The Vitality Package

2094, Earth

"State your name." The words came from somewhere beside me. I opened my eyes, but the light was too much. I slammed them shut again, white dots searing into my eyelids.

"Wh- where am I?" My lips stuck together when I spoke.

"Incorrect. State your name."

Something painful pressed against my chest - heavy, rhythmic. I found it difficult to breathe. Why did it feel wrong?

"Mai Somsri," I said.

"Correct."

Good. Maybe it would leave me alone. Let me go back to-

"Spell DOG."

Oh, for crying out loud.

I opened my eyes again, ready this time for the brightness.

The robot hovered beside the bed - spherical, with a glossy-white casing and a black camera-eye. Another machine beeped softly on the other side; this one was on wheels and didn't talk. I liked that one best.

I'm in a hospital, then. Unless I've been abducted by aliens. Not impossible.

I looked down.

My shirt was gone. A thin medical wrap crossed my chest, a circular hole cut in the center above my sternum. Out of it protruded a chrome maintenance port, blue veins spidering from it. The Neptune Corp logo gleamed on the metal.

My heart rate spiked; I know this because the beepy one did an anxious blip-blip.

Okay. Don't panic. I was joking about the aliens.

"Hello? Anybody there?" I tried to shout, but my voice rasped.

"Incorrect."

I rolled my eyes. Play the game, Mai.

"D-O-G," I said through gritted teeth.

"Correct."

"Water, please."

"Water dispensed!"

A hatch opened at the robot's base. A paper cup dropped into my hand. It was lukewarm. I drank it anyway.

"Water added to your account."

The last sip sprayed out of my mouth. "Wait- what account?"

"Your patient account. You've been selected for our Premium Vitality Package™. Congratulations!"

"I didn't sign up for any health package."

"You experienced catastrophic thoracic trauma during an emergency response operation. You were deceased for 3.7 minutes! Neptune Corp Emergency Medical Services restored your functionality using our latest biotechnology."

Deceased. 3.7 minutes.

"Who authorized this?" I said, hands shaking.

"Neptune Corp Emergency Medical Services operates under Good Samaritan protocols! When immediate intervention is required to preserve life, consent is implied. Article 47, Section-"

"Alright, I get it."

It came back: the mining station, the explosion, the little girl pinned under rubble. I'd pulled her out, handed her to evac. Went back for another but the ceiling came down.

I should have been dead.

"How long was I out?" I whispered. "What day is it?"

"It is 21:16PM on Tuesday, 29th September, 2094."

My stomach dropped. Three days. He'd be alone for three whole days.

"My insurance is covering this, right?" Please say yes.

"Insurance payout has been declined."

"What? Why?" I forced myself up, panic overriding pain.

"Disputes must be addressed directly with your insurance provider. However, I would be happy to discuss our repayment plans."

"How much?"

"Itemized statement: Emergency thoracic reconstruction, 3.2 million credits. Neptune BioLung™ Premium System, pair, 2.6 million credits. Cardiac assist module, 1.8 million credits-"

"Stop."

"-anesthesia, surgical theatre rental, bio-compatible materials-"

"I said stop!"

The floating robot hesitated. "Total charges: 8.7 million credits. We're so glad you're alive!"

Unbelievable.

8.7 million.

"Where are my clothes?"

"We recommend a 72-hour observation period for optimal recovery. We have a special offer of only 12,000 credits per day. Terms and conditions apply."

"We're done here."

I steadied myself on the frame, waiting for the dizziness to pass.

My torn jumpsuit lay at the foot of the bed, blood-stiff. I pulled it on, clenching my teeth against the pain. Every movement felt wrong, like my body wasn't entirely mine anymore.

I reached for the door.

"We hope you have a wonderful recovery!" The robot continued behind me. "Remember: Neptune Corp - where your tomorrow starts today™."

As I left the hospital, the receptionist handed me a printout of my bill and a number to call about repayment plans. I crumpled it into my pocket.

The tube station was only two minutes away, but every step made me wince. Part of me regretted refusing the painkillers, but I didn't want to add another charge to my bill - not until I'd sorted my insurance. Why was it declined?

I descended into the crush of evening commuters. Holographic ads for soma bars flickered along the curved walls, while food stalls in the alcoves sold pad thai from sizzling woks and bubble tea glowing bioluminescent pink.

The train arrived in a rush of warm air. I squeezed inside and grabbed an overhead strap. Neptune Corps employees dressed in blue packed the carriage, with a handful of red Nova Pangaea uniforms scattered among them.

I checked my phone; the screen was cracked, battery dead. Shit. No way to call Dad. He'd be in the flat, surely. He never went out anymore - not since the canal market incident, when he'd gotten lost and couldn't remember the way back.

The train stopped. I pushed through the crowd and climbed the endless stairs to street level. By the time I reached our building I was gasping, my jumpsuit plastered to my back with sweat.

At the door, I froze.

It was ajar.

Titan Voyager, Deep Space

30 years later

The corridor lights flickered. Or maybe it was the dots in my vision, I couldn't tell. I slapped the door control and staggered into the workshop.

"Mai- oh hell."

Robyn's tools clattered to the floor. She caught me under the arm and hauled me upright, guiding me to her desk chair; the leather was cracked and held together with duct tape.

I clutched my chest, gasping in short, useless breaths as dizziness washed over me.

Robyn tugged open my jumpsuit and pulled up the base layer. The BioLung™ blinked an alarming red. She removed the mismatched screws and popped open the panel, scratched and dented from years of repairs. Inside, tubing glistened with condensation and rust.

"Hold on," Robyn muttered, voice trembling though her hands stayed steady.

She worked fast, tracing the lines beneath my skin. Grease streaked the bridge of her nose and a coil of red hair escaped her braid, clinging to the sweat on her temple.

The pump kicked. Cold oxygen surged through my chest. I tilted my head back in relief.

"Pressure seals are shot," Robyn said, wiping sweat from her brow. "Left lung's maybe forty percent."

"It's fi-"

She silenced me with a look and snapped the panel shut.

"Your system was never designed to last this long. That auto-boot won't save you next time." She walked to the sink, rinsing out the dregs from her coffee mug and refilling it with water.

"Drink," she said, handing it to me. It was the one with CX-13 schematics on it. I'd bought it for her last year for secret Santa.

"Thank you." The water helped. My breathing was back under control.

She pulled up a stool beside me, coveralls streaked with graphite. "You can't keep gambling with air, Mai."

"If the lung quits," I said, "then it quits."

"You really think that's noble?"

I shrugged. "What choice do I have? I can't take out another loan for an upgrade. I won't be a slave to Neptune forever."

She pressed her lips together.

I knew she understood. She was drowning in debt too - not from prosthetics, but from three rounds of IVF that resulted in only pain.

A smile twitched on Robyn's lips, easing the tension. She reached into her jacket, pulled out a crinkled packet, and tossed it over.

I turned it over, my thumb tracing the faded logo. Honey lemon sweets.

"Where did you get these?" I asked, disbelief in my voice.

"Station 14. Traded them for a socket wrench."

"How did you-"

She tapped her forehead with her finger and winked. "I don't understand why you like those so much, but they clearly mean something."

"They do," I said. "They really do."

She paused, inviting me to say more.

I didn't.

The shift alarm wailed overhead.

I stood, zipping my jumpsuit. "I should go. Wouldn't want to miss the party."

"I'm so jealous you get to go to that, even if you are working. I have to monitor the debris field calculations." She rolled her eyes.

"You won't be jealous if you saw what I have to wear."

She laughed. It was a good sound.

"Meet me after shift," I said. "Airlock Five, Station Seven. Twenty-two hundred hours."

She narrowed her eyes. "What for?"

"Just promise me you'll be there."

She promised.

The ballroom - as it was so called - was a glorified docking bay. Axion X. Peters (yes, that was his real name), CEO of Neptune Corps, had spared no expense for his guests. Space tourism was the latest trend, and he wasn't about to miss out.

I carried a tray of appetizers, drifting through the crowd. My chest still ached from the malfunction earlier. Thank god for Robyn's quick hands. Without her, I'd be floating in cold storage by now.

The uniform for tonight's charade was a black carbon corset, ribbed like insect armor. Guests drifted past in heavy gowns woven with neon filaments, greedy eyes hidden behind holographic masks. A simulated nebula hung above. And the butterflies - real ones, genetically spliced to glow - had been shipped all this way as a showpiece.

I found him by the string quartet. Mr. fucking X.

I steadied my breathing. Four months of practice. I could do this.

Moving toward him, I ditched the tray and carried a single glass. "Champagne?" I said, drawing a smile. The BioLung™ wheezed, struggling to keep up with my anxiety. Not now. Not here.

He turned. Goofy grin across his barely-adult face, wild curly hair, and eyes a little unfocused as he swayed on his feet. His hand brushed mine as he took the glass.

My eyes locked on his wrist strap, a simple black silicone band. I twitched my wrist, bubbles splashed onto his hand.

"Oh - I'm so sorry, sir-"

While he lifted his sleeve clear, I slipped the band free.

He laughed. "Accidents happen. Just be careful next time."

"I will."

I walked away slowly, professionally. Only when I rounded the corner did I let myself shake. The strap felt heavy in my palm.

29 September 2094, Earth

The door to my flat stood open, light pouring from inside.

As I pushed the door open, I saw Dad standing at the kitchen counter, the kettle at full boil. Relief flooded through me so hard I nearly collapsed against the doorframe.

"Dad," I said, keeping my voice steady. "You're okay."

His salt-and-pepper stubble had grown thick. His shirt was wrinkled, buttoned wrong. His socks didn't match; one blue, one black. But his smile was pure sunshine.

"Hello, sweetheart," he said, opening his arms.

I went to him, let myself sink into his embrace. He was warm, solid, real.

Then I remembered the augmentation and pulled back before he could feel the hard edges of it through my clothes.

"You're all dirty," Dad said, his eyes widening. He reached out to touch my cheek, his gentle fingers brushing against what must have been a spectacular bruise. "And your face. What happened?"

"Just work, Dad. Long shift."

"You work too hard." His brow furrowed; thick, wiry eyebrows drawing together in concern. "Your mum and I are so proud of you, though. Saving all those lives."

I swallowed hard, looked at the kettle instead of at him.

"You left the door open again," I said quietly.

"Oh, did I?" He turned to look at it, genuine surprise on his face. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. I must have forgotten."

"It's okay," I said, offering a gentle smile.

He turned back to the cupboard, frowning again. "Now where did I put the tea?"

I reached past him, opened the cupboard beside the one he was searching. A large sticker on the door read TEA.

"This one, Dad."

"Ah! There it is. Thank you." He beamed at me like I'd performed magic. "Want some?"

"Always."

The Titan Voyager

"Did you get it?"

Kade was waiting outside the ballroom. His jumpsuit zipped to his throat, heavy square glasses resting on his nose.

I held up the wrist strap. "I got it."

He smiled, reaching for it, but I pulled it away. "A deal's a deal."

Kade crossed his arms. "You'll get your money. Just as soon as we get back to Earth. The surgery is all prepped for your new lungs too. And by the looks of you, it can't come soon enough."

He was right about that.

I handed him the wrist strap. He slipped it into a small red pouch, the logo of Nova Pangaea Industries on the front.

"You've been invaluable, Mai. The intel, everything - we're very grateful."

"Well, I didn't do it for you."

I did it for dad. The wrist strap contained a hard drive to Neptune Corps latest research, including a cure.

They were going to patent it, lock it behind a paywall. Capitalising on the leading health crisis - which, ironically, was likely triggered by the toxic fumes of Neptune Corps industries.

"Now it'll actually help people," Kade said.

I nodded. I knew that Nova Pangaea was equally as corrupt in different ways, but when they asked me if I could help, promising me that dad could be first on the waiting list, I couldn't say no.

"Is everything set?" I asked.

"Course correction's uploaded. The debris field will be hidden from their scanners. They won't see it coming. It'll look like an accident."

"And the shuttle?"

"Leaves at 22:07. Don't be late."

I went back to my quarters and pulled on my flight suit, packing everything I owned into a single bag.

The photo of Dad sat on my bunk - my graduation as a medic, all of us smiling. I stared at it, then slipped it into my breast pocket.

By the time I reached Airlock Five, Kade had already overridden the escape pod and was firing it up.

Robyn wasn't there.

I paged her. "Where are you?"

Static. Then her voice: "Engineering. Something's wrong - the nav system's been tampered with. If we don't fix it, we'll hit the debris field in ninety minutes."

No.

"You need to get to Airlock Five," I hesitated, then added, "I have a shuttle ready."

Silence.

"I don't- Mai, I don't understand. How did you-"

"Just trust me, okay? I can explain later."

"Did you not hear what's happening? We're all in danger. I- I've got to go."

"No!" I said, then softer: "Please."

"You coming?" Kade shouted from the escape pod, I could hear the hum of its engine.

I looked at the comm in my hand. At the pod. At the corridor leading back to engineering.

I ran.

31 September 2094, Earth

"There's an opening on a deep space voyager. I can get you there tomorrow. Otherwise, there's nothing else until..." The recruiter paused. "Nothing until December."

Instead of recovering, I'd spent two days fighting my insurance claim.

I'd broken protocol, they said. Entered an unstable structure without authorization. I'd pointed out that I was a paramedic, called to the scene. It was no good. Work wouldn't even return my calls. I was on my own.

"Are you still there?"

"Yes," I said. "Sorry. That's fine."

"Great, let me get you signed up. You'll be entering into a lifetime contract with us. A monthly contribution from your salary will go toward your Vitality Package loan. I see here you've also requested care for your father. We can offer him a residential care package in your absence. This will be added to your monthly repayments."

"Ok."

"Perfect, that's all sorted. Be at East Port, Platform Seven, 0800 tomorrow. Congratulations on joining Neptune Corps, where your tomorrow starts tod-"

I ended the call.

The next morning, I rose early. Dad was already up, the kettle on boil.

"Hi sweetheart, you're up early." He looked down at my bags. "You're leaving? Did I do something wrong?"

“No, dad, of course not. It's for work," I said, "I got a promotion. They want me to head a medical division on a space voyager."

His eyes widened. "Oh, my little gem, that's wonderful!" Then his face shifted, confused. "Where's your mother? I need to tell her. She'll be so proud."

Dad looked around, searching for Mum.

"Dad, Mum's not here."

"Oh." He stopped, confusion clouding his face. "I'm making tea. Do you want some?"

"Always."

He poured, hands steady. I watched him, memorizing the way he moved, the way the morning light caught the grey in his hair. The smell of jasmine tea.

"Wait- I have something." Dad shuffled to the cupboard, reaching behind the tea. He pulled out a small box. "I've been saving these."

Honey-lemon drops.

"Dad-"

"For your journey." He pressed them into my hands, his fingers warm. "Your mother always said these made everything better."

I hugged him before he could see me cry.

Escape Pod, 47,000 km from Titan Voyager

On the control panel screen, a tiny dot of light blinked- the Titan Voyager's location beacon.

Then it vanished.

Thirty Two Thousand on board. All dead. Including Robyn.

Kade wouldn't meet my eyes. He stared straight forward, watching the nav screen.

"Did we have to-," I said,

"Collateral damage," he said. "Think of how many people we're going to save with this.”

Cade paused. Then, his voice quieter:

"Neptune's killed more."

I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes.

I thought about Robyn, probably still in Engineering when it hit. Trying to save them.

I thought about Dad. Still in that care facility, still waiting for his wife. Waiting for his daughter.

I felt something in my pocket. The honey lemon sweets that Robyn had given me earlier. I placed one in my mouth, but the hard sweet shattered, its core hollow.

It tasted like ash.