Day: 2

Year of event: 22+ 10^( 10.1395)

Notes: If you did not fill in the A-PTF form attached to the previous entry of this report, you may find a small part of this entry confusing.

This entry contains mentions of in-embryo DNA modificaion.

“So, you are an expert on inlet trans-conductors and iodised neutrino-gravo-coolants?” The alien who carried sunglasses in his chest pocket asked.

Lozzo had assigned one of his guards to escort Dorothy around the station, but the other Gromlind, the one who never bothered to introduce himself, had dismissed them and took that role upon himself. Dorothy couldn’t say that she was pleased with this outcome.

“I am an expert on many things.” She answered dismissively.

Now that she had done what she had come here to do, she decided to keep her interactions with the locals to a minimum. She was a very task-oriented person, and once a task was underway and out of her hands, only then did she let her mind wonder about things like the true gravity of giving Offshore technology to an under-developed population, or leaving Cassie unsupervised (even if the latter was asleep).

“Do not worry.” The alien bent over and whispered into Dot’s ear. “I won’t tell.”

Dorothy moved her hand to push him away, but he rose to full height just in time to avoid it.

“Unlike my low-life compatriot, I hold no grudges against your kind.” The alien added.

“Low-life?” Dot scoffed. “I thought he was your boss.”

“My employment arrangements are far from ideal - indeed.” He said, with a somewhat sour tone.

The corridor they’ve been walking down opened into a plaza of sorts. Its ceiling was high, and its walls were lined with dozens of small stalls, each of which were selling miscellaneous knick-knacks.

Thinking back to her protocols, Dot took a second to consider the pros and cons of having a look around. She had time to kill after all. When she glanced at her guide to try and get a better feel for the situation, he asked, with a smirk-like glimmer in his eyes:

“I was just thinking, would you enjoy a game of cards over a nice cocktail?”

“I don’t drink, nor do I play.” Dot shook her head. “But you seem to change the subject rather quickly. Especially after – what you’ve said before.”

Following some strange compulsion to not expose this man, Dorothy did not quote his words out loud.

“Ah, another misunderstanding.” The Gromlind said as he nodded towards a hallway on the opposite side of the plaza, before starting to walk in that direction. “You must be thinking that I am an illim; that I work for whom I work for against my will. To put it in Human terms, that I am a slave and that he is my master.”

The alien gestured around with his arms for dramatic effect. Maybe that was why the crowd seemed to split in half as his metal claws hit the floor, clearing a path ahead for the duo.

Dorothy wasn’t entirely sure what he was going on about. From what she knew, Onshores had an extremely segregated society. But this man had the attitude of someone who didn’t answer to no one but his own values. The fact that he wore Jewry on all of his fingers also suggested that he was quite well of from being anyone’s slave. But Dorothy decided to humour him.

“Aren’t we all slaves to the gears of time which forces us to live until we die, to work so we'd live, and to live so we can work?”

They exited the plaza, and as the noises of the small crows faded out, the Gromlind let out a content “hmm”.

“Is that how you see your life?” He asked.

Dorothy shrugged.

“I see my life as a series of destinations, each new one better than the last.”

“And some of them are hard to reach, I presume? Hence the fake documents?”

Dorothy didn’t answer.

The alien turned to face her, and with his arms crossed over his chest, said:

“Once again, I won’t tell.”

Dot shook her head. She didn’t believe him. How could she suddenly trust someone who just over an hour ago had sent someone to attack her? At least that’s what she told herself.

“I see you struggle to believe me-” He began.

“That is not it.” Dot shook her head once more, as she lied. “Think about it this way, what would be the purpose of getting new documents if I’ll be going around telling people what I’ll be doing with them?”

The light inside the Gromlind’s eyes darkened. Dot assumed it was either anger or disappointment. So, in order not to let all her hard work go to waste, she continued:

“But I’ll tell you this, have you ever seen a sun go out?”

He tilted his head, waiting for her to elaborate. But that darkness had vanished from his eyes, replaced with sparks of interest.

“You are talking about stars I presume? A specific star, even?” He asked.

Dot gestured for them to carry on walking, as she explained:

“A sun, a star, whatever you want to call it, is what lies at the centre of a galaxy. It is that around which everything revolves, but also that which keeps all the planets together. She brings warmth. It brings life. She brings the hope for a better tomorrow, a tomorrow with no endless sleep, the possibility for all to live in the moment without worrying about the past or the future. But when she goes out - when a sun vanishes from the sky-”

Dorothy paused, unsure of how to continue this poetic flow of words. Her initial intent was to prompt the alien to tell her about any stars that recently vanished or died, and now she had to somehow circle back to that topic.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” The alien said.

Strangely enough, although his tone had remained neutral throughout, he seemed to have some emotions behind his words this time.

“Who was she to you? A sister? A lover?”

“Huh?”

Dot had just realised that she had given pronouns to a space station. It must have been a reflex, after flying AI-assisted ships for so long. The Gromlind interpreted her silence as a desire not to speak of this issue further.

“Believe it or not, I have also lost someone. An innocent boy, he was, clever and resourceful. But sometimes to move forward certain – people – need to be left behind. And speaking of moving forward, I believe we have philosophised enough! Let us go to the nearest bar.” He announced.

“I still don’t drink.” Dot said as she gestured ‘no’ with her hand. And since it seemed like the alien didn’t know anything about her Gaia, she changed the topic. “Lozzo, he did say that he would cover my expenses, right?”

The Gromlind nodded.

“Then I would like to do some shopping. Where is the nearest fashion district?”

“The fashion district?” The alien let out a sound similar to a laugh. “Oh, I didn’t think you would be the kind to prefer looks over a heart-to-heart conversation. But alas …”

Dorothy was about to protest, but he cut her short.

“Let us head to the Market Street Hall, one of my underlings will take care of you from there. And I will meet you at your ship when the time comes.”

“Fine by me.”

Dorothy ignored the earlier insult. It wasn’t as if she was planning to interact with this alien ever again after she’d leave the station.

The alien led Dot through the station, taking covert passages more times than the technician was comfortable with. Their journey ended when they reached another plaza. This one was large, busy, and seemed to have been built as an entry point of sorts to the shopping district behind it. Dorothy only took her eyes off the alien for a split second, in which he had managed to accost a human woman before vanishing into the masses.

“Hey, Umm, Miss Sanders?” The woman called out as she approached the technician.

She had unevenly cut hair, which had seen more than one evidentially failed attempt at re-colouring, and a prominent snake tattoo running down her neck. She wore a style that could have been defined as “classic cyberpunk”, as her layered clothes seemed to be purposefully stained and ripped.

“That would be me.” Dot raised a hand to get her attention.

The latter did seem somewhat unnecessary in retrospect, since the woman, as well as several passersbys, seemed to have their eyes glued on Dorothy. This only reinforced the desire of the latter to get something with a hood. She didn’t know what it was about Onshores, but they sure as hell reacted weirdly to seeing someone with albinism.

“If there anything stuck in my hair?” She joked in hopes of diverting her new guide’s attention.

“No! I didn’t mean to stare or anything, it’s just that, you know, we don’t see much of your kind around here.” The other woman answered somewhat awkwardly.

Dorothy’s mouth involuntarily twitched. There it went again; Humans pretending they’re different from one another based on subjective criteria like place of birth and genetic pre-disposition.

“And what exactly do you mean by that?” Dorothy asked.

“Nothing! It’s just that with the CRISPR laws and all, I thought all you folks were-”

“What, sent to concentration camps?” Dot finished the sentence, remembering a documentary her mother had made her watch once.

“No, killed at birth.” The other woman answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Realising what she’d just said, she quickly put her hand over her mouth. But it was already too late.

Dot shook her head. Having grown up on Earth, she had learned not to take offence to these types of comments.

“Come,” Dorothy gestured towards the direction most people were going in. “There is something I want you to explain to me, if you don’t mind.”

During the following hour, Dorothy had learned that the Onshores were way more barbaric than she’d expected. The UE, whatever that was, had passed a law a few decades back, which made it compulsory to “work out any kinks” and “make the babies presentable”. Those were the exact words used by Zaz, Dorothy’s new guide. Apparently, more and more babies born off-planet began developing certain mutations; partial or full loss of certain senses, weak bones, severe autism, and other diseases deemed unsightly by society.

In reaction to Dorothy’s overt disbelief, Zaz went on to explain that this had actually been common practice for quite a while, but had only recently become legalised. According to her, central UE was very strict on who could and couldn’t walk their streets. They did so to present a certain image to their non-Human residents, but Zaz personally believed that the people in charge simply did not like those who looked or behaved different than them. But things were easier here on the edge of the known world. Few were those that gave half a damn, and even fewer were those who’d act on it.

“That is, unless you gamble away all your money and end up so deep in debt that you can either sell your organs, or sell your B-ID.” Zaz concluded. “But that still doesn’t explain your situation. How’d you slip pass them?”

“We don’t do that where I’m from.” Dorothy said as she stopped in front of a storefront to examine what they had on display. She was looking for a cool hooded jacket that wouldn’t take up too much space in her already crammed ship and would go well with virtually anything. “Operations are only performed on children if their life, or that of their parent is in danger.”

“Which of the province did you say you were from?” Zaz asked.

Dot sigh. She was getting tired of putting up a façade and having to put up with the locals. Although she didn’t have a watch, she had a very good sense of time, and she knew she still had to bear with this woman for at least half an hour.

“I’d rather not say.” Dot said dismissively.

She came to the conclusion that this store did not have nice enough jackets and moved on.

“Oh come on, I wanna know. Were your parents also like you?” Zaz insisted.

“Why do you want to know so badly?” Dot finally snapped.

The technician had come to a point where she could not come up with some bullshit explanation even if she tried to. All her improv skills had been drained dry during the conversation about eugenics where she’d done her hardest not to show any overt reactions.

The other woman paused for a second, seemingly taken aback. She bit her lower lip, and put her hands in her pockets.

“My parents almost killed me when I was born, and they never missed a single opportunity to remind me of that.” She finally said, before shaking her head to knock a few strands of hair over her eyes. “Keep your secrets if you must.” She added as she walked ahead.

Dorothy felt a tightness in her chest. At times it was hard to remember that Onshores were also people.

“Wait!” Dot called out. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I can’t go into details, for legal reasons,” She continued as she caught up with Zaz. “But the just of it is, in order for me to survive after birth, my DNA had to be altered. The albinism is a side effect. And you can tell because my eyes aren’t affected.”

The other woman paused, and failed to hold back a satisfied smile.

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to do that once you were an adult?” She asked.

“I wouldn’t have lived that long, without the operation.” Dot tried to explain.

“Because of the CRISPR laws?”

“No…”

They continued the conversation as they made their way through Market Street Hall. Eventually, they had to circle back, and head to the docking bay.

Notes:

4: This is said in reference to the redacted section in the previous report entry. Our project manager (or whatever that woman officially is [I am a redactor, amongst other things]) has told us not to further expand upon that section. Allegedly it can incite terrorism acts due to graphical descriptions of deep-space station engines.

Full or partial albinism is actually extremely common amongst her generation. From what I know, and don’t quote me on that, in-embryo chromosome modification was not fully perfect at that time (think around 2130 post Christum Natum (I can’t be asked to do the conversion into standard calendar years, and since this procedure is endemic to planetary Earth, most academic papers written on the subject use made-up prophet years)). From what I know, the chromosomes/genomes responsible for radiation and poison resistance are really close to those responsible for melanin production. So, sometimes when doctors tried to alter the former, to make the babies immune to radiation, temperature fluctuations, and whatever else, they accidentally poked at the melanin genes. But on the plus side, children who had that procedure had a better overall constitution and were at a lower risk of getting cancer (in any of its forms).

The year 2130 PCN corresponds to 130+e^(23.347) in standard years.

What Lark expands upon is true, albeit simplistic. As a reminder, most genome manipulation procedures are now reversible with the help of the MORPH iii modules. According to my dossiers, only certain spine conditions and all earlier MORPH iterations are incompatible with modern procedures.

Current year: 22+e^(23.347)

Redactor signature: E.E. Shwartz