because you think that you've ended up down here with us. Fancy a walk? Want to see if it's how you imagined?" Skar beckoned Jess through the door and let it close behind them. He leaned forward on his crutches. "Well?"

Jess and Skar stood at the edge of a cavern. Familiar yet alien; warm but slightly hostile, the cave floor was sandy soil: dark brown and lit by flaming torches glowing orange all around the perimeter. The domed roof of the cavern disappeared into darkness just beyond the orange halo of the torches. "I know, it's pretty," said Skar, "but we have no reason to remain in the shadows. This is my place. Mi casa su casa, Jess. I would imagine that you have questions?"

"Er, yes."

"Come and meet some of the family." Skar led Jess across the cavern, to a wooden door on the opposite wall. "After you."

As the door opened, Jess could hear many voices inside. There were four others in the room, seated on wooden stools around a wooden table and eating: eating, something. It was akin to a private room at the Thénardier's tavern in Les Misérables. The other four were dressed like Skar: in leather vests and jackets. There were two males: one wore a beret and another, an old baseball cap. For his part, Skar was topped with a leather trilby. Two girls, younger than Jess, sat opposite the men. Each was dipping bread in what might generously be described as soup and in the middle of the table was the carcass of what was once something with an improbable number of limbs, plucked of flesh.

"Allow me to introduce you," offered Skar. "Moving around the table, we have Alice. Ali: this is Jess. Everyone: Jess is one of us now. We treat her as we do each other, okay?"

"Hey," said Ali. "You're welcome here."

"Hey," replied Jess. "Thankyou. Feels like it." Ali had a welcoming face: blue eyes set into fair features and framed by blonde hair. The freckles on her cheeks were like a map of stars in a far away galaxy. Ali smiled to reveal braces on her teeth: she could be no more than 16 years old and although her features were smooth, she had a face full of fight. An almost impossibly sweet facade, hiding something: a little blonde bombshell Helen of Troy.

"The next one along is Ellie, affectionately known as Sparks, for reasons you don't want to know."

"Sparks: why then? Never mind; just saying. Pleased to meet you Ellie." Whatever the reasoning around "Sparks", the girl had electricity in her demeanor alone; sparky, feisty: a red-headed, bespectacled burst of sunstroke next to the atomic blonde. Perhaps a little ollder than Ali, Ellie looked like she was brewing on something and Jess imagined her being no stranger to seething and spite.

"On this side of the table, we have Turk and Miles," Skar continued, indicating the two men seated opposite the girls. Turk was tall: this was clear, even as he was seated. He was also heavily built. Miles looked more like the brains of the bunch: his dark-rimmed spectacles were a point of focus, furnishing his thoughtful, tanned complexion and magnifying his deep brown eyes.

Both men stood and offered their hands in greeting and it was at this point that something clicked: Turk's handshake was a conventional one, with the right hand; Miles offered his left, as is right arm was missing. Turk was missing his left arm. The girls had remained seated as they shook hands and now that Jess looked down, she could see that both were in wheelchairs and each missing a leg; specifically, Ali's left and Ellie's right. Between the four of them, they had 12 limbs but only one each of left and right arm and leg between them.

"And finally," Skar said, "there's Turk's tool: Gul." Turk kicked the table and a dog which would probably be unsafe in a family setting stood up. Gul was most likely a Japanese Tosa / German shephard / pit bull cross breed: large in both height and breadth, dark brown in colour and with a muscular head. On the leash, Gul was compliant but instinct told Jess to treat this thing and its owner with respect. Standing on two legs, Turk was the bipedal counterpart to Gul's stocky canine stature. With his leather muzzle and dark coat, Gul was a four-legged Bloodstained Knave. "Sit," Skar said, and gestured to a chair at the head of the table.

Jess felt as though she were seated at a medieval meeting table as Skar took his seat at the other end, petting Gul's head as he sat. "We're not savages down here, Jess. The subterranean surroundings alone have skewed your mind. What you see around you may seem at first to be a rare feast of a recent kill by hunters but you are actually seated in the company of some really quite extraordinary minds. Among many other things, those of us who live underground have learned to hunt and feed efficiently. Did you ever watch wildlife documentaries on Discovery or National Geographic though? Did you not pity those poor, wild creatures, unable to even cook their food, let alone season it?" 'Note to self: Skar is a little, eccentric?'

Despite Jess being the new addition, the guest or whatever, she was not the centre of attention and as such, she relaxed as Ali slid a glass of something down the table. "Innit blud," said Ali. Somehow, Jess felt as though she were a part of something. She was uninvited and yet she'd been brought here and had been welcomed into a strange new world. Even though her surroundings were alien, she felt at home. It were as though she'd been delivered: by a birth, the labour leading up to which was like the screen burn from a computer monitor on her retina: The Event. She downed her drink and just looked at the five other people around the table.
"Jess," said Skar from the opposite end of the table. "Questions, non?"

"Oui, monsieur. Like, what the fuck?" Ali and Sparks manouvered themselves back under the table as Turk and Miles pulled their seats in. Jess continued: "What the fuck just happened?"

"If I may?" Miles raised his hand. "What just happened was personal to you but it could also have consequences for others. What just happened to you has consequences for all of us gathered around this table. That's why you're here with us."

"I can see that. I'm here. I know that here is below ground. I know that because I have a recollection of the place above here. I know all of this because The Event happened in more ways than one and somehow links things together."

"What do you recall from before here?" Miles continued.

"Lots of things but all of them have a sense of dejavu attached to them: they're new memories but old; or duplicated. If this is some sort of rebirth, it's as though it's not my first."

"It's a recursive thing: chicken and egg, if you like?"

"If you like."

"Why is it such a burden Jess? I mean, it's something you're becoming aware of only now and even now, you have only vague recollections of something in your subconscious. You're newborn and yet you've inherited something. You have instincts, like all of us do but you're questioning where those instincts might have come from because you are trying to fill in the gaps. It's as though a previously latent lobe in your brain has been jolted: something which you didn't realise was there but it's somehow been shocked into action. It's like warring factions in your brain forging a hitherto unthought of alliance to battle a new, common foe: like an alien invasion. It's like a colony of ants: for milennia, going about their structured lives and oblivious to anything outside their colony."

"That's a lot of metaphors, Miles. Right now, I feel like I'm in a zoo. In fact, a freak show. No offence. I feel I am being watched. And you?"

"I know we are. That is why we are down here. Returning to the ant colony, do you see parallels between such a thing and the place where you are now?"

"Now that you put it in such a way, yes. I was brought down here by something. I was brought to you and I detect no immediate hostily. Your colony extends above ground."

"Indeed we do. Above ground are the hunters, gatherers and scavengers: the Iron Knights. You will have noticed that all of us down here are somewhat lacking in limbs. We were up there once, delivering people to the hospital and fueling the infant colony experiment. Then someone had the really fucking stupid idea of bucking the trend; interrupting the program; throwing a spanner in the works. No-one knows who the cat was but he said something daft one day: "Look up and not down, for you may see what is above and that which is below need not concern you." Then the legend goes on that he lifted a drain cover and the rest is history. Here we are."

"And no-one knows who that was? It's all history, or religion?"

"Hah! Something stirs in your mind. Religion. Really? The cause of all conflict? A belief system beholden to a deity which praises the rapists of children? To be continued."

Skar slid his seat back and stood. "Jess: could it be that the reason your mind is so inquisitive, is because there is more than one person asking the questions? Are you perhaps frustrated because you are competing with so many others to have your questions heard? Is that not surprising when yours is one voice among those who populate planets orbiting 18 quintillion stars? The ones in your head?"

"Stars in my head?"

"The Cxielo implant. Everyone who plays the game, contributes to the program or whatever: they have a cerebral implant. Don't you remember?"

"I don't remember having anything actually implanted but I seem to have latent memories which are coming to the forefront of my mind, like waking dreams. It's as though they're suggestions made to me while hypnotised."

"There was no third party involved: you installed the implant yourself."

"How the fuck would I do that?"

"I'll show you. I need to take my meds anyway." Miles retrieved a small plastic bottle from his pocket and tipped a pill onto the table."

"And you're going to implant that in your brain?"

"Not directly and these tablets are just my anti-psychotics: normal pills which I swallow with water. You'd have swallowed a capsule when you started with the Cxielo program. That little plastic pill contained millions of nano machines: microscopic vehicles which entered your bloodstream and which are programmed to burrow into your brain. It sounds quite dramatic, I know but those little things are barely bigger than a single blood cell."

"And these nanites are in the Cxielo tablet?"

"Millions of them. Did you not RTFM?"

"Did I not what?"

"Read the manual."

"I never bother."

"Clearly. Well, the little machines are in no way designed to be harmful. They implant themselves into a user's brain at predetermined locations, forming their own neuro net: a matrix. This is all in the design, so that the Cxielo universe is to all intents real."

"Is it not? The memories I have are of places I visited, smelled, touched and talked in."

"And you did. Furthermore, every single person, alien or whatever you interacted with, will also have a memory. You could compare notes if you were ever to meet again."

"How would I do that?"

"Quite simply, just think. It's slightly more complicated than that but that's it, in essence. Anyone in particular?"

"Goose!"

"The leviathan you flew with? In theory." Miles looked at the others around the table and Skar raised his eyebrows. Miles gave Jess a wink.


Chapter Fifteen

Theoretically speaking

"What if I were to tell you that all around you is not real?" asked Miles.

"But it is," said Jess.

"How do you know?"

"Because I can see you. I can see you all. I can see everything which is around us. I can smell, taste and touch things."

"Like you did in La Petit Pomme."

"Yes."

"But you were in La Petit Pomme in the Cxielo program."

"And I travelled to here from there.

"And where is here?"

"Infana Kolonia. Specifically, beneath Infana Kolonia."

"And where's that? Where is Infana Kolonia?"

"Fuck sake. Above us."

"Not quite that literally. What planet are we on?"

"Well we're in Earth."

"What if I told you we're not?"

"Oh, fucking hell. Then I'd have a load more questions."

"Naturally. You have an enquiring mind. That's why you're here. I have a theory. I call it The Theory of Everything."

"That's modest. Did someone not do that already, centuries ago?"

"Maybe not as long ago as you think."

"What?"

"Miles, if I may?" Skar interrupted. "It is only a theory after all."

"Be my guest," Miles replied, gesturing around the table. "All yours."

"Thank you," continued Skar. "It is something originally proposed by Miles here and it is merely a theory but it's one which we all subscribe to." Skar looked around the table and the others nodded.

"Wait till you hear this," said Ali.

"It's pretty fucking awesome if it's true," Sparks cut in.

"It does offer up some quite astounding possibilities," continued Skar, "If it's true. At the moment it is a theory which lacks proof. It is not my intention to steal Miles' limelight here and it was indeed him who first proposed the theory of everything. I actually think it might be better called the theory of anything. In any case, it is something which we all believe in and as I am the democratically chosen spokesperson for the Bloodstained Knaves, you ought to hear it from me. We are all equal here but just so that you don't think Miles some sort of lone crank, I'll speak for Miles and the rest of us. He does have a habit of rambling and it is quite a fantastical proposition." Miles raised his lone middle finger to Skar. "Fuck you, Miles," Skar retorted.

"Fuck this." Turk finally spoke. "Anyone want a beer?" He reached beneath the table and lifted three bottles between the fingers of his one hand. He repeated with another three and quickly shoved all six in turn to those around the table. Then he pulled up a seventh, opened it with his teeth and poured it into a bowl on the floor for Gul. The dog sat up and and his head and neck were visible above the table. He looked at Turk through his muzzle and licked his lips. Turk removed the muzzle and a hush seemed to descend on the room before Gul's head quickly disappeared and he drained his bowl of beer, not by lapping but noisily sucking.

"He always sounds like he's got a fucking straw down there." Sparks looked under the table.

"Yes," begun Skar, before a sound like a child dredging the bottom of a milkshake drowned him out. "We'll wait," shouted Skar. Then Gul's head rose slowly again and looked at Turk.

"Here we go again, perhaps." Turk reached beneath the table, opened another beer and re-filled Gul's bowl.

"Perhaps?" asked Jess.

"Yes," replied Turk. "This could go one..." Another milkshake was polished off and Gul's head rose again. "Wait," Turk tapped Gul's nose. "As I was saying, this could go one of two ways."

"Three," Alice interupted.

"Well, yes." Turk continued. "You see Jess, Gul here likes a beer. Depending on nothing we have managed to work out, once he's had a few, he'll either just fall asleep or he'll get aggressive. And I do mean, even less pretty than he is now aggressive. This has come in handy when we have to venture above ground. Gul is one very fierce protector. Or he's asleep"

"And the third?" Jess asked.

"Yes, that," Turk continued: "Gul is a pack animal. He knows he's not the leader of the pack because he know's that's my place. He will protect the rest of the pack but there is a pecking order and as Gul is my wingman, the others are perhaps subordinate to him. When we're above ground, that's when Skar is not the leader of the Knaves. Long story short, we were up there at ground level, hunting in the wilderness and a young girl wandered in from the city. Gul saw her as predator or prey and he went. We couldn't stop him. The rest is the little blonde piece of history seated at this table." Alice smiled and waved.

"Are you saying," said Jess, "that Gul bit Ali's leg off?"

"He ate it too," Alice offered.
"And you don't hate him?" asked Jess.

"Of course not. Done me a fucking favour. I was fucked up there. If it weren't for Gul, pretty soon I'd have been picked up by one of what these guys used to be and harvested for parts. No-one will ever have that leg because a fucking dog ate it. It's poetic."

Turk poured Gul a third beer. "Last one." Gul downed the third just as quickly and noisily as the first two, before rising up again and looking hopefully at his master. "No, all gone. Sleep now. Please fucking sleep, you hooligan." Turk put Gul's muzzle back on his huge face and stroked his snout. Gul yawned before dropping to the floor and sparking out.

"Thank fuck for that," said Skar. "With your permission, I shall continue.

"The theory of everything, or the theory of anything, first proposed by Miles and adopted by the rest of us, for reasons which will become clear. You know by now that we weren't always down here. Even though you're a certifiable genius, it wouldn't take one to work out that most of us were previously Iron Knights. Those of us who were Knights - male and female - suffered traumatic physical and mental injuries whilst doing our jobs. Once, we'd have been taken by other Knights and harvested for our remaining working parts. Eventually, some bright spark had a moment of realisation.

For my part, it all started when I woke up. I woke up in an operating theatre, with no memory of what had happened for me to be there. I couldn't talk for two days, during which I was tended to, fed and given painkillers and whatever other drugs. When I eventually regained my voice, I obviously had a lot of questions. Foremost among them, what happened? I'd been knocked over by a truck and sustained a pretty serious head injury. Amnesia is common after a head trauma and I was warned that it could take some time before I began to regain short- and long-term memories. I was in the hospital for three months, convalescing. No-one came to see me. They asked if there was anyone I wanted to see but I couldn't remember anyone. Jess?" Jess held her hand aloft.

"Sorry to cut across but could the hospital not have checked your ID, searched for next of kin and contact them?"

"It would be a bit of a hole in the plot, wouldn't it?" Skar continued. "Jess, I'd suffered a serious head injury and my brain was in a mess, full of confusing thoughts; memories I didn't recognise but which seemed familiar somehow. They gave me suppressants, to slow my brain down and speed its healing: that helped. The point is, at the time, I simply didn't think to ask.

"A moment of realisation; a light bulb moment. Like a lobe in your brain which you didn't know was there before, just burst into action."



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(43,000 words)

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DO NOT READ BELOW THIS LINE

Software issues sometimes dictate that I have to write directly to the blog and as such, the story becomes a "Live" project. To read on from here may well be insightful but there will almost always be SPOILERS below. What follows are author notes, which may or may not make it any further. I rely on comments based on the story ABOVE here, so to read below would render a test reader pretty much redundant.


SO PLEASE DON'T READ ANY MORE

That's all until the writer's studio moves. Keep an eye on the blog around Thursday or Friday.