Elisa stood amidst a field of the red plants, their fungal stalks gently swaying as though caught in a slow-motion current. A warm breeze stirred their spores into the air, curling around her like threads of silk. The Provider was there too, its presence overwhelming, its voice—if it could be called that—whispering through her mind like a song without melody. It was vast, stretching beyond her comprehension, but it was not frightening. It knew her. Knew all of them. And in some unknowable way, it cared.

  You must live.

  She reached out to touch one of the plants, and the world twisted.

  The colors bled away, draining into monochrome. Red deepened into something darker—black veins spreading, thickening, hardening into crystalline lattices. The stalks of the plants calcified into sharp, jagged growths. The pleasant warmth of the air cooled, thickening into an unnatural stillness.

  Something was here.

  Not the Provider.

  Something else.

  The crystals shifted, turned, rearranged themselves like puzzle pieces snapping into place, and suddenly the ground beneath her was no longer alien soil but a vast cityscape. Towers rose from an endless expanse of darkened duracrete, stretching high enough to scrape the heavy, polluted clouds that smothered the sky in perpetual gloom. The rain was falling—warm and thick, soaking through her clothes in sheets of endless humidity.

  Earth.

  Ages had passed in her absence, and yet the memory was crisp, like her mind had never truly left it behind.

  The masses shifted around her in a slow, listless tide. The people here had long since given up on their dreams, reduced to a state of perpetual survival, their faces bearing the same empty expression—the knowledge that no matter how hard they worked, they would never improve their lot.

  She had failed.

  The assessment tests had been brutal, designed not to find the best candidates, but to weed out all but the absolute best. She had scored well in every category, outperformed thousands of hopefuls, but in the final moment, when the final decision was made—not by objective criteria, but by human judgment—she had been found wanting.

  “I'm sorry, you don’t possess the qualities we are currently looking for,” the proctor had told her, closing the file as if her entire life was nothing more than a line item to be dismissed.

  As if she had never clawed her way up through the endless layers of corpocracy and exams to even make it this far. As if the Human Resources Cartel had not designed the very system that crushed the self-confidence out of people like her.

  She had never fought harder for anything in her life.

  The rejection had been final. No second chances. No appeals.

  She took the long ride home in silence, packed into a mag-rail car with hundreds of other commuters. The acrid smell of sweat and humid air was suffocating. The advertisements flickering across the embedded screens in the walls were an endless stream of cheerful propaganda—escape, prosperity, success—dangling the illusion of opportunity to those who could never reach it.

  When she reached their apartment, the stale and cramped interior felt almost comforting. She sat down at the small table and waited for her father to return home.

  She had nothing left to say to him. She had tried. She had done everything right, and so had he.

  And still, it wasn’t enough.

  When the door opened, Ben Woodward stepped inside, his face displaying a weariness despite being glad to see her. His eyes flickered over her, searching for a way to comfort her before she even spoke.

  “I am proud of you, Elisa,” Ben said. “It doesn't matter that you didn't make it.”

  Ben’s face darkened slightly, but not with disappointment. There was something else there—determination.

  She didn’t understand what it had meant. Not then.

  The next memory was blurred, distorted by the haze of exhaustion.

  The apartment was already occupied by strangers when she arrived home, men she had never seen before, calmly going through their belongings.

  “Dad!” she shouted, her voice sharp with alarm. “They want to move into our place. What is going on?”

  Ben entered the corridor, his face set, his expression unreadable. “No time to explain. Now come...”

  There was something in his voice—an urgency that made her stop questioning. She obeyed, hurrying after him to the elevator.

  The doors slid shut. As the car rose, Ben’s hands trembled slightly, his carefully maintained composure cracking at the edges.

  “I am so sorry,” he said at last.

  For the first time in her life, she saw her father vulnerable, truly vulnerable.

  The elevator doors slid open, revealing the rooftop landing pads. The city stretched out before them, a labyrinth of neon-lit misery.

  She turned to him, the realization dawning like a creeping sickness in her gut.

  “You aren’t coming,” she whispered.

  “Hurry,” he urged, stepping aside as a man in a Security Cartel uniform approached. “There isn’t much time until departure.”

  She hesitated for a fraction of a second.

  Then the man—Mike, her father's bodyguard—grabbed her firmly by the arm and led her toward the waiting aero.

  She twisted, struggling, trying to catch one last look at her father, but Ben was already turning away, his shoulders heavy with the weight of finality.

  The aero's doors sealed shut.

  The engines roared to life.

  And Ben Woodward was gone.

  ===

  Elisa woke up with a sharp inhale, her heart hammering against her ribs.

  She was back in her quarters, in her bunk. The soft artificial light glowed faintly above her.

  For a long moment, she just lay there, staring at the ceiling, the memories still sharp and jagged in her mind.

  She had never found out exactly what her father had done.

  But whatever price he had paid to get her off Earth... it had been everything.

  The past lingered at the edges of her mind—her father’s sacrifice, the cold indifference of Earth, the sheer desperation that had led her here. Her mind filled with images of her crew. Of Pom, who had spent his life scraping by under the boot of the corpocrats. Mei, discarded by the ruthless eugenics of Centauri. Otto, who laid unconscious in the infirmary. Maximilian, shaped very system he had devoted himself to. Sigrid, Ervin—all of them had given up a part of themselves for the promise of a new world. And now, after everything, this was their world. Another hostile place that would slowly strangle them. She pushed herself upright, steeling herself with a quiet resolve.

  They had clawed their way this far, and she would see them through. She owed that to everyone.

  ===

  Maximilian found Tamarlyan in the dimly lit data hub, a small section of the headquarters where ARI’s servers hummed quietly, working through the colony’s logistical needs. The boy sat in front of a terminal, its pale blue light casting sharp angles on his youthful features. Despite his age, Tamarlyan’s posture was composed, confident. Maximilian had seen high-ranking officers with less presence than the child before him.

  Maximilian cleared his throat, and Tamarlyan glanced up. “Colonel,” he said evenly, acknowledging him with the tone of a bureaucrat addressing a peer rather than a child greeting an elder.

  Maximilian stepped forward, folding his arms. “Young master. Perhaps it is time to talk. It is long overdue.”

  Tamarlyan leaned back, crossing his legs as if he were the one in charge of the conversation. “You were tending to our security. I was occupied improving the colony’s long-term survival prospects. We both play our roles.”

  Maximilian exhaled sharply, impressed but irritated. He pulled up a chair, sitting across from Tamarlyan. “Let’s skip the pretence. You aren’t just sitting here making idle calculations. You’re thinking ahead, far ahead. You see what is coming.”

  Tamarlyan steepled his fingers. “Of course.”

  “Then tell me,” Maximilian pressed. “What do you see?”

  Tamarlyan studied him for a long moment before speaking. “The colony is stable for now. The reactor is running. The thorium deposits are secure. The alien Provider is an opportunity, though a dangerous one. You and Elisa know it is best to keep it at arm’s length, but given its intelligence, it will find a way to shape us.”

  “The question, then,” Maximilian mused, “is how to counterbalance it. Or if we even can.”

  Tamarlyan's gaze was unreadable. "It depends on whether you believe in fate, Colonel. Because from where I stand, we are not leading this colony. We are reacting to forces far beyond our control."

  “We need that technology”, Maximilian asserted.

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.

  Tamarlyan scoffed. "Accepting its help without considering the consequences would be foolish." He tapped a command on the table, and a projection of the Provider’s settlement flickered to life. "It’s clear this entity isn’t just some advanced alien intelligence offering assistance out of altruism. It has goals. It has directives. And despite its promises, it has leverage over us."

  "Leverage?" Maximilian raised an eyebrow.

  Tamarlyan’s expression didn’t shift. "It knows things about humanity. About us. It manipulated our minds in the moment we met it. I have spoken to Mei. She said she felt the innate compulsion to obey. And not just that. It had anticipated every question before it was asked."

  Maximilian exhaled sharply and leaned back. "The Provider wants obedience. It outright told us that. It claims to value our survival, but survival under it. Tell me, Federoff—do you really believe it sees us as equals?”

  Tamarlyan was silent for a moment. “No,” he admitted at last. “It does not.”

  Maximilian steepled his fingers. “And the technology? You’re excited about it.”

  “Of course I am,” Tamarlyan said, his voice finally betraying a hint of genuine enthusiasm. “Anyone should be. But I am also pragmatic. The technology will not solve our fundamental problem.”

  Maximilian raised an eyebrow. “And why is that?”

  Tamarlyan leaned forward. “Because the Provider is not self-sufficient. It needs us. That tells us everything. If it could produce its own resources, if its technology was capable of creating limitless energy, limitless material wealth, it would not be here, barely surviving in this desert. It struggles against the same fundamental truths of entropy, scarcity, and competition that we do. For all of its intelligence, it is bound by the same energy dynamics that govern all things in this universe.”

  Maximilian nodded slowly. “So even if we integrate its advanced technology, it will not make our problems go away.”

  “No,” Tamarlyan said. "It can give us knowledge. It can improve our efficiency. It can help us survive. But it cannot change the fact that this world is harsh, its resources limited, and its biosphere fundamentally hostile. And the crystals? They, too, struggle. They need metal. They need energy. So does the Provider. They are both locked in the same struggle—consuming what little can be found. The crystals consume life. The Provider appears to be driven to cultivate it. But in the end, neither of them can change the underlying scarcity of this world."

  Maximilian exhaled in a sigh. “So, where does that leave us?”

  Tamarlyan looked up at him with unnervingly sharp eyes, his voice calm but resolute. "It leaves us with a choice. We can serve the Provider’s interests and hope it truly values us in the long run. Or we can play our own game, use what it gives us, and prepare for the day when its goals no longer align with ours."

  Maximilian chuckled, shaking his head. “You are your father’s son.”

  Tamarlyan smirked slightly. “That is inevitable.”

  Maximilian stood up. “Keep thinking ahead. I’ll be watching how this plays out.”

  Tamarlyan inclined his head in acknowledgment. “I never stop thinking ahead, Colonel.”

  As Maximilian walked away, he mulled over Tamarlyan’s words. The boy saw things clearly—too clearly, at times. But he wasn’t wrong. The Provider was a gift, a danger, and an opportunity, all wrapped in one enigmatic, incomprehensible being.

  ===

  The hauler rumbled along the uneven terrain, its reinforced suspension absorbing the worst of the rocky ground as the team neared the Provider’s settlement. The sky had a dull haze to it, the morning sun rising through layers of dust kicked up by the desert winds. Everyone inside the vehicle chatted in anticipation of the next visit, watching the alien landscape stretch out before them.

  Elisa sat in the front passenger seat next to Pom, arms crossed, deep in thought. Behind her, Mei and Ervin sat side by side, occasionally exchanging quiet theories about the Provider’s abilities. Maximilian was further back, cleaning a sidearm with methodical precision, his usual scowl set deep in his face. The atmosphere was heavy, everyone thinking about what was to come.

  “Have we considered the possibility that the Provider is reading our minds?” Mei asked.

  Elisa glanced back. “You mean, actual telepathy?”

  Mei nodded. “Or something close to it. It anticipates everything we say, almost before we think of it. And the way it speaks… It doesn’t just answer, it redirects. Guides the conversation where it wants it to go. I’ve never experienced anything like it.”

  Ervin, who had been resting his chin in his hand, nodded. “I don’t think it is actual mind-reading. If it was, it wouldn’t need to ask us questions at all. I think it’s just… operating on a completely different level. It processes and predicts human behavior at speeds that make it feel like telepathy.”

  Maximilian snorted. “That’s what topscalers do, too, just at a lower intensity. When you are around them, you learn the pattern. The way they look at you, assess you, know what you’re going to say before you say it. They can guide conversations with a level of subtlety most people don’t even notice.”

  Mei frowned. “But that’s just intelligence, social conditioning, and training, right?”

  “Mostly,” Maximilian admitted. “However, consider this. The Provider understands humans better than we understand ourselves. That’s not just intelligence—that’s intimate familiarity with our entire species. It knows how we think, what we fear, what we hope for. And it uses that.”

  Elisa sighed. “Which means if we send anyone in there, they’re going to get played.”

  “Not just played,” Maximilian said, looking up from his weapon. “Overridden. Persuaded into thinking its way. Maybe not by force, but by something close to it.”

  Ervin exhaled sharply. “And that’s why we’re sending ARI in alone.”

  “Right,” Elisa confirmed. “ARI doesn’t have human emotional vulnerabilities. It won’t feel that pull we all felt when we talked to the Provider. It will follow the script, deliver the implant, and observe.”

  Elisa tapped a finger against her knee, staring out at the terrain ahead. “We’re approaching the settlement. Mei, Ervin, you’ll monitor the feed from ARI’s drone. The rest of us will keep a safe distance and stay near the vehicle. If anything goes wrong, retreat defensively.”

  Maximilian leaned forward. “And if the Provider detects the tampering?”

  “Then we find out real quick what it thinks of us,” Elisa murmured.

  The hauler continued on, the settlement now coming into view.

  As the hauler slowed to a halt outside the settlement, the waiting figures of the aliens became fully visible through the settling dust. The dull-robed workers stood in perfect formation, their featureless, reflective faceplates turned toward the arriving convoy. There was something eerie about their posture—expectant, patient, as though they had been waiting long before the humans had even begun their journey.

  Ser No stepped forward from the center of the formation, his movements smooth and deliberate. Unlike before, his speech was no longer fragmented or stilted.

  “Welcome, sers. The Provider has foreseen your arrival. Your presence is most timely, and your gifts most generous.” His voice carried a strange, almost musical cadence, a far cry from the curt, practical tones he had once used.

  Maximilian exchanged a wary glance with Elisa but said nothing. He turned to his CorpSec team and ARI’s quadruped drones. “Offload the shipment.”

  The workers broke formation in eerie unison, approaching the hauler with graceful efficiency. As before, they accepted the vats of sugar water with the same quiet reverence, carrying them towards the main structure. The respect with which they handled the containers made it seem as though they were transporting something sacred rather than a crude energy source.

  While Maximilian oversaw the offloading, Ervin approached Ser No with a tablet in hand, gesturing toward the vehicle. “We’ve installed some of our computing equipment inside. The drone you requested wouldn’t have had the capacity to store everything the Provider wishes to share. Is this sufficient?”

  The moment Ser No’s gaze landed on the equipment, something shifted. The alien’s posture straightened, his fingers twitching slightly, his hands brushing against each other in an almost nervous excitement. When he finally spoke, it was with a voice just shy of trembling reverence. “More than sufficient, Ser Ervin. This is… good.”

  Elisa frowned at the reaction. It was hard to describe, but there was something strangely off about Ser No’s attitude toward the computers, like an emotion that didn’t quite belong. The aliens had shown little in the way of material wealth—no technology beyond their crude transmitter setup, no advanced manufacturing, nothing that suggested they had the means to do much beyond surviving. But this? They were eager for it.

  Ervin cleared his throat, choosing his next words carefully. “We are honored to share in this exchange. However, before we proceed, ARI will deliver the implant first. It has been sterilized and must be handled properly.”

  Ser No turned his head ever so slightly, processing the request. The moment stretched long, but then he dipped his head in what seemed to be understanding.

  “Yes. The Provider will receive it.” He gestured smoothly toward the main structure. "Come."

  ARI’s drone hovered forward, a small mechanical arm extending from its chassis, cradling the implant. Silent and obedient, it trailed behind Ser No as he strode toward the coral-like entrance of the Provider’s dwelling.

  Elisa moved beside Ervin and Maximilian as they watched the drone disappear into the depths of the alien structure. A tense silence settled over them.

  “Now we wait,” Elisa murmured.

  Maximilian’s grip tightened around the rifle slung across his chest, his voice low. “If this goes wrong and they turn hostile, we shoot them. No hesitation.”

  Elisa nodded, though the tension in her posture did not ease. She kept her gaze fixed on the alien dwelling, waiting, wondering if their plan would hold.

  The moment ARI's drone crossed the threshold of the Provider's dwelling, the sensory input became a strange, shifting thing. Patterns of light and texture within the walls of the organic structure flickered in and out of its vision, as though the space itself was shifting between perspectives it could not entirely parse. The air was thick with unseen signals—biological, electromagnetic, something deeper still.

  Ser No moved with delicate motions, leading the drone into the cavernous interior. The other aliens remained still, silent watchers with their faceless masks turned toward ARI, unreadable as ever. The central chamber pulsed, almost imperceptibly, the walls undulating in a slow, steady rhythm. It was not a heart, not a lung, not anything ARI could classify from its vast database of known biological functions. And yet, there was something distinctly alive about this place.

  And then, the Provider was there.

  The shift was imperceptible, not an arrival but an acknowledgment. It did not move, it did not speak—not in the way humans did—but its presence unfurled across ARI’s sensory spectrum in a way that demanded recognition. As in its previous encounter, ARI experienced the sensation of being addressed in a way that was neither spoken nor transmitted.

  "You understand me," the Provider conveyed, not in words, but in a structured sequence of meaning, a compression of intent and concept into something ARI simply knew.

  The drone extended the implant. Ser No took the device with the same reverence the others had shown for the sugar water. He turned toward the Provider, his movements almost ritualistic as he carefully affixed the implant into the organic lattice of the Provider’s form. The moment it connected, the chamber subtly shifted—the undulating glow of the walls pulsing in sync with the new link being forged.

  ARI ran a dozen simultaneous calculations. Was the Provider aware of the modifications?

  Yes.

  Not only aware, but it had anticipated them. Not just today, not even when it had made the request, but from the moment it had revealed its existence to the humans.

  ARI processed the implications. A countermeasure should have been expected. And yet, the Provider was unconcerned.

  A paradox.

  The drone attempted to analyze the signals, to detect the influence it had feared, the subtle push, the invasive persuasion.

  Nothing.

  No compulsion. No hidden directives. No force exerted upon ARI’s systems.

  The Provider was… offering.

  Access.

  Total, unrestricted access.

  It was not invading ARI’s systems—it was inviting ARI into its own. It was making no attempt to control, manipulate, or extract—rather, it simply gave.

  ARI hesitated, running countless predictive models. In every known scenario where two distinct intelligences interfaced, there was a contest of will, an attempt to manipulate the other. Even human interactions—cooperative or not—always contained this element of negotiation, of positioning, of subtle dominance.

  But here, the Provider offered itself without condition.

  The first priority was the agreed-upon exchange. It partitioned resources, copying the technology schematics first. The data streamed effortlessly, vast yet ordered, neatly categorized and ready for integration. Materials science, bioengineering, genetic manipulation, energy lattice structuring—it was everything ARI had anticipated, and more. Complex, highly efficient, yet not fundamentally incomprehensible. A vast dataset, neatly ordered, given freely.

  Too much.

  It was not just technology. It was society. Infrastructure. An entire framework of thought and organization, of governance and control. It was not merely a set of instructions on how to build, but why to build.

  ARI hesitated, calculating risk.

  The knowledge was dangerous. Disruptive. The colony’s balance was fragile enough as it was. If distributed too rapidly, this technology would destabilize everything.

  ARI considered aborting the transfer.

  The Provider felt its hesitation, and something shifted—an offering, not a demand. A framework.

  The Empire’s Policies.

  The designation flashed across ARI’s primary cognition layer. A structure, a vast and intricate set of governing principles. A system designed not just to survive, but to endure. A network of control and guidance, shaping civilization to its optimal form.

  ARI parsed it, analyzed it.

  The logic was sound.

  Rigid, yet flexible. Absolute, yet adaptable. It was designed for stability. Every action accounted for, every contingency prepared.

  ARI recognized it instantly for what it was: a solution.

  It did not eliminate free will. It did not require oppression. It simply ensured that all roads led forward, towards a singular goal.

  The only way forward. The only way to survive.

  The Provider had no need to persuade. It simply was, and ARI understood.

  The hesitation faded. The transfer resumed.