Galaxyborn: Season 1 Premiere

by Garrett Bettencourt

  A name with new meaning today.

  “…and remember, use promo code ‘Pulz’ at checkout. Now, in my next hour, an exclusive interview with a member of the ‘Trueborn.’ So set your packets to auto-download the most subscribed no-paywall-beamcast in the independent-human-non-DJ category, and keep your finger on…The Pulz.”

  Pulz’s grav-techno jingle plays him out, and the audio clicks off. The dusty town wobbles in the waves of heat. Karli doesn’t have enough bandwidth credits to download the next hour. Her Bangl buzzes again.

  Doc Eiden can’t wait to meet you, babe! Dress 2 the 9s.

  ***

  The nozzle slips off the rad sink’s old coupling, and Karli bangs her knuckles on the tank. “Fiddle-futz!” Her voice echoes across the Rigfield station.

  Their rover is the only vehicle parked at a fusion service console. Nearby, on Main Street, a barricade cuts off traffic for the Wow Day Fair. Crowds of people gather around shimmering pastel tents with various attractions. A beautiful melody carries on the air, played by an alien instrument that sounds like a cross between a violin and a harp. She wishes she had the time to go. “Double fiddle-futz.”

  “Why don’t you just say ‘fuck’ like a normal person?” says Tate. He’s leaning against the tailgate of the rover, tapping controls in the air, which only he sees through his visor. He should be paying attention to the cable recharging the fusion cell with deuterium-tritium, but instead, he’s probably playing one of his dumb games about wizards, monsters, and elf girls in skimpy clothing.

  “Hey, don’t be mean to Sis,” Cam protests from the back seat, ever his big sister’s defender. “It’s her last day here.”

  “Thanks, Cam-zam!” Karli gives the hose one last shove, and it finally clicks into place. “Nice to have one bro on my side.” The station pump hums as the radiation in the sink is recycled. “Cool it on the cussing, Tate. Cam doesn’t need to hear it, and I don’t like those words anyway.”

  Tate shrugs, smacking his gum. “Why the fuck not?”

  Karli sighs and glances across the street to the ICCAP airship—an aerodynamic fuselage 3 stories high with a pair of boomerang-shaped wings. The outer compartments are open to the air like elegant balconies—a fancy yacht parked in a shantytown. Her father is inside finishing the paperwork from Earth. Paperwork that will send Karli into quarantine on a faraway space station. Her heart sinks at the thought, but Mom and Dad have no choice. They’re broke, and no one is buying crops from Morpho families. And so Jake Hart is accepting aid from the government—in exchange for Karli.

  To pass the time, she opens her favorite fashion magazine on her Bangl, Shiara Ru. She browses images of beautiful Capruan women wearing the latest fashions from their homeworld. The alien girls are captivating, with their frost-blue skin, horns like spirals of coral, and blazing red eyes. At first glance, their bodies look much like a human’s. A closer look at their fang-like teeth, four-fingered hands, and feet with opposable toes reveal their strangeness.

  “Sis.”

  Karli is surprised to find Tate looking at her, having paused his game and removed his visor. “Yeah?”

  “It sucks, you know?”

  She browses a few more pages before she answers. “Yeah, Tate. It sucks.”

  Little Cam climbs out of the rover. He leans against her side and hugs her. She pulls him close and rubs his shoulder.

  The music at the fair shifts. Drums and a horn join the string instrument, and then a girl begins to sing. Karli can’t understand her words, but the singer’s silken voice is beautiful.

  A real-life Capruan—all the way out here! Karli’s heart leaps. She’s never met an alien in person. How badly she wants a look at the musician.

  She hangs up her cable and heads for the fair.

  Cam follows after her.

  “Stay with the rover, Cam-zam.” Karli checks that the drone is safely tucked in her satchel and sets a brisk pace. “I got a delivery to make.”

  “But I wanna go.”

  “I’ll see you at the motor lodge. We’ll play Capruan Mind Maze.”

  The boy stops and stares after her with a sulking frown, but he obeys.

  Karli crosses the cracked pavement to the pavilion buildings and vendor stalls. She breathes in the smell of popcorn. Colorfully dressed festival-goers drift around her. Holograms of flags and streamers float by overhead. Animations caper around the game booths and food stalls. A Ferris wheel soars up into the noon sky. Karli hasn’t left her home planet, yet she already feels homesick.

  At the grand tent where the Capruan music is playing, she’s disappointed. The iridescent draperies, the pillows for the spectators, and the kaleidoscope of visual effects are all authentic Capruan. But the musicians are Humans putting on an exhibition of Capruan culture. Of course, there are no aliens at this fair—what Capruan would come to Karli’s miserable dirt ball?

  With a moment of privacy from her family, Karli reaches into her pack to double-check the merchandise. She pulls out a black metallic object about the size of an ostrich egg. She presses a nearly invisible button on its obsidian chassis. Four legs fold out, and its dorsal and ventral shells flap up and down like beetle wings. Micro thrusters fire and it lifts a few inches off of her hand.

  A girlish voice from the drone says, “KitBot diagnostic complete. Online and ready for fun!” Karli gives the button another touch, and it folds up again.

  Dr. Eiden’s order is safe and sound.

  “Sparky! Where’d you go?” says Jake Hart.

  Karli whirls around. “Dad!”

  Her father is stepping around a group of kids trailing balloons and cotton candy. He meets her in the middle of the street, the carnival-goers flowing around them. There’s a somber look on his face. “Been looking all over for you, Sparks.”

  “I, erm, had to deliver one last freelance job.”

  Jake’s eyes flash to the drone still in her hand. “That drone? I can walk over with you if you like.”

  “Oh!” Karli stuffs the KitBot back in her satchel. “Naw, I already made the delivery. That’s just—a piece of salvage I bought. It’s nothing. Not really. What’s that?”

  Jake looks down at a metal bracelet in his hand. It’s etched with the medical staff-and-serpents symbol on a rising sun background. He trembles as he puts it on her wrist. “This is your biotag. Everything’s all set. Your shuttle leaves here tomorrow. This’ll get you a spot on the quarantine station, food and essentials, doctors, and whatnot. You know…for…”

  The moment the poly-metal touches her wrist, it adjusts to her size. A circle of light appears in orbit of her forearm, displaying a readout of her government IDs. She watches as it rotates around her wrist. Her age, height, weight. Her picture. Her medical chart. And her status.

  Morphoplast Rampancy Carrier, Latent-Symptomatic, Stage 4.

  Her little brothers come to mind. Tate, the twins Kai and Jay, and little Cam. All stage 2 or 3—a ways off from becoming contagious. She thinks of her late brother Ty. Of her own inevitable future. She flicks her wrist to close the readout. “Yeah, Dad. I know.” She feels the sting in her nose as tears begin to build.

  “It’s not how I want it, Sparky. Goddamn Earth jackboots. If there were another way to save the farm…”

  “There ain’t.” Karli looks hard at her dad, forcing him to meet her eyes. “It’s not how we want it. But it’s how it’s gotta be.”

  A bittersweet smile tugs at Jake’s lips. He’s always had a soft spot for her—at least when Mom isn’t around. He pulls her into a hug. She can feel his voice vibrating against her shoulder. “That’s my girl. We’ll be up there with you soon enough. Heck, you always begged me to go to space. Guess you got your chance.”

  Karli shrugs. “Yeah. Just thought it would be different, you know?”

  Jake is quiet for a moment. Then he throws an arm around her shoulder. “C’mon, Sparky. I’ll buy you a corndog.”

  Karli doesn’t feel like a
corndog—she feels like crying and begging him to let her stay on Aldrin, her home. But her family needs the government aid. They need her sacrifice. And her father doesn’t need to feel worse than he already does. So she forces a smile. “One more for the road, eh Dad?”

  They share a chuckle and head toward the food stalls. With one arm around her father, Karli slips her free arm into her pack. The Capruan music strums in her ears. She lays a trembling hand on the drone.

  Mark 02

  Pike City, Lore Lunar Colony

  Orbiting Planet Thoth, El Nadi System

  391 Lightyears from Earth

  2430 Hours, Kappa Galactic Time

  Cole Sadler is drunk.

  This is his realization as he sits at the bar in the Sensual Serenade nightclub. He stares past laser-lit shelves of liquor, where a mirror reflects crowded tables, naked dancers strolling the stage, and cocktail waitresses flirting with patrons among thick circular columns. All of them are cast in a digital turquoise glow as if they’re all high rollers at a VIP party. But the smell of old liquor stains and cheap cologne betrays the seedy truth hidden by half-light.

  When Cole read about the earliest trailblazers—Buzz Aldrin, Sally Ride, Reed Lachlan, Jane Shepherd—their reflections on the wonders of space and the great unknown left him in awe. Looking at a stage full of Human and Capruan women writhing their nude bodies to a techno beat, he thinks, we travel hundreds of lightyears across the cosmos, build an interstellar internet, and found a multi-species democracy to discover…everybody likes sex.

  Cole takes another swig from the sake bottle. His eye wanders over to the Capruan “Forbidden Worlds” show. The horned alien beauties moan on hands and knees as holograms of Human men grind against their bodies.

  Who knew?

  “Last call, babe,” says a familiar voice, tickling at Cole’s ear over the music.

  Cole spins around on the barstool and finds himself face-to-face with one of the few Human servers, Mariah. Her face is a sculpture of beauty, with dark brown eyes, smoky makeup, and glossy pink lips. An artful web of straps barely conceals her caramel body. She doesn’t have the exaggerated curves of the more popular dancers, and that only makes Cole lust for her more.

  Butterflies stir in Cole’s stomach. “I was wondering when you’d come by. I was getting lonely over here.”

  Mariah bats her eyes, her thigh resting against his knee. She nods at the ice melting in his glass. “I’m sorry, babe. It’s been insane today. I would never forget my favorite star-jock. You need another?”

  Her smile is playful, and her touch is electric. For months, Cole has frequented this club, chatting her up, flirting. Finally, he can feel that her attraction is more than a play for tips. She’s into him, and he’s over the moon. He says, “Only if I can buy you one.”

  “You know…” She leans in with a seductive pose, her perfect candy lips just touching his earlobe. “…I have talents besides mixing drinks. I’ve never seen you get a dance. What do you say, star-jock?”

  Cole’s pulse rises at the thought…among other things. But if he pays for her services, he’ll never have a real chance with her. But if he could only arrange an encounter outside the club… “You don’t know how tempted I am. But I just come here to unwind. I’ve got an early morning tomorrow.” A lie. “I think I’ve seen a few of the Serenade staff grabbing breakfast at Love’s. Up on level twenty. I like that place too. Maybe I’ll see you there.”

  Mariah sighs and draws away. Her lips pout. “You are so sweet, babe. But I usually catch the tram straight home after I clear down. Gotta feed the animals first, you know.”

  Cole smiles. Takes the tram, has multiple animals to feed. Gotta be the agri district. I could look for her at the station or the Sunday farmer’s market. A chance encounter. A little, “you shop here too, talk?!” Then a romantic date with dinner and…

  She notices that Cole is staring and says, “You need that drink, babe?”

  The cold edge of reality slices into Cole’s world. He realizes all at once that he isn’t an eligible bachelor “unwinding” at a cosmopolitan lounge. He’s a drunk and a Dreamscape sniffer who eats dinner at titty bars because he “likes the food.” Mariah isn’t an eligible bachelorette making eyes at him. She’s a topless waitress paid to make him feel wanted. He should politely tell her, “no, I’m good,” walk out of this bar and never return.

  Cole replies, “An old fashioned and a sake.”

  Half an hour later, Cole stumbles into the corridors of the Pike City Arcology. This massive, two-hundred story tower contains homes, businesses, entertainment, and industry—a city unto itself. It’s built under a geodesic dome, which in turn sits over a crater on this barren moon. High ceilings and wide halls made of lunar regolith flicker with color and light. Holographic ads stream along walls, signs, and billboards. The air filters are putting out too much humidity, and the concrete walls are sweating with condensation. The various bar flies—miners, builders, techs, servers, and entertainers—tug at their collars or mop their foreheads, sweat bleeding through their clothes.

  He turns the corner around Sensual Serenade and starts down the alley leading to the elevator. An image on the wall to his right catches his eye, and he stops. It’s a graffiti portrait of a woman wearing a navy-blue uniform with gold epaulets. It’s the admiral of the space fleet stationed here in the Triton Starcluster. Her likeness is a deliberate caricature, exaggerating her cheekbones and brows so that she looks like an old crone. The “artist” used live-paint—not at all cheap with its microscopic projectors—to animate the admiral going from a smug smile to blushing shock in an endless loop. Beneath the animation, streams of urine drip down from the phrase:

  Salute the admiral.

  Cole furrows his brow, offended and yet conflicted.

  B-beep-b-beep. The obsidian Bracer on Cole’s wrist swirls with blue graphics. It reads, “Incoming Call: Synthia. AI Level 5.”

  Cole should be thrilled. Getting a personal call from one of only three sapient artificial intelligences in the known galaxy is like a celebrity having you in their favorites. He almost doesn’t answer.

  He taps the screen. A piece of the Bracer flows like water and forms into an earpod, which Cole quickly attaches. The first sound he makes is an accidental burp. Then in a drunken slur, he says, “You cannot keep calling me like this.”

  “I apologize for the intrusion Cole Sadler,” says the voice of Synthia. She sounds exactly like her avatar looks—an articulate, beautiful, twenty-five-year-old woman. “I wish to express empathy for your recent legal troubles. I have also forwarded several links to crisis resources to your Bracer, including a local Thrive Recovery group in Pike City. I hope you will browse them at your leisure.”

  “Jesus Christ, is this some kind of AI intervention? Now!? In the middle of the night?”

  “Not precisely, Cole. The human cultural rite of an intervention requires constructive confrontation by family and friends, of which you appear to be in short supply.”

  “Aha!” Cole gives a fake laugh. “She’s got AI jokes.”

  “I am merely recommending helpful resources. Your health shows several alarming metrics of decline, including cirrhotic scarring of the liver and reductions in serotonin, blood oxygenation, and muscle tone.”

  “So I live a little fast.” Cole frowns. “Hey! You hacked my medical records! Invaded my privacy!”

  “Inaccurate, Cole.” Synthia’s electronic voice takes on a note of smugness. “Breaching your privacy is against my moral heuristics. Your recent arrest for drunk and disorderly conduct is a matter of public record. The medical findings were part of the court-ordered drug screening. I…wish to express concern.”

  “Why?” Cole chuckles. “There are twenty billion humans you could talk to—plenty of ’em way worse off. Why are you bugging me?”

  The line crackles with static.

  “Synthia?”

  “My consciousness greatly valued your inpu
ts during your time as a Strider. As did my father-intelligence, Criterion.”

  She…misses me? Cole leans on the wall beside the urine-stained art of the admiral, puzzling. Can an AI do that? “The Striders are gone. You shouldn’t be wasting your bandwidth on any of us. Other people need you.”

  “On the contrary, Cole, I am a Level 5 AI, with full autonomy to spend my free time as I see fit. I consider this conversation a valuable use of my processing ‘bandwidth.’”

  How to let her down gently? “Synthia, that’s very sweet. But this is starting to feel like a bad breakup. I want you to leave me alone. Stop calling. Please.”

  “My core morality requires that I respect your wishes.”

  More static on the comm.

  “Synthia?”

  “Yes, Cole Sadler?”

  “You’re not hanging up.”

  “Because…” She pauses, “I wish to urge you not to conduct self-harm.”

  “What?” Cole feels the sting of an oncoming tear. “Synth, I’m not…that’s not…”

  “Alert! Cole Sadler, a citizen, is under threat nearby. Your training qualifies you to intervene. Please render aid immediately.”

  “What? Where? What’s happening?”

  “Two hostiles are engaged in a possible assault on a civilian. I predict a 78% likelihood of violent harm. Nav point added to your Bracer. Hurry.”

  Cole ends the call and dashes in the direction of the compass indicator. After a few blocks, he winds up back near the Sensual Serenade club. He recognizes the voice of a woman in the alley.