As I sat there in the forest and among the trees, I slipped into a dream—or more precisely a memory, from a time I’d rather have forgotten:

I was a unit attached to a small exploratory team. With movements that were so smooth, that they revealed their preprogrammed nature, I removed the gunmetal gray analysis unit from its crate. Reaching behind myself, I attached it to the bottom of my pack and extended the unit’s long, tendril-like optical fiber connection to the data interface port on my right wrist. A satisfying click and a successful diagnostic cycle later, my interface displayed the device’s status as “ready”. I pointed the device at the calibration patch on the now empty crate and mentally pulled the trigger on the device. Invisibly, a high-powered laser pulse shot out of the end of the handheld unit and hit the calibration patch, instantly sublimating the top couple millimeters of the black polymer. The freshly vaporized plastic was then gently probed by a much less powerful laser beam and precise chemical information started spooling through my mind and then was uploaded to the mainframe in orbit, far above.

I wasn’t really paying attention though. I was, after all, just a passenger in this body. This body had done this task before and knew what to do. I didn’t think about it; thinking really wasn’t in the job description and not something I really did much anyways at the time. I, and the other three members of my current team were just puppets, the end-effectors of a corporate machine. We were the physical means by which the Mainframe Intelligence in orbit interacted with the planets and worlds that we journeyed to.

A quick burst of instruction informed me that the rest of the team was ready. Wordlessly, we got into a single file formation with only Davind in front of me. Then, we proceeded into the open mouth of the cave we’d been tasked to explore, abandoning the heavy crates and other extra equipment outside. Wordlessly, my team descended into the dark passage, each of us performing our designated and pre-planned tasks: Davind in the front was responsible for scanning, his chest-mounted scanner illuminated the rocky cave a head with a myriad of dancing red laser beams, taking precise measurements and drafting together a comprehensive 3d map of every stone, stalagmite, and lichen patch at micron levels. I, when instructed, pointed and shot my external scanner at diverse parts of the cave, sampling frequently. One step, it was a patch of moss that was mercilessly vaporized under the analyzer’s beam, the next a curious rock striation was sampled for precious metals. I didn’t even need to watch my step, instead I mentally relied on the map that Davind was creating. The two behind me were also busy with their tasks.

Annette, who was right behind me was responsible for security, and toting a heavy electrostatic blaster—capable of ripping apart even the most ferocious carbon-based predators that we could encounter. Really, it probably wasn’t necessary to be so heavily armed on a planet where we hadn’t found any life more complex than moss. Still, for all its smarts, the Mainframe Intelligence was rather inflexible and did everything according to protocol so that it wouldn’t get hit with any complaints or nasty “criminal negligence of protocol in corporate activity” charges. Wisconsin, who was behind Annette, had the task complementary to mine. If I picked up anything deemed interesting enough by the Mainframe on my external spectroscopy device, he’d grab a sample and pack it away in a small vial for later analysis.

Wordlessly, we proceeded through the silent caverns. Only occasionally would Davind stop at an intersection and a path would be selected. Usually this was quickly followed by backtracking when we reached the end of that branch of the cave system. Frequently, the silence of the cavern was broken by the chit-chit noise of Wisconsin’s sample collection tool and then the pop of the sample container being sealed. Our little band wasn’t in a hurry, but there wasn’t any laziness scheduled for us either. Methodically, we moved through every accessible tunnel in the small underground system and many kiloseconds later, we emerged from the cavern and into the fading red-orange light of the distant star that this planet orbited.

Again, working in almost seamless harmony, we re-crated all our tools and packaged up all the gathered samples. Soon, we were standing around the pile of crates, awaiting orders. Decisions were reached up in orbit, and in perfect synchronization, we all received our end-of-day reports and read through them. Everyone had, as usually, achieved an “adequate performance” mark. Everyone except me that is. My report proudly proclaimed “sub-adequate performance”. A slight frown twitched on my face as I read, searching for where I’d made my “mistake”. I found it easily: according to the report, I’d missed hitting three designated sample spots.

Then, for the first time that day, an emotion stirred within me, out of the normally empty expanse of my psyche: slight puzzlement. It shouldn’t have been possible for me to fail at a task; the performance ratings that we received were a corporate formality, nothing more. I was essentially a passenger, whatever I apparently did wrong couldn’t have been my fault, by definition. Still, the report was insisting that I’d missed sample spots, and unsurprisingly, the spots that I’d missed had been tacked on the end of my preprogrammed task-list: added after we all left the caverns. I’d felt the faintest whisp of anger. I was being blamed for something that I couldn’t control. Then, a moment later, the Mainframe Intelligence noticed my rising emotional levels, and pushed my feelings into archive along with the rest of my short-term memory. For the time being, I forgot all about that doctored performance review.

I and the others stood around the crated equipment. We didn’t have any current orders and times like these were when we were the freest. I spent these couple minutes eying the landscape. Emotions were turned way down on all of us indentured, to prevent issues, but we still felt faint emotions occasionally. Currently, what filled me was the faintest whisper of wonder. Although a rather mundane achievement, we were the first humans to ever step foot on the desolate world that we’d spent the past couple local cycles exploring.

By alien-planet standards, it wasn’t much. No diverse flora or fauna. No indigenous populations of sentient creatures and a surprisingly breathable atmosphere. There was beauty however: the low gravity allowed fantastical rock spires and geological features that dotted the panorama. The cliff wall that held the entrance to the cave we’d explored earlier was also unique, with checkerboard stripes of different minerals and rocks crossing through it. If there was one advantage to having a digitally malleable mind that was wiped often, it was that I couldn’t become too desensitized by all the fantastical places we visited, roaming the galaxy on whatever ship I was on.

An incoming ping alerted my exploration team that we’d received new orders. Quickly absorbing the necessary instructions, we moved to the crates, got the required tools, and moved on to the next task. Like a well-lubricated mechanical linkage, we worked together, assembling the core drill. Taking subsurface samples was always a priority, and the unique mineral composition of this planet currently had the scientists back in orbit puzzled. Orchestrated down to the last twitch of the hand and millinewton of force, we handed each other tools, parts, and connectors; often without looking, and assembled the spider-like drilling platform.

A short while later, the six-legged drilling rig was complete. It was automatically linked to the network, ran a couple diagnostics, and then doing its best insect impression, skittered about the sandy surface of the planet to locate the best spots for drilling.

Soon, the drilling rig had located the ideal spot and was contentedly stacking drill extension after drill extension into the deep bore hole that it was digging. My team had since resumed our sentinel-like positions around the equipment crates and suddenly, I felt a gentle wave of surprise: I’d received new orders.

Why was I ordered into the cavern alone? Why wouldn’t they send the whole team? Taking samples and mapping the cavern was usually a four-person operation. At the time, I couldn’t remember that I’d already been in the cavern since that memory had already been suppressed.

Immediately, I started equipping the analysis device. I snapped in the optical fiber into my wrist, and then, I was off. With the map of the cave I’d been given, navigating the cave system was as easy as if I’d lived there my whole life. Arriving at the sample site, I let three shots loose from the handheld unit and listened to the slight accompanying hiss as the rock and mineral deposits it was aimed at vaporized. Ten seconds later, I was done. I holstered the handheld and started to retreat to the cache.

Halfway to the exit, a dull thud echoed through the cavernous walls and caused me to misstep slightly. A large tremor had shaken the earth. Then the Mainframe informed me that there’d been a malfunction at the drill site. My mission was mentally updated to search and recovery, but my steady stride wasn’t interrupted again. When I reached the mouth of the cave, it was immediately obvious what had gone wrong. For one, Wisconsin was obviously dead. One of the drill rigs’ metallic legs had impaled his head and affixed him to the cliff wall beside the cave exit.

Davind looked in the best condition: he’d been standing behind the crates and only had long grey scratches atop his bald head, exposing the metallic sheen of his alloy skull beneath. He’d already wiped away the congealed nanoblood and was currently applying a medical spray to his wounds. Annette was on the ground, unmoving. The Mainframe had already queried her wounds and instructed me to retrieve a field repair kit. I did so and knelt beside Annette.

The explosion had truly been high-energy: visual scan showed that Annette had shrapnel lodged all throughout her body, including her head. The armor plating appeared to have held up mostly, protecting her mind and computational hardware but her eyes and face hadn’t held up well. Her face was a mass of congealed grey nanoblood. Annette reported that internal diagnostics weren’t working properly anymore, so I was ordered to get the ground-penetrating metal detector to sweep for shrapnel in Annette. Retrieving the long scanning wand, I took remote control of Annette’s skinsuit and dematerialized it. The skintight matte-black suit that had already self-healed the shrapnel perforations turned to a dusty liquid and flowed off Annette’s body, allowing a clear read from the scanner. What was beneath the skinsuit was quite horrifying: Annette’s pale skin was almost completely covered with gray lumps of congealed nanoblood on over half the surface area of her body.

Annette, who’d been watching her own body through my eyes, was slightly annoyed. An injury like this would be very inconvenient and take forever to recover from. The Mainframe and an attendant human manager who was being blamed for the accident agreed: it wasn’t worth it. I received the order. I stepped over the gray-stained body of Annette and retrieved the Electrostatic blaster. Then, smoothly, I leveled the blaster at Annette’s head and triggered it. In those couple of milliseconds before between aiming the blaster and pulling the trigger, Annette had realized what was going to happen. In an instant her feelings changed from annoyance to relief—she’d be spared the long recovery process. Then the electric bolt struck the already critically injured indentured and she was permanently decommissioned.

I returned to my task of crating inventory. After packing away the blaster, and completing the survey, our team of two had discovered that about half the equipment was unsalvageable. We’d also tried to unpin Wisconsin’s body from the cliff, but even with our combined augmented strength, the drilling platform’s metal leg that was pinned through Wisconsin’s head and into the cliff face was recalcitrant and refused removal. Instead, orders came down from on high to simply leave him and the rest of the broken equipment. There wasn’t any extremely valuable ‘ware installed in the former indentured—at least nothing that hadn’t been destroyed by the metal leg—and it wasn’t worth the extra time it would take to cut him free on an already tight schedule.

A couple kiloseconds later, Davind and I had completed as many scientific tasks as possible with the limited tools remaining. The bureaucracy above determined the mission was complete and a shuttle was dispatched to pick up all the equipment from the surface. We loaded still functional and that which could be salvaged along with one body into the shuttle—it would all be recycled. Then, we boarded, leaving only a small explosive and a decommissioned indentured pinned to the cliff wall behind.

Once the shuttle was clear, the incendiary charge detonated, wiping all traces of our visit and what we’d left behind from the surface of the planet. After all, it was important to corporate protocol to avoid contaminating planets and spoiling future scientific data.

I awoke from my meditative dream-state with a start, and aggressively pushed the memory from my past back into cold storage, where it belonged. I was absolutely disgusted by what I’d seen, and I realized why I’d been trying to avoid digging into my weakly suppressed memories too deeply. On that science mission, the person I’d “decommissioned” on the whim of some annoyed crew member, was someone I’d once called one of my best friends.

Annette, who’d been in university with me. Annette, who I’d confided all my little secrets too. Annette, who’d been arrested and convicted just like me after that fateful raid on our local OSPF headquarters so long ago. I’d been stationed on the same ship as her for months, but I hadn’t been aware of the fact—I wasn’t really mentally present at the time. When she’d been injured by that accident and the Mainframe decided any repair would be long and arduous, I’d thoughtlessly and easily killed her—just as ordered.

What gave them the right?

That wasn’t me. Right?

I clung onto that fact. I knew, my actions hadn’t been my own—but in a way, they were. The memories I had were through my senses: through my eyes and ears. Somewhere in a dark, secluded corner of my mind, I’d still been aware. Could I have stopped myself? Could I have disobeyed the Mainframe?

As I looked down on my hands, thoughts began to crystalize. Earlier, I’d admired Dakla’s drive. Dakla’s passion intertwined with her Identity. But what can I do? Searching, grasping for anything, I thought back to the worst day of my pre-indentured life, the day of the raid on my old OSPF headquarters:

I’d hardly been able to contain my excitement. I’d succeeded in a heist that would be remembered for decades—if not centuries—to come. I’d stolen a Partial Key from one of the big corporates. That evening, when I handed over the partial key to Claire and Blackbeard in the black room, they shared my enthusiasm before something went wrong. As soon as the Partial Key arrived on the supposedly secure terminal they had, alarms began to go off. Perimeter alarms, security alarms, fire alarms: all of them simultaneously.

Then, things started to happen quickly. The room started to vibrate, and a pattern of holes stitched rough one of the corners of the room and through Claire: hypersonic rounds. This was before I had all the fancy combat-ware I have now, so it took me a couple milliseconds to realize what was happening and then realize that we were all totally screwed.

Blackbeard, despite being splattered in Claire’s grey-red nanoblood, was already acting while I was still realizing something was horribly wrong. He copied the Partial Key from the terminal, pushed me a software file, and then moved to the single table in the room. There, with a lightning-fast kick that was incongruous to his senile build, he smashed one of the table legs to reveal that it was hollow. Inside, and disappearing into the floor was something I couldn’t identify, until Blackbeard reached down and pulled at it; unspooling a thick black fiber-optic that had a complex connector on one end.

Then, in a burst of comm data, he sent me, “Girl, this is our way out of here. I’ll go first, you just watch what I do and repeat after me once I’m gone.”

I’d been confused, but then the old man had jammed the strange connector into the port at base of his skull. Half a second later, Blackbeard limply collapsed to the floor, eyes open and either dead or doing a very good impression of being so. With a shudder I realized what the cable was. When Blackbeard had called it a way out, he hadn’t been kidding.

Of all my regrets, not following the old man that moment was probably the biggest one I had. When corporate enforcers kicked in the door, I was still kneeling on the floor, cable in hand, millimeters away from my skull. I didn’t have the guts, the courage, the mental fortitude to escape and leave my body behind. As soon as the capture foam slammed into me and adhered me firmly to the floor, I was already regretting not plugging that connector in, despite all the arguments about self and identity that had held me back just moments before.

That’s unusual. Thinking back to the memories of that day and the trial and sentencing that followed afterwards, there was only one inconsistency in my mind: clearly, Blackbeard’s had escaped with just his consciousness—or however much of it could be easily extracted—but what had he done before that? He’d copied the key—which made sense—but then he’d taken the time to send me some sort of software. Why can’t I remember what it was?

Hold on. There was another problem with my memories, a vague feeling of void. I recalled the heist, step-by-step, and then I found it: In my memories, after I stole the partial key, I’d waited in that lab for the ten required minutes and then left. That’s not what happened though. I continued to push, continued to dig at that moment in my past until something cracked and I had an epiphany.

It seemed as if golden light flooded through me; the memory seals that Blackbeard’s last-minute software had let me put up crumbling to reveal what they’d hidden from both the investigators and me for all this time: the big secret, the something that I can’t believe that I’d forgotten.

The Partial Key wasn’t the only thing I’d stolen. Burning in my mind, Project Hawking’s Master Keyring sat. The future—no, now the present—of the entire company’s cryptography scheme. Elise the ex-indentured can’t do anything against the corpos, but Elise the ex-indentured WITH a Master Keyring?

A glorious feeling began to flow through me: purpose. Before, I’d had vague goals of returning to human space, but now, the desire burned in my very core. With what I had stored in my mind—I could change things. I could fundamentally shake up human society, I could break the CIPP’s oppressive control of everything, and I could make it so that what I’d been put through and what I’d been forced to do to Annette would never happen again.

More than ever, I wanted to leave this planet with their strange magic and humans behind.