《VANTA-B》


 ONE: No Exit, No Problem

    They sat side by side in the glider. One wiped sweat from his face with the sleeve of his jumpsuit, while the other, panting from exertion, eyed the glowing control panel in front of him. A lever for the lift system, a throttle on the side. Hesitantly, the boy placed his sweaty hands on the yoke.


    ¡°And you really know how to fly this thing, huh?¡±


    ¡°Nope, not the slightest idea,¡± he said, gradually catching his breath. His eyes darted over the array of switches and controls. ¡°Which button releases the damn anchor?¡±


    The technician, whose name tag bore only the initials C.R., studied the console for a moment before shrugging. ¡°Doesn¡¯t look like there¡¯s a button for that.¡±


    Sparse overhead lights glowed at distant intervals as the platform glided through all-encompassing darkness. They passed under a light barrier. The screens flickered, the compass spun wildly, and one by one, every digital display went dark, navigation, FMS, autopilot, engine status. Before them, only blank black monitors remained.


    ¡°The stick won¡¯t budge,¡± the boy said, shaking the locked yoke.


    ¡°That was a magnetic shutoff system,¡± the technician replied. ¡°For when a glider leaves the factory with its electronics still on.¡±


    ¡°For when someone tries to steal one of these?¡±


    ¡°No. For when a glider in the assembly hall isn¡¯t properly powered down. Keeps it from arriving at the delivery site with a dead battery.¡±


    ¡°Pretty clever of them.¡±


    ¡°Pretty awful for us.¡±


    The boy twisted halfway around in his seat, glancing tensely behind them. The light barrier receded into the distance, and their pursuers were nowhere in sight. Suddenly, he felt the technician¡¯s firm hand on his shoulder. He turned his face forward, squinting against the rushing wind. The icy air carried a heavy scent of machine oil.


    ¡°Look ahead.¡±


    The track led them through a lock and into a brightly lit glass tunnel. The tube must have stretched hundreds of meters. Lex caught sight of the technician¡¯s reflection in the passing glass panels. From his first day at the glider factory, their paths had crossed on every shift. Fate disguised as a random encounter.


    The technician was over six feet tall and lanky, only slightly older than Lex. His thick black hair gave Lex the sense he was sitting next to an older brother. Their destination: anywhere but here.


    Suddenly, the lights inside the glass tunnel flickered out, and the reflections on the panes vanished. The grim face of the workers'' city came into view beyond the glass, like the opening scene of a dark drama. CR stared outside, his gaze shadowed, where the poisonous sky flared and acid rain streaked down the curved glass in shining rivulets.


    ¡°Tell me that¡¯s just a coincidence. Or do you really think that storm out there caused the power outage?¡±


    CR didn¡¯t answer. The rushing wind had disheveled his jet-black hair. Strands fell across his straight nose and prominent cheekbones. His chin tilted slightly downward, his eyes sunken deep into their sockets. The boy saw the green of his irises glinting from the shadows, as if his soul lay hidden, watching. It was Keldaraan¡¯s ugly face CR saw through the glass that made him so angry. His breathing was deep and steady yet intense, as if he were holding back something immense. The distant glow of three holographic letters spilled over them through the glass.


    JOY


    The sign flickered in the rain, casting its light over the black towers and barrack camps of the workers¡¯ settlement. The glass tunnel was an artery of a living machine; the factory heart pumped new glider models through its veins¡ªthousands by day, thousands by night, around the clock. As long as the factory churned, and the power plant chimneys smoked, the beast lived on. For those outside, the tunnel was a window into the eternal cycle; for the workers, it was carved into their very bodies. The beast that thrived on exploitation.


    ¡°The whole misery of this city at a glance. What a depressing hellhole,¡± CR muttered. Faint scars lined his face. One ran vertically from the corner of his mouth to his cupid¡¯s bow, cutting through both lips¡ªpale lips, nearly as colorless as his skin. His mouth hung slightly open, and anger and despair condensed into mist with every breath he exhaled. Like a smoldering engine within him, an ember that refused to be extinguished. A stubborn heart forged from the dark memories of this brutal world.


    ¡°We should get moving,¡± he suggested, swinging his long legs out of the glider. The boy gripped the top edge of the side window with both hands, gazing outside. A hundred meters below, the worker camp sprawled, a grid of cramped Nissen huts, hundreds visible in his field of view. Some were dark, others dimly lit, all squalid. Rising above the stench of poverty and despair loomed the corporation¡¯s logo, stretching skyward. A projector at the tip of a black metal column beamed the name and motto of the New World¡¯s largest glider manufacturer into the night sky:


    Wolf Glider ¨C The Future Is Our Promise


    They walked alongside the decommissioned rails under the pale glow of the city lights, heading toward the black towers. Three massive cylindrical structures loomed ahead, visible even beyond Keldaraan¡¯s borders. The Glider Towers... symbols of the city¡¯s pride, the heart of its production.


    ¡°Tell me, did you ever dream you¡¯d become so important that they would shut down their machines for a grunt like you? Every minute production stops, they lose thousands of credits. Go on, how does it feel to piss off our mighty plutocrats like that?" CR laughed out loud, the kind of laughter that hinted at a long-held dream realized. This was the moment he had been waiting for¡ªthe moment worth fighting for.


    The boy wanted to share in the excitement, to feel the same thrill. But the echo of CR''s laughter carved out a hollow inside him, leaving him chilled. A loneliness crept over him, dimming his joy with one persistent thought: How did it come to this?


    Just to be sure, he activated the PDA on his wrist and checked his mail folder through the floating hologram. Skipping over a message from a girl he was supposed to meet in a few hours, he noticed something odd in his sent folder: a resignation email to Wolf Glider Corp. It was barely an hour old, yet he had no memory of writing it.If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    CR came to an abrupt stop, and the boy, still engrossed in his screen, bumped into him. They had entered the western Glider Tower. Ahead, the rails ended in a vast chasm. The air was icy and oppressive, carrying the leaden stench of the worker city, JOY, through the tower¡¯s skeletal walls.


    ¡°I almost walked straight into the abyss.¡± Lex switched off his PDA and clung to the tall technician for balance. His heart raced as he took a bold step forward, the toe of his boot dangling over the edge. He peered into the darkness below.


    ¡°It¡¯s a dead end.¡±


    ¡°Not if we settle for what we¡¯ve accomplished so far. Then it¡¯s an exit.¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    CR scanned their surroundings. Rising from the center of the chasm, a massive hydraulic mast emerged from the shadows, supporting the lift system and two glider elevators. One of the elevators, burdened with cargo, had frozen one floor below them due to the power outage.


    The boy shook his head. ¡°This is all insane. I don¡¯t even remember why we¡¯re running.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s the last thing you do remember?¡±


    ¡°My back hurting,¡± he said, ¡°from carrying batteries.¡±


    ¡°Anything else?¡±


    ¡°Well, yeah. I was on break in the lounge. Then you sat down next to me and gave me a capsule of that stuff.¡±


    His words brought a fleeting smirk to CR¡¯s face. A faint, fleeting smile that didn¡¯t stand a chance on such a grim visage.


    ¡°They killed him right in front of us,¡± CR said solemnly.


    ¡°Who?¡±


    ¡°Elvin.¡±


    The boy repeated the name thoughtfully. ¡°Yeah, he was with us. Why¡¯d they kill him? What did we ever do to them?¡±


    CR didn¡¯t answer. He tilted his head back, gazing upward. The boy followed his gaze. All he could make out in the dim emergency lighting were the faint outlines of factory-new gliders parked in their bays, spiraling upward into dizzying heights beyond view.


    In the heavy silence, footsteps suddenly echoed toward them. The metallic clink of boots on steel filled the air.


    When the boy lowered his gaze, CR was gone.


    ¡°Where¡¯d you go?¡±


    ¡°Down here,¡± came the whispered reply.


    ¡°How¡¯d you get down there?¡±


    ¡°How do you think?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s what I¡¯m asking. Haven¡¯t seen a ladder.¡±


    ¡°There isn¡¯t one.¡±


    The boy wiped his sweaty palms on his jumpsuit and cautiously lowered himself over the edge. His legs dangled freely above the void. A nearby lightning strike lit the tower¡¯s interior in ashen light, but the depths remained an impenetrable black. One small misstep, he thought, and he¡¯d fall to his death. The thought made him dizzy.


    Taking a deep breath, he swung himself down, landing two meters below on all fours atop a glider bay. His wrists throbbed from the impact, and his knees ached, but he managed. With a short leap, he crossed the chasm to the next platform, where CR was already seated in a two-seater sports glider, ripping the plastic cover off the control panel.


    ¡°I think I heard some guards,¡± the boy said.


    ¡°You think?¡±


    He strained to listen. ¡°Stop making so much noise. I can¡¯t hear anything.¡±


    ¡°Almost there.¡± With a forceful tug, CR tore the panel free and fell back into his seat, the ripped plastic held above his head. Tossing it into the abyss, he pulled a flashlight from his tool belt and studied the tangled mess of wires beneath the controls with piercing green eyes.


    ¡°How¡¯s it looking?¡±


    ¡°Not great. No use sugarcoating it.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t hear the footsteps anymore,¡± Lex said into the silence. ¡°Why don¡¯t I hear them anymore?¡±


    ¡°Because they were never there. You were hearing my footsteps earlier. You¡¯re letting fear mess with your senses.¡±


    "I wasn¡¯t scared."


    "You still are." CR clenched the small flashlight between his teeth, his breath swirling in the beam of light, dissipating in the draft before rising again. For a while, he stayed motionless, then carefully pinched a bundle of multicolored cables between his thumb and forefinger, tracing them with his other hand. The wires disappeared behind another panel near the footwell.


    "Dammit."


    "Turn off the light, for crying out loud."


    "What?"


    "I said, turn it off!"


    CR pulled the flashlight from his mouth and clicked it off.


    The same quick footsteps echoed again.


    "See? I wasn¡¯t imagining it," the boy whispered.


    The sound grew louder and louder, until¡ª


    Suddenly, beams from several flashlights crisscrossed the abyss. On the far side of the tower, their shifting circles of light revealed gleaming gliders emerging from the darkness.


    "Shit. They¡¯re right above us," CR whispered. "Not a sound."


    "I¡¯m not saying anything."


    "But you¡¯re breathing louder than thunder outside."


    The boy clamped a hand over his mouth, forcing his breath through his flared nostrils. His heart pounded with fear, and his mind unwillingly returned to Elvin¡¯s fate. The memory surged forward, vivid and horrifying: shoulder to shoulder, he and Elvin had hidden behind a luxury model in the assembly hall. A high-energy laser tore through the air, slicing through the glider¡¯s frame and cutting Elvin¡¯s torso clean from his legs. He hit the ground in two pieces. It was the last memory the boy had from the past half hour, and it told him one thing about the mercenaries¡ªthey showed no mercy. If they found him, they¡¯d do the same to him.


    The metallic clatter of armored boots rang out directly above. Slowly, he raised his head, catching a glimpse of the mercenaries¡¯ booted feet as they strode across the grating. Their silhouettes moved with precision, spreading out like a practiced routine. A flash of lightning illuminated the scene, followed seconds later by a deafening clap of thunder. The mercenaries began searching the upper platforms, checking every glider for signs of rebellion. Their movements were mechanical, methodical. No empty seat escaped their scrutiny, no corner went unnoticed.


    In the beam of a flashlight, the silhouettes of two mercenaries stood face-to-face, their dark shapes casting oversized shadows across three floors. They appeared to be conversing, but Lex couldn¡¯t hear a word. His gaze lingered on their monstrous shadows... battle armor and heavy weapons. One carried the same long-barreled high-energy laser that had ended Elvin¡¯s life.


    "Why can¡¯t I hear them talking?" he whispered.


    "Because, unlike them, you don¡¯t have a neurochip in your brain," CR replied.


    "What¡¯s that supposed to mean?"


    "Telepathy tech."


    "What?"


    "The old-fashioned man-to-man dialogue? It¡¯s ancient history." CR watched the mercenaries¡¯ footsteps closely, calculating their distance. "The guards read each other¡¯s minds," he continued, "and more than that: every security team, no matter which corporation they work for, and the entire police force of the World Union, are all puppets of Thandros. Electrodes in their brains upload their thoughts in real-time to a secure section of the Infonet, accessible only by the government. And..."


    "And what?"


    "And what the mercenaries and police know, Thandros knows too. But it¡¯s not just their conversations stored there... it¡¯s their thoughts, dreams, emotions, and memories." CR glanced toward the mercenaries as a flashlight beam swept dangerously close. He leaned toward the boy and whispered, "Brain-computer interfaces are one thing. But anyone who wants a career in security has to sign a waiver to have part of their frontal lobe removed¡ªit¡¯s the center for creativity and humanity. Wrap your head around that: they steal their workers¡¯ imagination."


    "But without that, a person isn¡¯t even a person anymore," the boy murmured.


    "That¡¯s the point. Mercenaries aren¡¯t meant to be people. To the corporation, they¡¯re just tools without a conscience," CR said softly. "Thandros wants to enslave the entire global population. Three years ago, they tried to make telepathy mandatory for everyone. Thankfully, the protests in Vega Prime stopped them."


    "How could they even try to push that through?"


    "With lies. They claim it¡¯s for counter-terrorism. Every time Crimson Dawn attacks, Thandros Corp. pushes the narrative that accessing people¡¯s thoughts and emotions is the only way to protect citizens. Even Thandros University is under their control. The corporation understands the importance of education¡ªthey know that education leads to independent thinking, and independent thinking inevitably leads to revolution in this system. So, they only teach fabricated knowledge there."


    The boy lowered his gaze, turning CR¡¯s words over in his mind. Before he could reply, a hunter light mounted to the barrel of an assault rifle swung toward them.


    He froze.


    The beam of light locked onto him, blinding and relentless.


    One thought blared in his mind: We¡¯re screwed.

 TWO: Dead on Arrival

    At the last second, the technician yanked him by the jumpsuit behind the glider.


    Lex was breathing heavily. ¡°Did they see us?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Shh. Not a sound.¡±


    The boy held his breath. They stayed crouched behind the side of the sleek sport glider, unmoving. Nothing happened. No alarms blared. The beam of light swung away, but it seemed no one had noticed them. The guards regrouped at the exit of the airlock where they¡¯d entered. Silent and coordinated, they marched out, moving like a hive mind. But this time, Lex knew better. It wasn¡¯t instinct. It was telepathy.


    The night sky lit up in a flicker of white. A deafening crack of thunder followed. The storm was right above them.


    ¡°They haven¡¯t given up,¡± CR muttered. ¡°They¡¯re just changing tactics. They don¡¯t have time to calmly search through thousands of gliders. It¡¯s costing the company too many credits. That means it won¡¯t be long before they restore power to the towers... and we need to be gone before that happens.¡± CR slipped out of the hiding spot, climbed into the glider, and slid over to the driver¡¯s side. ¡°Let¡¯s get out of here.¡±


    Lex exhaled the breath he¡¯d been holding in a noisy rush. His hands were trembling as he gripped the front of the glider for balance. With the next flash of lightning, he saw his reflection on the chrome bar. His face pale as a ghost. ¡°This stuff really messes you up,¡± he muttered.


    CR clicked his tongue and focused on the glider¡¯s control panel. ¡°Careful what you say, grunt. That ¡®stuff¡¯ is the only reason not all our memories are just work and misery.¡± He hopped off the side step and opened the glider¡¯s side panel.


    For a moment, he examined the repulsor engine, the helium tanks, and the massive electromagnets anchoring the polished disc at the heart of the anti-grav system. Then, reaching into the engine compartment, he started tinkering with a screwdriver. He seemed to have found the right cable to jump-start the HTSL disc and get the glider levitating without a key. But instead of starting, sparks flew from the engine, followed by smoke. Thick, choking smoke.


    The glider¡¯s lights suddenly blinked to life, and an ear-splitting alarm wailed.


    ¡°Damn it... I¡¯ll fix it!¡± CR growled. He grabbed a bundle of cables and yanked them out in one chaotic motion. The lights blinked off, and the alarm died instantly.


    Silence returned. The sound of rain and the whistle of the storm through the tower walls filled the void.


    ¡°Okay,¡± CR said, standing up from his crouch.


    ¡°Okay, what?¡±


    ¡°Okay, the glider¡¯s busted.¡±


    ¡°Then we¡¯ll try another one.¡±


    The technician shook his head, brushing his hair out of his face. ¡°Honestly? I have no idea how to get these things running without a key. The glider we escaped in was our one shot.¡±


    The boy stared at him for a moment. ¡°Are you even an electrician?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m a technician, yeah. But as you can see, I¡¯m not a particularly good one. Nobody¡¯s good at the things they only do for money. I work for Wolf Glider because I need the credits. It¡¯s not my calling. That¡¯s why I don¡¯t even feel bad about being terrible at it.¡±


    The boy kept staring, his expression unreadable. ¡°If I take a job, I do it right,¡± he said finally, turning his back on the technician.


    He walked toward a vertical split in the wall, where the view stretched across multiple levels. As if the answer to their escape lay somewhere out there, he stared into the distance. Rain. Endless rain. A gray-black sky illuminated by the countless lights of the megalopolis. But nowhere in sight was a solution. Only cold, wet poison dripping onto his face. And the thought of her¡ªthe girl. Her image kept circling back into his mind.


    ¡°You look like an idiot standing there.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s all new to me.¡± He didn¡¯t turn around as he spoke, his words lost in the night. He wasn¡¯t even sure if CR heard him.


    Then, suddenly, he felt two hands on his shoulders. CR leaned into him, his chest pressing against Lex¡¯s back, his sharp chin resting on the boy¡¯s head. Together, they gazed out at the storm.


    ¡°This is Joy, my friend. The city of gliders. My home.¡±


    It took a while before CR spoke again.


    ¡°I grew up here with three brothers. Isaias, Chet, Jonas. Only I made it out.¡±


    The boy¡¯s eyes remained fixed on the distant horizon. Over the workers¡¯ huts, a black helicopter hovered, fighting against the storm. Its searchlight cut through the rainy night.


    ¡°What happened to them?¡± Lex asked quietly.


    It was only after a moment that he realized CR was slowly shaking his head, the movement pressing his sharp chin against the boy¡¯s head. ¡°It¡¯s the new world order,¡± he said quietly, ¡°that sealed my brothers¡¯ fate. When the gap between rich and poor gets wide enough, the poor eventually disappear¡ªthey just stop being seen. My family and I¡­ we were so far out, trust me, grunt. We lived where no respectable eye would ever look. Tossed aside into the filthiest slums of Joy. No medical care, no water, no food, no roof over our heads. ¡®Multidimensional poverty,¡¯ that¡¯s what the politicians call it. They know the definition of the word, but they¡¯ll never understand what it means. We squatted illegally between factory walls and fenced-off high-voltage transformers, hiding from the torture dens of organ traffickers. For years? No, for my whole childhood and part of my teenage years, we clung to whatever hiding spots we could find. In winter, we camped near sewer vents, crouching in the steaming heat, enduring the stench of shit so we wouldn¡¯t freeze to death. We ate whatever we could scavenge. Broke into dumpsters behind the filthiest dives. We risked our necks just to eat trash. And why? Because even eating garbage is illegal. Politicians... those bootlickers... made sure of it. They passed a law that made using discarded food a crime because anyone eating waste isn¡¯t buying new products. And that, grunt, would cost corporations like Snackbite a few precious credits.¡±Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    He wrinkled his nose, as if a phantom scent of rotting food had reached him¡ªthe smell of a stolen childhood. Lex, however, only smelled the oily, electric tang of stormy air.


    ¡°So¡­ your brothers starved to death?¡± Lex asked hesitantly.


    ¡°No,¡± CR replied. ¡°The Ghoul Plague took them.¡±


    ¡°Ghouls?¡±


    CR nodded, his expression so serious it made the word sound plausible. ¡°It starts as a tiny sore inside your mouth,¡± he said. ¡°It gets infected. Then it spreads, eating away your face from the inside. This disease has been spreading like wildfire in Keldaraan and the poor districts for decades. But the government? They just stand by and watch. In medical textbooks, it¡¯s called Noma, but down here in the slums, we call it the Ghoul Plague. The poor souls who survive are left with half a face. Their jaw, nose, eyes¡ªall eaten away by bacteria. The survivors live like ghouls in the city¡¯s sewers, spat on and cursed by the very people who should be their kin. Most of the workers here are superstitious or paranoid. Some think it¡¯s witches or ghosts causing the disease. Others think it¡¯s a government-made virus to keep the poor weak. But who needs conspiracy theories when the truth is simpler? No one cares about them. About us.¡±


    Lex swallowed hard. His throat bobbed, but the lump stayed lodged there. Keldaraan. Joy. Misery piled on misery. Nowhere else in the world was the web of human suffering woven this thick. He stared out into the night, unblinking, his eyes wet and gleaming as they wandered over the smoldering urban sprawl.


    ¡°Why are you telling me this?¡±


    ¡°Because I want you to understand that whatever we did in the last hour, it was the right thing to do. Even if it means we don¡¯t make it out of here alive. Even if it means missing a date we¡¯ve been looking forward to.¡±


    Lex hesitated. A moment later, the heavy hands on his shoulders were gone. He turned to look at CR, his whole body trembling from the cold and wet. The technician was standing at the edge of the chasm, leaning forward.


    Lex wiped his face dry on his sleeve. ¡°What if I don¡¯t see it that way?¡± he asked. ¡°What if I¡¯d rather undo it all... whatever it is we did.¡±


    Right then, the power to the glider towers was restored. Neon floodlights flickered on around them, their reflections rippling across the glossy surfaces of the brand-new gliders. The entire tower lit up, a sparkling sea of lights.


    CR turned back to him. ¡°You see it differently, huh? You¡¯d undo it all?¡±


    Behind him, the automated glider elevator ascended, depositing the latest model into an empty parking bay.


    Lex didn¡¯t know why CR was asking, but he nodded cautiously. ¡°Yeah. I¡¯d undo it if I could,¡± he admitted.


    ¡°Well, it¡¯s not about what you want.¡± CR¡¯s voice was sharp. ¡°Tell me, grunt... what brought you here? Why do you think you¡¯re standing here right now?¡±


    The answer seemed obvious to Lex: he¡¯d made a mistake, a bad decision. But something stopped him from saying it out loud. Instead, he stayed silent.


    ¡°What are you even doing in Joy if you weren¡¯t born here?¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t believe me if I told you where I¡¯m from,¡± Lex replied. ¡°And you¡¯d believe me even less if I told you how I ended up in Vega Prime.¡±


    The quiet wrapped around them like a shroud, the western wind whispering through the tower¡¯s gaping walls. Finally, Lex broke the silence.


    ¡°Maybe the name Limbo Two means something to you?¡±


    It took a long moment before CR responded. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ one of Kronos¡¯ moons, isn¡¯t it?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. The second one.¡±


    ¡°And you¡¯re saying... you¡¯re from there?¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡±


    Silence fell between them once more.


    Suddenly, CR let out a dark laugh. ¡°Vanta-B¡¯s really done a number on your brain, hasn¡¯t it? Or were you born with this kind of wild imagination?¡±


    ¡°Told you you wouldn¡¯t believe me.¡±


    Before CR could respond, the entire platform beneath their feet began to quake. With a sudden jolt, the fork of the glider elevator locked firmly into the undercarriage of the platform.


    ¡°Damn it!¡± Lex shouted, instinctively preparing to jump to the adjacent platform. But there was no time. The platform shot toward the hydraulic mast so fast that he lost his balance. His face smacked against the edge of the left engine. Reflexively, he grabbed for the glider¡¯s wing, slipped, spun midair, and landed flat on his stomach on the metal floor.


    His head spun. Warm blood trickled down his forehead, dripping into his right eye. His world shrank to a narrow tunnel. He spotted the small flashlight rolling back and forth across the floor, and his ears rang with the memory of a wrench clanging against the level below.


    Where was CR?


    Panic set in as he let out a startled yell, spotting five fingers clutching the edge of the platform. CR was hanging over the abyss with one hand, dangling precariously. He would¡¯ve fallen into the chasm if Lex hadn¡¯t grabbed his wrist at the last moment.


    ¡°You¡¯re heavy as hell!¡± Lex grunted through clenched teeth.


    ¡°For my height, I¡¯m pretty light. Now pull me up.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not like I¡¯m not trying!¡±


    But CR¡¯s weight was dragging Lex closer to the edge. Lex flattened himself against the platform, clinging desperately to the technician¡¯s arm. ¡°I can¡¯t do it,¡± he gasped.


    They hung there in silence for a moment, the elevator steadily descending deeper into the shaft.


    ¡°Talk about a picture-perfect dilemma,¡± Lex muttered. ¡°Either I let you go, you fall into the pit, and I hate myself forever¡ªor I don¡¯t let you go, and we both fall.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a third option,¡± CR called out, still dangling over the abyss. ¡°Can you reach the glider with your foot?¡±


    Lex glanced over his shoulder. ¡°Think so. Why?¡±


    ¡°Hook your foot onto something. Anything. Just make sure you can¡¯t slip into the abyss.¡±


    ¡°And then what? I¡¯ll still lose strength and drop you.¡±


    ¡°Just do it!¡±


    Lex found a spot under the chassis to hook his bent foot.


    ¡°Now what?¡±


    ¡°Got it?¡±


    ¡°Yeah.¡±


    ¡°Then stay like that.¡±


    CR began pulling himself up, using Lex¡¯s arm like a rope. It felt like his shoulder was being dislocated, then ripped clean off. CR¡¯s grip found the fabric of Lex¡¯s jumpsuit, then a strap, before he swung his leg onto the platform. With a final heave, he pulled himself up, collapsing next to Lex. Both of them gasped for air, though Lex let out a string of curses between breaths. His pulse hammered visibly in his neck as he stared at CR for a moment.


    ¡°Where¡¯s this elevator even going?¡±


    ¡°To Ataris,¡± CR said, still catching his breath. ¡°The rich district. Where the air doesn¡¯t kill you after a couple of years. Where life¡¯s pretty sweet, if you can afford it.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve gotta be kidding me.¡±


    ¡°No joke. The glider will be transported through an underground vacuum tube to the delivery center... which just so happens to be in Ataris.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s over a thousand miles from here.¡±


    CR nodded. ¡°Pretty much exactly. And at near-supersonic speed, the platform will reach the delivery center in about an hour.¡±


    He paused, glancing at the expensive sport glider beside them. Gleaming chrome bars, ambient lighting, massage seats wrapped in synthetic leather, and interior panels made from the rarest hardwoods of Luvanda.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± he muttered, as if agreeing with his own thoughts. ¡°Some rich bastard is going to be very surprised when his shiny new glider shows up with two corpses on the platform.¡±


    ¡°Corpses?! Why corpses?¡±


    CR licked his lips and tilted his head toward Lex. ¡°How long can you hold your breath?¡±


    ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I asked, how long can you hold your breath? Roughly.¡±


    ¡°Maybe a minute?¡±


    ¡°Well,¡± CR said, wiping his face with one hand, ¡°that¡¯s not going to cut it. You¡¯ll need at least an hour.¡±


    Lex¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Wait... are you saying the air in there is poisonous?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± CR replied. ¡°It¡¯s not poisonous, because there¡¯s no air at all. No oxygen, no CO2, nothing. The tube we¡¯re about to get launched into is a vacuum tunnel. Without air resistance, the platform can hit those insane speeds and make it to Ataris in an hour.¡±


    Lex stared at him. ¡°So that¡¯s it?¡± he asked, his voice hollow. ¡°There¡¯s no way out?¡± His disbelief was written across his face. ¡°It was all for nothing,¡± he whispered. ¡°We might as well have fallen into the chasm earlier. Or let the guards carve us up with Elvin. It was all pointless. We¡¯re going to die here.¡±


    CR said nothing. He lowered his gaze, staring between his bent knees at the finely grooved surface of the platform floor.


    This was it. There was no way out.

 THREE: Buy Yourself a Better World

    The boy tilted his head back, feeling the cold aluminum press against his skull. They sat in silence for a long while. The excitement in his chest gradually faded, and as he watched the endless rows of glider models pass by without focusing on any of them, he stopped feeling like the platform was descending into the depths. Instead, it seemed as though the entire tower around them was magically rising into the sky.


    ¡°You remind me of him,¡± CR said suddenly.


    When the boy lowered his head and looked at the technician, he noticed a gold-glimmering capsule held between CR¡¯s thumb and forefinger.


    ¡°Of who?¡± the boy asked.


    ¡°There are photos of him in the Infonet. He had the same damn eyes as you. That same look of misery.¡± CR shook his head, as if grappling with some wild realization. ¡°Two people can look completely different, but they can still share the same gaze. Let me tell you what I think: It¡¯s not the eyes that are the window to the soul, like they always say. It¡¯s the way someone looks at the world. That gaze tells you what they¡¯ve been through, where they come from, and maybe even gives you a hint of where they¡¯re headed.¡±


    A strange silence followed, one the boy didn¡¯t feel like breaking. He couldn¡¯t shake the sense that CR had more to say. And he was right.


    ¡°The fate of the workers was sealed the day Cal Rook was born in Keldaraan. But he never felt like he fit in. He didn¡¯t want to be a revolutionary. Didn¡¯t want to be a hero. He never believed he could change the world. All he wanted was the love of one girl. Starting to see the similarities?¡±


    CR slipped the capsule between his molars, bit down hard, and barely flinched. His eyebrows twitched slightly as he closed his eyes and sucked on the gelatin shell for a moment. Then he swallowed and spat the empty casing into the abyss below. ¡°What did you think it was named after?¡± he asked, pulling another capsule from the case on his belt and offering it to the boy.


    The boy waved it away. ¡°I honestly never thought about it.¡±


    ¡°Believe it or not, the world a hundred years ago wasn¡¯t much different from how it is now. Back then, the biggest food manufacturer was BeMo-Company. Today, it¡¯s Snackbite Incorporated. One evil disappears, and another takes its place. That seems to be the law of this world. But every now and then, someone comes along who dares to defy the order of things. His fate was sealed the day he was almost crushed to death by an advertising drone.¡±


    ¡°What¡­?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Some say it was no coincidence that a drone went rogue on the same day Cal¡ª¡±


    ¡°No,¡± the boy interrupted. ¡°I mean, what... are you even talking about? I don¡¯t want to hear some stupid story right now. We¡¯re about to die, in case you forgot. Any second now, we¡¯ll hit the vacuum tunnel, and we¡¯re going to suffocate.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a reason why¡ª¡±


    ¡°Seriously. I don¡¯t want to hear it. Just spare me, okay? Forget it.¡±


    CR turned his gaze away. ¡°Forget it,¡± he said softly. "That¡¯s the magic word."


    <hr>


    ¡°On a dark blue pasture bathed in the sunlight of Tau Ceti, a happy cow named Bj?rn grazed peacefully. Chewing lazily, it lifted its broad head, and its big, round eyes glanced sideways at the mountain-encircled landscape. In the distance stood a steel laboratory complex (the largest biotech facility in the world) with a grand golden-lettered sign atop it: LeverGen.


    A dark-haired farmer appeared in the frame, clean-shaven and youthful. He gave the cloned cow a pat on its flank with one hand while holding a plate slightly tilted downward in the other. On the plate was a slice of roast beef, paired with synthesized chestnut vegetables. The roast boasted a juicy, dark crust and a light-red marbled center. No slaughter waste, no hair, no bones... just clean, lab-cultivated meat produced in the facility behind him.


    He explained cellular agriculture as the only viable way to uphold humanity¡¯s promise and rattled off some stats:


    ¡®90 percent fewer greenhouse gas emissions, 95 percent less farmland use, 99 percent less freshwater consumption, 85 percent less energy usage. BeMo-Company and LeverGen are the leading manufacturers in food tech and the only alternative to traditional meat production. No killing cows, no killing chicks, no killing anything. Keeping humanity¡¯s promise isn¡¯t just a mandate of the World Union¡ªit¡¯s our duty. A moral obligation straight from the heart. A responsibility we all share. And with BeMo, we live by that promise. We live in a worry-free world without animal suffering, with love for the environment, and a deep love for humanity. With over two million happy employees, we¡¯re the largest food producer of the New World. And with every customer, our family grows.¡¯


    The young farmer set the plate down on a wooden table near the cow. He carefully chewed a piece of roast beef and nodded in satisfaction. Hooking a thumb under the strap of his overalls, he took a sip of milk and sighed with pleasure. ¡®Milk from cell cultures,¡¯ he said, raising the still mostly full glass as if to make a toast. ¡®Milk that¡¯s never been taken from a cow¡¯s udder without consent. BeMo means Better Morality¡ªbetter ethics for a better world. And that¡¯s what everyone who buys BeMo products stands for. Buy our products. Because we¡¯re one big family.¡¯


    The farmer snapped the strap of his overalls back against his chest, pointed his thumb toward the camera, and smiled with unwavering confidence.


    The infomercial was abruptly interrupted by another ad, three seconds before some young man crossed the digital billboard. It was Dorsey Holbach, thirty years old, of Europid descent, and an enrolled student at Thandros University in Ataris since the winter of 2550. His ex-partner, Neomi Kinnear, had broken up with him exactly 32 minutes and 46 seconds ago after a relationship that had lasted precisely three weeks. Her reasons? His lack of spontaneity, his fear of cybernetic implants, his fear of tattoos, his fear of using muscle-enhancing substances, his overall aversion to change, his inability to make her laugh, his lack of personal opinions, his latent tendency toward civic engagement, and, last but not least, his unimaginative approach to sex. Neomi Kinnear had, until now, been the love of his life. And the only woman he had ever slept with.


    On the billboard, a commercial for the Human Enhancement Technology Corporation (HETC) was now playing, promoting new personality-altering technology¡ªguaranteed permanent, guaranteed side-effect free.


    Dorsey Holbach now had the chance to erase certain traits, add new ones, or adopt a completely new personality. One that Neomi Kinnear might actually love.


    In the ad, the protagonist, visually marked as a loser through various stereotypical traits, had just lost his girlfriend to a rival. He decided to go for the ''all-in package.'' When he exited the augmentation chamber as a newly successful man, women were literally falling at his feet. Among them, his ex-partner, who now knelt alongside the others on the street pavement. Grinning triumphantly, the reborn winner looked straight into the camera.


    Dorsey Holbach barely paid attention to the ad. At least, not the first time.


    The next billboard, just ten meters ahead, was also running the same looping commercial. So was the one on the building wall next to him, the electronic column he was passing, and even the airship drifting between skyscrapers displayed the advertisement on its wide flank.


    The speakers embedded in the street posts urged passersby to embrace change, while flashing arrows appeared on the sidewalk, directing Dorsey toward his dream. He followed them without resistance. All his desires were now only 130 meters away.


    YOU DECIDE WHO YOU ARE.


    In Buyers Street¡ªthe largest shopping boulevard in the Ataris district, stretching 43.4 miles¡ªthe personality alteration complex sat nestled between the Thandros Information Center and CyberWorld, a cyberspace access point managed by the same corporation.


    The way Dorsey Holbach stopped, staring up at the glowing company slogan, the way his eyes sparkled amidst the city¡¯s chaos, and the way he whispered to himself, bathed in the slogan¡¯s rosy light, made it clear that he was very likely going to step inside.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    The gentle movement of his lips formed thoughts no one could hear but which the surrounding analysis systems could process and interpret.


    The thought, reconstructed through lip-reading, went as follows: ¡®With a new personality, I¡¯ll finally have the courage to make my body compatible for cyberspace access.¡¯


    Suddenly, the slogan before him changed:


    YOU DECIDE WHO YOU ARE


    for just 472 credits.


    It was exactly the amount Dorsey Holbach had left in his account for the month. He probably took it as a sign.


    All over the building facade, holographic percent signs began flashing: -30%, -40%, -45%, -60%¡­ Discount. Discount. Discount. Discount!


    Overwhelmed by the barrage of signs, he stared up with his mouth agape.


    With a recalculated probability of 99.9%, Dorsey Holbach would step into the building.


    And a moment later, he did.¡±


    <hr>


    ¡°Amidst the crowd illuminated by advertisements, street steam rose from manhole covers as if the asphalt beneath the people''s feet was smoldering, and empty boxes piled up in front of the shops. It was December... holiday season. Flashing signs in store windows read Commercemas. The citizens found the word amusing, and the industry laughed along with them. Buying... that was the only tradition people still knew. No other month brought corporations as much profit as December. The companies¡¯ message was loud and clear: the measure of love for someone could only be determined by the number of gifts purchased for them. And so, people bought and bought to prove their love to one another.


    Street-cleaning robots swept tirelessly around the clock, pushing debris into the adjacent, shadowy alleys. The alleys were overflowing with trash, waste, and the dregs of society, while the citizens of Vega Prime strolled past, hands full of BeMo snacks, producing more garbage, more misery. The citizens, in their glowing SmartWear, were themselves a part of the neon city.


    As one ascended the urban canyons above Buyers Street, climbing higher and higher, the glittering holiday advertisements below blurred and fell away into the depths. The street itself became a glowing river, the crowd drowning in advertisements.


    The upper floors of the Cyberworld Complex, from the 100th to the 110th floor, were accessible only to the upper class of Vega Prime. Between them and the cyberjunkies below stood a five-story server room. According to a recent survey, 62% of the upper-class Cyberworld users felt that the distance from the middle class was insufficient. Plans were being discussed to increase the gap.


    Floors 111 and 112 were reserved for the wealthiest citizens of the New World. In a single day, these elites spent more credits in Cyberworld than the combined total of floors 1 to 110 in an entire year. Fewer than two dozen men and women frequented these floors, and it was here that the boards of the world-dominating corporations met.


    One of them was Sir Jeffrey Alvise, chairman of BeMo Foods Company.


    His private luxury glider levitated in a rented parking space at dizzying heights, surrounded by gently swaying palm trees and warm ground lights. Sir Alvise stepped into the cold. The glass floor crunched faintly under his white crocodile-patterned shoes. The wind was sharp, scattering fine grains of sand across the ground from the planters where the palms grew. Where were the cleaning robots?


    At the annual honors ceremonies, Sir Alvise had been knighted by World Union envoys in the tradition of old, for establishing multiple orphanages. Three were located in Ataris, and two others were on his private island, where children grew up amidst palms, sea, and sand. Sir Alvise was one of the few people in the New World who wasn¡¯t called Sir merely out of courtesy... he had genuinely earned the title. Truly. Seriously.


    Sir Alvise wore his knighthood badge proudly on the lapel of his bespoke gold lam¨¦ suit. He put on his nickel-framed glasses with poison-green lenses, activated the HUD, and stood straight as he surveyed the landscape around him. The moon Chiron loomed large and glowing behind the silhouettes of the skyscrapers. A few scattered stars punctuated the sky. Not a single natural cloud.


    Far away, small and insignificant, a gray, rumbling, lightning-wreathed dome hovered over the northern industrial district known as Keldaraan.


    He pulled out a lighter and held the flame upright against the cut end of a cigar, which was shaped and sized like a stick of dynamite. He exhaled the smoke into the biting night air.


    While the streets below were boxed in by skyscrapers and warmed by the crowds, radiation, steam, and hot water pipelines, here on the penthouse level, winter was tangible. The New Year was approaching, and at an altitude of 666 meters above sea level, temperatures had dropped to 19 degrees Fahrenheit.


    In the cold, still gazing over the city, Sir Alvise answered a call. The voice, identified through decryption analysis as belonging to Celvin Hewett (a BeMo board member and company spokesperson) said, ¡®It¡¯s happened, just as we feared.¡¯


    Sir Alvise listened.


    ¡®There¡¯s been an escapee from the cocoa plantations in Morgoh. He slipped away from us a week ago. And now, the slave has made it to V-Prime.¡¯


    ¡®Hardly on foot, I¡¯d imagine.¡¯


    ¡®We don¡¯t know how or who might¡¯ve helped him escape.¡¯


    ¡®And?¡¯


    ¡®In two hours, a secret meeting will take place. The slave is going to meet with the Voices of the Underground. You¡¯ve probably heard of them, Sir. A group of whistleblowers dedicated to exposing the¡ª¡¯


    ¡®Of course, I know about those idiotic wannabe anarchists.¡¯


    ¡®Understood, Sir. Anyway, the slave is going to tell them everything. The Voices of the Underground plan to reveal the truth about the conditions on the BeMo cocoa plantations.¡¯


    ¡®The truth is our greatest enemy.¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Sir. And the threat is serious. The reporters are working with the Juncker Collective... the same hackers who shut down the power grid in two major streets of Ataris during the Thandros Festival a few weeks ago. The collective claims they¡¯re capable of breaching the First News servers to publish their reports on the cocoa plantations there¡­¡¯


    The CEO of the BeMo Company reacted first with laughter. But the pause that followed suggested, quite clearly, that his true feelings were different.


    ¡®If they could do that, they¡¯d have done it already. Do we know the exact location of the meeting?¡¯


    ¡®Yes.¡¯


    ¡®And the time?¡¯


    ¡®Yes.¡¯


    ¡®Good. There¡¯s just one thing that bothers me: information isn¡¯t usually free.¡¯


    ¡®Our informant... a mole within the whistleblower group... demanded half a million credits to save us from a major PR disaster.¡¯


    ¡®And you idiots paid it immediately?¡¯


    ¡®Sir, we gave him one hundred thousand. No more.¡¯


    ¡®No Christmas bonus for you this year, Hewett.¡¯


    A brief pause.


    ¡®What¡¯s our next move?¡¯


    ¡®Carefully,¡¯ said Sir Alvise, taking a relaxed draw on his cigar. He rolled the thick smoke around in his mouth, exhaled it slowly, and added, ¡®Bring the slave to the factory. I want to interrogate him myself. I want to know how he escaped the plantation and who helped him.¡¯


    ¡®Understood, Sir.¡¯


    ¡®And liquidate the entire team of secret-conspiracy chatterboxes. Hacking is, and always will be, illegal.Iit does our New World no good. Taking out the reporters and the collective is a service to humanity.¡¯


    ¡®Got it, Sir.¡¯


    ¡®Sometimes, Hewett, I think we¡¯re too good for this world.¡¯


    Once again, Sir Alvise puffed on his cigar. He examined the thin gray ash column, then dropped the cigar, crushed it beneath the toe of his boot, and exhaled the smoke through his nose.


    ¡®Oh, and Hewett?¡¯


    ¡®Yes, Sir?¡¯


    ¡®As a gesture of thanks, why don¡¯t you arrange a boat tour for our informant? Far out into the ocean, hmm? The sea is delightfully brisk this time of year. But make sure you get the money back from him first.¡¯


    Sir Alvise ended the call with a press of his PDA. He strolled across the glass floor toward his glider, his broad hand brushing the balustrade as he went. He had a pronounced jaw and powerful shoulders.


    The integrated body analyzer synced the following data with the Infonet: Height: 176 cm; Weight: 198 kg; Body Fat: 6.9%; LBM: 126 kg; Number of augmentations and their percentage of total body weight: 89; 31.56%.


    His cardiovascular implant, multiple regulators, and synthetic heart controlled his circulatory system. The full scan also revealed an array of neuro-implants, adrenaline and reflex boosters, an AR chip under his right temple, and a Cybernet interface on the other side of his skull. He had antitoxin implants, subcutaneous nano-armor in his torso, bionic organ prosthetics, cybernetic exo-prosthetic legs, and numerous sensory implants in his loins¡ªmore than were practically necessary.


    Keeping his augmented body operational cost 12% more credits annually than the amount needed to end world hunger.


    The head of the BeMo empire checked his diamond-studded PDA for the agenda of the upcoming meeting. Today¡¯s topics: profit maximization, cover-ups, deceiving consumers, and further wage cuts.


    The glider¡¯s wing door swung open automatically as Sir Alvise approached within three meters, the embedded chip beneath his skin triggering the mechanism. He stepped inside.


    But before the door could close, a hologram of two young girls appeared from a projector beneath the glass floor, imaginary twins, six years old. They first materialized in front of him, then suddenly reappeared behind the glider. Sir Alvise leaned out of the lounge seat to look for them, but they had vanished, leaving behind the sound of faint giggling.


    ¡®One, two, three, four, corners hiding, nothing more,¡¯


    the twins chanted in unison through the speakers. They appeared on the other side of the glider, tapping on the tinted rear window¡ªor at least, a sound like tapping played from the surrounding speakers.


    The girls were projections, products of the Cyberspace, and thus, products of his own imagination. Yet they couldn¡¯t have been conjured without real-life inspirations. Sir Alvise had first encountered the real twins three days ago during a visit to one of the four orphanages he managed as a benefactor. He had handed them over to the care of their new foster father, a significant business partner of his. But there was a twinge of regret lingering within him.


    The imaginary twins pouted and begged him to stay for another round in the Cyberworld.


    Sir Alvise retrieved a new cigar (nearly the length of his forearm) from the compartment in the armrest. He studied the slim-built forms of the twins for a moment, their bodies flat and devoid of any feminine features. Slowly, he exhaled a stream of smoke and pressed a button on the doorframe. The wing door clicked and slid shut.


    As the luxury glider levitated higher, with no further opportunity for the Cyberworld empire to extract credits from the BeMo billionaire, the projector immediately shut off. A gust of snow swept across the empty penthouse terrace, swirling and dancing in the glow of the warm ground lights.¡±