At first there was nothing. Then nothing turned itself inside out and became something. The universe sent me to converse with you.

Before we had ever built our first space settlement, who could have imagined the grand extent of humankind’s capacity? We now live spread across the milky way and into the black, cold extent beyond. Our conquest of space changed us in incredible ways; the best that we were and the worst we could do became boundaries to be exploited faster even than new habitats could be built across space and into the darkness.

The interesting fact is that humanity never even considered living among the stars as a practical possibility until a Humanist telePreacher four hundred years ago began spreading the idea, a man who called himself Pastor Thermin Houston. He put the words of an ancient jazz musician across the worldNet, inspiring a change in the course of all humanity.

original lyrics by Sun Ra

All ships have rhythms and tones, like music. My own Sailer Sublight pulses from its scanner cycles and its engines hum around me for days when I’m between settlements or sneaking through passages of empty space. It changes tone and speed as the computer makes corrections on the trip. After a few trips, the noise itched me. So the next time I ported, after buying fuel and supplies, I spent the rest of my credits downloading hours and hours of music from the Cloud.

The other half of my plan to save myself from the silence of space meant waiting to improving Chas’ visual skills in favor of a burning set of speakers. Chas, my A.I. assistant—in some ways my best work— was my most constant companion, often the only sentient being that I spoke with for months at a time on long journeys.

It was worth putting up with a glitch caused by me overstressing his processor for a few months till I could afford an upgrade. The Sailer bomped hard with those speakers, and I was much less unbalanced by the silence.

Every couple of months I get sent a set of encrypted co-ords. They lead to an old starfreighter, numbered 759, from a once expansive imperial shipping fleet that serviced a long dead empire. It doesn’t look like much, and it has to be towed everywhere it goes, but the thick, aged hull hides a floating party with parking for several hundred small ships in the converted decks. Once it’s moored and the co-ords are transmitted, the crew starts to arrive, parking and plugging in their drives to power 759’s interior systems.

The crew decorates, unloads the storage modules and wires the sound and lights into 759’s computer grids. Then they throw down for three cycles solid. By the second cycle there is a serious party burning in 759’s loins. I love the moment that I hit the transport tube and the seemingly dead ship activates the transgrip rails. Only a few seconds down the tube and I can start to hear the music from the party… the anticipation always gives me a metallic taste in my mouth. I know i won’t be sleeping for days until after I’m back out in empty space somwhere in my Sailer.

I get lost in my head. A lot. It’s due to my Genomods. It’s a highly illegal practice, and not one I chose for myself. I’m a product of a Corporate lab. I look mostly normal, except for my unusually green eyes, which I rarely uncover in front of anyone. My difference is on the inside, an upgrade, of sorts. Sometimes it traps me in my own head, overwhelmed, lost, watching endless calculations sorting themselves in my consciousness.

My difference is, like most things, a liability and an asset. Many Agents would love to get their hands on me for study; serious downside to that ever happening… It also makes me awkward, and fearful of social interaction. The upside is that I’m the krakest codebender in the galaxy. Intelligent Sales Agents are my specialty. Most of my work goes Cloud, and I don’t ever ask where. I just build sexy, irresistible Sales Agents. I did once bump into one of my creations, selling accessories in a shop in really upcost System Two. Beautiful. Thrilling. Especially since I couldn’t afford anything there.

The Neo-Sino Continental Empire’s first deep space colonies were plotted on the other side of Orion’s nebula over 200 years ago. When the construction fleets began arriving, they found the solar nursery scrambled all commdata, rendering travel and construction impossible. They were forced to build towers on either end of the nebula to relay information to the new settlement. They were as much a show of political wealth as they were necessary and functional; expansive, extravagant gold towers resembling ancient architecture no longer found even on Earth.

That interference makes the nebula a perfect place to get lost. One drawback—the only way through is to plot a course, close the radiation shields, and let a computer fly you through the celestial obstacle course with highly scrambled sensors. Oh, and proximity to the data stream can have some psychotropic effects. But, if you’ve got the guts, you can get away and just about anywhere untraced. It’s my favorite getaway, alone for weeks sometimes…

I woke up to someone pounding on the topside hatch of the Sailer. It took me a while to focus, remembering the party the night before. I must have slept for a while now, still docked to 759. I released the hatch to find Kaira grinning, a breather in one hand, and a drink pod in the other. "Here!" she shouted, and thrust the breather between my lips, releasing its powdery gas with a click of her thumb. I never get messed up in public, but I had been too asleep to stop her. Plus, I kind of deserved to party a bit; I had spent days reworking 759’s A.I.—and psychology frame corrections make my head hurt. "Bye!" She kissed me, full, deep, then dashed away, laughing, high. Blatantly, really high. Oh no.

After the mist set in, I realized could hear a steady Bomp Bomp Bomp through the bulkheads. I took the tube back to the party, forgetting my social fears. I was totally hacked in front of people that I barely knew, and it was all Kaira’s fault. Somehow, though, it was alright, and I actually found myself laughing and dancing with everyone else. I found something out that day—these people were like family—and I had become one of them.

Naki’s voice crackled over the comm: “Get up to the port jetway. You gotta see this!” I met Naki years ago, in my first session of Refinement. He’s my closest friend, and the person who introduced me to the crew from 759. Had anyone else requested my presence today, I’d have ignored it. When I got to the jetway, I found a group of people getting ready to put on some sort of show. Dancers, from an outer colony somewhere, it was obvious; they had Genomods, like me. But unlike me, their mods were plainly, proudly visible. Instead of hair, they grew shiny, curved horns, like intricate wooden cascades falling, streamlined, down their backs. Their skin was also different; fluorescent, reflective almost, and always shifting in color slightly, subtly.

I had never met anyone else with Genomods, let alone who displayed them without fear. I knew there were some outer cultures that used them in ritualistic ways, but I had never even considered what it felt like to see this. Naki reached his arm around me, pulling me close to him while we watched the show together, sharing a pod of whiskey. I didn't even stop him reaching over to remove my glasses in public, putting them away in his jacket pocket.

How do can you say who I am when you don’t even know who you are? Are you a man, a beast, a god or the devil? Wake up, Angels!

original lyrics by Sun Ra

Everything was wrong that day. I was repairing 759’s computer as the last of the equipment onboard was being broken down and loaded back into the remaining ships; I was on the far, far end from where my Sailer was docked when the alarms went off. I signaled my ship to break dock and power down, to hopefully drift away slowly, unnoticed until the troops left. I grabbed a suit, helmet, and scrubber pack from the nearest utility bay—nothing electronic to set off sensors—and let myself out an airlock. I thought I’d only be floating for a couple hours before waking Sailer to retrieve me.

As I rolled through space, though, and saw 759 explode and my Sailer get ripped open by burning debris, I realized it was going to be a lot longer. Most people had left a few days ago, and I watched the rest escape… just me floating now. My scrubbers were mostly bio; they would recycle for weeks and the bacteria would keep thriving on my waste. The sponge filter on my air unit, however, was another story. After a few days I knew I would start losing capacity, and slowly suffocate. I had no idea how long it would take anyone to start looking for me at all…