The Stars of Sirius: Pilot (Patreon)

Hi guys, this is the third and final story pilot for the new story poll, which concludes tomorrow. The only scifi, female character-centric story of the lot. The picture above was done with Midjourney (quite appropriate considering the story's theme).

Hope you'll enjoy... The Stars of Sirius.

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The old Voltaire said: “If we didn’t have God, we would have to invent Him.”

The new Voltaire replied: “Now that we have invented God, we must build It.”

• Introduction to the Machine Manifesto, Metallist Scriptures.

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A lone light shone in the Night Sector’s depths.

We walked through a claustrophobic alley, with walls of black steel surrounding us on both sides and chemical droplets dripping from the ceiling high above our heads. The air smelled of rust and decay. Pitch-black darkness obscured my vision. Kres’s searchlight was our guide and my flamethrower was our shield. Our hazmat suits would offer little protection against the target.

“I don’t see anything,” Kres said as we passed by closed or malfunctioning automated doors of worn metal. Four-digit numbers were engraved on each of them. “No trace of the ooze.”

“Let’s check everything, just in case,” I said. This part of the Night Sector was unknown to me, and dangerous; only the lost and the damned lived so close to the station’s outer shell. The more we progressed, the chillier the air became. “One after another.”

Dietrich Energy was contractually obligated to heat up the Night Sector to avoid structural damage to Station Babel, since, without warmth, the cold of space would freeze the outer layers and cause them to burst like a rotten apple. Unfortunately, nobody in the Night Sector was willing nor capable of paying common energy fees, so Dietrich Energy kept the heating to the minimum required and switched off the lights in the public spaces.

If there was such a thing as a public space in Station Babel…

Clink.

The noise was brief, almost imperceptible, yet fraught with danger. Kres turned around in alarm, a switchlight in one hand and a laser gun in the other; it wouldn’t harm our target, but it would keep criminals at bay. I moved my back against her, flamethrower raised in case we faced encirclement.

“Who’s there?” Kres asked behind me. My finger brushed against the flamethrower’s trigger as I heard the sound of footsteps in the dark. “Show yourself!”

The darkness did not answer. Kres took a few steps away from me, following the distant footsteps. He raised his searchlight and illuminated a dark wall.

“Oh,” I heard him say, before chuckling to herself. “So childish.”

“Found something?” I asked as I looked over my shoulder. If Kres relaxed enough to laugh, then no ambush would follow.

“I did,” he replied. “Look at this.”

I approached the wall to get a better view and immediately regretted it. Some punk had defaced it with a painted, anti-Nimrod slogan.

BONEHEART KEEPS BOTS OFF OUR JOBS! FUCK NIMROD!

“That’s just sad.” Kres sneered at the sight. “The place’s already dirty as sin, why do people insist on making it worse?”

“Good point, let’s improve on it.” I searched inside my suit and brought out a can of painted spray. I reworked the slogan with a touch of pinkish, flashy colors. “Better.”

FUCK THE ALGO BARONS!

“Seriously?” Kres sighed in despair. “Instead of insulting one baron, you’d rather insult them all?”

“They all deserve to rot,” I replied with a shrug. “Not just Nimrod and Boneheart.”

Hugo Boneheart was a crook parading himself as a philanthropist, opening poor houses and orphanages to make people forget the drug running, the prostitution, and his exploitative near-monopoly on automated logistics. It was an open secret that he ran a space pirate operation and had rivals killed, but suckers were still willing to excuse all his crimes because he shipped them food and booze.

“Come on, Kres, let’s go…” I felt burns in my lungs and coughed through my hazmat mask. I held my chest due to the searing pain and nearly dropped the flamethrower. “Ugh…”

“Ashley!” Kres immediately rushed to my side in worry. “Ashley, are you all right!”

“I’m…” I coughed up something warm, something sticky. Blood, I supposed. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie, which Kres didn’t believe. “You shouldn’t even be working,” he said. “Let me take it over from here.”

“I’m fine,” I insisted. I knew he was right, but I didn’t like being reminded of it. I hated the idea of being treated like a burden. “Let’s go.”

Kres looked at me in silent disapproval, but mercifully dropped the subject. After checking that no bandit would ambush us in the dark, we left the tagged wall behind and continued our exploration of the underground. After minutes of slow, steady walk, we finally found traces of our target.

“Here,” I said, pointing at a corridor corner. Kres turned his light on the spot, illuminating a puddle of green goo. “It’s close. Let’s make some noise, draw it in.”

“That’s too risky,” Kres protested. “It’ll eat through our suits in seconds if it gets the drop on us.”

“All the better reason to lure it in,” I replied with a shrug. “I can’t outrun the thing but it’s dumb as a brick. Getting it to move at us in a straight line is our best shot.”

“Ashley, don’t–” Kres protested, but I already started hitting the nearest wall with my fist. Noise echoed in the hallway, and my comrade hastily turned his searchlight at the walls, at the floor, at the ceiling. “Ashley, above you!”

I heard a thumping sound as the creature landed on the floor, unseen in the dark. Kres pointed the searchlight at our pursuer while I lifted the flamethrower.

A blob of green slime taller than both of us combined was crawling in our direction.

We’d found our rogue Goo-Cleaner.

I pressed the flamethrower’s trigger and incinerated the slime. A torrent of flames erupted from my weapon, consuming the beast whole. It didn’t scream. It had no mouth to scream, no eyes to express penance. The slime said nothing as it rushed through the fire.

“Step back, Kres!” I had to do the same as the creature gained ground on us. It didn’t matter that flames turned its green slime blood into a blackened crust or that the heat was enough to make me sweat under my suit. The creature could feel neither pain nor fear. It advanced at us with mechanical determination.

The flamethrower petered out in my hands.

My heart skipped a beat at the sight of the fire, the only thing standing between us and a gruesome death, turning to smoke on my weapon’s tip.

“Rusting piece of crap!” I cursed, banging on the flamethrower’s barrel as the slime’s healthy parts consumed its own burned crust. “Work, damn it!”

The Goo-Cleaner raised a tentacle and attempted to grab me. It managed to brush at my chest, leaving a fuming gash where it touched me. It dissolved the outer layers of my suit’s polymer in seconds, but thankfully failed to touch my skin underneath.

“I’ve got this!” Kres opened fire with his laser gun, beams of red light piercing the Goo-Cleaner’s body and hitting a metal wall coming out on the other side. The ‘wound’ closed in seconds. “Ashley, get away!”

“Can’t!” I snarled as I hit the flamethrower harder. The piece of junk let out a burst of flame right before the Goo-Cleaner could catch up to us. “Yes! Saved!”

I burned the Goo-Cleaner’s tentacle and then the rest of it. The flamethrower didn’t fail me again. It burned the monster to a crisp for minutes, incinerating the creature until nothing but blackened crust and ashes remained. By the time it was a black stain on a steaming hot metal floor, I felt like a boiled egg inside my suit.

“Is it dead?” I asked. I hoped dearly it was dead. I didn’t have much fuel left. Our employer asked me to provide my own equipment except for the container, which they provided, so I had to keep my expenses low to turn a profit. “Took long enough to croak.”

“Geneforge builds them to operate in extreme environments, so I’m not surprised.” Kres examined the creature’s remains with his searchlight, then nodded to himself. “Yeah, it’s dead. Though I’m not sure it was alive to begin with.”

“Good,” I said. “I hope you didn’t forget to bring the vessel.”

“Who do you take me for? I always double-check.” Kres brought out a small chemical, metal container from his suit’s pockets. Genforge provided it to us to make sure it would contain the creature’s remains… or so at least, I hoped it could. “How many people did this thing eat?”

“At least three,” I said. Goo-Cleaners were one of Geneforge’s flagship products, a synthetic slime that consumed garbage and produced eco-friendly biofuel in response. Most worked as advertised, but a few often failed to understand the difference between trash and people.

Since Goo-Cleaners could damage equipment and human life was cheaper than good robots, Geneforge paid us a pittance to kill the thing and gather a sample so they could patch out the issue. Or at least, that was what they told us. Whether or not they would patch out the issue depended on how much it would cost them.

And considering how cheap life was on Station Babel, I predicted Geneforge would do jack-shit. These guys had the ethics of their bottom-line.

Kres carefully picked up the black crust and put it inside the container. I suppressed a wince when his rubber gloves brushed against the Goo-Cleaner’s remains. I half-expected them to burn through the protection.

“Three people killed, nearly did us in too, and they paid five hundred. One hundred a life.” The whole adventure left a bitter taste in my mouth. “And you ask me why I hate the algo-barons. They treat us like wage fodder.”

“Better a wage fodder than a crook or a pirate,” Kres replied calmly. “I’d rather clean trash for the rest of my life than rob people for cash.”

I opened my mouth to argue, only to stop midway through. My eyes had wandered to a subtle gleam at the edge of the hallway. I had been too on edge to notice beforehand, but it looked like–

“Light?” I stepped over the goo’s remains and into the corridor, with Kres following shortly behind me. I took a turn and then another, my eyes were instantly captivated by a bright white radiance. I briefly mistook it for a bright lamp, until my eyes acclimated to the luminosity.

A window.

It was such a rare thing in the Night Sector that I couldn’t help myself. I walked close to the reinforced, tainted nanoglass separating us from the void of space outside. The window’s outer layers hadn’t been cleaned in a while, so a layer of cosmic dust partly obscured my sight.

But no space debris could obscure the light of Sirius.

The window afforded me a glimpse of the great white fireball around which our station orbited. Sirius A was renowned on Old Earth as the brightest star in the sky, but the tales did not do it justice. The tinted window struggled to lessen its brilliance; its limitless power fueled the energy grid almost as much as Dietrich Energy’s fusion reactor.

From my viewpoint, Sirius A occupied a good sixth of the sky with no challenger. Its little sister and binary star, the pale Sirius B, struggled to stay visible in the dark background; a bit like me. Mined asteroids floated in and out of sight, alongside a single black spaceship carrying extracted ore to the Station.

“Incredible…” Kres struggled to believe his eyes too. “I didn’t know…”

“There’s enough free light for everyone and then some.” I trailed a hand against the nanoglass. I felt a strange warmth on its surface. “So why do we live in the dark, Kres?”

He let out a tired sigh. “The goo must have chased anyone willing to make some bootleg panel juice. And these windows are old. I don’t think they keep cosmic rays out well.”

My palm tightened into a fist. “You don’t say.”

We left the window to whoever would dare seize it. My good mood had soured, but at least the job was done.

“Thanks, Kres,” I told my friend as we walked through the dirty corridors of the Night Sector. “You didn’t have to follow along.”

“We both know that’s a lie,” Kres replied with a chuckle. “Can’t abandon a friend in need.”

I winced at his words, but kept my unease to myself. There were things best left unspoken between us… especially considering how little time I had left to live.

Now that we had the sample, we walked back all the way back to Steel Belly, the Night Sector’s main ‘plaza;’ if you call this slum one. Everything here was built in a windowless, claustrophobic cavern of metal in the very heart of Station Babel. The air smelled of old paint and rust. The broken windows of derelict apartment buildings overlooked cramped shacks and squatted ruins. The ground was covered in oily water, bullet casings, and the occasional spent condom.

The Night Sector’s heart breathed misery. Only one house out of ten had light, with locals gathering around burning barrels for light. Prostitutes led clients into black tenement houses under the watchful eyes of armed pimps. We passed by fellow inhabitants of the slum, all of them averting our eyes or eyeing us warily. Kres pointed his laser gun at those who watched us too insistently, and would-be robbers quickly backed off.

The Night Sector was a dangerous place at the best of times, but… something felt wrong. More people were outside their homes than usual at this hour. More fires were alight than normal. I sensed a tension in the air, although I couldn’t explain why.

At least, until I saw the soldiers.

There were a dozen of them across the plaza, each of them clad in black powered armor strapped with mounted plasma cannons, camera eyes, radiation detectors, and other technological gizmos. The metal plates protecting the pilots were so thick they could probably stop a rocket dead in its tracks. Their featureless black visor resembled an ominous cyclops’ eye, but it was the red dragon head painted on their chest that looked the most ominous. The Beowulf Group’s logo.

Each of these armors cost in the hundreds of thousands, but no one in their right mind would try to rob these guys. They strolled along the plaza, addressing whoever cared to listen; which, considering they came armed to the teeth, was quite a lot of people.

“Hi there, fellas.” One of the soldiers walked to us. Though I couldn’t see his face, his voice sounded like that of a guy; his rough accent seemed vaguely Diogenesian to me. “Might I have a minute of your time?”

“No,” Kres replied bluntly, his hand on his pistol. As if it would get past their armor.

“Yes,” I said, sending Kres a glare. I knew exactly what the Beowulf Group was, but they were the kind of people to shoot at anyone who looked at them funny. Best play along. “What’s the gig?”

“We’re representatives of the Beowulf Group,” the man introduced himself. “Ever heard of us?”

“Yeah, we did,” Kres said with a grunt. “You’re space pirates.”

“Now that’s wrong, friend.” The recruiter smiled, but behind it there were teeth. “We’re licensed mercenaries and bounty hunters. It’s true that Mister Grendel often gives convicts a second chance, but everybody deserves one, don’t you think?”

It was only half a lie. The Beowulf Group were officially mercenaries, protecting assets for wealthy clients—usually corporations—and hunting down criminals. They also shook down planets lacking in security forces of their own, and their competitors often ended up targeted by mysterious pirate ships. In short, they were bad news.

“We’re running a recruitment drive,” the man explained. He sounded halfway like a true salesperson. “Man, woman, old man, young girl, doesn’t matter to us. So long as you’re willing to put in the work and your life on the line, we’ll take you in.”

“I’ll pass,” Kres replied without hesitation.

"Don't be so stiff fella." The soldier chuckled. "We offer quite the benefits. Good pay, brotherhood, healthcare…"

Healthcare.

Much to my shame, I bit my lips and asked for details. “What’s in it for us?”

Kres looked at me as if I had grown a second head, while the recruiter immediately began his sales pitch. “Wages start at three thousand a month and go up from there based on your performance. New recruits receive basic implants over a trial period of six months, but if you prove your mettle, you can look forward to military-grade bio-mods, even full cybernetic conversion if that’s up your alley. We also cover training costs and provide premium Geneforge healthcare packages.”

Premium healthcare. Was it worth signing a deal with the devil? “And the jobs?”

“Security jobs mostly, though we’ve started to diversify in mineral extractions, bounty hunting, and PR management.”

In short, beating up people who couldn’t fight back and covering it up. The more this man outlined his job, the more I struggled to hide my disgust.

“What’s your network address?" The soldier asked me. "I can forward you the sample contract if you’re interested.”

“Sure,” I said evasively, before providing the information. “I’ll review it later.”

It was a lie—I wasn't yet desperate enough to work with this trash—but that way he would let us go without a fuss.

“We’re opening a more permanent recruitment center in the Night Sector, so you can apply there whenever you want.” The soldier saluted us before moving on to the next pedestrian. “Have a nice day.”

Kres waited for us to walk out of earshot to complain. “Are you seriously considering turning into a space pirate?” he asked me. “Ashley, they put bombs in their recruits’ skulls. Once you’re in, Grendel will never let you go.”

"I know." I sighed. “But if push comes to shove, it beats being dead, no?”

Kres bristled as if I had slapped him on the face, and dropped the subject. I hated corporate attack dogs from the depths of my soul… but I wondered how long I could afford to stay true to my principles.

I remained on my guard even after we reached our destination. The Geneforge Clinic was well fortified in contrast to the rest of the sector. Its door was reinforced with a double layer of steel and trapdoors on the walls indicating the presence of hidden turrets. The blue camera eye of a biometric scanner watched Kres and me from atop the doorframe. I could see light coming from the inside.

Kres removed his helmet first, revealing his face to the biometric scanner. He had lost weight since we had to cut rations to afford my pills, and his light-deprived skin had gotten even paler. His nose still bore the mark of an ill-healed fracture, though he remained handsome with his short black hair, chiseled jaw, and pale blue eyes.

He looked better than I did. I briefly caught a glance at my reflection as I removed my helmet and looked at the biometric scanner. I looked like a scarecrow, my black hair had started turning white in some places and my golden eyes—a genetic mutation I inherited from my mother—were graying at the seam.

Kres and I were both in our mid-twenties. He might live to reach twice that age, maybe more. I would be lucky to outlast the year.

The scanner projected a blue light as it examined us head to toe. Turrets came out of the trapdoors, and pointed at the darkness behind us. They locked into an unseen target.

“Ashley Yu, Kresnik Karel,” a digitized voice spoke through the camera. The door opened with a noisy, clicking sound. “Come in.”

We stepped inside the clinic, the door closing right behind us.

First, we walked into a white decontamination airlock. The wall to our left opened to reveal a trapdoor where we had to leave our weapons. Metal arms from the ceiling sprayed us with decontamination gas before allowing us into the clinic proper. The Geneforge hospital was a three-floor building with twice as many underground levels, almost entirely automated. The reception hall alone was large enough to fit double our apartment inside it. Many-armed medical robots crawled around eight biomechanical Genochambers. These heart-shaped black devices, each of them large enough to fit an adult man in, pumped energy and fluids from the ceiling through cables. Three elevators led to the other floors, but I never got past this room.

A medical robot approached us on black wheels. Its camera eye watched us atop eight mechanical arms. “Please surrender the sample for analysis,” it asked with a digitized, yet pleasant voice. “You must provide photographic evidence of clean-up.”

Kres surrendered the Goo-Cleaner sample’s container and his pale eyes brightened. He was transferring video footage of the job to Geneforge.

“Query,” the robot asked as it grabbed the container and stored it in its white metal chest. “The task was assigned to Ashley Yu. Why did you not provide photographic evidence yourself?”

“I don’t have the required implants,” I replied. That was why I brought Kres. Besides working as a backup, he was equipped with eye implants allowing him to take pictures and read his emails from afar. “Will that be a problem?”

“Under normal circumstances, a freelancer must provide personal recording evidence of an accomplished task for authenticity reasons,” the drone replied emotionlessly.

My jaw clenched in frustration. “You won’t pay us?”

“Our analysts' algorithms will analyze the footage and sample to confirm the task was accomplished first,” the robot said. “If the evidence is sufficient, the payment will be transferred to your bank account.”

I wanted to punch that thing, but held back. Getting angry at lifeless robots was a waste of our time, and I had so little of it left. “I put forward a request to have the funds used for treatment in this clinic,” I said. “Has it been registered?”

“Query,” the robot replied. “Is the treatment you asked for our metastasized cancer minimum package?”

I suppressed a cough, as if on cue. “That’s correct.”

A lifetime spent in Station Babel’s slums had taken its toll on my health. I wasn’t sure if I should blame the drug fumes from rogue labs, the lack of natural air, or the improper shieldings keeping the cosmic rays out. Maybe it was all of them.

“According to your biometric data, the minimum package will extend your lifespan by six months. It will only stabilize your condition for a time.” The robot spoke without affection or pity. It wasn’t programmed for mental health, unlike the fancier clinics of the better districts. “Might I suggest the five-thousand tokens monthly premium package instead?”

Kres looked away with a somber look, while I let out a sigh. Geneforge could heal almost any illness, and they put the cure behind a paywall. I couldn’t help but feel a little bitter, even if I had made peace with my fate.

“We don’t have the money,” I said. “The minimum package is the best we can afford.”

If it failed to save my life… I would have to turn to more disreputable solutions. Joining the Beowulf Group wasn’t my only option, but the others were equally bad in their own way.

Fuck. Why did the game of life have to be rigged from the start?

The robot observed me for a few seconds, its camera eye unreadable. “Query: do you confirm that you possess neither biomods nor cybernetic implants?”

“A rarity, I know,” I replied with a snort. Only the dregs of society couldn’t afford even basic implants. You needed them for almost everything nowadays. “I’m a pure, baseline human.”

“In this case, would you consider an experimental treatment?” the robot asked. “You meet the criteria for one, free of charge.”

I blinked in surprise, and then squinted in suspicion. “Free of charge?” I repeated, unsure I had ever heard these words spoken aloud before. “Like, it won’t cost us anything?”

“The technology is experimental with an error margin,” the robot replied. “You will be remunerated for testing it.”

Okay, now that was too good to be true. Far too good.

Kres’s eyes, however, lit up with optimism. “That would be ideal, Ashley.”

“It’s a trap,” I said with a scowl. “I’ve heard of what they do with guinea pigs at Geneforge. They kill them at best and turn them into genefreaks at worst. They’ll cut me up and toss my corpse in the garbage.”

It was a scary prospect, indeed… but two words rang in my head, screeching like a vibration blade on a spaceship’s shielding: six months.

The standard package would give me six more months at best. Six months spent receiving treatment, forced to rely on others as if I was a dead woman walking. Six months where Kres would almost certainly risk his own life to scrounge enough money to help me survive a few more days. He was my friend. He deserved better.

“This treatment is not provided by Geneforge,” the robot replied.

I blinked in surprise. “Huh?”

“The procedure is provided by an outside organization,” the machine explained. “We are only lending them access to our facilities as per contractual agreements.”

“An outside organization?” Kres looked as surprised as I was. “Whom? Nimrod Industries?”

“I cannot provide details,” the robot replied. “I can inform my superiors, who are authorized to tell you more. If you prove compatible with the technology in question, chances of a full recovery are estimated at ninety-nine point nine percent within the next two hours.”

“Okay, what’s the catch?” I asked suspiciously. “Will the tech make me mad or something?”

“It won’t cost us anything to hear them out,” Kres pointed, before turning to the robot. “She can refuse and walk out, right? You aren’t going to kidnap her?”

“I am not programmed for criminal activities,” the robot replied flatly. The light in its eye flickered a few times. “I have informed my superiors. The doctors running the project will receive you shortly.”

Five minutes later, one of the clinic’s elevators opened and two men walked out; not robots or androids, but humans of flesh and bone. That alone was noteworthy. The only humans working with Geneforge were either mutant bio-warriors, or optimized scientists stuffed with enough mods to outcompete computers. Considering their white lab coats, they must belong to the second category.

Both were men, one taller than the other. The first scientist was a tall, middle-aged man twice my age, with wise blue eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses, ebony skin, and advanced baldness. His coat did little to hide his broad shoulders and heavy muscles. Either the man hit the gym in between surgeries or he had upgraded his testosterone levels.

His colleague was of the same age, but slimmer, and slender. His skin was almost as pale as mine, his face angular. The upper part of his skull was larger than nature allowed, indicating the use of neuro-based biomods. Spinning optical scanners embedded in his flesh replaced his natural eyes, and he carried a touchscreen device in his fidgeting hands.

“Mr. Karel, Miss Yu?” The black man shook my hand with a smile. His grip was warm but firm. “I am Dr. Anton Ackers. Thank you for coming here today. This is my colleague and partner, Dr. Thomas Wade.”

“Let’s not waste time,” his fellow said with a sharp tone. He presented me with the touchscreen device and the dense wall of text covering it. “Sign this contract and let us proceed. The faster we get this over with, the better.”

“Wow, wow, slow down,” I said. “I agreed to talk it out, not to sign anything.”

“Everything is written in the contract,” Dr. Wade declared flatly. “You only have to use your eyes.”

“Thomas, courtesy doesn’t kill,” his colleague chided him before turning to face me. “My friend is correct, everything is in the contract, but if you want the long story short… We are a start-up developing a new biomechanical technology.”

“A start-up?” I groaned. That explained the experimental part. “Are you one of these young companies bought by a corp hungry for new blood?”

Dr. Ackers smiled kindly. “We are not affiliated with Geneforge, Miss Yu. We’re a law enforcement start-up working directly on behalf of the A.S.M.O. unit.”

That shut me up good.

Law enforcement was almost entirely automated on Station Babel and its satellite systems. The A.S.M.O. supercomputer, the AI managing the station’s vital functions, solved most crimes, deployed drones to apprehend criminals, and then judged them in courts. It did a decent job, though police bots could only do so much against space pirates armed with military gear or genetic tanks on legs. The likes of the Beowulf Group lobbied to replace outstretched automated security with privatized forces.

Kres asked out loud what I was pondering to myself. “What kind of tech could interest the supercomputer enough to invest in a start-up of all things?”

“The revolutionary kind, we hope,” Dr. Ackers said with a chuckle. “We must run a certain number of tests, but finding subjects meeting our criteria has proven more difficult than expected.”

“And I meet them?” I asked, utterly confused. “I, uh, I’ve got a cancer doc. I’m not exactly healthy, control test material.”

“Common illnesses and mutations are of no concern to us,” Dr. Wade said flatly. “What matters is that you do not have mods that could conflict with the technology and meet its moral parameters.”

I scoffed. “Moral parameters?”

Dr. Wade snorted. “The operational AI we developed is showing strong signs of mental defects.”

“This Unit is not defective, it’s selective,” Dr. Ackers replied with an exasperated tone before changing the subject. “The terms of the testing process are outlined in the contract, Miss Yu.”

I grabbed the touchscreen device. “I’ll need to read this carefully, Doc. You ain’t two minutes short?”

“Of course not,” Dr. Ackers said politely, while his colleague rolled his eyes in annoyance. “Take your time.”

Kres and I gave the contract a quick read-through. It was deceptively simple and straightforward: I agreed to serve as a test subject for an experimental body enhancement technology for a month-long trial period, after which I could either terminate the contract or keep the body enhancements as part of a five-year employment contract. I would also receive a very interesting compensation during the length of the experiment, paid five-thousand tokens a month with bonuses. It was more money than I had seen in my entire life. Of course, my ‘employers’ denied responsibility in case of premature death, injuries, or side effects, but I expected as much. On paper, it was a relatively good deal.

Two things bothered me, however. First of all, I would indeed sign on with the A.S.M.O. supercomputer. I didn’t even know it had the power to form contracts. It reassured me that I wouldn't have to answer to an algo-baron, but my gut told me I would step into something big.

And second…

“It’s military-grade technology,” I pointed out. Although the contract didn’t explain what the treatment involved, the jargon was clear and straightforward. “Does that mean I’ll see combat?”

“Yes,” Dr. Wade replied flatly. “This technology is meant to equip special forces law enforcement officers dealing with genefreaks and armed criminals. You will be asked to test the device in field conditions.”

“Officers?” I repeated. I had killed fellow humans in the past—who hadn’t in the Night Sector?—but I couldn’t exactly call myself security forces material. Kres was a far better shot than I was. “I don’t think I meet the qualifications.”

“Are you spitting at a job offer?” Dr. Ackers said with a smile. “You are a rare breed, Miss Yu.”

“Somebody else will take care of your training if you prove compatible with the technology,” Dr. Wade said, more coldly. “The only qualifications we care about are your biometric data.”

“What are the requirements?” Kres asked, with more optimism than me. “Would Ashley meet them?"

“First of all, we need someone with no cybernetic implants that might interfere with the initial test,” Dr. Wade replied. “Advanced biomods also present compatibility issues.”

“In short, we need a baseline adult with no enhancements whatsoever,” Dr. Ackers summed it up with a bright, friendly smile. I could tell this man was much better at handling fellow humans than his all-business colleague. “A surprisingly rare breed. Less than two percent of our population reaches adulthood without either undergoing biomechanical modification.”

“So you climbed down from your ivory towers upstairs to visit the only place with people too poor to buy mods?” I snickered. “You’re accepting anyone desperate enough to try your tech?”

“Aren’t you?” Dr. Wade asked sharply.

I glared back at him, but said nothing.

“I admit we are already way behind schedule,” Dr. Ackers confessed with a sigh. “The technology is operated by an AI with extremely selective guidelines. Not only does our tester need to meet the biological parameters but the AI needs to validate your candidacy. So far… it has yet to accept anyone.”

“You went too far with the ethical parameters, Anton,” his colleague complained. “I know the Saturn Unit was a bust, but you overcorrected.”

“We cannot have a Watcher without a strong moral center,” Dr. Ackers replied. “Better take our time now than deal with an incident later.”

I had no idea what this was all about, but I was becoming morbidly curious. “Who am I supposed to fight? Goo-Cleaners?”

“The technology was developed to help security forces apprehend yellow-class threats to public security and above,” Dr. Wade explained. “Namely genefreaks, fully converted cyborgs, bioweapons, combat AI, and paramilitary forces.”

In short, the kind of criminals that warranted bounties or the use of military force. Though it was a cut above the Goo-Cleaner, it kinda reassured me somewhat. These targets were threats to everyone around them. I would do more than protect corpos assets; I would be saving lives.

“If I were to accept,” I said tentatively, “when would we start?”

“As soon as you sign, which you should do now or never,” Dr. Wade said flatly. “If you are set on refusing and wasting our time, then take the door.”

“I assure you that we will respect all appropriate safety and health protocols,” Dr. Ackers thought it wise to mention. “I will be blunt, Miss Yu. I have seen your file. This technology can save your life, whether you decide to embark on a long-term contract with us or not. I strongly suggest that you take this opportunity.”

I turned to Kres and we moved a few steps away from the scientists for privacy. “What do you think?” I asked him, whispering. “It sounds shady, but…”

“But there’s a chance that it might work,” Kres replied. “And the pay for the trial period is enough to cover the premium package… maybe even rent an apartment in a safer neighborhood. This contract could save your life, Ashley.”

“I dunno, I still wonder if there’s a catch.” The A.S.M.O. was officially independent from the algo-barons’ interference, but it still had been built by them. The laws in Sirius were biased towards those in power. “I don’t know.”

He locked eyes with me. “What non-corporate, non-criminal option do we have?”

My silence was an answer in itself.

Taking gigs would barely cover the minimum cancer package, extending my life by six month amounts every so often. Some people could last years this way… but few succeeded. Work was difficult to find in Station Babel for the likes of us, and never safe. My cancer-ridden organs wouldn’t fetch much either. This left the Beowulf Group, or maybe the Immortalists; and the latter would probably settle on making a digital copy of my mind rather than save my body.

The job sounded dangerous, but genefreaks and their kind were a bane on everyone. I would feel better about fighting those guys than working to defend corporate assets.

“Kres, I…” I let out a deep breath. “I want to live.”

He chuckled darkly. “Me too.”

I signed the contract with my thumb as Kres watched on with a tired look. The machine registered my biometric signature, binding me to the supercomputer.

“Excellent choice, Miss Yu,” Dr. Ackers said as he recovered the notepad. “Time to meet your guardian angel.”

“My guardian angel?” I asked with a raised eyebrow.

“Did you think you were signing on with the Devil?” Dr. Ackers chuckled. “Don’t worry. We’re on the other side.”

“You can wait here,” Dr. Wade told Kres. “The rest of the premise is barred to non-test subjects.”

I exchanged a look with Kres. “I’ll wait here,” he said. “Don’t care how long it takes.”

“Thanks,” I replied warmly. It made me feel less anxious.

Dr. Ackers pointed at the elevator. “This way, Miss Yu.”

I left Kres behind for an operation chamber three floors below the entrance hall. As befitting of a doctor’s lair, a sterile layer of plastic coated the floor and ceiling. A surgical chair equipped with an armrest and a dozen robotic arms occupied the center, with cables connecting it to advanced quantum servers. Powerful lamps cast a clear white light above a dozen screen monitors.

“Now please take a seat,” Dr. Ackers said, data reflecting on his glass. He was probably using a brain interface to study my biometrics. “We’ll introduce you to your partner.”

“My partner?” I asked as I sat and I adjusted my back. A doc had only used a surgical chair on me once before, and that was to extract two bullets from my chest. I still bore the scars.

One of the chair’s arms moved a polished, mirrored screen surface in front of my face. Another raised a syringe the length of my leg. A substance reminding me of liquid mercury swirled inside, viscous and silvery.

“It looks…” I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. It reminded me a bit too much of the Goo-Cleaner. “Alive.”

“Because it is,” Dr. Wade replied.

“Miss Yu, let me introduce you to Raphael, a new type of nanomachine implant,” Dr. Ackers explained. “Raphael, this is Ashley, our new tester. Say hello.“

The silver ooze shifted in its container.

Then it spoke.

“Hello, Ashley!” The voice that came from the slime was neither male nor female, but a strange, childish mix of both. “I am Raphael, the operating AI of this Mercury Watcher Unit. Are you poor enough?”

The question came out of nowhere, and was asked with such an innocent tone, that I couldn’t muster the strength for anger; only confusion. “What?”

“My data indicates that compassion is inversely correlated with the size of one’s financial assets,” the ooze replied. “As a grassroots law enforcement operational unit, my host must empathize with their fellow humans. Bonding with someone below the poverty line would be optimal.”

I didn’t know whether I should feel offended or amazed by this stupid reasoning. This creature, Raphael, mistook my silence for agreement.

“Do you feel the desire to help your fellow human in spite of the crushing wealth disparity?” the ooze asked me, its voice brimming with innocent curiosity. “Does your heart burn with the shining light of justice? Do you yearn to rehabilitate the criminal mind? If so, I can’t wait to hit the streets with you!”

I turned my head at the scientists, trying to see their reactions. Dr. Ackers suppressed a smile, while Dr. Wade looked fit to gag.

“I told you before,” Dr. Wade said with the most annoyed tone I’d ever heard. “We overshot the ethical parameters.”

At this moment, I realized they had tried to create the fairest cop in space.

They’d succeeded.