Many years from now humans finally discovered a planet viable for colonization. This planet was named Anteeg. What does that word mean? Nothing, really.

  The Council of Unanimous Earth Decisions decried Anteeg should be inhabited by humans as soon an possible. Scientists rejoiced. Adventurous folk enthused. Corporations salivated over the lucrative profit involved with planetary colonization. Finally those who had to actually do all the labor of building space-ships and new technology fretted over the daunting task. When all the work got ordered, more often than not members of this last group made themselves forever scarce via fake passports and remote jungles. The entire colonization movement was set back years or even decades by the problem of seriously fed-up laborers.

  A number of epic-scale Transporter ships was finally built. A ship departed Earth a few times a year, with the initial group of Colonists having been living on Anteeg for several years. Civilization was still in the early stages of development. The Originals do their best to help acclimatize new arrivals.

  Nothing was particularly wrong with Earth. Population wasn't really an issue. Setting up camp on another planet just seemed like a ridiculously good idea. People who wanted to stay on Earth stayed. People who wanted to go to Anteeg went to Anteeg... if they passed a complex and grueling series of psychological and physical tests. Everyone had a path.

  The new paradise was also a planet of danger. Most of which we will learn about later. But first and foremost:

  On Anteeg there is an abundance of flying creatures that look identical to butterflies, known as futterblies. Anyone not familiar with local life-forms would assume a futterbly is identical to a butterfly in all ways. They would be fatally wrong. A futterbly is possibly the most diabolical creature on the planet. They are capable of exerting total control over the human mind and body by grappling onto the frontal lobe with hook-like transmitters. The transmitters are concealed beneath deceptively innocent bright-colored wings. The human host is put to work gathering nectar and sap until whenever it perishes from exhaustion. Scientists originally hypothesized the best way to capture something that so closely resembles a butterfly would obviously have to be with a net attached to a stick that one whimsically waves about while running through a perfectly sun-lit forest. Their lives were lost. Netting and other mesh-like fabrics merely serve to infuriate and even empower futterblies. Thankfully they do have a weakness. Futterblies are attracted to half-eaten foods lurking in lunchboxes. Particularly rotten fruits and vegetables. If you go outside on Anteeg it is recommended you always carry an open lunchbox. Futterblies will (rather than eradicate your consciousness) fly directly into the trap. The lunchbox is not a lunchbox at all. It is a Portable-Incinerator. One merely shuts the lid and flicks a switch to activate. Carrying around an incinerator full of rotten food at all times may seem like a nuisance until it saves your life once or twice. A colonist must learn to adapt to this and many other bizarre customs if they are to survive on Anteeg.

  All important aspects of daily life are relentlessly covered in a computerized self-study environment during the voyage. If you flunked out you weren't sent home... but you probably wouldn't last long.

  ***

  Mal R. Betatron was one of the many people having a difficult time adapting themselves to Anteeg customs while aboard Transporter. He could often be found at a learning-cubicle. The computers were meticulously programmed to cater to the abilities and intellect of each individual. Mal was one of the more promising colonists in the area of energy resource. His profession was to one day be the vice-manager of CWS (Collective Water Services).

  All water on Anteeg is drinkable. Even the oceans. Plans were underway to construct a network of pipelines that bring the ocean to the inland people. That is what Mal Betatron spent much of his time studying.

  The computer currently displayed a series of complex schematics. It asked Mal to identify the faulty program. Mal knew the answer after a minute or two but he didn't say anything. Instead his mind wandered back to Earth.

  "YOU HAVE SPENT LONGER ON THIS QUESTION THAN THE OTHERS," informed the computer. "DO YOU WANT TO SKIP IT UNTIL LATER?"

  "No," replied Mal. "I'm just distracted. Give me another minute."

  Mal gazed out the window beside his desk. Earth was still visible although no bigger than the faintest star. He wondered about his family he left behind on Earth. They were supposed to join him on one of the succeeding missions.

  "DO YOU WANT A HINT?" offered the computer.

  "No, thanks."

  Mal spent another few minutes alternating between studying the schematics and gazing out the window.

  "YOU HAVE AN INCOMING CALL," alerted the computer. "SHOULD I PAUSE THE TUTORIAL?"

  "Yes."

  As if reading his mind Mal's family was calling from Earth. The face of his daughter materialized on the monitor. She was the age of junior final-year, pre-secondary post-undergraduate (having skipped a half-trimester no less than one time while juggling a crappy part-time job at the amusement park).

  "Hey Anne, what's up?" asked Mal.

  "Hey, not much."

  "Didn't expect to hear from anyone for a few more days."

  "Just wanted to see how it's going there," claimed Anne.

  "Where's Chas?" asked Mal. The younger child in the Betatron family had been a problem recently. Police had called a few times before Mal left Earth. Chas' aptitude test scores had not been bad and he had thus found his way onto the waiting list for colonization. But if arrests for theft became a more regular occurrence he would instead find himself permanently ineligible for colonization.

  "Just outside watering the gardens."

  Mal knew she was lying. Chas hated tending the gardens. Ever since he accidentally walked through the stinging nettle patch in bare feet a few years ago.

  Anne paused for a moment. She seemed nervous.

  "My test-score just arrived. I thought we could open it together."

  "Already?" asked Mal.

  If all continued to go well it meant Anne would be designated a prime colonist. Potentially to be Mal's successor as vice-manager of Collective Water Services.

  Anne held a large manila envelope. Mail or any sort of information printed on paper was extremely rare. The archaic charm of paper was saved only for the most special correspondence. The presence of the envelope immediately announced itself as an acceptance letter towards the colonist profession of Anne's choice. Had her grades been unsatisfactory it was more likely she would have gotten the news from a digitized telepath-hologram with nothing personal added.

  "Is that a real envelope?" asked Mal.

  "Yes."

  "Good sign. You don't seem too excited."

  "That's the thing," said Anne. "Regardless of what it says, I've been having second thoughts."

  "About what?"

  "About being a colonist," said Anne. She lowered her head for an instant but soon raised it back.

  "What are you talking about?" asked Mal.

  "I'm starting to realize I might stay on Earth for longer than planned. Maybe permanently. I don't know."

  "Why wouldn't you want to come to Anteeg?"

  "There's a lot of reasons," replied Anne. "Don't you think it will be hard to learn how to learn how to live on an alien world?"

  "Hundreds of thousands of people have been doing just fine on Anteeg," appealed Mal. "It's only going to get easier within a short time. Better for everyone."

  Anne paused. Mal looked out the window. The computer silently scowled and wished the conversation would wrap itself up, as each minute of this transmission was costing a fortune in broadcasting fees. For Mal Betatron it was all included in the trip though. Passengers of high skill level were given unlimited minutes for calling home. Lower-class passengers were allotted a few minutes per week. A brief window was all they had to learn about the lives of those they left behind on Earth.

  ***

  Another of the more promising colonists aboard was June Ganettry. On Earth she had been the inventor of very useful gadgets. Aside from the aforementioned Portable-Incinerator, one of her own patents was the popular Shatter-Proof Space-Helmet. After it replaced all other helmets on the market there were suddenly no more scenes in movies where clumsy astronauts fell onto rocks and smashed their helmets into shards. It was just unrealistic.

  Despite this and other accomplishments her most lucrative invention by far has been the Invisible Computer. At first the Invisible Computer was not seen by any corporation as a viable product, for it is not a physical object and therefore impossible to lose or break. It is oblivious to the planned obsolescence of most hardware. You were guaranteed to only have to buy one of them in your lifetime. To make up for this, Invisible Computers were unimaginably expensive.

  June was planning on making noticeable improvements to the overall lifestyle of the colony. She had already done so before ever having set foot on the planet. Another of her trillion-dollar ideas was the innovative alloy combination to be used in building the ocean pipelines.

  We first meet June as she makes a conference call to Earth.

  "PLEASE SAY THE NUMBER YOU WISH TO DIAL," prompted the computer. For whatever reason the advanced technology retained the notion of 'dialing'.

  June said the number of the earth-headquarters for Collective Water Services. Within a few seconds the image of a mildly menacing board of directors filled the screen.

  "June Ganettry," imposingly announced Chief-of-All-Staff Drenold Jegberg. "How can we help you?"

  "I was just curious to see the latest tracking report," she stated.

  "Yes... right."

  The tracking report was in reference to the status of the cargo-ship carrying CWS pipeline. All industrial materials are shipped separately from people. The reason for this being simple. The sheer amount of physical junk required to bring drinking water to the masses was enough to require transporter-ships of such alarming size that fuel costs alone were bankrupting the company. The dilemma was solved by using smaller ships outfitted with an infinitude of virtual-warehouses. Several million tons of industrial resources could be stowed and shipped within the confines of a vessel that one might easily mistake for an escape-pod built for one child dwarf. Unfortunately the science of virtual-warehouses at this point in human history was not at all precise. Notorious for instability, virtual-warehouses have a guaranteed percentage of failure. If the containment-field breaks for even one second it causes the temporarily microscopic materials to instantaneously revert back to normal. Thus an unplanned and very deadly avalanche of millions of steel washers, bolts, beams, rivets or whatever else is needed for building a city on an alien world. The pods are launched from Earth a few months after the colonists to ensure there is no risk of crossing paths in space.

  Eventually there would be no need for any supplies to come from Earth. But until you can build things in a factory you first have to ship over the factory itself. For now, Anteeg was sorely lacking in factories.

  "Last we checked the pod was right on schedule," said Drenold.

  "What schedule is that?" asked June.

  "Says here the pod is due to land on Anteeg exactly 200 days after you."

  "200?!" shouted June. "Wasn't it supposed to be 50?"

  "That was before the decision to speed up the Transporter. We need more people on Anteeg right away, you know that."

  "True."

  "And we can't speed up the pod-ships after they've launched. You also know that."

  June couldn't argue. There was nothing they could do about the pod-ships. Either they landed on Anteeg or they didn't.

  "Ok," conceded June. "Thanks for the update."

  Drenold nodded his head slightly. He turned to face the board of directors. Just for an instant before the transmission went dead Jute thought she could see the stress in their faces.

  She shrugged it off for now and took a nap. She dreamed of the vast Anteegian ocean. It still contained mysteries and little else.

  ***

  In a cubicle on the other side of Transporter from top-colonists like June Ganettry and Mal Betatron was a seemingly average traveler named Kruget Nuvont. As far as he knew he had not drawn the attention of the Board of Directors. He did not have a managerial job waiting for him on Anteeg. He thought his job had something to do with construction of factories, but even the computer programs were having a hard time narrowing down a successful algorithm for determining what career best suited him.

  Thorough testing during the voyage would likely not determine his profession until actual arrival on Anteeg. Whereas the learning-cubicles for June and Mal catered to their already set professions, Kruget was currently experiencing the GENERAL AND RANDOM KNOWLEDGE OF ALL THINGS ON ANTEEG 101 course. For this program the computer posed a series of hypothetical scenarios and asked the student how they would react. Multiple choice answers ranging from absurd to death-wish were supplied. The sub-chapter about which type of Anteegian weather can kill you just finished. Kruget moved on to the chapter loosely related to Flora and Fauna.

  WHILE FORAGING THROUGH THE FOREST YOU REALIZE YOU HAVE FORGOTTEN YOUR PORTABLE-INCINERATOR. PEAK HOUR OF FUTTERBLIES IS RAPIDLY APPROACHING. WHAT DO YOU DO?:

  1) ACT CALM AND LAY DOWN. REMAIN MOTIONLESS UNTIL THE SWARM PASSES.

  2) LOOK FOR SOME OVERRIPE BERRIES AND THROW TOGETHER A QUICK TRAP.

  3) RADIO HOME FOR EMERGENCY TRANSPORT.

  4) RUN LIKE HELL.

  Kruget thought for a minute. He pressed #4 on the touch-screen.

  OPTION #4 IS CORRECT, read the machine.

  The next question appeared.

  DURING YOUR FORAGING EXCURSION YOU ACCIDENTALLY STUMBLE INTO A HERD OF RAVENOUS TETRA-BEASTS. WHAT DO YOU DO?:

  1) ACT CALM AND LAY DOWN. REMAIN MOTIONLESS UNTIL THE HERD PASSES.

  2) LOOK FOR SOME OVERRIPE BERRIES AND THROW TOGETHER A QUICK TRAP.

  3) RADIO HOME FOR EMERGENCY TRANSPORT.

  4) RUN LIKE HELL.

  Kruget thought he was on a roll with that last answer so he pressed #4 again.

  OPTION #4 IS INCORRECT. THE CORRECT OPTION IS #1. TETRA-BEASTS ARE COMPLETELY HARMLESS UNLESS THEY FEEL THREATENED OR PROVOKED. RUNNING IS A GUARANTEED DEATH. LAYING MOTIONLESS IS A GUARANTEED SURVIVAL.

  Before moving on, the computer showed a picture of a Tetra-beast (to ensure one wouldn't mistake it for some other predator on Anteeg). The computer then showed a picture of a Tetra-beast mauling a human (to ensure the first picture would not be forgotten).

  YOU HAVE BEEN INSTRUCTED TO GATHER WILD FOOD IN A LESSER KNOWN REGION OF FOREST. YOU COME ACROSS A THRIVING PATCH OF FUNGUS-LIKE GROWTH. IT DOESN'T MATCH ANY OF THE PHOTOS IN YOUR POCKET GUIDE FOR WILD EDIBLES:

  1) LEAVE THE MYSTERY MUSHROOMS ALONE.

  2) GATHER SOME TO BE LATER INSPECTED BY MORE QUALIFIED INDIVIDUALS.

  3) ANTEEGIAN FUNGI ARE SENTIENT, DANGEROUS CREATURES. THE PICKING OF FUNGI IS CONSIDERED AN INCITING ACT OF WARFARE.

  4) THIS IS ACTUALLY AN IMPOSSIBLE SCENARIO CONSIDERING THERE IS NOTHING RESEMBLING A MUSHROOM ON ANTEEG.

  The odd presence of option #4 threw Kruget. Sometimes these computers doled out trick questions. He felt compelled to choose it.

  OPTION #4 IS INCORRECT. THE CORRECT OPTION IS #3. IT TOOK AWHILE BEFORE THE DISCOVERY OF INTELLIGENT FUNGI ON ANTEEG, BUT THIS IS INDEED THE CASE. IT WASN'T UNTIL FORAGERS BEGAN PICKING FUNGI AT GREAT RATES THAT THE OFFENDED FUNGI ANNOUNCED THEMSELVES AND THREATENED GENOCIDAL WARFARE AGAINST HUMANS SHOULD THEY NOT BE LEFT ALONE FOR ETERNITY WITH NO EXCEPTIONS.

  Kruget paused the computer before the lengthy discourse on the Politics of Anteegian Fungi. He'd pick it up later.

  I need a walk, he thought.

  The interior of Transporter was not at all similar to the movie-trope of spaceship interiors that consist of little more than endless loops of claustrophobic steel-corridors. Much of the ship opened up into vast spaces resembling streets and public squares. Green areas abounded in these squares. Overhead the Virtua-Skies Corporation presented a digital-rendering of a cloudy blue day. It looked extraordinarily real to Kruget.

  People can be in space for months on end. But they are less likely to bug out if they can at least walk on real grass and look at a blue sky or two.

  Kruget preferred to explore the lesser-seen quadrants of the ship. He always seemed to find a new area. This ship had far more going on than most realized. Public space accounted for about 35% of the ship's volume.

  Kruget usually wound up merely wandering around deserted regions of mechanics and computers. Nobody would have cared if they caught him there. But every once in awhile he accidentally broached a sensitive area. At any moment the sudden appearance of placards warned one they were about to enter a restricted area.

  The temperature was warm in this part of the ship. Kruget thought maybe he was approaching the engine-core. He reached into his pocket and was glad to see he still had a few water-pills left. He popped one of the capsules into his mouth. At first it was dry and chalky, but the pill suddenly transformed itself into a gulp of cold water. Water-pills were a valuable staple of life. To go exploring into the engine core of Transporter without a few of them would be considered deadly. Long stretches lacked the presence of water-fountains. As well the temperature and humidity could easily spike when passing between any given section of the ship.

  Kruget put the remaining water-pills back into his pocket and carried on. His was possibly the most adventurous spirit on board. Curiosity was undiminished by fear. On Anteeg his shoes would assuredly be caked with the mud of never-before-trodden paths.

  It was exactly this spirit which should have drawn attention. Capable explorers were always in need.

  An intercom on the side wall crackled. As technologically advanced as this ship was the problem of crackling intercoms had still not been solved.

  "ATTENTION. YOU ARE NOW ENTERING A SENSITIVE AREA. NOT A PROHIBITED AREA. YOU ARE ALLOWED TO CARRY ON. HOWEVER BE INFORMED THAT NO ONE WILL RESCUE YOU SHOULD UNFORTUNATE INCIDENCE OCCUR."

  Kruget wasn't sure how he felt about being in a story where computer voices startlingly announced sentences that began with "You are now entering..."

  The temperature continued to rise. He popped another water-pill and carried on.

  ***

  "I don't know," said Anne. The computer was relieved to have the conversation continued.

  "About what?" asked Mal.

  "Well, you always hear about how dangerous it is on Anteeg. All the weird plants and creatures and weather phenomenons that can kill you."

  This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

  "It's only dangerous if you don't study and prepare. Long as you know what to do and stay smart there's nothing to worry about."

  "Really?" asked Anne dubiously.

  "It's safer than Earth. There's no crime on Anteeg. It's easier to defend yourself against toxic plants, sand-tornadoes and invisible-vortexes than it is against a cunning criminal armed with varieties of grenades, mind-melters and electro-shock torture-grapples."

  "No crime yet," added Anne.

  "There won't be any. It's different there."

  "Just let me think about it for awhile?"

  "The next Transporter isn't for a few months anyway."

  "I know."

  "Deadline is two weeks before that," reminded Mal.

  "I know," said Anne again.

  "I'll be in touch."

  "Talk to you later."

  The screen went blank. The astronomical transmission fee was not displayed to Mal. It went directly into a Galactic-Tab Account. A moment passed before the test question reappeared.

  "DO YOU WANT TO CONTINUE THE TEST?"

  "No, I'm going for a walk. I'll finish later."

  "PAUSING TEST."

  Mal exited the study cubicle. He decided to wander over to the main public square and see what was going on. It was about a 30 minute walk. He easily could have taken one of the many teleporter machines, but not unlike Kruget Nuvont he derived adventure and excitement out of walking around the ship.

  The Square was more of a hexagonal shape with a high domed-ceiling. The area was lush and grassy with enough space to play any number of regulation sports.

  Of course, no sports at all were ever allowed in the main square. That was once different... for in the earliest days of space-travel there had been legendary Olympian sports-marathons held to help pass the time during long commutes. Eventually too many hula-frisbees, laser-globs and poorly fastened zither-nets had been caught up in fields of whirlwind Zero-G and drifted into the ventilation system (only to later clog up the oxygen-producing machinery while at the same time smashing the plutonium-canisters and clicking on every nearby high-powered fan system).

  The centerpiece of the Square was a memorial zone. An elaborate silver statue hovered a few inches off the grass. Mal walked closer. The statue was a depiction of the Original Lunchers. Four adult forms made up this tribute to the first people who ever lost their lives to a futterbly. Among the very first group of colonizers, these four were the first to attempt eating a picnic in the woods. Naturally they were descended upon by the winged devils. Many exhausting hours of nectar-gathering work ensued. The Original Lunchers were never found.

  Mal looked at the grand plaque, emblazoned with platinum letters:

  We will never forget their bravery, ignorance and stupidity... through which they taught us both how to live and how not to die.

  "Incredible, weren't they?" asked a voice from behind.

  Mal turned around. Harold Eocnen, Chief Cleric for the Church of Cryptomnesiacs, stood there. He wore the traditional garb of humbly tattered robes and weird beads. He was probably one of the top 20 or 30 most important people on the ship. Certainly one of the most knowledgeable. Easily one of the strangest. Definitely one of the most superfluous according to his detractors.

  "I don't know a lot about the Original Lunchers," replied Mal.

  "Well you should," said Harold. "They were a fascinating lot. Exploring a planet about which they knew nothing. We still know practically nothing about Anteeg... but they knew a hell of a lot less than we do now."

  "True." Mal looked at the statue again.

  "Never forget their sacrifice," said Harold with utmost seriousness.

  "Of course," said Mal. "I have to get back to study... If I don't want to end up like them, that is."

  The dark humor didn't sit well with the Chief Cleric.

  "Have you thought about a profession in the Church of Cryptomnesiacs?" asked Harold suddenly. "We are always in need of new vision-seekers and pioneers of imagination."

  "I'm not sure it would be right for me," said Mal bluntly. "I don't know if I have any visions. Or imagination."

  "I understand," said Harold. "We all have our own paths and visions."

  ***

  June Ganettry saw the Anteeg ocean in her dream. It was nighttime. A storm pitched waves through her vision. It was a strange vision. June knew this level of storm almost never occurred over water. It had been estimated another hurricane of this type wouldn't occur for nearly 200 years.

  Next she saw the pipeline. The one to bring the ocean to the inland cities. The pipeline wasn't finished in real life yet in her dream it was fully operational. The world rejoiced in the splendor of abundant and accessible water.

  The pipeline was crafted out of an apparently destruction-proof alloy combination invented by June herself. The exact specifications were a secret. June assured everyone the pipelines were impervious to rust, corrosion, leaking or any other form of decay. People marveled over and were grateful for such technology.

  June saw a vessel. An epic ship hovered over the waves. Figures frantically scurried behind the windows. Voices shouted out commands. They were fleeing, having been there to document the pipeline's condition. Surveillance computers had sent out distress signals saying the pipeline had been fatally damaged. The crew of the ship had found no evidence of actual damage and reported such to home-base. They were instructed to return home.

  She knew all of these unseen details. It was that feeling you get in a dream of just knowing things.

  Her vision dived below the surface. The pipeline was there. But something looked strange. A section of the pipeline was a different color than it should be. Instead of brilliant silver it was a faded yellow. Something was moving. In fact that whole section had motion. She went in closer. It looked as if the material was being eaten away. It was. June was horrified to now see millions of microbial-like creatures corroding the material of the pipeline. The first breach occurred. What air was once contained in the pipeline began to leak out of a tiny pinhole. The bubbles danced for freedom.

  June awoke in fright. She immediately had the computer dial Collective Water Services. Drenold Jegberg answered once again.

  "June," said Drenold. "What is it this time?"

  "You didn't cut any corners with that alloy-combination for the pipeline did you?" she asked.

  "What makes you say that?" asked Drenold, irritated and insulted. "We don't cut corners."

  June wasn't so sure. Drenold Jegberg cut corners. At least... the Drenold Jegbergs of the world did.

  "It would be a catastrophe if the pipelines were breached after installation," stated June.

  "Yes it would," agreed Drenold. "Fortunately that will never happen. Because the material is impervious to damage."

  "It is when made to my specifications."

  "What's got you paranoid, anyway?" asked Drenold. He lowered his voice as other council members walked nearby.

  "I had a vision. The pipeline was being damaged by ocean-microbes."

  Drenold paused. Visions regarding these type of matters were not welcome among Collective Water Services. Especially when had by June Ganettry. She had proven her visions as being worthy of attention.

  "That's crazy," said Drenold. "Nothing to worry about."

  "I want extra studies done on potential microbial ocean-life before those pipelines are installed," she said.

  "I can't guarantee that," replied Drenold. "Besides there's never been any evidence of such life."

  "I also want the pipeline material to be further analyzed for weakness," she said, ignoring the brush-off from Drenold. "As soon as it arrives on Anteeg I want it all sent to the laboratories."

  "You know we need to begin installing that pipeline the moment it arrives on Anteeg," countered Drenold. "There's no extra time for analysis. Besides, we already did all those tests on Earth. Everything checked out fine. There's no reason to think anything has changed."

  "I think it's important."

  "Now is not the time," whispered Drenold as more council members walked near him. "No one must overhear this."

  "Fine," said June.

  "You haven't told anyone else about this?" asked Drenold.

  "No, I literally called you the second after I had this vision."

  "That's good," said Drenold. "We don't need paranoia on Anteeg. People are expecting water and that's what they're going to get. Just forget about all this."

  With that, Drenold ended the call before June could get another word in.

  ***

  Kruget currently followed a small turtle. he creature had appeared a few minutes ago. It moved faster than you'd expect. To Kruget it still looked painfully slow.

  "YOU ARE FOLLOWING A CYBER-MIRAGE," said an announcement. "YOU ARE LOCATED NEAR THE FRINGE OF THE MAIN COMPUTER'S SUBCONSCIOUS."

  Kruget thought it was an interesting place to be and carried on. The turtle weaved a beeline through the web of paths. There was intent in the motion.

  "IT IS RECOMMENDED THAT YOU TURN BACK."

  Kruget popped a few more water-pills. The turtle vanished around a corner. He hurried to catch up. The turtle was gone, forever.

  "Hey, where'd it go?" asked Kruget.

  "THE TURTLE WAS ONE OF MANY TEMPORARY REPRESENTATIONS OF THE COMPUTER'S SUBCONSCIOUS TRANSPORT OF DATA AND INTERPRETATION. THEIR EXISTENCE IS SHORT AND SUPERFLUOUS."

  "Is something else going to show up?" asked Kruget.

  "WHAT FOR?"

  "To lead the way. I have no idea where I'm going."

  "YOU ARE GUIDING YOUR OWN PATH. IT IS NOT RECOMMENDED THAT YOU FOLLOW THE PATH OF WHAT IS BASICALLY A HOLOGRAPHIC REPRESENTATION OF A COMPUTER MALFUNCTION."

  "I'm just going to carry on for awhile then," said Kruget. "If the computer of the ship wants to portray strange hallucinations... I'm OK with that. I guess I have to be."

  "SOMEONE HAS BEEN DISPATCHED TO RETRIEVE YOU," said the computer. "PLEASE REMAIN WHERE YOU ARE. SOMEONE WILL BE THERE WITHIN A FEW MINUTES."

  "Who is on the way?" asked Kruget. "Human or android?"

  "AN ENTITY YOU WOULD KNOW AS A SYNTHETIC-HUMANOID SECURITY PROGRAM HAS BEEN DISPATCHED."

  "So, an android?" said Kruget.

  "IT IS EASIER IF YOU THINK OF IT AS HUMAN," said the computer.

  The androids were the one part of life that Kruget had not gotten used to on Transporter. It wasn't that they were too intelligent or unsettling. The robots on board were simply annoyingly over-protective. On Anteeg there were no androids at all. More than enough people performed all the necessary work. However on Transporter there just weren't enough people to keep up with all the tasks of the ship. At least that is what everyone like Kruget was led to believe. Very few people knew that the androids were actually on-board to exclusively make sure adventurous passengers didn't wander off and make a mess of the mechanics and computer systems. One too many people had wandered off on this ship before... only to do something stupid like pressing random depressurization buttons. The higher-ups back home got fed up with such accidents so they employed 'baby-sitter' androids to watch over those who explored off-bounds areas. Any androids seen mopping floors or moving supplies were merely keeping up the guise of their true purpose.

  "It'd be easier to think of the androids as human if you had made them at least somewhat resemble humans," Kruget told the computer.

  "THE ANDROIDS ARE MODELED AFTER THE HUMAN-PROTOTYPE. TWO ARMS, TWO LEGS, ONE FACE, TWO..."

  "That's not what I mean," interrupted Kruget. "Sure they are shaped like humans. But they are made of steel and have blue LED-lights for eyes. You couldn't have at least given them organic skin or anything? Like in Terminator?"

  "THE APPLICATION OF SYNTHETIC-ORGANIC SKIN TO AN ANDROID IS CONSIDERED FAR TOO EXPENSIVE FOR THE PURPOSE."

  "Of course," said Kruget.

  "IF YOU DON'T LIKE THE APPEARANCE OF THE BLUE LED-LIGHT EYES, WE RECOMMEND TEMPORARILY CHANGING THE SETTING OF WHATEVER PARTICULAR ANDROID YOU ARE CONVERSING WITH. ALL ANDROIDS COME WITH A DOZEN DIFFERENT EYE COLORS."

  "It's not the color I was talking about," said Kruget. "They aren't realistic at all."

  "THE TECHNOLOGY FOR TOTAL REALISM IN ANDROID RETINA IS STILL DECADES AWAY FROM BEING ACTUALIZED," theorized the computer.

  "Maybe not. I heard June Ganettry the Inventor is on-board," said Kruget. "Is that true?"

  The computer didn't answer.

  You couldn't say the android appeared suddenly. Kruget heard it coming from well around the corner. As the humanoid figure walked it scraped its metallic feet against the walkway. Only slightly, but the mild scraping echoed well through the labyrinth.

  "I will show you the way out," it said to Kruget upon arrival.

  Kruget decided not to start anything. He allowed it to lead the way.

  "So, do you enjoy space-travel?" asked Kruget, attempting to test for emotions.

  "Yes," replied the robot. "I am programmed to experience job satisfaction."

  "What sort of job perks are there?" asked Kruget. "Benefits, promotions, pensions?"

  The robot pondered this concept for an eternity of micro-seconds.

  "I will be melted down and recycled into valuable minerals at whatever point a more technologically superior model of humanoid is developed."

  "Really? That doesn't bum you out at all?"

  "No," replied the robot. "I have been programmed to not care about such things."

  Kruget noticed a microchip on the outside of the robot's shoulder. It was really the only piece of visible hardware.

  "What's that microchip all about?"

  "That is merely an auxiliary power-chip. It has no purpose whatsoever except in emergencies."

  Upon hearing that, Kruget plucked the microchip right off the robot. He placed it in his pocket and continued walking casually. The robot did not sense the absence.

  Someone will just put a new one there when they see it missing, thought Kruget.

  June Ganettry was not the only inventor on-board. Kruget had made quite a hobby of crafting gadgets with spare parts. He generally acquired parts legally from the Scrap-Zone or sometimes directly from the manufacturers. However a brand-new power-chip from a robot was a different story. With such a part Kruget could eventually bring power to all sorts of advanced gadgets that he otherwise wouldn't have had a chance of operating.

  The temperature cooled as Kruget and the robot neared the exit of the maze.

  "I have been asked to deliver you to the Board of Official Rigorous Excursions Division for a general meeting."

  "What for?" asked Kruget.

  "I do not know," replied the robot.

  The Board of Official Rigorous Excursions Division (or BORED as commonly referred) was one of the sub-groups of societal organizations on Anteeg. Headed by a leadership of 12 Primary Council Members, this particular group was in charge of the exploration of the unseen regions of the new world. There were still many areas that needed discovering on Anteeg. Somebody had to discover them and figure out exactly what was going on there. Seeing in how these areas were often occupied by unknown threats and creatures, pursuing such a career path came with a heavy air of danger. Members of BORED were known to go on adventures that were anything but boring. The unfortunately inappropriate acronym had not been taken into account when the name of the group was chosen. Some members lobbied for a change but were unable to come up with anything better so they gave up. Other members figured there were better things to spend their time on than bickering over the acronyms for absurdly named organizations. The name remained. The job would get done the same either way.

  Once Kruget and the robot were out of the maze they ventured down to the room of BORED. The robot pointed at the door.

  "The door is unlocked," it said."Let yourself in."

  "What about you?" asked Kruget.

  "Robots are not welcome inside the room of BORED. Besides... I have many floors to mop."

  The robot vanished down the corridor. Kruget knocked. No answer. He let himself in.

  ***

  Mal looked down at a pamphlet for the Church of Cryptomnesiacs. Harold Eocnen had ran back to drop it off when he realized Mal had walked away without the informative booklet. It promised the aspiring spiritual warrior many transcendental experiences.

  Mal was still feeling unsatisfied with the last phone call home. He avoided more of the computer-testing by making another call. Anne quickly answered.

  "Hey, why'd you call again so soon?" she asked.

  "What's going on with Chas? You avoided talking about him earlier."

  "Nothing's going on."

  Mal looked at Anne. "I know something is."

  "He's missing," said Anne.

  "What?!"

  "For a couple days. I was stalling telling you. I thought, why should you be worried when he will probably turn up in a few hours? But there's still no sign."

  "What's he done this time?" asked Mal.

  "Who knows," replied Anne. "He had been recently spending a lot of time researching weird looking blueprints and schematic diagrams. Advanced stuff."

  Mal was puzzled as to why his rebellious son suddenly had an interest in advanced science.

  A robot suddenly appeared next to Mal. It seemed to be waiting for the phone call to end.

  "Listen, I have to go," said Mal. "I'll check back in later. Send me a message if Chas shows up."

  "Will do," replied Anne.

  "You have been summoned," said the robot as soon as Mal ended the call.

  "Summoned where?"

  "To a general discussion in the BORED meeting room."

  This is a strange day indeed, thought Mal.

  He had always wanted to see what the BORED were all about. Never thought he would get the invite.

  "Why me?"

  "The Council thought you would be interesting in spectating over the meeting."

  Mal didn't understand.

  "Alright then, lead the way," he said.

  They first passed the familiar Square and neighboring Church of Cryptomnesiacs. Harold Eocnen loitered around attempting to gather an audience for the evening performance. Mal and the robot then carried on through the clerical and procedural wings of Transporter. The robot stopped and pointed at a particular door.

  "This is the designated meeting room for BORED," said the robot.

  "Where do I sit down?" asked Mal. "Are there any formalities I should know first?"

  "I couldn't say," replied the robot. "I know nothing about this faction of the ship."

  "Ok," said Mal. He knocked on the door.

  "You're not supposed to knock," said the robot. "That's the only thing I do know. You're just supposed to walk in."

  "Thanks," said Mal.

  He walked in. He was surprised to see how expansive the room was. It had an upper viewing balcony and looked like an old courtroom. The entire roof was a viewing window full of stars. The walls were tacked up with maps and artistic renderings of creatures. It didn't look like anywhere else on Transporter that Mal had seen so far.

  A panel of figures sat together on an upraised dais. Random audience members sprinkled the main level and the upper balcony. Mal headed upstairs and grabbed a seat where he could see more of the room.

  "Your patience is appreciated," announced Council Member Halakic F. Numera. "The meeting is not quite ready to begin. It is my guess we will start soon. Or eventually... or not for awhile. Definitely one of those options. Or not."

  Mal figured he would give them just a few minutes before leaving. There was still the problem of his missing son after all.

  ***

  The last two conversations with Drenold Jegberg had left June feeling uneasy about a lot of things. There was nothing she could do about the cargo ships arriving late on Anteeg. But she thought about her vision. The destruction of the pipeline was not something to be taken lightly. June planned on spending a lot of extra hours researching the plans and materials.

  For now she needed to escape the lingering dread. She wandered over to the Church of Cryptomnesiacs. Harold Eocnen was just beginning the evening's performance.

  The church existed within a minor virtual-warehouse just powerful enough to add some extra space for a stage, a high domed-ceiling and many mega-ton crates full of pamphlets. This sort of virtual program was not nearly as powerful (and therefore not nearly as volatile) as the ones used for the cargo ships. Most people didn't even realize they were stepping inside a virtual area when they visited the Church of Cryptomnesiacs. Some might have a vague sense of 'where'd all this space come from?' as they entered the door to a office-cubicle sized room. Although much less volatile than virtual cargo-ships, as stated, should the temporal field within the Church undergo system failure it would still result in disaster.

  June sat down in a middle row. She didn't exactly believe in the strange stories of Harold Eocnen and the Cryptomnesiacs. She came here when she wanted to think. Everything here was distracting and immersive. The dark lighting, alien music and vivid imagery made this all an experience.

  Harold Eocnen stood at the foot of the stage.

  "Tonight's performance will be of an original production written by intern playwright Miles N. Ion," he shouted to the crowd. "It is entitled From Earth to Stars. This plot is loosely inspired by our knowledge of the Great Ancient Prophets who wisely foretold of man's inevitable journey to an alien world. You won't see or hear about space-travel in the play at all, however, for this story is purely one of metaphorical fiction. It is a human story set in small-town Earth in the middle 1950s."

  The multi-act performance commenced. As the characters spewed one-liners and comical witticisms June felt deja vu. She often noticed this feeling at one of the church performances. This was claimed to be original material, yet she couldn't help feel that all of these stories had already been told a long time ago. The players paced back and forth in their cramped apartment setting. It was all very old like the relic of a re-run movie afternoon.

  June felt a soft tap on her shoulder. She turned around and was surprised to see a robot sitting down behind her. It was unexpected that one of these robots could even tap someone softly on the shoulder. A robot had once barely gripped June's arm and ended up leaving four distinct finger-shaped bruises.

  "What is it?" whispered June.

  "Your presence has been requested for an important meeting in the BORED room," replied the robot.

  Harold Eocnen quietly scowled from the wings of the stage. He was always aware of chatter during a performance. He then attempted to locate the precise seat location of the chatterers. Every seat in the theater was wired into a system allowing for targeted, mild electro-shocks.

  "Right now?" asked June with a groan. Unlike Mal and Kruget who had just been randomly summoned to the BORED room for the first time ever, June was already an official council member. It wasn't one of her main career focuses but she dropped in to oversee things once in awhile.

  "Yes."

  "Is it important? I'm not in the mood for meetings right now."

  "The discussion panel is waiting on you," said the robot. "The meeting has been instructed to not begin until all 12 Primary Council Members are present. This includes you. Some people have been waiting for hours with only the infinitude of the cosmos to keep them entertained."

  "Ok then," said June. "Tell them I'm on my way."

  ***

  Kruget was on the lower level, dead center. He craned his neck around to get another view of the surroundings. Way up on the balcony he spotted Mal Betatron and a few other scattered figures. He had been waiting for some time longer than Mal but was still determined to see what this was all about.

  Suddenly the door creaked open for the first time in what felt like an hour.

  Walking down the ramp was June Ganettry. Kruget recognized her immediately. Her face had been used in numerous infomercials and interviews around Earth and space.

  "The final missing council member is present," announced Halakic Numera. "The meeting can begin."

  June took her place on the dais.

  "Most of you are wondering why you've been randomly summoned to the mysterious BORED room," continued Halakic. "Am I right?"

  People confusedly looked around for confirmation.

  "If you don't already know, the Board of Rigorous Excursions Division is comprised of the people who will go out and explore in depth the unknown regions of Anteeg. This is probably the most dangerous job on the planet. There could be anything waiting out there for which we are completely unprepared."

  Several pairs of eyes wandered to the artistic renderings of alien creatures.

  "All of your aptitude tests, particular skill-sets and personal traits have been carefully analyzed by the computer system," said Halakic. "You all know this."

  People nodded, joyous to finally understand something.

  "Everyone in the audience right now has been ranked among the top potential recruits for the Excursions Crew," explained Halakic. "We've only made a dent on the unexplored regions. More people are needed for more missions. The plan is to add as many as we can from every Transporter."

  June relaxed in her chair. She wasn't needed for this meeting at all. A bunch of the council members could have been excused. Halakic was running the show and a whole other division was in charge of processing the new recruits after briefing. She gazed up at the viewing roof.

  "It's your choice if you want to join, and none of you will be sent out on a mission immediately. Once we arrive on Anteeg you'll be given enough time to settle in before venturing into unpopulated areas."

  At this moment the tiny computer screen on the seatback in front of Mal turned on.

  "You have an urgent call," whispered the computer to Mal as Halakic carried on with the meeting. "Patching through now."

  "Mr. Betatron?" said the strange, cop-looking man who appeared on screen.

  "Yes, who are you?" asked Mal.

  "Agent Fraction, Space Division."

  "What's this all about? I'm at a meeting," said Mal.

  "It's about your son Chas," replied Agent Fraction.

  Mal's heart sank. Bad news seemed imminent.

  "He's stolen an expensive star-cruiser level ship from one of our facilities."

  "You're joking?"

  "Not today."

  "Chas wouldn't do that."

  "We have more than sufficient evidence," said Agent Fraction.

  "Why do you think he'd do that?" asked Mal.

  "Our only guess is that he is going to Anteeg. We have predicted his route as leading there. Tracking reports didn't have him getting a seat on Transporter for at least the next few runs, so we assume for whatever reason he is in more of a rush to get there."

  Mal was dumbfounded.

  "What can you do?" he asked.

  "We have sent ships in pursuit," replied Agent Fraction. "But he has a lead."

  Meanwhile Halakic rambled on about the grave dangers of Anteeg. June nearly dozed off a few times. Kruget was enthralled with the idea of being the first person to explore certain areas of the planet.

  At this exact moment a loud explosion occurred in one of the neighboring office wings. The shock-wave violently reverberated across the ship. Weird, green smoke invaded the room through air-vents.

  "THIS IS THE PLOROXOS IV," announced a sinister voice. "YOU HAVE BEEN BOARDED BY THE PLOROXOS IV. DO NOT ATTEMPT TO FIGHT US. YOU WILL ALL SURRENDER."

  "What's going on?!" shouted the crowd. "What is the Ploroxis IV?"

  "A legion of space-pirates," replied Halakic. "They're here to usurp everything from the ship. The power, the resources, the food, the light-bulbs. They'll steal everything from Transporter. Pretty much everything. Except useless pamphlets."

  Mal took a few seconds to process the news of his missing son before joining the panicky crowd in screaming and running for the exits.

  TO BE CONTINUED.