Prologue
**The [ ] symbol represents translation from a character’s native language**
BEFORE THE THREE-WEEK WAR
Planet: Satellite One (Colony Three)
Immigrant Departure Station (Receiving Area)
Lucky, damn lucky. That’s what eighteen-year-old Akane Sugimori was. There were colony inhabitants who’d kill to be in her shoes. She’d scored the opportunity to untether her future from a destiny of grueling labor, the opportunity to elevate beyond a dour life of second-class citizenship. To no longer be lumped with the lesser of humanity was a privilege—one that was near unattainable. Eden, the utopia of humanity’s intergalactic republic, the Commonwealth, awaited her. So why the hell was she down in the dumps? This was a dream coveted by friends and family, by almost every denizen of Colony Three’s populace.
Clad in denim shorts, fashionably ripped fishnet stockings, and a black crop top, she sat Eden-bound on the frontmost bench in the receiving area of Colony Three’s immigrant departure station, mood somber. Arms clenched around herself and tapping the heel of her sneaker boots—in a nervous staccato—she endured each loathsome second that ticked by, waiting for her citizen registration number (CRN) to be announced over the intercom so her undesired voyage to Eden could begin. She wasn’t looking forward to being whisked away from friends and family. Who would she laugh, dine, and share the pain and pleasures of life with? As inferior to the motherworld as it was, Satellite One would always be home in her heart.
To her left, Dad. To her right, Mom. Benjiro and Akari Sugimori were loving parents who’d made substantial sacrifices for her well-being. She wouldn’t dare ask more of them. They had toiled in the caverns and agricultural fields of Colony Three as government-employed resource harvesters, and to some, government serfs. Working tooth and nail, risking bodily health, they provided their daughter the best upbringing possible. Akane had caused their blood pressure to skyrocket on more than one occasion, working the black-market commerce system at sixteen years of age to secretly, and unlawfully, peddle unattainable luxuries to residents of Sector 07 and bring relief to her parents’ burdens. The sector was populated with migrants from the former Japan, garnering it the title Neo Japan. Migrants who’d congregated there had preserved their language, culture, art, and history in the era of the New Humanity, during a time when colony selectees had banded together for survival and community, resulting in the emergence of assimilated cultures.
Due to her devil-may-care attitude, Akane had to admit the scoldings she got were deserved. But, especially now that she’d graduated into adulthood, the obstinate youth refused to let anyone, even Mom and Dad, police her individuality. Her attitude, mouth, and parent-disapproved fashion choice—right down to the pierced navel—were staying put.
As Akari and Benjiro each anchored an arm around her in an effort to console her, she couldn’t help but wonder: would she be swapping one hell for another? She knew how to survive in this hell. The new one, not so much. She’d heard how colony inhabitants, fortunate enough to become lottery beneficiaries like herself, had their once-bright dreams crushed by a harsh reality when they experienced immigrant life on Eden firsthand. The Commonwealth Government had proclaimed the planet a haven of peace, comfort, and prosperity, but apparently Eden’s high society wasn’t receptive to colony immigrants. Issued ten thousand living credits, lottery beneficiaries were expected to excel with minimal support structures and transition assistance. Even so, for many colony inhabitants, Eden citizenship was the prize of a lifetime.
“Registrant C-Nine-Eight-Eight-Seven, proceed to Decon to prep for boarding,” blared a young woman’s reedy voice over the intercom. “I repeat, proceed to Decon.” Scrolling across the wall’s massive info display: C-9987 REPORT TO DECON.
Akane’s heart skipped a beat. That’s me. Depressed about separating from her parents, she was on the verge of tears.
Two men in their early twenties and one woman Akane’s age sat four benches behind the Sugimori family. They were dreamers, anticipating a wondrous life on Eden. The young man with short auburn hair wore a sleeveless white hoodie and blue jeans. The other man wore his jet-black hair neck-length and was dressed in a T-shirt and cargo pants. The young woman had platinum-blonde pigtails that hung past her waist, and she was hella pretty—trim with supermodel looks. She was comfortably dressed for the trip in magenta palazzo-style pants and a Mercedes Gardner T-shirt, obviously a fan of the pop star. Waiting to be called to Decon, the trio regaled each other with friendly banter and stories of their childhood. The woman was the bubbly one of the threesome—continuously smiling, animated gesticulations, loads of laughter, voice bursting with optimism.
The Sugimoris stood. Akane’s chin hung in a downward tilt, and her shoulders sagged. She was so not feeling this moment.
Akari tenderly framed her daughter’s melancholy face with small hands calloused from intensive labor. “[We’ll miss you, Akane,]” she said, the warmth of her voice driving a dagger through her daughter’s heart. “[But this is your day, a special day. Be joyful.]”
Be joyful? Akane thought, looking at her mom like a sad child. Easy for her to say.
Benjiro, heavyhearted this day, fastened a soft, comforting grip on Akane’s shoulder. Like her mother, he had worried about how and where Akane was spending her spare time. Most of it was consumed by commingling with youth outside Neo Japan. She’d adopted non-native attitudes and a non-native patois from her social excursions. Precocious as a child, the older she got, the more rebellious and defiant to all authority—parental or otherwise—she became. Tell her not to do something and she’d do the opposite. But his daughter had grown into a strong, resilient young lady, and now she could escape the subpar habitats of Satellite One. Prosperity was within her reach. He was beyond happy for her, and it showed in his wide-set eyes. “[We are proud of you, Akane,]” his raspy voice said. “[A new life awaits you on Eden, a better life. There will be hardships to overcome, of course, but you will persevere.]” Being street-smart, resourceful, and possessing exceptional survival skills, Akane knew how to weather tough times, how to roll with the punches of life. “[And as soon as we’re permitted travel passes, we’ll come see you.]”
Bum-rushed by memories of parental love and affection, Akane bit her lower lip, and an ache welled up in her chest. “[Thanks, I love you guys.]” She sniffled. “[And thanks for putting up with all my harebrained mischief.]” Her voice was strained by the heartache.
Hot with anger, the woman on the intercom repeated herself. “Registrant C-Nine-Eight-Eight-Seven, report to Decon, at once,” she snapped. “What the hell are you doing?”
Akari kissed her daughter’s tear-slick cheek. “[We love you too. Now off you go.]”
Akane sniffled and wiped a hand over her glassy eyes. She snatched her hot-pink backpack from the floor, distinct with a cartoony skull on the back, and hefted it up onto her shoulders. Her main luggage had already been loaded onto the shuttle. She then took off running toward the lone terminal, before the intercom lady could get even more livid. Looking back at her parents, she laid eyes on them for what would be the last time in who knew when. And she waved see-ya-later.
Vision poor due to laboring in health-hazardous subterranean caverns, Akari watched her baby girl fade into a blur as she disappeared down the long terminal, brightly lit by the light panels following the ceiling. With a lump of sadness in her throat, her last thought was, May good fortune smile upon you wherever you go, my daughter.
The next traveler was summoned over the intercom. “Registrant C-Six-Five-Five-One, report to Decon. I repeat, report to Decon.”
“That’s me!” the blonde pigtailed woman exclaimed, with alacrity. Uber-excited, she bolted from the bench.
Midway down the terminal, Akane met a bulbous woman, far taller than her, wearing an all-white uniform with gold accents. Her pudgy pockmarked face was tight with a scowl of detest. Guess she would be the boarding proctor, Akane surmised. Why the heck couldn’t her lazy keister come escort us?
The proctor wasn’t going to fetch the beneficiaries from the receiving area herself. No way. She was an Eden inhabitant, on duty; “nadir” had to come to her. “Call me Ella,” the huge woman said in an inhospitable tone. She glowered harshly at the petite, lithe eighteen-year-old in front of her—with a crop of short-cut unruly dark hair and dark eyes to match. “I’ll be your boarding proctor, pissant. Do everything I say, and keep your stinking mouth shut unless spoken to.” Her thick lips expanded into a wry grin. “And don’t do anything that might tick me off, lest you want your Eden citizenship registration revoked. Which would certainly make me happy.”
Geesh, what bug crawled up this roly-poly’s pants? Akane thought, brows drawn together. She subdued the impulse to cuss out this churlish asshole.
The forehead of the austere proctor crinkled. The irrepressible enmity harbored in her soul was broadcasted on her face. She despised that another “nadir” had been granted access to the upper echelon of the New Humanity. “Nadir” belonged here on Satellite One, the New Humanity’s resource hub, as resource harvesters.
In a belittling timbre, the proctor said, “Please acknowledge understanding, registrant C-Nine-Eight-Eight-Seven.”
Damn, Akane thought, this woman didn’t even deign to use her actual name. Akane was nothing more than a CRN to her. “Yeah, I gotcha,” Akane said coolly, instead of going the fuck off. “You won’t get annnyyyy trouble from me.” She was eager to get away from this doofus and get the joyride to Eden underway.
Ella noticed Akane’s accent was pretty evident. She must be a Sector 07 resident, she figured.
The bubbly blonde woman with the pigtails came moseying up with a carefree stride.
Ella’s saggy features twitched, and her lips pursed. “Hey, Ms. Lah-di-dah, quit dragging your feet!” Startled, the woman tensed up and froze. “Move! Put some pep in your step!”
A flutter of nervousness slapped the sunny disposition off the woman’s face. “Uh . . . coming right away, ma’am!” she hollered, voice stuttering. She kicked her pace up to a jog and brought herself to a stock-still halt in front of the craggy-faced boarding proctor.
Ella looked down at the tablet in her stubby hands and then swung her hard gaze back up at the blonde. “Registrant C-Six-Five-Five-One, Skylar Grace, correct?” she demanded.
The woman tipped her chin in a nod. “Yes, ma’am,” she confirmed, her usual peppiness absent, voice sounding more reserved in the proctor’s menacing presence.
The two twenty-something men then rushed up.
Ella glanced at her tablet. “Registrant C-One-Seven-Nine-Two, Jacobi Johnston.”
“Here,” the auburn-haired man said.
Next, Ella read off, “Registrant C-Zero-Eight-Nine-One, Desmond Castillo.”
“That’s me,” the black-haired dusky-skinned man announced, sounding loud and proud.
Ella clipped the tablet to her large belt. “Alright, follow me,” she ordered, in a pompous, don’t-defy-me tone of voice. “I’m taking you to Decon so you can disinfect. Don’t want you nadir contaminating the motherworld.”
Jacobi frowned at the epithet. Nadir? Butt-ugly snob.
The proctor and her group of beneficiaries veered into a junction left. Like the entirety of this government facility, it was flawless, squeaky-clean, and sterile, unlike a lot of outdated, lackluster structures on Satellite One.
Jacobi wandered closer to Akane, encroaching on her personal space. “Psst, hey, what’s your name?” he crooned.
His proximity drew Akane’s features into a cringe. “Why?” she answered flippantly. Coping with having to part ways with friends, family, and the world she was accustomed to, she wasn’t in a conversational mood.
Jacobi hunched his shoulders and smiled politely. “We all might as well get acquainted. We’re all embarking on the same journey, right?”
“All mouths need to remain closed, Mr. Johnston,” the proctor threatened, shepherding the group forward with a slow, lumbering gait. That was Jacobi’s warning shot. Next time, she might not be so merciful.
Jacobi went silent. What a crotchety old bitch.
A third of the junction’s distance there was a set of doors to the left and another set to the right.
Ella barked instruction. “Gents, that way.” She pointed left. “Ladies, that way.” She pointed right. “Once inside, you’ll receive further instruction.” With wrath lacing her husky voice and a look of warning wrinkling her visage, she added, “Make sure you follow it to a T.”
Why do we have to get “decontaminated” like we’re infectious, diseased rodents or something? Akane wondered. Well, no choice but to comply.
Akane and Skylar stepped into the ladies’ Decon. Twelve claustrophobic-looking pods, connected to a series of pipes, were built into the curved wall of the white nondescript space. The doors shut behind them with a rushing sound, and a disembodied artificial voice said, “Welcome to Decon. Extract all apparel and place it in deposit bins for sterilization.” With a click, two rectangular bins ejected from wall lockers. “After discarding apparel, proceed to the sterilization pod of your choosing.”
Akane dropped her backpack on the bench in front of the bins, and she and Skylar began unlacing their footwear.
After tugging off her high-tops, Skylar rotated toward her new traveling companion with a glowing white smile stretching her cheeks. Bonding time. “So, what’s your name?”
“Akane.” The drab way she answered sent a clear message: she wasn’t happy and didn’t give a crap about schmoozing right now.
Skylar jerked her shirt overhead and dumped it into deposit bin zero-one, uncovering a silky pink bra.
Squeamish about undressing in front of strangers, Akane blushed and shyly eased her shirt up over her head.
“Why so glum?” Skylar inquired. “We’re headed to Eden. We’re headed to paradise.” Her voice exuded her relentless optimism. “I hear it’s a lot like Earth.” Born after Earth Era in Colony Five, she’d never laid eyes on humanity’s ex-motherworld, and had only seen imagery of its former glory, before Armageddon.
Akane discarded her shirt in deposit bin zero-two, along with her backpack. “Look, I’m just . . . not sure how things are gonna shake out. I mean, what are the odds of us immigrants actually . . . you know, prospering on Eden?”
Skylar threw a monkey wrench in Akane’s skepticism, spieling some truth. “Oviereya Amaechi became a Chairwoman of the Parliament and Chancellor of the Supreme Judiciary. Arson Scott became one of the Commonwealth’s most revered war heroes and was awarded the pinnacle of military commendations. They were able to adapt, overcome, and shatter barriers. Anything’s possible, Akane.” With bravado and a sharp smile, Skylar added, “Motherfucking anything.” She flicked a hand dismissively, as if fanning away the aura of doubt percolating throughout Akane’s mind. “Come on, girlfriend!”
Akane had a tendency to expect the worst to shield herself from disappointment. But that reminder, the reminder that colony inhabitants such as herself had risen to prominence in the Commonwealth, elicited a small hopeful smile from her. Albeit small, it was still a smile—a sign she wasn’t all doom and gloom. “Guess there is hope for us, huh?” she remarked in a mild tone.
Skylar punched a fist upward. “Yep!” she said cheerfully. Her animated body language basically translated to “now that’s the spirit!”
As the two finished undressing, they shot the breeze, and Akane loosened up. In their birthday suits, they strolled toward the pods, bare feet slapping the spotless floor.
Akane had to admit, she was envious of her fellow traveler’s physique—definitely looked like she could be a supermodel. Skylar was stunning—a fine bone structure, luscious hips, a cute heart-shaped bottom, and a chest with ample curves. And she was one hundred percent au naturale, no black-market body mods. Self-conscious about her looks, Akane wished she’d been endowed with a physique like that. She was straight-figured, head to toe.
They entered neighboring decontamination pods.
“Initiating sterilization sequence,” the automated guide notified them. Whirring. Clinks and clanks. A lone cylindrical vat in the room gurgled, then a cool chemical mist permeated the pods through the spinning applicator of their ceiling.
Skylar pivoted toward Akane’s pod, hands pressed against glass and sapphire eyes gleaming. “So, whaddya think having our brains modded with a cerebral implant is gonna be like?” the chatty extrovert asked, elevating the pitch of her peppy voice over the loud hissing mist gusting against her nakedness.
Akane sighed, anxious to get out of this glass chamber thing and not in the mood for . . . “shower talk” with a hyperactive woman who couldn’t stop jabbering for one second. Not how she thought preboarding would go. Life was so unpredictable. “You’re able to . . . do some mental Bluetooth thing. Link, that’s what they call it, right? Sync your mind with someone else’s. Hear their thoughts. Walk through their memories. Experience their emotions. Become one with someone and all that jazz.” Her visage communicated discomfort. “Souunnnddds kinda creepy if you ask me.”
“Nuh-uh,” Skylar disagreed. “Linking is supposed to be a gateway into deepening relationships. It’s a way to bond, to form closer ties and expand cognitive awareness of another human being’s innermost feelings.” The smile on her face sharpened. With a sultry “Oh, I can’t wait!” type of timbre, she added, “A way to manifest an extraordinary sex life too.”
Akane’s face and shoulders gave Skylar a “meh.”
Skylar sighed. They were talking about one of the biggest technological breakthroughs of the human race, and all Akane could offer was a lukewarm reaction?
The unending mist continued on, cleansing any foreign bacteria, microbes, and parasites.
“So, what’s your goal in life, Akane?” Skylar asked, continuing the get-to-know-you session.
Akane cocked a brow. “Huh?”
“You know, the thing that motivates you, that gives you a sense of purpose, that gives you the will to wake up and deal with the muck of life day after day. The thing you feel is your reason for breathing.”
My ikigai? Akane answered with, “Right now I’m just focused on keeping my head above water and steering clear of trouble on my soon-to-be new homeworld.”
“You gotta think big, Akane. If you don’t know your purpose yet, you gotta find it. Make one. Me, I’m destined for stardom. I’m gonna be a famous vocal artist, like Mercedes Gardner!” Mercedes was famous alright. Inhabitants of Eden and Satellite One were enamored with the entrancing sound of the pop star’s vocals. She had performed across Eden and traveled to Mission Worlds to uplift the morale of Guardians deployed on planetary-impact missions. And her vids usually netted over a hundred million views.
Akane looked at Skylar, thinking, Yeah, right.
Sick of Akane’s pessimism, Skylar’s face stiffened, and her tone transitioned to something not so friendly—a departure from her usual giddy self. “I know what you’re thinking. You’re thinking that’s a lofty goal for an immigrant, aren’t you?” The rising aggression in Skylar’s voice warned Akane she’d hit a big nerve, with her inauspicious forecasting. “You think I should take a step back and conform to reality, isn’t that right?”
Akane kept her mouth closed, listening on without a peep, not wanting to further piss off her traveling companion.
Skylar’s face tightened more. “Friends have told me the same stupid thing. They think I’m some zany airhead, a birdbrain, or ditsy or something. But it’s the conformists that remain content with being doormats for the Commonwealth Government and prosperity seekers like yours truly that become trailblazers.”
Akane heard her mother’s wisdom: “Remember, Akane, even the most herculean feats can be conquered.” Her parents had raised her to never cast a shadow on anyone’s dreams.
“You’re right, I’m sorry,” Akane apologized.
Skylar’s face instantly lightened up, features softening. “No prob, girlfriend. We’re good.”
The mist finally stopped, and some other, gelatinous, decon chemical then lathered the ladies. Thirty seconds later, a water shower rinsed away the gooey chemical. Then the drying cycle activated. After that, the three metal rings of the pods spun around, emitting purple X-ray beams. A chirp confirmed that the medical sensors had pronounced them well with a clean bill of health. Decon completed, the young ladies retrieved their clothing from the deposit bins and redressed.
Exiting the doors, they saw Ella, Jacobi, and Desmond waiting for them. Ella proceeded to lead the group to the ship hangar, where a single passenger carrier was docked.
The beneficiaries hurried up the craft’s boarding ramp, relieved to finally part from their crude, mean-spirited chaperon. The passenger compartment and cockpit were separated by a bulkhead, so the beneficiaries were left to themselves. And the passenger compartment seated up to twenty-five bodies, so it was quite roomy for four people.
The female pilot, wearing the standard orange aviator jumpsuit, completed all launch checks and blasted her voice over the intercom, with a chipper lilt. “Alright, ladies and gents, this is Deloris, your pilot, speaking. We are a ‘go.’ Sit back and enjoy the ride.” The roll-up hangar door reeled open, and the craft rolled out onto the tarmac. The propulsion system powered up. Engine cycling from a low purr to a high-pitch whine, the craft cruised into an overhead view of the colony, headed for space.
Jacobi stared through a porthole with an aggrieved expression. A hodgepodge of stacked tenements, small living pods, sorry-looking MHUs, and corroding girders of unfinished structures—promised to be completed years ago—shrank into specks as the surface grew distant. A montage of childhood memories cycled through his mind. At the outset of the New Humanity, he sat with his parents in auditoriums of resettlement centers—government hubs purposed for assimilating colony inhabitants into the New Humanity’s socioeconomic framework, a framework crafted by the Omni-system. The centers’ “indoctrination” programs prepared colony inhabitants for the roles they’d undertake. They were told being resource harvesters was an honor, and that the New Humanity rested on their shoulders, conditioning their minds to be exultant about second-class citizenship—an attempt at social engineering. Diagrammed on mega screens were the lush metropolises to come; Satellite One would replicate Eden in the near future. Colony inhabitants’ minds were filled with hope to inspire belief in the Commonwealth Government.
After the Phazharian and Bhalkran wars, inhabitants were led to believe the financial impact of those wars was why the vision promised hadn’t come to fruition yet; it was the reason why they had to tolerate years of insalubrious living arrangements. In actuality, colony inhabitants were victims of systematized degradation. Jacobi turned red just thinking about the squalor of impoverished zones in his sector, inhabitants’ cries for equality discredited by the government and the media. The government itself always controlled the narrative.
The colony labor force was keeping the Commonwealth afloat. They harvested the invaluable resources ensuring humanity’s star nation remained a thriving republic. We’re the lifeblood of the New Humanity, Jacobi thought. But we’re treated like spokes on a wheel. Told our purpose is to simply be manual laborers for the government and mega corporations. This was his chance to stick it to the system designed to keep colony inhabitants at the bottom of the socioeconomic totem pole. This was his opportunity to be the maker of his own fate and honor his mother.
The toxins from the mines his mother had slaved in metastasized a fatal infection throughout her nervous system, dooming her to a premature death. He watched his emaciated, bedridden mother wilt away, while she was intubated to some shabby life-support system in an under-equipped intensive care ward. Mrs. Johnston wanted her only child to live a life of abundance. He was smart and could pave any future he envisioned. Obtaining Eden citizenship was his chance to manifest that life of abundance.
Emerging into space, the craft’s hull juddered.
Skylar sat stargazing out a window in amazement. Wow, outer space!
Akane was lounged back in her recliner’s cushioned backrest. Hands resting behind her head, she pondered what sort of trials awaited her on Eden. Knowing a lot of suck was in store for everyone aboard, she’d suggested that Skylar slow her roll, but nothing seemed to be able to curb the jolly optimist’s enthusiasm.
Jacobi walked over to Akane’s seat, hands in his hoodie’s pockets. “Hey, Akane, what’s the first thing you’re gonna do when we get to Eden?” he asked, trying to lure her into a social chat.
Akane sighed. “Dunno,” she answered blandly, and was barely audible.
As someone who’d envied lottery beneficiaries, Jacobi was unnerved by Akane’s seemingly lack of appreciation for this golden opportunity. She should’ve forfeited her lottery winning and let a more grateful entrant take her spot, he thought. Colony selectees were disqualified from Eden citizenship by a scad of admittance factors, some as minuscule as physical and mental disabilities. Some selectees simply didn’t meet IQ requirements. Only the best of humanity was to inhabit Eden’s continent, to maximize the human race’s survival probability. But now Akane was of the blessed minority who’d secured a ticket to joining the upper echelon of the human race, yet she was acting all . . . petulant.
“Well, you don’t seem all that thankful for this fortunate position we’ve lucked into,” Jacobi said. “This is our chance to no longer be pigeonholed to a lifetime of marginalization. What gives?”
Akane sat upright and went on the defense—facial expression intense, tone severe. “Look, pal, my parents prayed for me to win Eden citizenship, and I intend to honor them. But I’m . . . a realist. That’s all. I’d rather serve myself a dose of reality now than psych myself up for major disappointment. So, yeah, just because I’m not . . . jumping through the roof right now doesn’t mean I don’t value this opportunity. I’m just . . . a down-to-earth type of girl. Now stick a fork in it. Beat it.”
“I see,” Jacobi said in a level tone, backing off. He took a seat across the aisle, beside Desmond.
“So what’s up with her? Why’s she such a grinch?” Desmond asked, aiming a thumb in Akane’s vicinity.
“Hey, I heard that, you jerk!” rang Akane’s furious voice.
“Sorry!” Desmond said. He then lowered his voice to a whisper. “Why’s she so moody?” he asked Jacobi.
Jacobi dropped his volume to “covert level” as well. “She’s just . . . trying to stay level-headed. And I get it. Things will probably get worse for us before they get better.”
“Hey, you guys talkin’ about me?” Akane yelled over at them, suspicious.
“Uh, no, not at all,” Jacobi answered. Geesh.
“So, what’s your dream, man?” Desmond asked, shifting the conversation.
“Knowledge excites me. I wanna enroll into one of the universities. I wanna study abroad on other planets and commingle with different races. Then take that knowledge and do some sort of good.” Wanderlust and enthusiasm lit Jacobi’s face.
“The scholarly type, huh?”
Jacobi shrugged. “Guess so. What about you?”
“I’m gonna join the Commonwealth Defense Force, enlist into the Land Combatant Corp.”
“A friend of mine, a lottery beneficiary, told me the physical challenges you gotta endure at BCT are super tough. As one can expect, I guess. But then immigrants like us have to deal with bigoted drill sergeants on top of that. You ready?”
The overconfident smirk on Desmond’s face suggested he was beyond ready. “All fine by me, brother. I live for a good physical challenge, gets me thrilled. I play all sorts of contact sports in my sector. Buncha prick drill sergeants aren’t gonna intimidate me.” Desmond liked to get rowdy and roughhouse and loved guns and knives. Knowing their son well, his mother and father supported his decision to join the CDF, thought it was a good career choice for him. “Yup, the military’s where I belong, bud.”
“Well, you’ve certainly got the drive. I’ll say that much. I’m sure you’ll do well.”
“Thanks.” Desmond’s eyes glanced to where Skylar was sitting, behind Akane. Always extroverted and energetic, she’d finally run out of juice, deep in a state of much-deserved requiescence, and looking adorably quiet. “And hey, just so you know, I got dibs on Skylar.”
Jacobi laughed. “You can have at her all you want. I’m not auditioning for ‘boyfriend,’ for either of those two.”
“That why you keep prowling around that Oriental chick?”
Jacobi’s face flushed with embarrassment. “It’s not what you think. My interest is strictly platonic.”
Desmond’s internal lie detector was going off. “Yeah, right, sure it is,” he said archly. “Tell me you’re not jockeying to get into her underpants.”
“I’m not in pursuit of anything beyond cordial relations, my friend.”
“Uh-huh. Liar,” Desmond responded in a jocular tone.
Body overtaken by lassitude, Akane’s heavy lids drooped shut. She thought about Mom and Dad, then sleep finally claimed her.
The hull vibrated, and shifting patterns of multicolored light gleamed outside the windows as the craft transitioned into Hyperspace Leap.
“Akane, wake up! Wake up, Akane!” Skylar’s voice hollered.
Akane groaned tiredly as a pair of hands rocked her out of her slumber. She awoke with a cranky expression at the sight of Skylar leaning over her, the rambunctious woman’s annoyingly chipper smile and nearly translucent eyes smack dab in her face. Akane was on the brink of shoving Ms. Happy-go-lucky to the floor. “What is it, dammit?” she asked, sounding pouty.
Exuberantly, Skylar answered. “We’re close now! It’s almost time!”
Akane rubbed the grogginess from her eyes. “Really!” Her heartbeat raced.
“Eden inbound,” the pilot reported over the intercom. The blue planet and its single green-and-brown continental landmass grew closer. A countdown blipped on one of the control console’s screens. “Atmospheric entry in three . . . two . . . one.”
The shuttle rattled through Eden’s atmosphere and descended. Surfing the turbulence caused by headwinds, it soared above sublime towering feats of architecture.
Conical, pyramidal, and Cupola edifices with shining windows blurred by, along with other structures unorthodox to a colony inhabitant.
With a face of wonder, Akane plastered her palms to her starboard window, streaking it with her prints. Squeak. A big smile spread cheek to cheek. Her disbelieving eyes watched colorful flyers of various aesthetic whisk over the solar-paneled roadways—among masterworks of engineering constructed of glass, metal, and phyocrete, ranging in height. “Holllyyyy fucking shit!” The clean-swept surface below was crazy-busy, tiny figures of pedestrians strolling across or riding slideways. They entered and exited a mélange of shops and restaurants. This is incredible! Vibrations of awe trembled Akane.
Exclamations broke out from everyone. Fingers pointed at this and that.
The shuttle blew past gold spires spearing the sky. After five more minutes of travel, it decelerated, banked downward, and smoothly leveled out. Then, undercarriage repulsors fired as the ship steadily landed in a vertical descent. It touched down on the outdoor landing deck of the immigrant reception station, just outside Myrtle City. The station was a flat-roofed, single-storey white building.
The shuttle’s engines gasped off. Cooling metal creaked.
The pilot pressed the intercom button. “Ladies and gents, your trip has come to an end,” she said gleefully. A panel of luminous blinking instruments powered down. Viewport screens showing the outside went dark. “You may now depart.”
The fuselage’s door unsealed, and the boarding ramp extended to the airstrip to let everyone off.
The beneficiaries disembarked, down the ramp, out into the brilliance of a cloudless sky and vivid sun.
A burly gray-uniformed man with grizzled hair and a full beard was removing their luggage from the port-side storage hold—two rucksacks, belonging to Jacobi and Desmond, and two duffle bags, belonging to Akane and Skylar. “Well, hurry up. Come get your luggage so we can get in gear,” he said demandingly. The beneficiaries claimed their luggage and followed the man to a white commuter van. “Name’s Finnegan, by the way. I’ll be off-boarding you guys at Central Square. There, you’ll be able to obtain lodging and just about anything else you need.” The beneficiaries loaded into the van, chattering excitedly.
Skylar took a window seat. Akane went ahead and dropped down beside her. Jacobi and Desmond sat on the opposite side of the aisle, same row as Akane and Skylar.
Finnegan input the destination into the van’s onboard navigation system, letting autodrive take the wheel.
As the autonomous van made its way to Central Square, throngs of men and women traversed the city. There were no dirt roads, compact row homes, living pods, and stacked tenements. The contrast between Satellite One and Eden were like day and night, heaven and hell. On Satellite One there were no aerial vehicles, just the ground ones, and inhabitants didn’t have any of the technological boons that were at Eden inhabitants’ disposal.
The van purred to a stop at a red light in the city’s entertainment district. Skylar’s starstruck eyes were zoned out on the twenty-foot holographic avatar of Mercedes Gardner atop a cubical skyscraper. The superstar’s ginger hair was so long that it cascaded beyond her hips. Tresses of the lengthy mane flowed around her smiling visage. That’s gonna be me, I know it!
Skylar imagined scores of fans roaring her name as the concert’s MC introduced her: “And now, without further ado, who you’ve all been waiting for, Skylarrrr Graaccceeee!”
The van jerked into motion with a vroom, giving the beneficiaries a tour of a strip mall.
High-end storefronts of haute couture going by infected Skylar with the shopping bug. The sign of a women’s outlet said OUT-OF-THIS-WORLD GLAM CENTRAL. Another said SO-FINE GALAXY APPAREL. The stores’ window displays exhibited extraterrestrial fashion. Skylar’s intrigued eyes twinkled. “Tomorrow, you and I have to come back here, Akane.”
“Uh, shouldn’t we be preserving our credits?” Akane responded dubiously, brow crinkling.
“Aw, come on, don’t be a spoilsport. We’ve got like . . . three to five months worth of living credits. And this isn’t some backwater world. This is Eden! It’s not gonna take us long to get on our feet, not in the land of milk and honey. Live a little, Akane.”
Akane sighed. “Well . . .” She was close to caving.
Skylar playfully nudged Akane’s shoulder with her knuckles. “Oh, don’t be a party pooper!”
Akane finally relented to peer pressure. “Okay, fine. But let’s . . . not go overboard tomorrow.”
“Cool, girls’-day-out tomorrow! Yaasss!”
Akane shook her head derisively.
It took only seconds for Skylar to start up the next conversation with Akane. “So, have you given it some more thought: your purpose, your life mission?”
“My people often refer to it as ikigai. And no, I haven’t. Right now, I’m just making sure I stay off the street and don’t go hungry. I’ll worry about my purpose later.”
Skylar gave Akane some unwanted encouragement, ignoring the social cues expressing Akane’s irritation with the subject—the squints, mashing of her lips together, and raking of her jaw side to side. “Don’t worry, you’ll find it,” Skylar said jauntily.
Akane grunted. She wasn’t concerned about finding “it” right now.
Fifteen minutes later, the van gasped to a halt at the beneficiaries’ destination, Central Square. “This is the drop-off point. Good luck to ya,” Finnegan said.
The doors of the van split apart, releasing the beneficiaries into the hustle and bustle. After everyone off-boarded, the van hummed away.
The beneficiaries were astonished by how neat and clean the city was.
Myrtle City was like other metropolises on Eden: high air quality, first-rate housing, no ratty alleyways, not one single building dilapidated. Beautiful. Idyllic living.
Skylar watched sanitation golems sweep, scrub, and sterilize streets, slideways, and building windows. “Cool, robots!” She darted toward a storefront display to get a closer look at the flashy apparel. Her foot hit a sensor panel at the window, and suddenly a colorful cyclone of eye-catching pop-up holos swirled around her—a three-dimensional expo of skirts, pants, blouses, and lingerie. Her fascinated eyes flitted left and right. Super cool. She tapped the advertisement graphic in one of the multiple frames of a holo-grid. The dress in the advertisement jumped straight out at her, stretching over her body. Wow, she was wearing the hologram over her clothes!
The floating holowords BUY NOW circled her head. Jacobi was staring, amazed at what just happened. It was unlike anything he’d ever seen.
Skylar left the sensor panel, and the holographic brochure dissipated, along with the holographic construct she was wearing.
Desmond canted his head skyward. Above eateries, boutiques, and corner stores were glass-walled balconies of ultramodern living complexes, and storeys of open-air walkways, rising heavenward, adjoined towering retail centers.
Citizens were smiling. Moods were joyous. No despondent faces, no waifs, no stressing over where the next meal would come from. These people seemed carefree, laid back, and easygoing—unencumbered by woes that colony inhabitants had. And suicide rates, due to depression, were zero percent on Eden.
Never being gullible enough to see Eden through rose-colored glasses, the city’s glitz and glamour were wearing thin for Akane. Honeymoon over, reality began to rear its ugly head—exposure therapy. She and her new friends had been transplanted in a world of foreign technology and culture they knew zilch about, left to fend for themselves, left to climb the broken rungs of the ladder of immigrant success. They’d been abandoned in an environment that operated differently from theirs.
Young female Highborn fashionistas strutted by Akane, wearing garish smartwear. They spoke unfamiliar terminology, operating wrist PDAs, playing sim games on gamecom pads, and using other gizmos Akane was clueless about. A suffocating feeling of overwhelm built up in her chest. She felt like an Earth Era relic, light-years behind the curb on mankind’s modern technological innovations. And she felt so . . . uncultured.
Out of her comfort zone, her muscles became rigid with anxiety, and the pit of her gut churned. Her fear response was to retreat to Colony Three, a place of familiarity, to cower inside its refuge. But the daughter of Benjiro and Akari Sugimori was no wimp. She steeled her composure. Eden was her home now, and she’d face her discomfort and fears head-on. She intended to honor her hardworking parents, who wanted nothing more than to see her flourish on the New Humanity’s motherworld.
Curious eyes scrutinized the beneficiaries, some faces staring repelled. The beneficiaries looked out of the ordinary. Though they were a part of the Union’s human community too, they were foreigners on this world.
Two female lovers walked by Akane hand in hand, giggling. They wore matching attire: light-up microskirts, short tops that exposed their flat midriffs, and ankle boots. In tow, floating helper golems lugged the couple’s overstuffed handbags.
This world seemed surreal to Akane, like a dream. Questions arose in the back of her mind: what to do for employment, how long would their credit vouchers last before the group hit rock bottom, how could they connect with more lottery beneficiaries?
Blithely unconcerned about the severity of their situation, Jacobi, Skylar, and Desmond stood in the midst of a tide of humanity, frissons of excitement prickling their flesh. They saw intergalactic tourists and day-trippers wearing language translators around their necks commingling with humans—a normal sight for Eden inhabitants, alien for colony ones. People sat under pedestrian shelters chatting as they waited for air-cabs. Adolescents on air scooters laughed. Street vehicles and flyers honked, roads and air lanes alive with moving traffic. So many sounds. So much activity.
As her new friends took in the city’s heart-stopping, energetic ambiance, Akane thought, And this is where life kicks you in the ass and gives you a major wake-up call.
