6

[Ignis Feed Location]

Block B Med-Bay Main

<Camera 11>

M ission lay on her back in the Block B med-bay, legs raised, and tunic rolled up around her waist. Children ran amok in the adjacent room, the din of their games drowned out by the cries of the youngest infant in the nursery cribs. It was Samson, the biological child of the parents who’d been spaced the day before.

Alora sat on a stool in front of Mission, using a thin pair of forceps. When a Birthmother reached the age for prime reproduction, it was the job of the block’s acting Mother to perform the procedure to locate and remove her contraceptive implant. Mission squirmed slightly and squeezed her eyes, struggling to focus on anything else.

“There we are,” Alora announced. She stood, the tool in her hand clamped around the edge of a small semitranslucent ring. She carefully placed it on a tray to be stored in freezing units until either Mission or a new inhabitant needed it again. Medical resources were finite on the Ignis , with only what had been loaded onto it when it had departed Earth.

“Remember,” Alora said. “If you start feeling ill, or anything at all—”

“Come see you immediately," Mission finished for her. "I know.”

She sat up. It felt strange now. Like a fullness she’d never before been aware of was suddenly absent. She fidgeted and pulled her tunic down over her thighs. Now she understood the numbness all those who’d illegally removed their implant in the name of affection were talking about. She felt… cold.

“The effects should wear off shortly, and you'll be fertile enough to engage in a first attempt with Paul-10183 before the fiftieth Launch Day celebrations tomorrow,” Alora said.

Mission’s eyelids went wide. “That soon?”

“Our ancestors back on Earth left us with the best technology they had. There isn't time to waste, Mission. You know that."

“I know… Just…” She swallowed hard. “Is he… nice? Kind? I’ve never really known anyone who lives up in the core.”

“Is that really what you're worried about?”

Mission didn't say a word, but her cheeks went pink and her gaze turned to the floor.

“We all grow up eventually, my dear,” Alora said. “Wouldn’t you rather your first be meaningful?”

“I guess.”

“Our species. They rely on what we Birthmothers do more than anything. We have to take every precaution we can to preserve our future upon arrival at our new home.”

“I understand. Earth has fallen.” Mission raised her fist overdramatically. “We remain.”

Alora rolled her eyes. Just then, Samson released a screech louder than all the ones that preceded it. It made Mission wince, reminding her of how it had often sounded when she lived beneath that very floor.

“Let me show you something.” Alora took Mission’s arm and led her to the nursery. Mission stared at the sealed floor panel. At her former home.

Alora asked the Birthmother holding Samson to hand him over, then hummed to him as she cradled him in her arms. Drool dribbled down his chubby face, but she kissed him on the forehead anyway, with the tenderness of a devoted parent. The crying stopped and his big bulging eyes locked onto Mission.

“Thank you,” Mission groaned, finally tearing her gaze away from the panel. “I thought my head was going to explode.”

Alora ignored her comment and tickled the baby’s nose. “Come.” She walked out of the nursery and across the Block B med-bay. It was nothing like the rest of the rocky living block. Burnished metal was everywhere, with shiny white walls and inset lighting. It was a medical facility first and foremost, featuring beds for healing and sanitary operation areas curtained off from the nursery and children still in need of constant surveillance. Ignis' spin didn't exert quite the g-forces of Earth, so careful attention had to be paid to the muscle development and bone density of children.

Alora led Mission past all of it. They reached the locked doors of Alora’s personal quarters, where she shooed away some of the younger children trailing behind them alongside other Birthmothers. Nixu and Evelyn glared enviously at Mission, muttering as they steered the children away.

“What are you showing me in there this time?” Mission asked.

Alora didn’t respond. Her handprint opened the door, and they entered. Very few inhabitants were privy to what lay beyond. It wasn’t Mission’s first time, but she could probably count on one hand how many times Alora had invited her inside. A bed rested at one end, not a nook carved into the wall, but a real mattress with clean, woven sheets. A vast screen array was sunken into the walls on the other, with a bulky computer terminal wrapping the space below. It was packed with rows of data. Alora stopped in front of it, painted green by the screens’ glow.

"Your terminal?" Mission asked. Each of the six block Mothers got one, making them vital members of the Collective’s decision-making. It was the only way to access the core’s medical records from anywhere but within the core itself.

“No,” Alora stated. “Yours.”

“What?”

“No need to drag this out. I’m forty. I can’t carry any longer, and you’ve already been named my successor.”

“But I hardly know how to use any of this!”

“You’ll be fine. It takes a younger mind than mine to keep track of everything.”

“I can’t… I can’t make a child stop crying, let alone lug one along inside me. And manage all this? Alora, please, I still need your guidance. I need…” She gasped for air, not having taken a breath since she started speaking.

Alora pulled Mission’s head to her bosom, cradling Samson in the other arm. “You’re ready, child. More ready than I was at your age. You’ve always been incredible at adapting to the impossible. I'll still be around to offer guidance for as long as you need, and the other Birthmothers will be here to support you.”

“They won’t even look at me.”

“They’ll come around. They won’t have a choice.” She released Mission and ran her fingers across the keys of the console, all while bouncing Samson. She began typing, and a list comprised of hundreds of names and numerical designations popped up. Selecting any one brought up a full-body scan surrounded by notes.

They were the detailed medical logs of everyone under the Block B Mother’s care. Everything from their blood type, to their aptitude exam results, to a DNA analysis revealing who was susceptible to what or related to whom and how closely. The processors in the core’s database sorted all that information and used it to select safe genetic matches, like Mission and Paul, for reproduction.

“There’s so much,” Mission mouthed. She had to step back to take in the breadth of the screens. She knew what being a mother entailed, but only they were privy to seeing them. Her sense of dread deepened like the gaping chasm within which the core sat.

“Only what is necessary, my dear.” She took Mission’s hand and pulled her toward the terminal. She placed it flat against a reader beside the keyboard, then typed in a command. A copy of Mission’s hand appeared on the screen above, outlining her prints in red. The words EXECUTE COMMAND – MISSION-14130 blinked above it. Alora reached out to accept, but her finger hesitated above the key.

In that moment, Mission realized that this transition wasn’t only daunting for her. She might have been gaining responsibility over people’s lives, but at the same time, Alora was losing it. Her mother had to let go of everything she’d been for two decades. That was why she couldn’t bear to wait any longer. She had to rip off the bandage before it stuck.

Mission put on a strong face and wrapped her free hand around Alora’s arm. “You can take your time if you want,” she whispered. “Trust me, there’s no rush.”

Alora gazed down at her protégée and daughter, tears welling in the corners of her eyes. The edges of her lips curled into a frail smile. “We all have to grow up. My time has come.” Then she pressed the key, enabling access to the room and console to be transferred from Alora-12987 to the new Block B Mother—Mission-14130.

“Now…” Alora choked back tears. “Now all of this is in your capable hands, Mission. From the girl I raised beneath the floor, to the woman standing before me.”

“But what about you?” Mission said.

“Don’t worry about me.”

“Are you eligible for the Collective? What will you do?”

“Relax, hopefully, for the first time since you were born.” She smirked. “I suggest you take today to try to do the same. You were born for this, Mission. I’ve known it since the day I held you in my arms like I’m now holding Samson.”

“Then why do I feel like I don’t belong?”

Alora’s free hand shot out and clutched Mission’s arm. “Never say that. You’re as much of an inhabitant as any. The core shows that now, because it’s true.”

“But I’m not.”

“You are. None of what happened is your fault. It’s nothing like what those two were spaced for yesterday.”

Mission backed away and stared down at the floor. “I’m scared, Mom.”

“You’re human. It’s okay. Don’t think for a second I’m not terrified of what comes next, too.”

Mission let a nervous titter slip through her lips. “I didn’t know you could feel anything.”

“Watch it, Mission. I may not be Mother anymore, but I still raised you.”

They laughed until they were interrupted by Samson starting to cry again. Alora rocked him back and forth, hushing him and brushing his smooth head. Mission watched carefully, then extended her arms. She’d always preferred to treat wounds and perform checkups, to leave the infant nursing to the other Birthmothers. It brought out too many painful memories.

But now she was Block Mother. That would no longer be possible.

“May I?” she asked.

“Always.”

* * *

“Asher Reinhart, Mr. Helix is requesting your presence for the conference about the fiftieth anniversary,” my AI assistant said, uploaded out of storage to replace Vivienne. A shade of a human comprised of blue lines had appeared beside me.

I stopped giving orders to the crew about how to capture the crucial moments going on throughout the Ignis, with a special emphasis on Mission and Alora. My health status hadn’t been updated yet. I had to argue with VORA over working my usual shift on the show. It was too crucial a time to miss anything. In the end, she couldn’t stop me unless my or another’s life was in danger, and my status wasn’t that severe.

“Asher Reinhart, did you hear my words?” the AI said.

“Yes, yes,” I groaned. A full night’s sleep and, somehow, I was still groggy. “Right now?”

“Immediately.”

At least he wasn’t Vivienne. No mincing words, no questions. Straight to the point. I was glad to have a program back for my aide.

“Laura,” I said into my virtual comm-link, “Mr. Helix called a meeting. You’re in charge again. Let me know if anything out of the ordinary happens.” She affirmed with a single word. I could tell when I saw her that morning that she was still embarrassed over losing track of Mission.

I stood and moved into the greater VR studio as my AI assistant blinked away. The crew was hard at work at their stations. Hundreds of holoscreens throughout the room blinked with motion. The chatter of conversations about which feed to switch to or who to focus on blended into white noise.

There was no other production studio in High Earth quite like this one. No live-action undertaking as ambitious as Mr. Helix’s show. It was hard enough to get residents to contribute data to certain programs, let alone inspire them to collaborate with others on content they didn’t create, when consuming content was so easy and relaxing. In my mind, that was one of Ignis: Live ’s greatest accomplishments. I never tired of hearing the hubbub of production.

Rounding a corner toward the central conference room, I crossed a floating bridge made of solid light pixels, surrounded by a simulation of space. Vivienne stood outside the doors, chatting with Night Director Frederick. His avatar’s one distinguishing feature was a tiny birthmark on his left cheek, which, for whatever reason, he hadn’t removed.

I offered Vivienne a nod of acknowledgment, but she was either too busy jotting down notes on her holopad or chose not to respond. Frederick entered the conference room, and Vivienne hurried by me back toward the studio without even a passing glance.

I drew a deep breath outside the doors. It was a big day coming. Fifty years tomorrow. I felt like I should've been more nervous, but for this I didn’t need any pharma to keep me level. Nothing. I was becoming an anxiety professional.

“There he is!” Mr. Helix exclaimed as I entered.

Mr. Helix sat at the far end of a long glass table, digital OptiVisor covering his eyes in program windows. The air smelled of an ocean breeze, his favorite scent. Behind him was an impossible view over a replica of High Earth’s skyline. All the spires gleamed in a perfectly uniform grid, like rows of glass books neatly tucked into a bookcase. The ocean raged beyond walls tall enough to obscure the Outskirts, if Mr. Helix even bothered having them rendered.

Around the table sat three other residents. There was Night Director Frederick, glaring at me enviously like always. The two additional people present were acquaintances of Mr. Helix whose opinions he respected. I recognized them by face only as top-notch developers producing in noncompeting genres.

I took my position directly to the right of Mr. Helix. A wave of guilt overwhelmed me, but I composed myself. He leaned over and whispered, “I saw reports about unhealthy behavior yesterday. And your health status. What happened?”

I had a feeling he’d find out about my little mishap, so I had an answer ready. Not much escaped Craig Helix.

“It’s nothing,” I said. “Just some overexhaustion.”

“Asher, I requested the footage, and as a resident with daily interaction with you, and for health reasons, I was permitted access. One moment you’re standing, the next you’re on the floor. That plus elevated stress readings throughout the day… if I’m working you too hard, you have to tell me. A close fix and a spacing all in one day. I know it’s hard… trying not to grow attached to inhabitants, and then watching them die…”

“Some people can’t handle anything,” Frederick remarked to the resident beside him.

I stared down at the table, the glass reflecting the eyes of my avatar which failed to resemble how they stung with exhaustion outside the VR. With such a big day coming up, Mr. Helix was bound to be even more observant than usual. And with his status in the Network and resoundingly positive ratings, his requests for information were rarely denied.

“I’ll be okay, sir. I promise,” I said. “It was only an accident. My VORA has scheduled a checkup for me after the anniversary. We’ll sort it out.”

He laid a hand upon my shoulder. “Asher, I’ve known you for nearly your entire woken life. I know when you’re withholding.”

“Can we just focus on the anniversary?”

“You are my eyes and ears on Ignis . I need to know you’re fine.”

“I am.”

“First you dismiss Vivienne for no clear reason. Now this,” Frederick added.

“I said I’m fine,” I said, my teeth slightly grinding.

“Asher, you know I’m here for any resident who helps make this show possible. None help more than you, both in time and data contribution.”

“I dreamed I was attacked by a delisted man, okay?” I said. I couldn’t tell him about what went on with Mission, so that was the next best option. “A nightmare really. It was an Unplugged.”

The air seemed to be sucked from the room. Everybody silenced. Mr. Helix deactivated the screens of his visor. “An Unplugged from the Outskirts?”

“Yes. He was as close to me as we are now,” I said. “He pushed me off my balcony and I nearly died, like those inhabitants through the airlock. It felt… It felt so real.”

Mr. Helix shook his head. “This is why it is dangerous to fall asleep beyond the safety of our sleep-pods. They help with the REM sleep that alleviates stress and all the negative side effects associated with it.”

“I know.” I sighed. I hated disappointing him, and I’d reached the extent of truth I could share without sacrificing my position. In Frederick’s hands, the anniversary footage would be a mess. The others in the room seemed to pity me over my nightmare, but he leaned forward like vulture.

“You see?” Mr. Helix addressed the room. “Those radical delisted animals that damn show Outskirts Today celebrates put all of our minds in danger. Our subconscious shouldn’t be filled with fears when we’re so safe here.” He took my hand. “Promise me you’re all right?”

“I’m… Yeah. I am,” I said. “Like I said, I’ve been working too hard lately, and the stress got away from me. But I need to stay focused for the anniversary tomorrow. I’ll rest after.”

Nobody made a sound. Then Mr. Helix started to clap, until everyone around the room joined in. “Now that is dedication to the greatest show in High Earth,” he said, voice overflowing with pride. “You can all learn something from him.”

“Thank you for understanding, sir,” I said. I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Of course. I’ll still want to see the results of that evaluation. For my sake.”

“I understand, sir. I could use it, too.”

“And a week off.”

“Sir—”

“That’s nonnegotiable, Asher. All these years, I can’t recall you ever spending a day to yourself.”

My chin hit my chest. “If you think it’s for the best.”

“You should wipe that nightmare from your memory entirely. Nobody needs fears like that.”

“Maybe,” I said.

“Well, nobody can force you. I’m just glad you didn’t hit your head collapsing like that. I can’t lose you at a time like this.”

“Yes, whatever would we do?” Frederick muttered.

“That’s right,” Mr. Helix said as if he didn’t catch the sarcasm. Then he clapped his hands one last time and stood before I could say anything. The lighting effects in the room dimmed, and a screen bloomed to life at his back. “Let's begin. I know I’ve been keeping everyone in the dark about what the plans are for this year’s anniversary. I apologize.”

“Afraid we’d leak it, were you?” Frederick joked.

Mr. Helix ignored him. “I’ve been going back and forth on it myself until this morning.” He turned and manipulated the screen with his hands. A series of numbers and charts scrolled across. “As of last night, we’ve fallen to fourth.”

He meant we were number four on the daily-registered enjoyment ratings.

“And third in data contribution,” he continued. “Our lowest ratings in fifty years.”

Everyone in the room seemed shocked by the data, but I constantly refreshed our ratings while I was working to stay up to date. Ignis: Live had fallen below Molecular Nation , Cygnus’ bot fighting league, and that very same survival-on-Mars program recommended to me in the elevator. Outskirts Today was even hot on our tail.

“None of them can ever touch you in viewer hours logged on a visual program,” one of Mr. Helix’s acquaintances remarked, then chuckled. “Trust me, I’ve been jealous a long time.”

“Of course they can’t,” Mr. Helix said. “But there are roughly half a billion people in High Earth, and more of them tune in every week for the latest installment of that ridiculous molecular re-assembler period drama. Don’t you see that as a concern?”

“Yes… My apologies, Craig.”

“Are people getting tired of the Ignis ?” Mr. Helix asked.

“I don’t think so,” I said.

“No? Then do you have any explanation for this drop?”

“You can see right there, sir. Overall rating quality hasn’t fallen at all this year. The other shows have simply gained larger followings. Our core audience has mostly maintained interest since the Ignis’ launch numbers stabilized. The recent ratings spike for the others will fade. It always does with newer shows.”

“Not our show. Not ever,” Mr. Helix declared. “We give the people something real. Molecular Nation … it’s pure invention! They’ve strayed so far from Gloria Fors’ recorded history I’d sooner consider it fantasy. And don’t get me started on Outskirts Today . They’re fearmongers! So why are people tuning in?” Frederick opened his mouth to answer but was immediately cut off by Mr. Helix. “Tragedy,” he said, answering his own question.

“Tragedy?” I asked.

“Yes.” He gestured to the numbers. “A week ago, Gloria Fors’ love interest was murdered. The boards and viewers went crazy. Fifteen percent of them required pharma to slow their heart rates. It was a boost like we haven’t seen since the Great Blackout!”

I remembered that period well, when the core malfunctioned and the Ignis lost all power for a few days. It was my first experience with the show, a horrible, yet fascinating time, when the people of the Ignis had to abandon their most fundamental laws in order to maintain their world, which of course led to exceptionally dramatic content. The first scene I’d ever recorded on camera after volunteering was a starving man trying to murder a woman over food.

“Their show is scripted,” Frederick said. “We can’t wait for something like that to happen again.”

“That’s true,” Mr. Helix replied. “We can’t wait for anything.”

“So what are you suggesting?” I asked.

“Fifty years. We won’t celebrate that by mimicking what has already come to pass. Look.” He rotated the display into a three-dimensional map of the Ignis , with all the layers of its systems mapped out in varying colors. He pointed to the locations of each of the six living blocks dispersed throughout the outer surface.

“The core powers the air recyclers in each block individually.” Mr. Helix had the display highlight power lines and traced them. “This way, a hiccup in one doesn’t hamper the entire system. For the fiftieth anniversary, Ignis will experience a tragedy unlike any they’ve ever seen. Something that will put the dangers of living in space on full display!”

“What is it?” Frederick asked, leaning forward on his elbows in excitement.

Mr. Helix cleared his throat. “The core will malfunction and overload conduits in a single block, signaling fire suppression to reverse the air recyclers to vacate oxygen and conserve water. The doors should remain open for egress throughout; however, an error will keep them closed.” He threw his arms wide and smiled even wider. Everyone in the room applauded except me.

“Mr. Helix.” I cleared my throat. “I don’t mean to be contrary, but at any given time there could be hundreds of people in a block. Wouldn’t they all suffocate?”

“It will be left to their ingenuity to override the error in time. But yes, it’s conceivable that many inhabitants may be lost. Possibly more than during the Great Blackout even.”

“But they would die, partially, because of us.” For whatever reason, both my conversation with Dawn and Craig’s interview about the show jumped into my thoughts. “Wouldn’t interference at that scale undermine the authenticity of their natural lives, sir? It’s unprecedented.”

Mr. Helix calmly gesticulated to emphasize his point. He could be quite theatrical at times. “Could our ancestors stop the rising of the oceans? Could they turn back storms? The Ignis is their natural environment, and unprovoked acts of nature are as much a part of human history as war, aren’t they? After I program the error, they will have the opportunity to correct it, and all that will remain are their reactions. And what, my friend, is more authentic than facing adversity?”

“Absolutely brilliant, sir!” Frederick exclaimed, sneering in my direction. He rarely had an opinion of his own to throw in, and while he figured that would get him my job one day, I knew Mr. Helix valued actual input.

“Asher, you still look hesitant,” Mr. Helix remarked, without bothering to offer Frederick even a glimpse of gratitude.

“The public response would be astronomical,” I admitted. “There’s no question. After that boost, however, I worry people might begin to suspect our meddling and that it might compromise what this show stands for.”

“Says the man scared of monsters in his dreams,” Frederick whispered to the resident beside him, earning a snicker.

Mr. Helix strolled around the table, quieting him quickly. When he reached me, he wrapped both hands around my shoulders.

“As always, your concerns are noted, but I think you overestimate their perception,” he said. “All shows evolve with the times; otherwise they fail. The viewers… They only seek for their minds to be taken on a journey. They want drama. Emotion. Tomorrow we’re going to give it to them in a way they’ve never experienced! It will be so intense, there won’t be a viewer in High Earth who doesn’t need pharma to handle it.” He sucked in a breath. “Do you trust me?”

I regarded the warm, inviting smile of my one and only mentor. There was no denying his plan would put the show’s ratings back through the roof. Popular in ways it had only been when the Ignis had first launched, long before I was born. The inhabitants would recover from the losses. They were resilient. I’d seen more die than I cared to count.

And before they had their memories reprogrammed, the original inhabitants knew the dangers of volunteering. They were delisted men and women who wanted to be stars seen across High Earth. A chance to be a part of the world they’d been exiled from. And they’d accomplished that, alive or dead.

“Of course I do, sir,” I agreed. Who was I to cheat the inhabitants of their potential glory, or question Mr. Helix’s brilliance? I couldn’t even develop a working digital replica of his show’s set, let alone understand the full depth of his vision. If he was this passionate about an idea, it meant it was a good one.

“I apologize for seeming unenthused,” I said. “I never meant to imply that the event wouldn’t generate results.”

“Good. I’ve already completed the programming, so there’s no turning back now. And, Asher.”

“Yes?”

“Never apologize. As proven yesterday, your concerns are for the sake of the show, and that is why you are here.”

Mr. Helix turned and I shot a smirk back at Frederick.

Maybe Mr. Helix was right. I owed a ton to Mission’s soaring popularity, but from the first moment I saw her, I knew she needed to be the program’s focus. The show, the fiftieth anniversary, everything—it would be better for having a healthy Mission involved, not one recovering from having her memory wiped away. The pangs of guilt over what I’d done faded, and I felt sure I’d done the right thing.

“Nobody will see it coming, sir,” Frederick scrambled to say in response to my look.

“That’s exactly the point,” Mr. Helix replied. “Now, each of your communications will be monitored until after the event. Not that I don’t trust all of you, but for obvious reasons what has been discussed must stay in this room. Not even the crew can know, as their reactions will be equally crucial in capturing the moment under Asher’s supervision. As Asher said, we must maintain our perception.” Mr. Helix closed his hand and deactivated the screen behind him, again revealing the glittering virtual skyline of High Earth. The sun hovered high in the cloudless blue sky.

“So, when will this be happening?” one of Mr. Helix’s associates asked.

“9:00 a.m. tomorrow morning. Half a day before the start of their own planned fiftieth anniversary celebration so that viewers are caught off guard. I want all of High Earth to wake up and be a part of this. Our ratings will never drop again.”

“Which block are you targeting?” I asked.

“Oh, Asher, do you really want to ruin the entire surprise?”

“If this is the direction we’re taking, I’d like to know ahead of time so that I can plan the shoot and be prepared for all possibilities.”

“Always looking for the best angle, Reinhart!” Mr. Helix laughed. “Pay attention to his work, Frederick. Even off his game, you can learn a lot.” He turned back to me. “I’ve programmed the error to occur in Block B.”

Usually I would love to hear Mr. Helix set me as an example for Frederick, but my stomach suddenly dropped. I felt cold all over.

“Block B?” Frederick said. “Mission is our biggest draw right now. Are you sure that’s a smart risk?” He fumbled through the words, clearly unaccustomed to voicing his opinion.

“It was a difficult decision,” Mr. Helix replied, “but I went through all of our records. Whenever a star inhabitant faces death, viewership rises. Just like with Gloria Fors’ boyfriend. People are always searching for the next Miss—”

My chair slid out from under me and I toppled over onto the floor. I hunched over on my knees, gasping for air. The room started to spin and close in around me. I couldn’t hear any voices, only the insistent chirping of my lifeband upon reaching the point where it would apply pharma automatically to my real body.

This time, however, the drugs didn’t help at all.