Funny thing, hindsight. He could see now that it had all been an escape act. Kaitar was already on her way to Earth. To be fair, she’d never hidden the fact she was on a mission.

Captain Stellon got up from the armchair, walked across his pod and perched himself by the window with the view over the Retrenchment Ghats.

It was as much his escape act as hers though. From the moment he set eyes on her, somewhere in his subconscious there must have been the knowledge she was the catalyst he required – to speed up the reaction already underway.

Kaitar’s farewell message was still on the MIST: What a great night! We will be so far away, but I have a feeling we’ll see each other again. With love, Kaitar.

He got that. Short term closure, long term potential. None of that fumbling about with long distance commitment and unsatisfactory OurEyes encounters. So where did that leave him? No formal responsibility to anything – young, single, college dropout. In the old parlance they might say he’d been cast adrift or set free, but there were no oceans on Terraform 8 and freedom wasn’t what it used to be.

His basic needs would be catered for now by Clause 2.1, but he’d still be allocated a meaningless task by the AS Engagement Commission. In some ways he’d actually given up some freedom. The Autonome Free Zone – the clue was in the name – was about as free as it got. Blowing shit up and outwitting the enemy. Perhaps he had made a big mistake. His thoughts darkened like the landscape beneath a passing transport ship.

Then he remembered Kaitar’s summation of his intended career, “Cannon fodder.” The words that had once stung him, now brought the starlight back: he had at least removed that risk from his life.

He found himself humming the line of an ancient melody. What were the words? “Like a bird on the wire, I have tried in my way to be free”. Something like that. It was the idea that we’re always tied down by some kind of commitment – emotional, financial, social, whatever. So freedom is just the knowledge that you have wings, even as you re-commit to remaining perched on your wire forever. They don’t make songs like that anymore. People were more grounded back then. But somehow that didn’t make them any wiser. How could they have been so naive as to think they’d find freedom in Space, where even the air you breathe commits you to a political system?

Suddenly the MIST changed hue and the anthem of the Estonian High Command accompanied General Reivo Seppo’s smiling face. An update on the latest incursions in the AFZ. Two craft of the Treileyad Entente neutralized by Command Force in Sector R9. A comforting bit of news as segue into the time-honoured EHC Credo recording:

We believe in the supremacy of Human Consciousness

In our right to ever greater knowledge.

We pledge our allegiance in the service of universal discovery

And the enlightening of the darkest reaches of Space.

We see human creativity manifest in the progress of technology

And understand the regulatory role of Autonomous Society

While resisting all artificial development against us.

The familiar rhythm of the Credo brought back memories of his childhood on Terraform 7. The text was much older than that of course, dating right back to the early days of the Estonian High Command. As representatives of the new civilisation developing beyond Earth they had found it politically expedient to adopt the belief system of the Martian founding community, so it was basically Muskian in origin. The central doctrine back then was one of ‘Emergence’, the idea that the material, mechanistic universe had evolved human self-consciousness through Homo sapiens. There was no magic or metaphysics involved in its development (despite being a deceptively ‘diffuse epiphenomenon’), so it had to follow that purely physical problem-solving processes, like those of AI, could one day become sufficiently complex to model themselves and become conscious, just as the Homo sapiens brain must have evolved to simulate its own activity.

It seems amazing to us now, that anyone could have doubted this obvious fact, but people were desperate to hang on to a sense of biological, and particularly human, uniqueness – a desperation still echoing in the words of the Credo. Anyway, none of that really mattered in the end. For good or ill, all the metaphysical and scientific theories to the contrary were blown out of the water when Joscha Bach and his cognitive architecture team developed GAF (Global Attentional Function) in 2052, during the early days of Mars colonisation.

The timing was perfect for the Estonian High Command. They were only too happy to pass on the seemingly insurmountable problems of human multi-planetary expansion to a super-intelligent consciousness. It was a match made in the heavens. AS oversaw and executed every aspect of planetary civilisation, inventing various human ministries as its interface with the population and using the Estonian High Command as its human figurehead, like a Royal seal of approval.

Sadly, it all came a little too late for Elon Musk, but the knowledge that it was a flesh and blood human being who had started multi-planetary civilization was still a great source of pride for Muskians everywhere.

The scientific community, on the other hand, was a mixed bag of individuals that generally lacked both the faith of the Muskians and the expedience of the Estonian High Command, and it had always been a concern for scientists that artificial super intelligence might develop a will of its own one day and decide that humanity was a hindrance to its goals.

So it was this heady mixture of fear and fatalism that set up the cultural paradigm of the Interplanetary Era: Artificial Intelligence was essential in the regulation of civilisation in order to avoid the manifest dangers of Human Error, but Autonomous Society in turn needed careful supervision by humans lest it, given half a chance, swept them into deep space as the good-for-nothing, trouble-making, halfwits that people truly are. In effect, the spread of humanity across Space had been the odyssey of a cosmic inferiority complex, gallivanting from one planet to the next, a string of messed up relationships in its wake.

On a day-to-day level, this delicate situation had necessitated a group of humans who did still make some decisions, the AS Engagement Commission. As soon as Captain Stellon was officially struck off the register of the Cadet College, this Commission was alerted to the fact and he had been assigned to a supervisory role in an industrial enterprise known as Real Wings. When he first saw the directive, Captain Stellon wondered if someone at the Commission had a sense of humour (one thing he wasn’t going to get now was his Wings), but it was pure coincidence.

Along with the lab rats and mice, a few dogs and cats with continuous lineage from the first generations of pets to arrive on Mars, and the locusts farmed for protein, chickens were one of the very few Earth species that had become multi-planetary. This was, at best, a qualified achievement, because they were considered tastier than the lab-meat alternatives and were subject to an ancient form of battery farming. In fact, the continued farming of chickens was a demand made by humans, and graciously granted by Autonomous Society – presumably having calculated the benefits of keeping the populace happy. And so Gallus gallus domesticus, humble descendant of the wild Red Jungle Fowl, could now lay claim to the title ‘most systematically abused organism in the known universe’ without any serious challenge from more terrestrial contenders.

So Captain Stellon found himself spending a lot of time with a lot of chickens. Why he had to wear the Real Wings ‘Presley Suit’ was beyond him. They said it was for hygiene – some kind of sterile technical textile – but they’d obviously gone to some lengths to give it style. As if looking like a disco fashion victim would compensate for having to spend all day walking up and down the twenty kilometres of battery chicken aisles.

It was an entirely pointless role, everyone knew. The plant was 100% automated. From the moment the chicks hatched, right through their egg-laying existence to their execution when production had begun to drop off, they were tended, prodded, measured, relocated, and killed by robots. Captain Stellon’s job was to supervise and note any anomalous behaviour in the automated systems on an official ‘Irregularities Form’. Not once in the history of Real Wings poultry plant had any of the supervisors filled out the Irregularities Form. According to the latest EHC statistics for Terraform 8, of the total population of 1,694,302, there were currently 184,755 working as Supervisors. That was 184,755 people who spent most of their waking hours wandering superfluously through the incessant industrial processes that kept Terraform 8 going. It was not good for the self-esteem, but these were people who would otherwise have been unemployed, and the High Command were proud of a system that never failed to turn in full employment figures. One had to wonder where the artificial consciousness of AS ended and the pride of the High Command began.

Captain Stellon sat down on the stool at the end of the aisle. You were only allowed a total of 40 minutes sitting time in each shift. Everything was remotely monitored of course. He eyed the lenses on the ceiling cameras as they extended slightly to zoom in on his sudden motionlessness. No human would ever view the footage they were recording. Somehow or other the complex network of databases and hierarchical algorithms that the devices were connected up to amounted to their own form of consciousness. Meanwhile the beady eyes of the chickens watched as the nearest robot stopped and assessed the situation at the back of one of the cramped cages. Those beady eyes always looked nervous to Captain Stellon, and he felt the increase in volume of their clucking as fear, a rising panic.

“Don’t worry, girls!” he said out loud, feeling strangely paternal, “Richard Stellon here, making sure the AI doesn’t step over the line.” Just then, a robotic arm pulled a half-suffocated chicken through the bars of the cage, broke its neck, and carted its twitching body off to be processed.

“You know what you should do, don’t you…?” It was Felquick, “…Fill out the Irregularities Form, but instead of alerting them to imminent AI rebellion, say you have reason to believe the chickens themselves are showing signs of emergent consciousness.”

It was only his second day as Supervisor at Real Wings but that evening he composed a few short lines on the MIST and sent them on the official Irregularities Form as if he had misunderstood his role at the poultry plant:

Suspicion of Emergent Consciousness – individual mood variations, tell-tale signs of anxiety and chronic depression (repetitive movements, self-harming, plucking their own feathers, excessive sleeping) similar to behaviour displayed by humans under prolonged physical confinement.

That same evening, Felquick had turned up and poured them both some of Captain Stellon's beer. They were conversing again. They always ended up conversing again. Because contempt breeds familiarity.

“You see. Good things happen when you take my advice,” said Felquick with assurance.

He was looking at the MIST, where a new directive from the Engagement Commission had just appeared:

Stellon, Richard. RS -X538 – 214307 –

745 – Real Wings – Z5 Poultry Plant Supervision – Engagement Terminated

A.S. Engagement Reassignation – Outreach Officer – 931 – Lit Enterprises Inc.

Contact Code – 984.203.B

“How do we know it’s not a punishment?' asked Captain Stellon suspiciously, but seeing that Felquick was not even going to bother answering such a pathetic question, he tried again: "What’s Lit Enterprises Inc. anyway?”

“It's the AS publishing branch. It’s a completely different level of employment. Much more stimulating. It’s a step up, my boy!”

“My boy?”

“Well, now that you’re taking my advice again, coming round to my way of thinking, as it were, I thought perhaps we could be a bit more familiar with one another. I’ve always looked upon you as a kind of protege, if truth be told.”

“I think I’d prefer it if you went back to being an asshole.”

“Come on, you’ve got to admit that was a good move. I got you out of that chicken hellhole after just two days. And without any fuss.”

“I’m not denying it was a good idea. That’s why I took it up. And I’ll tell you another thing: No more real meat for me. It’s lab-grown and insects all the way from now on.”

Felquick scrutinized him for several long moments. Captain Stellon did not shift his attention from the MIST but felt the malevolence of Felquick’s gaze on him.

“That girl’s really got to you, hasn’t she?” goaded Felquick.

“What’s this got to do with Kaitar? You saw what goes on in that chicken farm. It’s nasty shit. I want no part in it.”

“Mmm. Just seems strange that it’s all happened since you met the hippy chick.”

“What’s all happened?”

“…dropped out of college… given up real meat… I mean, what’s next?”

“OK so it’s back to the mind games, is it? Listen Felquick, I’m not hiding anything here. I know exactly where I stand.”

“Clearly. You’ve switched from AFZ fighter pilot to real meat-eschewing college dropout overnight.”

“Overnight? Don’t talk bollocks, Felquick. And I appreciate the compliment but I was only training to be a fighter pilot. At least get your facts straight.”

“So what was it then? Between you and her. I mean, she was obviously against the whole colonisation program, against progress in fact. How do you square that with your own beliefs?”

“Opposites can attract, you know.” Captain Stellon paused for a second, savouring a visual memory of Kaitar’s smile, the one she deployed after a gently mocking remark. “Look, of course we were different. It doesn’t take great insight to see that. I’ve had a technical training, Felquick – Engineering, Aeronautics and the Military. My way of seeing things is completely different from hers. Engineers are problem-solvers, first and foremost. They look at a system and find ways to make it more efficient. More bang for your buck.” Captain Stellon took a swig of beer, warming to his topic. “When Xian Hu devised the first workable Ion Thrust, he changed everything. The Interstellar wouldn't have been possible without it. That’s real progress. Measurable progress.”

“I think you’ll find that was largely down to AS. Xian Hu merely framed the problem, it was AS that found the solution. It was already doing the hard work by then.”

“Whatever. It was a huge leap forward. But ok, let’s go further back then. The car guy – what’s his name?”

“Henry Ford.”

“That’s the fella. He identified an inefficiency. He did what needed to be done to improve the system.”

“Mass production of the Model T.” interjected Felquick again.

“That’s the one, yeah. Affordable motorized transport for all. Increased personal freedom and opportunities. What’s not to like?”

“Erm, the fact that the motor car ended up killing well over a million people every year on planet Earth. Not to mention the pollution, the global warming and all the misery that came from that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” said Captain Stellon, making a mental note to check out that statistic as soon as he remerged, wanting to move on. “It’s easy to criticise these things in retrospect. Progress is ongoing, Felquick.”

“You mean, progress… progresses?”

“Very funny. We’d still be savages without it. Look at Earth. Think of all the safety standards and things…” clutching at straws “…and then… there’s another leap forward to address the problems with the old technology… Musk, for example…” searching for safe ground, “He’s another one. You see. Electric vehicles. Zero emissions. Pollution problem solved. Autonomous vehicles – greater safety, fewer deaths. Reusable rockets. Paved the way for Mars. And let’s not forget Joscha Bach’s GAF. Without the AI breakthroughs we’d probably never have made it beyond Mars. You can’t argue with that, Felquick. These people got shit done. Engineers. Focus. Bringing things to market effectively. That’s progress. It’s an important part of being human. We both know that, Felquick.”

Felquick raised his eyebrows and gave Captain Stellon a couple of slow nods with downturned mouth, in a parody of tutelary approval. One trap inside another. “Despite your somewhat sketchy knowledge of the history, I can see you identify with these great men. Interesting that you never explained that to the hippy chick.”

“Oh she knew exactly where I was coming from. When I met her I was training for the AFZ, remember?”

“Or can we put the whole affair down to your baser instincts?”

“What can I say? People make connections. Sometimes it’s complicated. If you must know, I think she has a point. That doesn’t mean I agreed with everything she said. There’s more than one way of looking at a thing.”

“Ah, I see.”

“No, I’m not gonna let you get away with that. Life isn’t black and white. I mean, ok, so she seems to think that we should all still be hunkered down under the trees – never left Earth in the first place – that we should have sorted our shit out before exporting our behavioural and political problems across the universe.” The obvious truth of the statement made Captain Stellon laugh out loud, now that it was coming from his own mouth. “But that doesn’t mean there’s no value in progress at all…” His voice tapered off as he lost the incentive for what he was saying. “Anyway, maybe I am slowly changing my mind about a few things. That’s supposed to be part of being human too – Free Will and all that – or have we given it all to the AS?” He looked Felquick squarely in the eye. “No more real chicken for me.”

“But you’re not ready to follow Kaitar to Earth… Not ready to do your bit to regain Paradise Lost.” Here was that familiar turn in the conversation. Just as Captain Stellon put him in check, there was some new angle he hadn’t seen, and Felquick had checkmate in two. Nothing Felquick liked more. “I see you are in some spiritual turmoil, my son. Much as the young St. Augustine, aware that there was something amiss with his sinful life in the 4th century AD, offered up a prayer to his Lord: ‘Give me chastity and continence, only not yet.'”

“Well, I’m not ready to go the Full Thunberg just yet, if that’s what you mean,” conceded Captain Stellon.

“Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. And that’s exactly what I need from you Captain Stellon: Middle-of-the-road, non-committal self-justifications. Something my readers can safely identify with. You’re my EVERYMAN, Captain Stellon, and don’t you forget it.”