CHAPTER 1

In their native language, the Yhemlen commander directs the Class-A starship. "Bring the harvest to me," he says with a high-pitched shrill.

It is dawn, and at the base of a Martian mountaintop, blueberries settle beneath layers of sediment where the scorched surface leaves remnants from the impact of a rogue planet long ago. The blueberries are iron oxide pebbles from mineral deposits of eroded stone, hidden within splintered craters where magma still pours through. Amidst the dunes, there is a dry rain that evaporates almost immediately from violent chemical reactions. The pebbles are a treasure, waiting to be uncovered in the rubble.

The commander perches himself at an interior balcony, observing the crew whose faces remain shielded in gas masks. Railing above the starship's atrium is dimmed by low light as he watches the reptilian creatures prepare a metal hamper for the collection to be deposited.

Brutal rainstorms are no challenge for the Yhemlen starship flanked just above the Martian surface. With the warmth of bubbling liquid steaming below, light peeks over the purple horizon. This reptilian crew, Yhemlen, discovered these radioactive remnants haphazardly while doing reconnaissance. One accident of cosmic radiation to their cells metamorphosizes them into powerful giants.

It wouldn't be long until the lush, rolling prairies of their home on Earth—Pangaea—became their breeding ground. This starship squadron and their commander pronounced themselves Overseers over the constellations of the zodiac when they returned to Earth and finally learned how to control their radioactive, shapeshifting power. Many attempts were made to penetrate Pangaea's electromagnetically vibrant biosphere, and on initial contact, The Concord Alliance's stealthy attacks failed. Quantum computers alerted The Concord Empyrean Armada to retreat. Reptilian giants with a civilization that rivaled their own couldn't just be destroyed, but rather systematically occupied. Automated probes were not enough to complete the task. Not long after The Concord discovered the blunder they had made. Leftover power stones, blueberries, buried underneath layers of soil on Mars allowed them to revel in the same cosmic radioactive power of the Yhemlen.

What the Yhemlen should have done was thank the group that destroyed planet Mars millennia before. This was never supposed to happen. The Concord's sterilization project was a plan to annihilate all life in solar systems detected in parallel universes, and they ruptured the space-time continuum after a venture back to the early formation of planets. Microbial life on Mars may have been exterminated after the collision with an off-orbit dwarf planet, but the ricochet in debris to Earth led to sprawling new cultures that The Concord hadn't planned for.

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"Wir brauchen eine andere Waffe. We'll need another weapon," Grandmaster Frost says to Nemesis Captain, Gereon. Their starship waits in a docking station near the moon's landing base. "We've identified the coordinates, and the civilization is more advanced than before."

Gereon Heinemann is the patriarch of a decorated Grey lineage. In a secluded room of their landing base where the starship is docked close, they make their sinister plan. The Grey Order is an elite force within The Concord, gene-edited in artificial wombs, or surgically, for purity.

"If we're to return, this weapon will need to make the Yhemlen tremble in fear. A new planet destroyer will be created. I promise," Gereon finishes, glued to an image spectrometer's coordinate map. Gereon and Grandmaster Frost's diminutive bodies wrapped in black synthetic fibers remain still while they peer up at the ominous omen of an intelligent civilization rising.

In a race for supremacy, Yhemlen are endangering alternate universes as a contest for survival grows more imminent. The struggle for Earth is reaching a turning point. A desire to wield mastery over the cosmic web, the structure of the universe, is tempting The Concord to hurl planet-sized behemoths at foes. Like colliding particles, the cataclysm of planet-killers will lead The Concord and Yhemlen to make Earth a wasteland across parallel universes, but it is humans who are threatening to change that.

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The Earth is as habitable it has ever been since the prehistoric era. In 2086 a new era is emerging, the dawn of the Dragon Age. Alternate timelines are on the verge of collapse now that human colonists continue to rummage Mars' surface looking for any artifacts of life. The parallel universes have no choice but to collide now that computer interference is disrupting cosmic web entanglement. Advanced relics from long ago of cutting-edge detection sensors continue to send back signals to The Concord, displaying movements in the alternate universes. Yhemlen calendars predict that the Dragon Age, a time of terror, will see a day of reckoning for Earth.

A dramatic drop in surface elevation near Mars's equator has researchers stumped. The tethers that keep them fastened to their station ports are becoming too heavy to handle. And the pulleys of taut rope can only be hauled so far before the weight becomes too difficult to control. Dropping surface elevation has them gasping for more air amid a thickening atmosphere, and their helmets haven't been tested this much. Gravity is no help now that they must contend with the restraints of weighted space gear too. The researchers have reached today's end, this is far enough.

"Simulators predicted the crust would have melted here," a team member says, knocking away at the mantel with a heavy mallet.

Forming a magma ocean isn't easy and banging at the solidified rock isn't the answer for quick archeological discovery on another planet, but it's trial and error for this brave group. Gravity here isn't like at home, and the researchers are having a difficult time hanging on to their tools. Mars' history suggests massive changes to the core, its fundamental bedrock of stone comes from massive eruptions and disappearing oceans.

Back on Earth, Delphi Corp. has mandated that Martian settlements begin searching for the most habitable zones on the planet's surface where dense populations could thrive. The technology conglomerate is making all sorts of extensions to human life, increasing the viability of virtual entertainment systems, funding space exploration, and now its latest venture—bionic, artificial intelligence apparatuses. At a product launch rally in Los Angeles, Delphi Corp.'s founder and CEO, Ellis Bartram, takes center stage to a diverse crowd.

And while the excavation is underway on Mars by a team of scientists, their Delphi Corp. sponsors back home are conducting business as usual. The slender corridors leading from the arena's concessions send a wave of consumers toward the entrance. In a parade of bodies, the anticipating crowd comingles before suspending their senses to dramatic dimming lights. Inciting hysteria under a dark dome, augmented reality projections startle everyone from complacency.

This is Ellis Bartram's latest public release and the stadium trembles to jarring screams. New bionics are replacing traditional devices at a rapid pace.

"Dear ladies," he pauses. "And gentlemen."

The crowd crescendos to drown out his voice as he prepares to reveal the latest wrist underlay made for everyday use. A row of investors lines up from behind the podium where he stands. As the audience begins to quail in excitement Ellis peers up and tilts his head to catch the wave of people settling into their seats, dissipating applause. Delphi Corp.'s space enterprise is being eclipsed by another vital development. Something closer to home. The mega-screens pulsate to a ricochet of visuals in augmented reality. Projections liven the area that separates Ellis from the crowd with a video depiction of Martian colonies before switching over. Delphi Corp. paraphernalia is dominating the entire tech industry, now accounting for seventy percent of the market. The competition is stiff, and companies are hedging their bets.

Raising both hands in humble acquiescence, Ellis says, "Before we get started, I'd just like to introduce someone who really made this project possible."

After a steady twist to direct his gaze, Bartram focuses on a lady of clear complexion who livens her expression. She's first in a line of a prestigious group seated in plush mahogany chairs that gleam to the stage lights. Bartram encourages her to join him at the podium. They grasp each other in a snug hug before facing the audience.

"It's with great gratitude that I introduce Yasmine Salah, welcome!" Bartram implores the crowd to continue handclapping. "She is the Director of Operations and oversees everyday practices here at Delphi Corp."

Yasmine can hardly refrain from smiling, thrilled at the success she's had up to now. An appreciation video is unveiled to thank her. For all the struggles she's sustained on her journey, to have them culminate in a moment like this inspires her. The promotions will keep coming. Bartram hired Yasmine around a decade ago, making her a key contributor to the Delphi mission. Shown on screen is Yasmine working tirelessly in crisp edits of daily activities. The latest developments at their Headquarters are reviewed for investors and consumers in these yearly expositions. The overview satisfies the familiar while tempting those who want to see their latest projects. At the presentation's conclusion, the stadium's spotlights recede into a densely lit circle placing a light on them both. Bartram removes himself to the seats adjacent to them, effectively handing over the spotlight to Yasmine for her support.

"Wow, I'm flattered." She grasps her headpiece more firmly before easing her arms down. "I've been a part of Delphi Corp now for about 12 years. In that time, I can say there's no better place to work with the smartest, most talented group. As you saw this past year, we made several transitions, which Ellis can vouch for.

Yasmine's movements become more varied as she controls her nerves. She can hardly refrain from bursting out in excitement. Bartram's swift flick of his hand in the darkened background encourages her to go on, bolstering her confidence.

She says, "Our first Autonomous Intelligence Solution, AIS. That's a humanoid android you all just saw us directing in the last video. Located at our Headquarters at the nation's capital. I remember being told it would never work, but with the support of our investors and federal backing for Delphi Corp., we've reached an all-new pinnacle. We named our AIS, Aladdin, hoping to release the genie of programmed consciousness into reality."

Her pacing across the stage slows. Yasmine focuses her attention on another aerial shot of Delphi Corp. in Washington, D.C., where the Cloud Computing Software is housed. All eyes are on the augmented reality projections.

"The CCS supercomputer is more than a computing platform, but the provider of virtual reality enjoyed by people everywhere. Thousands of merchants have used the software not only for our entertainment but to ease the workload in many industries... not only have we got the AIS Aladdin to pioneer android technology, but ships to Mars will also begin using CCS Direct; payloads for our colonies will be shipped to the camps using advanced navigation, new gear will be deployed, and thousands will benefit from increased technological aids. I'm thankful to be a part of this generation, it's a special time, again, thanks to you all!"

As cheers subside, Bartram rises from his seat. He claps along with the audience in short strides to the stage's spotlight while Yasmine's glee shines through. Bartram holds a module that serves as an example of their latest project. The new wrist underlay shows a digital image under the skin. Such a tool removes the inconveniences of large handheld devices. Aside from that, this won't be the only bionic upgrade Delphi Corp. will introduce into the market, but it's the first. What Bartram has is an example of a silicon CCS device designed to operate beneath the skin. The slender mechanism is inserted by a quick procedure that's magnified on the stadium's screen. By the time presentations have concluded, thousands have already reserved a place for the initial phase of production.

Ellis Bartram is at a pivotal point in his career. For all he's accomplished, his health is declining. Finally, he's considering retirement. Yasmine's worry is setting in about the company. Flying to Los Angeles from the other side of the country is bad enough, but time seems to slow when one's bogged down with tasks. To be short, they aren't having much fun. By the time all Delphi Corp. presentations have concluded, Yasmine recognizes what might happen if they can't get more rest. Being the leader in computing technology has its disadvantages, such as an aging leadership in need of change. The heavy load is in a transition stage, Yasmine is about to take the brunt of it.

When they return to D.C. a few days later, Bartram goes over some files for software developers at Delphi Corp., he's been considering an even more outlandish goal. Bartram is calling it, total immersion. Mixed reality entertainment is making a killing for media outlets, but that's only the tip of the iceberg. If he can initiate bionic upgrades through a spinal tap, he might be able to avert the fetters of cellular decay. Bartram glides a wrinkled hand over jet black hair with streaks of silver. The blue veins that protrude through a bronze tan remind him of his age. It's Bartram's reflection on a vacant, pitch-black screen reminding him of the darkness beyond the horizon. He dreams of a simulation to pass the time.

The federal confidentiality clause is still in effect, but Bartram has top-secret access. In these contemplative moments, he realizes that his life is no longer the same. His body's slow deterioration doesn't reflect the youth he feels inside. He wants a go-ahead to launch something more private, with federal approval of course. Total immersion means a total re-networking of our understanding of neurology. Bartram believes that he is the perfect candidate for a trial. With the wit and angst of a midlife crisis brewing, he could use the rest.

Bartram peruses a green folder where a mere two pages are explicit about only the bare necessities. It lists several specialists willing to be test subjects for the experiment that are noted along a slender margin of the sheet. Bartram's eyes look intently to each one, unable to calm his lust for yet another experiment. If he can extend CCS to the mind, Bartram may be able to avert the drudgery of physical pain for now. But the Cloud Computing Software for Delphi Corp. is still evolving, and its most famous new product goes by another name—Aladdin.

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Not everyone is amenable to this new trend. In the crowd at his Los Angeles rally was the steaming Silas Betts. He assures everyone that Delphi Corp.'s new software, Aladdin, isn't only unaffordable, but just another ploy to create a divide in wealth disguised as some infallible tech advance. It is difficult to know how genuine Silas is, but his community organization LOTRY has been working these last few years to help people who want another chance at life. To make the wrongs right again. He says we all deserve second chances.

On 14th Street at Columbia Heights, he hands out subscriptions to his circular and accepts donations for them. Supporters will get the magazine by mail. Betts' latest issue is a boycott against Delphi Corp.'s CCS platform. Instead of harassing merchants, he waves down less than encouraging pedestrians. 'Land of Thugs Resistance Yearly', he calls it. No one knows if he's being sarcastic.

Silas's time at Howard University amongst the other black student activists encouraged his outrageousness. They probably hadn't contemplated how he would turn out, but his concern for poorer communities around town isn't too bad. Silas has a track record of community service. He's also got this idea about some ancient political philosophers that's not a joke, apparently. They argue we'd be better off if we scrapped elections for lottery-style pickings. He's got this hat trick too; a talent show aficionado turned sidewalk magician. Sometimes, Silas feels the need to practice antics from his childhood.

This time he's confronted by an unwelcoming patron. "Hey, you. Yeah, not in front of my store!" the pedestrian yells from behind. Only, it's not a pedestrian, but an irritated store owner.

The manager's trench coat lays low behind slender pants. Silas raises his arm covered over by a silk sleeve. "Would you like to donate for a subscription?"

"I'd like for you to get your ass away from my store!"

In a moment of disbelief, Silas recounts an unsettling history of discrimination from businessmen profiling him based on old stereotypes. Though Silas is hard-pressed to incite hoopla over something so trivial.

The store owner stands firm. "I don't care, if you want something, come in here and buy it, do you understand? What this is called, is loitering. All of you people get on my nerves."

"You people?" Silas responds.

Frustrated, Silas darts his attention to the street beside them. A brightly colored taxi is heading their way and he decides to flag it down, the old school way.

"See, that's right go ahead and leave, you prick!" The store owner's words are muddled by gargling saliva in frustration. He returns through the entrance door.

Rush hour traffic keeps the taxi from speeding off. In the backseat, Silas unfastens a leather bag around his shoulder. The worn strap pulls on his neck before he can position it over his head to lay near his feet. After the seatbelt clicks into its mechanical locks, in the corner of his eye, Silas watches the store owner through the transparent glass. The pull of the car's motion prompts Silas to return to the road ahead.

The driver looks at him through the front-facing mirror. "Where you headed?"

"Northwest corner of 14th and Kenyon."

"Really? Isn't that close to where the Bartram fella's new storefront is, the computer whiz?"

Silas readjusts in his seat to have a clearer field of vision. "Yeah, but I'm not going there." His lips are parched from too much talking, and a wet tongue licks them profusely. "Hey, you ever think about this wrist underlay thing they're trying to get mandated... Do you get your directions from CCS?" Silas's barrage of questions keeps the driver on his toes.

"This thing, I believe so. Delphi Corp. manufactures a bunch of stuff now. Corner of 14th and Kenyon, I told ya'. Ellis Bartram, what a character," the driver says. Silas doesn't want to be reminded.

The driver notices the change in Silas's demeanor, watching him reach to his back pocket to retrieve a LOTRY advertisement. "You part of the immigrant communities around here?" Silas asks. His dark skin protrudes from under a fitted shirt sleeve, as he reaches over the front seat to hand him a free pamphlet.