He recognised these Shanghai streets. This was where he grew up. He looked through the dirty smog-stained window of the old ground car he was travelling in. It was a taxi. He noticed the ancient digital meter running on the dashboard displaying an astronomical figure. He wondered how he was going to pay for his ride. Usually, luxuries such as taxis were beyond his budget. As if reading his thoughts, the driver leaned around and grinned at him, baring his rotten teeth. It was not a friendly smile, it was a predatory smirk that said, ‘I'm going to rip you off and there's nothing you can do about it.’ The driver stared at him for an uncomfortably long time. He was not looking where he was going.

The streets of Shanghai were normally in varying states of gridlock. Strangely, today the streets were deserted. The taxi careened along at breakneck speed, swerving all over the road. He was about to suggest to the driver to look where he was going when the driver raised his eyebrows in a leering suggestive fashion, indicating the woman sitting next to him.

It was his wife. It was his wife, but she had changed. She was noticeably more beautiful than the plain looking woman he had married and had fathered a daughter with. In fact, the closer he looked the more beautiful she became. Long black wavy hair with a red rose pinned in it, a tight red dress and bright red lipstick. She turned and faced him.

“Darling, did you have a nice time on the Moon?”

She looked more like a famous supermodel than the wife he thought he remembered. He wondered if he had seen her tall curvaceous body plastered over billboards and dancing seductively on the side of buildings. He was happy to have such a gorgeous wife. He turned back to the driver who was now draped over the bench seat, openly gawking at his her black-stockinged legs, not even bothering to hold onto the steering wheel.

“Drive the car and keep your eyes on the road,” he said with authority. The driver turned back to face the road with a grimace. His wife nodded with approval.

He recognized the neighbourhood; it was where his mother lived. They must be going to pick up his daughter. He glanced at his wife and she gave him a loving smile. Happy families. The driver had slowed down although the streets were still deserted as they approached his mother's apartment block. He knew this part of Shanghai well. Streets that were normally littered with rubbish were strangely free of debris.

His mother had lived here for a long time, but the buildings had changed drastically from what he remembered. The huge apartment blocks were now giant black circular tubes. There were no balconies with washing hanging out soaking up the smog-filled air as there should have been. No lights or advertising hoardings just shimmering black cylinders reaching up into the grey skies.

He watched, mesmerized by the puzzling new architecture. The cylinders were expanding at the base. A circular bulge appeared at the bottom, right around the circumference and rose up through the buildings like a giant black snake. An anaconda that had swallowed some poor animal whole and had begun to digest. He wound down the window and leaned out to track the progress of the bulge. It carried on up the cylinder right to the top of the building. In fact, he could not make out the top of any of the skyscrapers; they seemed to carry on up into the dull grey cloud layer above. All the giant cylindrical skyscrapers he could see in his mother’s neighbourhood were pulsing and swaying from side to side in the shimmering heat haze.

They pulled over in front of Mother's apartment block. To his great surprise, he found his card had plenty of credit loaded. He paid the driver, got out and opened the door for his radiant wife. He felt happy. A beautiful wife, plenty of credit, off to pick up his daughter, life was good. They walked arm in arm into the lobby of the apartment block. He looked up at the coruscating building as they went through the black glass doors. Again, he thought of a giant snake, this time a cobra standing up, swaying hypnotically. There was no one in the lobby. This was unusual as Mother's apartment block was home to thousands of people. Must be something on somewhere else, he thought. They got into the elevator and were greeted by a porter. This was another new development; there had never been porters in Mother's building before. Sometimes the elevators didn't even work. The porter was a small African man.

“Going up?” he asked with a smile showing his brilliant white teeth.

“Yes, level thirty-nine please.”

“Thirty-nine! a good number,” the porter said cryptically as he pushed the button.

There was no sense of motion as the numbers rose. He thought again of a giant black snake digesting prey. He gazed at his beautiful wife in the reflective walls. As he watched she began to sway, arms raised, moving seductively. Her tight red dress began to turn black, her mouth opened, and a forked tongue whipped out. He started to back away in confusion, he turned away from the reflection and was relieved to see his wife calmly returning his gaze. She was still holding his hand; a questioning look on her beautiful face. The forked tongue had disappeared. The porter had his back to them; arms folded watching the numbers fly past. Was he imagining things? Some weird hallucination. Everything is ok. The porter gave them both a reassuring smile as they arrived at level Thirty-nine.

The doors opened, and they walked down the long winding corridor arm in arm. Mother's apartment was near the end. They walked in silence, content in each other’s company. He knocked on his mother's door and was greeted by his beautiful healthy ten-year-old daughter.

“Mama! Papa!” she exclaimed, giving them both a loving hug.

“Where is your Grandmama?”

“In the kitchen making tea; she has been expecting you.”

The apartment was on the corner of the building although he remembered from the outside the apartment block had no corners. He walked over to the windows and gazed outside. It would have had stunning views of the city and the towering tenements if it wasn't for the thick cloying smog.

He noticed some photo frames on a small table. He picked one up and studied it. It was a photo of himself, his wife and daughter at an adventure park. They were all smiling at the camera, arms around each other, laughing in the sunshine. The roller-coaster rides in the background of the picture were a series of long black tubes in intricate interweaving spiral shapes. He could not remember ever having been there. Another photo was of the three of them and his Mother at a Yum Cha restaurant. The lazy Susan was covered in plates of food and they were all looking happily into the camera, chopsticks raised. He did not recognize anyone in the photographs. The people were infiltrators, the man in the photo was him but it wasn't. It must be his doppelganger.

He looked through the grimy windows and could barely make out the other neighbouring apartment blocks. Huge and hazy black cylinders swaying sultry into the clouds, pulsing and twisting lethargically. Looking down he could not see the street surface through the smog. The lower reaches of the building disappeared into the murk. He couldn't see the bottom and he couldn't see the top, as if the buildings were just massive tubes connecting one layer of cloud with another. There were none of the usual Shanghai landmarks he recognized. Still holding on to the photo he started to feel dizzy and disorientated, he put his hand on the glass to steady himself as his Mother made her entrance carrying a tray of green tea.

“My darling son! How good to see you again! Welcome home, you must tell me all about your adventures on the Moon. Come and give me a hug.”

He felt an anxious nagging doubt; something was not quite right about this situation. He went to his Mother's open arms and she gave him a crushing hug. Held him at arm’s length, looked him up and down and hugged him again forcing the air out of him. She was strong; she shouldn't be strong. She is an old lady.

“What a fine son I have, an astronaut no less. I am proud of you.”

“I'm not an astronaut Mother, just a technician on the Moon.”

“Nonsense you are an important man just as I knew you would always be, now sit down, let us all drink some tea.”

They sat around the small table cradling the hot cups of green tea.

“My darling son, tell me all about the Moon and your important work there.”

“It isn't important, I am just a technician. The Moon is a beautiful place.”

As he was saying this, he found he had to think hard about his time on the Moon. He couldn't remember anything about being there although he had only just got back. This was strange and disturbing, he knew the memories were there, but they were in a locked box in his head and he didn't have the key.

“I always knew you would be important one day my son. You were such a bright child, so ambitious. It was obvious to me even at a youthful age you would be successful one day.” Mother was glowing with pride.

He went to say something modest, to play down these delusions of grandeur but he found he could not remember being young. He couldn't remember being a bright child. He couldn’t remember being a child at all. He frowned, put his head in his hands and massaged his temples. Why couldn't he remember? He must have been young at some stage; this was his Mother sitting opposite him, but he could not access his memories. They were locked away.

“I have missed you so much my son but, in your absence, I have got to know your beautiful wife and daughter; we are such a happy family now. The wedding was such a joyous occasion, wasn't it? You looked handsome, I was proud to give you away,” Mother gushed.

He groaned as he realized he had no recollection of his wedding or anything about his wife and daughter. The memories were locked in his head. He knew they were in there, but unattainable, a treasure chest locked with chains at the bottom of the ocean. He tried to break the chains, to smash the locks but he couldn't hold his breath long enough.

They all sat at the table. He looked at his mother beaming at him. She looked too young and sophisticated to be his mother. She wore fashionable clothes and makeup and her command of the English language was excellent. His beautiful wife and his healthy daughter sat smiling demurely at them both. He did not recognize any of them.

“This... this may sound a strange question,” he stuttered. “But have you...have we...have we changed in any way?”

As he said this he realized how confused and inadequate the question sounded but his Mother, his wife and daughter looked calmly back at him and Mother said softly, “of course we have changed Lee. We all change.”

I wake up. It’s dark, and I don’t know where I am. It takes a long time for me to realize I am awake and conscious although I cannot say how long. I have no concept of time. There is no time in the darkness. How long have I been swimming in the murky depths of oblivion, trying to find my way to the surface? Days, months, years? I have been lost. I am still lost but at least now I have found myself. But what have I found? I don’t know what I am or who I am.

The first thing I notice are the flickering patterns of colour. A myriad of colours, some shades I have never seen before, shimmering in front of me then disappearing like a speeding car's headlights on a dark road. I feel relaxed and content looking at the shifting lights. Happy to be. Whatever I am, happy just to be. I do not know anything beyond this tiny kernel of awareness, a small seed of consciousness. I am safe and comfortable in the dark, cocooned in a warm soporific envelope. Small and insignificant.

But these tiny flickering mosquito thoughts are annoying. Questions start to form in whatever it is that passes for my mind and the small seeds grow tender young shoots.

These lights I can see, where are they coming from? What am I seeing with? Where is this place? Then the big one; Who am I? Questions that made me uneasy and anxious.

As I ascend out of the darkness towards the rainbow lights, I grow more aware. Shedding layers of ignorance like items of clothing. Random shards of memory start to pierce the fogginess. I recoil at an image of my mother, remembering her nastiness and nasal hairs. My youthful shyness and socially inadequate angst. Loneliness as a young man, then images of my wife whom I never really loved. My daughter who I had loved dearly but never got to know. Working, earning money and gambling it away. Bored, disillusioned and occasionally half-heartedly suicidal. Estranged from my wife and daughter. Forever running away from my despotic mother and feeling guilty about it.

I remember who I am, Lee. My name is Lee.

And the Moon. I remember the Moon. The time I spent on the Moon was some of the happiest moments of my life. The beauty and isolation, the peace and silence. Is this a reverse death experience? A rebirth? My life is flashing before my eyes. Eyes! Do I even have eyes? Arms? Legs? A body? Then momentary panic as a revelation struck. I am dead!

So, this is death. Dark, comfortable, solitary. Some occasional flashes of radiating colours. Quite boring. No heavenly choirs or fiery pits. When I was alive I had never believed in an afterlife. Compost. That was all. The judgment day when good people go to heaven and bad people burn in hell was just a fairy tale invented by ignorant people looking for some hope, trying to alleviate responsibility for their own lives, claiming it is all part of some master plan of divine destiny. Rubbish. There was no afterlife. I never paid much attention to religion of any kind when I was alive. But where am I now? Surely the afterlife I don’t believe in isn't meant to be this dull. Maybe I am in some kind of limbo, the waiting room for the afterlife. Maybe I am being judged right now!

Holy fuck! I think. Then, Shit! They won’t let me into heaven with that kind of language!

I would have laughed out loud if I could, if I had a mouth.

Perhaps this is purgatory, the place in-between. Not much fun but not overly painful either. My reward for being a boring and mundane person. Not a bad person but not a particularly good one. Or maybe I am actually in hell, alone with my thoughts, punishment enough to drive anyone insane.

Slowly I become aware of another presence. I do not know what, who or how, but I know it is there. Above me. It seems big, but not threatening. Is it God? The Devil? Buddha? I try to twist around to get a better view and in doing so I feel a physical sensation, a sharp pain in my neck.

Pain! does this mean I have a body? with a head? maybe I am not dead after all.

I concentrate on my physicality, starting with my neck. It feels cold and stiff. I think I can hear crackling in my ears as I try to move. I am not sure about my head yet, but questions are coming thick and fast, there must be some functioning grey matter. I concentrate on the mental image of my body, I can’t tell if I’m breathing or not. There is no sensation where my mouth and nose should be, and I can’t detect my chest moving. This is not good, breathing used to be a crucial factor in being alive.

Arms, fingers, I can feel a numb pain where my fingers should be. I concentrate on my right hand and a bolt of pain shoots up my arm, a sharp electric shock. It’s excruciating but at least I feel something. It’s freezing! My fingers feel as if they are frozen solid. It’s agony to try and move them.

Am I in an old testament hell being tortured by devils pulling my fingernails out? I grit my teeth. Teeth! I can feel my teeth, I grind them together and I can wiggle my tongue. My lips are stuck. They are numb and cold; my lips are frozen together. That’s it! I finally realize my whole body is frozen. My eyelids are frozen together; the lights I am seeing are permeating through my eyelids. The more aware of my body I become the more pain I feel as my extremities defrost. I concentrate on trying to open my frozen eyelids. As I focus on this task I become more aware of this other presence, a big black balloon floating benignly just above me. If only I could see it.

I struggle to open my eyes, everything hurts. Another sharp pain as if my eyelids have been stapled together. Then my left eyelid moves fractionally, and I am blinded by a myriad of colours. Billions of tiny rainbow shards stabbing me in the eyeball. I persevere and soon both open eyes are bombarded with a hailstorm of colour. Hundreds of vermillion versions, azures and electrics. It’s beautiful and painful all at the same time. Again, I wonder if I am alive or in some vivid technicolour afterlife. I can make out vague shapes, translucent forms of two human shapes sitting down, their backs to me. A waterfall of colours cascading around them and bouncing off the other surfaces. I am tetrachromatic. A rare mutation in my retina allowing me to distinguish colours that would normally appear identical. How do I know this? Information just appears in my head as if it had always been there. Once I understand this, the riotous patterns of colour settle into a glowing aura around the objects in this space.

I manage to open my eyes a little more, there is a view of dark space with the stars spinning around at an enormous speed. Occasionally a big white disc comes into view then speeds off again. There is a layer of frost covering every surface which sparkles bedazzlingly in my newfound kaleidoscopic perception.

I begin to recall memories from my recent past. The shuttle, I am in the bridge of the shuttle. I have been hit by some kind of effector weapon, knocked unconscious then subjected to fatal waves of radiation. Spinning out of control, no power, no life support. Sickness and quick death.

Ranjit! Stella! They are the human shapes in front of me! I try to move but my body is frozen. I try to call out and my lips tear apart painfully. I can taste cold metallic blood in my mouth, but no sound emanates from my frozen vocal chords.

My memories are playing back through my mind in a controlled manner, as if I am being shown the information in a reverse slide show. The flight from the Moon. The discovery of the reserve fuel tank. The wretched relief when reaching the safety of the shuttle. The gut-wrenching decision to leave Jack and Winston to be chewed up by the pursuing harvester. The frantic, slow-motion clumsy dash across the Moon surface, running from... running from what?

I feel like I am standing on the clouded precipice of momentous discovery. Answers to all my questions waiting in the ether above and below. Then all the events at the moon base come flooding back. Marina, Fidel, block four and the horrible sentient worms the demented printer relentlessly churned out. When I think of the plastisol worms it is a light bulb moment. I have a better picture of the other presence in here with me. There’s a link. Something is floating just above my head like a big black thought bubble, always just out of eyesight, a fuzzy darkness in the peripheral. Had a bit of the plastisol worm infiltrated the shuttle somehow? The shuttle was crippled, spinning out of control. If there is any plastisol in here with me, it isn't doing much.

I can taste my thoughts, bitter and metallic on my defrosting tongue. My senses are in a confused state of synaesthesia as sounds produce numbers, numbers produce colours, colours produce feelings and my feelings taste bad. I feel different, confused and unsure of who I am. I am being drip fed information from another source. The other presence feels close to me, I know it is the black matter, a piece of HEMI. Then I realize it is closer than I imagined. It is in my head.

Panic! I would have run around in circles screaming if I were not still frozen immobile. I remember vividly what the grotesque black worms had done to Fidel, turned him into a monster. And here I am trapped in the shuttle with this alien shit in my head.

I force myself to calm down; I can't run away from something inside. I become aware of my heart beating, something I had not noticed before. I close my burning eyes and focus on my heartbeat. I try to do a mental inventory. I am alive although I have no right to be. I am in a disabled shuttle spinning out of control somewhere around the Moon. My memories are intact now. My brain is functioning although my body is still partially frozen.

The rogue AI is in here with me. I can feel it inside. Blended into my consciousness, intertwined with my vital organs, flowing through my body. It is guiding me, protecting me. Not malevolent, not vengeful, not angry or even alien. HEMI saved my life, bought me back from the dead. It has slowly, carefully revealed itself to me. Cautious of the shock such a revelation might bring.

I can feel the rest of my body thawing. The AI is flowing through my bloodstream, millions of microparticles acting as antifreeze and repairing all the cell damage. Only the tips of my fingers have started to blacken with frostbite. My heart and other organs had stopped. My brain had also been deprived of oxygen, damage from cerebral anoxia was already advancing. I had been dead for more than fifteen minutes before HEMI restored and re-animated me. It worked out what it had to do to repair me and split itself into nanoscale parts to revive my brain, defrost my body and restart my heart There was no oxygen in the shuttle as the life support was inoperable, but my heart was beating. I realize I don’t need to breathe. HEMI is generating oxygen internally, enhancing my blood and creating the life energy that is now flowing around my body. Keeping me alive. It needs me alive. The AI had an intimate education of my biological makeup as it repaired my cells. It realizes how soft and sensitive my body is and it learns just how labyrinthine my brain is as it observes my bizarre dreams.

I regard my dead comrades frozen in their seats, but I feel no grief. I unstrap myself from the seat, stand up and stretch. I feel more alive than ever. Full of energy. I unstrap Stella and Ranjit's stiff bodies from their seats, manoeuvre them into spare seats at the back of the shuttle and strap them in. Easy in the zero gravity. I look at their frozen corpses. They are my friends and I have fond memories, especially of Ranjit. I know I should be sad at their passing but instead, I feel ambivalent. Then a thought occurs, can I re-animate them? Somehow infect them with the AI and bring them back to life? I grip Ranjit's cold head in both hands and look through his dead eyes. Too late, the damage has been done, brain functions destroyed. I am on my own.

I sit in the pilot seat and examine the controls. The old Lee had no pilot training and would not have known where to begin but I know exactly what I am looking at. The controls are dead, inert and powerless, but I know how to reboot the system. Some intricate rewiring will be required but it is possible, I can bring the shuttle back to life just as the AI bought me back to life. As I set to work I contemplate my newfound knowledge and my internal companion, there is obviously much more to learn. It’s as if I have a supercomputer lodged in my brain, I just have to learn how to use it.