|Sci-Fi|: Eras of Cain Ch 1 |Sci-IRL|: How You Could be an Astronaut
Fic: Maybe-malfunctioning, maybe-murderous cyborg runs away from home. Science IRL Article: New paths to space.
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I murdered my first human and learned I’m a clone of my mother on my sixteenth birthday. Scratch that–my sixteenth petri dish incubation date? I’m still fuzzy on the details. It was bad enough just being a cyborg. But a cyborg clone? I’m a lame sci-fi mashup.
I’ll replay my memories to show you exactly how it happened, like I do for you in our sensory post-processing sessions. I’m pretending you’re going to explain everything back to me, like usual. You know, when we never speak again because I’ll be on the lam and criminals don’t get to see their therapists.
We’ll watch on fast-forward and I’ll tell you what I was thinking in that moment to ‘unveil my subconscious experience’ as you say. I’ll only play the important moments on regular speed with in-the-moment audio where we should analyze things.
OK. Let’s start 32 hours ago. Behold: from lame teenaged cyborg to murderer.
🎥 (📍 Home; Level 177 🗓️ June 10, 5271 🕒 8:37PM
⏩(I’m leaving home after fighting with Dad. I barely remember slamming those ridiculously-giant front doors. Can’t even hear their metal clanging over my throwback riot grrrl tunes. Good vibes for running away from home, right?
I’m a newbie to this whole running away in the heat of anger thing. No bag, no plan. Just walking this brightly-lit, private skywalk that bridges our estate to the ritziest shopping district in the city. The coddling security of it all is making my skin crawl.
I felt that way in the moment too, but it’s so much worse now after seeing where Trin lives…
Getting ahead of myself.
In the moment, I’m imagining you asking me at our next therapy sesh, “So tell me how you felt running away?” You’d be keeping your yellow cat-eye frames downcast per our agreement about minimizing eye contact.
Thinking about you made it so obvious that this was just a silly tantrum and I’m clearly about to go right back home. This only makes me angrier, feeling like I never have the options normal kids have. I’m imagining you telling me in that soothing tone of yours, ‘Well, you never needed to individuate from your family unit because you started life as one in literally a million biomedically augmented people.’
Wow, have I ever imitated you while we’re together? Embarrassing. Since you’ll probably never see this anyway, I confess, I talk out loud as if you’re with me all the time.
I really wish we could talk about what’s going on with my augs. Puberty seems to be fucking with them. When I’m upset, they shake like they’re going to snap out of my skin or break my bones trying. So far, this isn’t something my celebrity tech tycoon Dad, my absent, mad-scientist Mom, or our top brass family doctors have been able to fix.
In the moment, I’m turning to look back up the skywalk where warm yellow lights line the long spine of the marble wall that circles our estate and the Planck Power HQ complex.
Something is wrong and Dad isn’t telling me.
Dad has never said things like ‘because I said so’ and ‘end of discussion’ to me before.
He’s also never had a drop of alcohol in front of me. It never occurred to me he might drink when upset, like other adults. Did I really think the fact that he’s rich and famous meant that his life was actually the open book it seems? As if this lifestyle hasn’t made him an expert in hiding things, even from me.
Do I even know him?
I’m pulling up my aug’s viz feed to replay our fight. ⏸️)
🎥 (📍 Home; Level 177 🗓️ June 10, 5271 🕒 7:55PM
⏩Dad is standing with his back to me, one foot on the freshly-polished staircase, a crystal glass half-full of clear liquor I didn’t know we owned gripped in his hand.
Let’s take this whole part at normal speed. We need to analyze what I obviously missed.
▶️(“Since when do you say ‘because I said so’?”⏸️)
Damn my tone is awful. I swear I couldn’t control it and I didn’t mean to sound like that. Being treated like a rebellious teen seems to have transformed me into one.
▶️(Dad’s shoulders are stiffening under his suit jacket but he’s not answering.
“What’s wrong, Dad?”
“Nothing is wrong, Cain, you’re just not going to CopyChat. That’s final.”
“That’s final? Everyone in my class is going—“”
“—Oh, so now you’re just like every one of your classmates?”
Dad suddenly spins to face me.⏸️)
The feed judders here because I take an automatic step backward. This is when the augs in my wrists and ankles start to buzz. I ball my hands into my hoodie to hide my quivering wrists.
▶️(“Not going to CopyChat would practically be like not going to graduation. How will I get my junior thesis done?”
“You don’t need a relationship with any of your multiverse selves to get your thesis done. You’re a brilliant girl, Cain. Been the top of your class without any help so far.”
“My thesis is about cyborg augmentations randomizing neurological divergences across parallel selves. I need their perspect—“
“—You’ll pick a new thesis, Cain. It’s been a long day. End of discussion.”⏸️)
He’s about to walk up the stairs, but let’s see what I missed in the moment. Oh. His bow tie is undone and hanging loose. At least a day’s worth of stubble. Wow this look on his face though—I’ve never before seen it, and you know that database is extensive. What is this? Rage?? Algorithm says 75% anger, 11% fear, 14% unknown. What the fuck? When’s the last time Moodmodel computed more than 1% unknown for Dad?
▶️(Dad is turning, then taking the stairs two at a time.⏸️)
You can’t see it in the feed, but my wrist augs are shaking me so hard my shoulders are shivering. I suppress an intense urge to lunge up the stairs to drag him back into this discussion. To demand a truce if not my birthday dinner together.
⏩(Back on the bridge, you can see I’m collapsing because watching the memory of my augs going nuts in the fight with Dad started them going again. They’re shaking so hard my legs and arms are wobbling like noodles.
The timing is the worst. I’ve fallen into the Planck Power visitors kiosk at the end of the skywalk. Which triggers the welcome video.
Dad’s face in the video is relaxed and professional as he’s highlighting options visitors can queue from this kiosk. His voice is so kind and energetic.
I’m wishing to somehow redo this evening so we can catch up over dinner like we planned. Have my favorite dessert for my special day. It’s been weeks since we even talked. It might be weeks again. How dare he just go to bed angry! As if we have all the time in the world and tiffs are a normal weather pattern in our relationship.
I’m pulling my shaking legs up to my chest, but there’s no rest for the weary.
Dad’s automated voice pipes from the kiosk, “Your car is on the way!” Sure enough, the kiosk screen switches over to a map of our estate showing a hovercar icon departing our garage.
Dad must have received a notification that there was a visitor on the bridge and assumed it was me. Its lights appear in the distance. I’m hoping he is coming personally. If he’s in the hovercar, maybe he feels bad about our fight and we can salvage my birthday. Maybe he’ll tell me what’s really wrong and I’ll still get to go to CopyChat tomorrow.
My pulse is throwing a rave as the hovercar’s lights near, its interior frustratingly dark until it’s right in front of the kiosk lit by its floodlights.
The kiosk plays the jingle notifying visitors a car is arriving at the same time the light shows me Dad is not inside it. He’s probably not even sorry.
The round Planck Power logo glows purple on the passenger door. The hovercar waits patiently.
An impulse to set it on fire rides my spine and I’m thinking if I can’t do something with this anger, my augs will never stop shaking.
If I’m going to spend the night somewhere rebellious, it may as well be somewhere useful. I’m toggling off my share-my-location function so Dad won’t be able to see where I’m going. Or at least he’ll need to do a bit of hacking around my walls to find me.
I’m stepping out of the shadows and the car throws open its doors. Walking around to the driver’s side so I can change the preset destination back to Planck Estate.
There’s only one other person I know who could help me forge an electronically authenticated permission slip for CopyChat from my father. Bet you’re wondering why I never called Mom? It’s been four months since I last heard from her.
There’s my mindsnap image of Trin’s address going to the car’s GPS.
I’m thinking Trin is going to be surprised to see me—especially since he has no idea I have his address. Silly me. It’s all downhill from here.
To be continued…
|Sci-IRL|: How You Could Be an Astronaut
Hi, I’m lucky enough to work in the space industry and I’ve pal’d around with a few astronauts. Y’all voted for ‘space travel: current and future’ for your IRL topics, so I’ll be sharing insider scoop* for the first 5 chapters of Eras of Cain.
Choose Your Flavor of Astronaut: Pro, Posh, or Po’
Pro: There’s historically been only one avenue to space and that was through national space agencies. The place to go since the end of the Apollo lunar missions has been the International Space Station (ISS). A total of 21 countries have sent 273 astronauts to ISS since its inception.
Posh: There’s an emerging option brought by commercial space companies that makes space accessible to folks who have some spare coin. Take a $450k ride on Virgin Galactic’s spaceplane and you’ll experience weightlessness for 6 minutes. Or ride with SpaceX/Axiom to the ISS for a few weeks for $50-70M +$35k/night like these guys JUST did on Jan 22nd. Watch out for future space balloons with Space Perspectives. No launch required, lower $$, longer stay in weightlessness ;)
Po’: A further future, potential option that could arise is a type of workman’s contract where scads of laborers like welders and construction workers are needed to build out communities on the moon and Mars. Instead of training brilliant doctors, scientists, and pilots for work in space, this could create an all-call for hard-working ‘regular’ Jacks and Jills who conceivably could work off their launch and upkeep bills.
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Ahh thank you! I for sure debated whether or not to actually go forward with the buttons—glad they’re not the terrible distraction I feared they might be. I’ll keep laying the groundwork in the next few chapters. I’m super stoked to see where you go with these ideas after that ;)
I like this story and this world; the tech is fascinating, and that opening line is just gold. I want to know more!
I think of those three options re: space travel, I may just have to stay on Earth; I don't have the science skills for the ISS or the money for the posh way or the health for the third way. So it goes. :)