He first met Felquick in person back in college. Miss Chakrabarti was doing her best to introduce Astrobiology 101. Half the class was asleep behind those ridiculous Sync Screens, ancient teaching aids that the underfunded education program still had to cope with (education, like the military, was considered far too sensitive a field of human activity to be left to Artificial General Intelligence, and was suffering the usual neglect as a result – a situation which did not seem to be of great concern to A.S.)

“Think back to the time when humanity was still confined to planet Earth. Before Planetary Degradation and the rise of the Estonians. Imagine how strange it must have been to live on a planet so full of life – insects, birds, mammals, reptiles, plants everywhere – and to look up at a silent universe. Especially when you consider they knew how old the universe was, so they knew life had had time and space to evolve a million times over. The biggest question for them was: ‘Why is the Universe so EMPTY of life’.

“The Fermi Paradox.”

“Thankyou Mehmet, yes, they actually gave it a name. And they came to the conclusion that something prevented life from developing beyond a certain point: The Great Filter. This was worrying because whatever it was, humanity would face it too. But then what happened in the year 16 IE?”

“Discovery of Finextrical Stipupedes on Planet Laikmaa.”

“Thankyou Mehmet. But please put your hand up next time. So, yes, we began to discover new lifeforms on other planets. They may only have been simple lifeforms, but no longer could we ask ‘Why is the universe so EMPTY?’ What became the new burning question of science?”

Mehmet and a dark girl at the back put their hands up.

“Yes, at the back” Miss Chakrabarti said.

“Why is the universe so stupid?”

Miss Chakrabarti had to wait for the laughter to die down. “Well, Stipupedes may not be the most intelligent lifeforms, it’s true. Be that as it may, we now know that all life in the Near Interstellar, including ourselves, had a single origin, the planet Ema. Now if we ask ourselves what is was about Ema that…”

Captain Stellon wasn’t listening to her anymore. He’d turned round to look at the young woman on the back row. It was the first time he’d really noticed her, the person who would play such a crucial role in his life.

Perhaps it wasn’t surprising then that Felquick chose that same day to reveal himself as a physical entity. It probably suited his sense of dramatic timing to appear on the day Kaitar insulted the universe.

Leaving the classroom, the students naturally gravitated into their little groups as Captain Stellon and a few other introverts found themselves, once again, weaving a lone path. He kept his eyes on the dark figure of Kaitar as she moved swiftly ahead of the crowd.

“Mmm. You might want to get to know her…”

It was that familiar voice in his head, but this time it was coming from just behind him – a man wearing a raincoat and a fedora, sat on the steps of the portico.

“Excuse me?” said Captain Stellon, turning to the bearded figure on the steps.

“Well she seems interesting, don’t you think? And she’s right about the Near Interstellar. It’s a fairly stupid place, when all’s said and done. Apart from us of course.” He smiled.

“Sorry. Have we met?”

“My apologies. I suppose a formal introduction is in order. The name’s Felquick.”

“Yes, Felquick, of course.’ They shook hands. “Richard Stellon. Nice to meet you.”

“Indeed. Although we’ve been on speaking terms for a long time now. So if you don’t mind I’ll continue to call you Captain Stellon.”

“Yes, why do you call me that?” Asked Captain Stellon, not fully appreciating how mad their conversation had become.

“It’s something you’ll grow into. It makes things easier for my readers,” replied Felquick, a little wearily.

“Your readers?”

“Yes, but let’s not get bogged down in metaphysics. Just think of all of this…” he motioned widely with his arm “…as my creation – a kind of simulation, if you like. Round here, what I say goes. And that’s not necessarily a bad thing from your perspective. The Great Filter your teacher was talking about, for instance. I can tell you what that is. I can solve that mystery for you. Even if we accept the almost impossible event of a cell springing out of inanimate chemistry as something that has happened more than once somewhere in the universe, you still have to multiply that unlikelihood by the miracle of language, the chances of abstract symbolism evolving in an animal with opposable thumbs on a planet remaining sufficiently stable for the billions of years necessary for the first cell to get that far. That leap from grunting apes enjoying a bit of mutual grooming to the Theory of General Relativity. But any explanation will do really – this is my universe, after all.” His eyes softened into something approximating sympathy. “So you don’t have to worry about the Great Filter. Us humans have already passed that test. OK?” Felquick seemed to be looking at someone else, over Captain Stellon’s shoulder, as he went on, “Besides, you’ve got enough to worry about, without the extinction of the human species coming into it.”

Suddenly a woman was speaking: “They say talking to yourself is the first sign of madness.”

It was the girl from the Astrobiology class. Captain Stellon glanced back to see what Felquick made of this development, but he was gone. Nowhere to be seen. “Yes, you may be right there. I think I’m probably losing it,” apologised Captain Stellon, jokingly, but with a real concern he couldn’t quite conceal.

The young woman seemed amused at his antics. “You’re not the only one,” said Kaitar. “I think I left my bag in the classroom. They lock them after the lessons, don’t they? Do you know where I can get code access?”

Sure enough, it was still there. She picked up her bag and turned to Captain Stellon.

“That’s a relief! Thanks for your help. My name’s Kaitar, by the way.”

“No problem, Kaitar. I’m Richard. It’ll be good to have someone to sit with in class.”

For a split second he thought he’d overstepped the mark, until she spoke again:

“Listen, can I get you a coffee or something? My place is just round the corner.”

On the way to her pod they covered the basics. He, training to be a pilot at the military academy and taking Astrobiology as an elective; she, majoring in both philosophy and astrobiology.

Before making the coffee she lingered in the background for a few seconds, observing Captain Stellon as he examined her collection of resinite printed birds, including a life-size Ostrich.

“Some of these are mythical, right?” asked Captain Stellon.

“No! They’re all actual species that once existed. I spent ages getting them right. I can give you the genetic read-outs if you like.”

“That won’t be necessary,” joked Captain Stellon, aware that he was in danger of fulfilling the stereotype of the uncultured military cadet. “They are…” he searched for the word, “…beautiful.”

“I’ll make the coffee” said Kaitar brightly, her lithe body already moving swiftly about the kitchen. She seemed pleased.

Captain Stellon sat down on the comfy sofa, spreading his arms across the back, and allowed himself a sigh of satisfaction. On the wall opposite was a large poster – Lainevool’s masterpiece The Crucifixion of Elon Musk by the Estonians. It gave Captain Stellon a sudden pang of… what? Loneliness? Fear? He couldn’t be sure of these feelings. Perhaps it was just the way he was sitting that made him identify with the crucified figure, abandoned on the lower slopes of Mons Olympos.

But why would Kaitar have this poster on her wall? And in such a prominent position? Surely she wasn’t some cranky Muskian?

Felquick: “I wouldn’t read too much into any of this crap, Captain. It’s basically your standard student fare – unachievable idealism and pointless irony.”

Not now Felquick! Just leave this to me!

Interior monologue all too often became dialogue for Captain Stellon, and he knew he was susceptible to Felquick’s sardonic advice. He refocused on the picture: the Estonians shuffling away down the mountain towards the primitive Mars station below, the epic sweep of the Martian landscape into the distance. He could not deny its mesmerizing effect. As a history painter, Lainevool must have sensed that Musk’s crucifixion would be a major turning point. He wasn’t wrong. It was the pivotal event in the rise of Estonia. Lainevool must have read the reports like everyone else: Medical warnings that widespread malnutrition was becoming the norm, accounts of clandestine rituals among the Martian settlers and the formation of a ‘Muskian’ cult around the figure of their founding father. One has to remember that this was at the time of the first Martian births. There had been a series of traumatic stillbirths, until it was realised that Gravity Compensation Therapy was a must during pregnancy. And then the first few successful births – the first truly Martian babies. There were even rumours of a prophecy – in some strangely atavistic echo of Christianity – that Elon Musk would die on Planet Mars.

In retrospect it is too easy to say that Musk’s much-heralded trip to the Red Planet as a morale booster for the pioneering community was ill-advised. But from a historical perspective, the really interesting story is how all this relates to the Rise of the Estonians.

Within two hundred years of their independence as a nation-state on Planet Earth, they had become the pre-eminent political force in the entire Solar System. It was one of those wonderful quirks of history: The young, ambitious Estonian nation, one of the very first to embrace digital society on Earth, becoming the trusted neutral custodian of the newly emerging Autonomous Society and welcoming the opportunity to send their people en masse to the Martian outpost; but it was the crucifixion of Musk and the diplomatic row that followed (not to mention the racial violence in the USA targeting anyone remotely Baltic in appearance, including many non-Estonians and several who, as one newspaper pointed out ‘looked a lot less like they were from the Baltic than Elon Musk himself’), that prompted a very astute Estonian technician to make some small changes to two lines of code in the Autonomous Society Protocol software just days before its final ratification, ensuring Estonian custodianship of civilization in the known universe for the foreseeable future.

Needless to say, historical analysis has tended to play down these key events, placing them within the larger historical processes. Certainly the very idealism of man’s early collaborations in space, like the International Space Station, had provided the backdrop of good-willed internationalism for Estonia’s meteoric trajectory across the Solar System. The great powers on Earth were profoundly committed to their own earthly power bases (and power struggles), and had never really considered Estonian stewardship of interplanetary Autonomous Society as anything other than political expedience – a temporary measure as the hostilities that would lead to the Battles of Exodus began to occupy people’s minds more and more. Nobody wanted to extend the battlelines into the Solar System and, if truth be told, there were many who still didn’t believe independent extra-terrestrial communities would last long, even after the first successful births on Mars.

On top of all this political short-sightedness one has to factor in the exponential rate of technological development. That the most far-reaching political act of the first millennium I.E. involved nothing more than a minor alteration to a piece of software code, should have been a clear indication that Artificial Intelligence had already come to dominate human affairs; but like the Industrial Revolution, Global Warming and Planetary Degradation, the tightening stranglehold of Artificial Intelligence was met with the same slow incredulity that chickens seem to display at first light each morning.

Not everyone had been so passive of course; on top of every chicken coop there’s a cockerel announcing the passing of time. Elon Musk for one, an instrumental force in technological development, had observed first-hand some of the basic mechanisms of history, which he thought of as another dynamic process to be managed.

Unlike the Kings of old, his was a power only half anticipated, but he would receive his Shakespearean reversal nonetheless. It is thought that the elderly Musk, sibron-taped onto a makeshift cross of tubular elements on the lower cliff escarpment of Mons Olympos, probably didn’t last much longer than a couple of Mars days before giving up the ghost, ample time to consider the futility of panicking… and the futility of not panicking.

It just goes to show: No matter how crazy your cult, if you act on its prophecies they become self-fulfilling. The crucifixion of Elon Musk marked the end of the Common Era, and Lainevool’s masterpiece was often now subtitled ‘Year Zero of the Interplanetary Era’.

It sent a chill down Captain Stellon’s spine, but the more he engaged with the picture, the more convinced he became that it was, in fact, an inspired choice for her living room – a sign of great aesthetic and cultural sophistication.

Felquick: “You fancy her, don’t you!”

Give it a rest, Felquick.

Felquick: “If the girl brought out a collection of human remains you’d probably take it as the poetic gesture of a sensitive soul, or some such bollocks.”

You’re much politer in person. Why would that be, I wonder? Much more respectful. You’ll have witnessed my considerable kick-boxing skills of course – seeing as you’re the self-styled overseer of all this.

Felquick: “Dream on, kid.”

Kaitar came back through with the coffees.

“I didn’t have you down as a Muskian,” joked Captain Stellon.

“Oh that!” she replied, glancing at the poster. “No that’s just a reminder of our ignominious beginnings.”

“Hey you can’t use words like that with me. I’m a cadet remember.”

“Let’s just say it wasn’t our proudest moment,” explained Kaitar.

“That depends on your beliefs, doesn’t it?”

“True. Our parents’ generation wouldn’t be so dismissive. You know – your standard conservatives, I mean – big believers in Planetary Colonisation – not practising Muskians exactly, but a kind of reverence for the prophetic nature of it all,” she said, looking at the image of the crucifixion again.

“So you don’t support the Planetary Colonisation Program then?”

“Not really, no.” She paused, weighing up the need for honesty. “This idea that the continuation of the human species is the greatest good: it’s bullshit. It’s an excuse for a rapacious form of life. We’ve become like locusts.”

Captain Stellon’s racing thoughts halted at the impasse. He nodded slowly as, for the first time, they briefly looked each other in the eye without speaking. It wasn’t approval, but understanding. “Well, I’ll be following orders in the AFZ before long,” he went on, “assuming I manage to graduate, that is!”

“Whoa! You’re already resigned to your fate as cannon fodder!” She shook her head. “I’d give that some more thought if I were you.”

“Oh I have, believe me! I’ve always wanted to be a pilot. Since I was a kid,” he blurted out, still reeling from the low blow that the words ‘cannon fodder’ had dealt him.

“Yeah, it must be fun,” she conceded with a warm, enigmatic smile. “I do have a plan of my own,” she added thoughtfully, conscious now of the flimsiness of ideological objection – all this talk of hers. She gave him a searching look and then changed tack: “Have you ever been to the Astrobiology Specimen Museum? It’s full of the most mind-blowing alien lifeforms. And guess what? Virtually all of them came from Earth.” Captain Stellon had nothing to add, so she went on, alone. “I sometimes think our whole civilisation… our terraformed lives, this autonomous society – I mean, all it really is… is a life support system… it’s something we inherited from disaster. Everyone knows that Planetary Degradation taught us how to live in space. The more hostile we made Earth, the more we learned how to cope out here. And now we spend all our time constructing these sterile recollections of paradise lost, as if that’s what we wanted all along. I don’t know. It seems like we’re in denial.”

Captain Stellon was losing the thread of her argument. “You said you had a plan?” That was a word you could latch onto: Plan.

“I’m going back.” She smiled again. That smile which, he was beginning to realise, was capable of dissolving all his reservations about her. But he still didn’t have a clue what she was on about. “To Earth.” she added.

“Back to the Old World? Rather you than me!”

“That’s what they all say. Do you know anyone who’s actually been there?”

“No. But politically it’s a mess. Not stable. Risky place to visit still,” he countered.

“It’s not like here, of course. Not totally under AS, that’s true, but it’s a dynamic system.”

“The seeded planet Setsiad and the Polylunar Complex of Vetripalson are dynamic systems too. Doesn’t mean I’d want to live there,”

She ignored his remark as an irrelevance to the conversation.

“There are regions now, beyond AS, where the unregistered are no longer hostile to strangers," she went on. "Atmospheric Stabilisation and the ongoing reforestation projects are paying off. They say unregistered agricultural land is actually on the increase now. You must have seen the satellite footage on MERGE. I’m not the only one with this idea, you know. There’s been some reverse migration going on for quite a while now.”

“Maybe I’m a bit behind the news, but it’s not just the risk of encountering the unregistered," said Captain Stellon, eager to show he had some knowledge to back up at least some of his views. "Autonomous Society is piecemeal on Earth. It was only ever implemented nation by nation. Well, the ones that could keep up economically and were fortunate enough to be in the habitable zone. But the point is, there’s no one single system, just warring nations. And if you read the history, you can see how they never gave consciousness to AS at the highest levels. It doesn’t have the free rein like it does here, so the decision-making is all highly partisan on Earth. I don’t think you’d be given any favours as a T8. The Earthlings look after their own – and I don’t mean other Earthlings either – they only look after each other within fiercely contested geographical borders, and that’s only the countries that are not busy tearing each other apart within their own borders. That’s what I’ve been told anyway. All those entrenched, reactionary views they still cling onto. It’s a backward planet, from what I hear. Imagine the weight of history in a place like that. And about 99% of the population is native, you know – milllions of people – not one of them stepped foot on another planet.” He could see she’d heard all this before, so he switched to a more personal level. “Then you turn up all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Well, I wish you luck, but I think the Estonian High Command were right to leave Earth on the back-burner. Sometimes you’ve just got to start afresh where people are concerned.”

Kaitar allowed his impromptu speech to hang in the air for a while, like a projection of received opinion. “Despite its problems Earth still has everything we need,” she concluded. “Anyway, I’ve applied for Earth Recon through the Astrobiology Department,” she added. “I’m just waiting for AS transfer codification and I should be free to finish my studies on Earth.”

Captain Stellon had noticed the sudden cooling of her tone. “Oh I see. You’re actually going then! I thought it was some kind of pipedream. Wow, well that’s… that’s quite something.” Backtracking hopelessly. “ET goes home! I’m really interested in Earth history, actually.”

Captain Stellon went on to outline some of his favourite periods of Earth history, but their dialogue had lost its early promise. As the pauses grew longer, he soon felt that unmistakable shift in psychic location from the point of equidistance between two individuals in deep conversation, and his mind retreated to the cage of its skull as he rose from the sofa with expressions of polite gratitude for the hospitality shown.

“You fucked up!” said Felquick as Captain Stellon left her pod and began to walk down the throughline.

“Oh I fucked up, did I? I thought this was all your doing, all your ‘creation’. I think you’ve got to take some blame here.”

“Blame for what? You’re blaming me for your own speech patterns now, are you?” replied the voice in his head.

“Yes! And you can take ‘the seeded planet Setsiad and the Polylunar Complex of Vetripalson’ and shove them right up your arse, Felquick.”

“That’s the spirit, Captain!”