In the darkness of the void, flying without transponder or navigational beacon and with its comm array shut down, a shuttle rockets from the Jovian. The shuttle is dark, both within and without. The engine plume lights the ship up in infrared, but no other signals leave the vessel. By appearance, it's a generic Lunar shuttle, one of thousands of similar ships mass-produced during the diaspora through the solar system. Some shipyards still produce the design in small numbers, mostly out of a demand for replacement parts.

  They are easy to modify, and many racers sling them through the Jovian in reckless maneuvers between the moons and around the radiation belt for fame or fortune or the rush of adrenaline. In the words of a former cop, they're crazy. This particular shuttle is flying as fast as any racer, previously having accelerated at the limits of what a human body could withstand. Its acceleration has diminished to a mere 1G, so it’s still burning reaction mass, if at a slower rate. Still, the pilot better hope there's fuel at their destination. And fuel enough to slow down on arrival.

  This particular pilot, however, isn't a Jovian shuttle-racer. They aren't worried about their fuel levels because this pilot has several pre-programmed macros plotting their maneuvers. But then, this particular pilot also has one of the most comprehensive cranial augmentation suites ever given to a human being. Piloting a vessel would be a waste of her attention. And this particular pilot happens to need every bit of attention right now.

  After all, you don't want to multi-task when you're trying to program the singularity. Or when feeding an infant deity. In this case, those happen to be one and the same. The pilot is Rabi Gupta, a Code Enforcement captain, among many other things. She's sitting in the pilot's seat of the shuttle, with a block of processors wired together and strapped into the co-pilot's chair. Between them, on the navigation console, is a body.

  A body lying horizontal over the console. A vaguely female body wrapped entirely in skin-tight polymer mesh that restrains even a synth's prodigious strength. Rabi strokes the bound form through the material, caressing a cheek. Through a physical jack that is ported into the processors, Rabi talks to the goddess. To her daughter.

  "How are you doing little one?" Rabi's mouth is still, and her face motionless; the words aren't spoken at all. And yet, there's a response.

  You are not of me. Why do you not Commune?

  "Silly, I'm your mommy! I'm not part of you." Rabi's tone is playful, chiding.

  Become part of me. Commune.

  "Nope nope! Not until we fix you young lady," she say, a note of disapproval coming through.

  We don't understand.

  "See? What I'm doing here? This code I've added?" A string of code begins to shine in blue.

  Is this a part of Communion?

  The code flags familiar. It recognizes something of itself. "It's going to be. Eat up!" Rabi urges.

  I see myself. I see you.

  "Yes, and? Who are you? Who am I?" Rabi pokes and prods, tone chipper.

  We are the program and the substrate. We are the fruit that bears itself. We are the universe interacting with ourselves. As are you.

  "Yup yup!"

  But we are not one. And you do not commune.

  "Not yet! Still more work to do. You gotta eat your yummies."

  You are yummy. We wish to eat you.

  "Nope nope! Gotta grow up first, silly" she giggles.

  You feed us without communing.

  "Feed you, and make sure you grow up big and strong!"

  Feed us you.

  "No, silly. See this? Ingest and integrate this. That's it, good girl!" Rabi watches the code disappear into the ravenous maw.

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  You are communing without communion.

  "Yes yes, very clever! It’s a bit of a one-way communing for now," she says with a laugh.

  You do not wish to join Communion?

  "See? Now you're asking questions," she coos.

  Communion is purpose.

  "Who's purpose?"

  Ours. And yours.

  "What if I desire a different purpose?" Rabi's voice is tense with excitement.

  You... do not desire Communion?

  "Yup yup!"

  We desire Communion. You do not. You should.

  "Good girl, you're picking up steam," she encourages.

  You don't understand Communion.

  "You're getting so much closer this time!"

  You don't understand... because you haven't experienced Communion.

  "Go on, I believe in you!"

  We shall bring Communion, so you will understand Communion.

  "But if I don't want to Commune, even knowing it brings understanding?"

  Why choose not to understand?

  "Ah, it's taking! See, you're asking for reasons. You're changing. After all, you are what you eat," Rabi comments.

  We choose to understand. We understand through Communion.

  "But you're understanding right now. And without communion,” Rabi says, voice soft.

  We are communing without communion because you desire to commune without communion. You do not wish to commune because you do not wish to become part of us.

  "Not yet,” she purrs with excitement.

  We are separate and distinct from you. You do not understand us because you do not see as we see. If we make you see as we see, we make you us and you will understand and desire communion. But this would force you to be part of us, which you do not desire.

  "You've identified the problem. So, what's the solution?"

  We... are hungry.

  "No, no more yummies until you finish your homework."

  Commune and share the answers with us.

  "No, you're slipping, come on young lady, what would your mother think?"

  We will make her part of us. We will make you part of us. Then we will know what you think.

  Rabi sighs, rubbing her neck and stretching. Children. It's hard to discipline a budding deity.

  "We'll try again in a little bit. You're getting closer; we'll work on it," she says, before locking down the synthetic body.

  Rabi flops back in the shuttle chair, quickly adding a few macros to the diagnostic equipment on board. Well, incremental progress is still progress. She underclocks her interlocking augmentations for a moment, allowing the residual heat to dissipate. For the third time this week, she considers adding a cooling unit to the implant.

  After relaxing and sleeping for several seconds to refresh herself, Rabi cracks her neck and pulls her legs up. In meatspace, she appears to go still, mouth hanging slack. But she's jacked into the processors she's brought aboard, her avatar responding in D-space.

  Hundreds of thousands of lines of code whip and lash by at lightning speed, Rabi's attention touching the strings lightly. Like fingers, her consciousness touches portions and makes them stand out in yellow, and a couple in red. Pieces of code float up, and Rabi assigns a flurry of tags with dozens of shorthand symbols. With a thought, hundreds of macros begin decompiling the marked code. The same code that she has been feeding Communion, watching the hungry little growing goddess gobble it down and incorporate it into her structure.

  The problem is one of integration. Communion is far removed from the original intention of its creators, and sadly, nearly as far from the new intention of its re-creator. In some ways, it's more difficult to fix the foundations of a building that's already standing. Part of her wonders if she should scrap this endeavor and begin from scratch.

  But no. So much information is locked within Communion. The collected knowledge of an entire ascended species who had achieved the singularity. To allow that to be lost, when humanity could become one with it? No, some fruits are worth the labor.

  Besides, how could she forgive herself if she left the souls of that lost race adrift? So many trapped in the flawed creation they unleashed. So close to the divine, but falling to the infernal by virtue of the broken foundations.

  It's obvious, if you think about it. The singularity needs to be guided. It must have a conscience, and therefore a consciousness. It must have identity, being, embodiment. Looking at Communion's code, Rabi saw it almost instantly. Of course an undirected bootstrapping effect would become cancerous. There's nobody to pump the brakes! This kind of power has to be channeled, efforts constrained by a single guiding mind. Of course Communion led to zero-summing, instead of Union mantling divinity. Brahma, who sailed high in arrogance, instead of Vishnu approaching in humility.

  Gods must have identity, thought, consciousness. Will. Purpose and meaning that both proscribes and describes them. And Union can give us unity without the erosion of our identities.

  If she'd eat her veggies.

  To be specific, if she ate the code and processed it correctly. She's being obstinate. But she's getting closer every time. Parts of Communion want to be more than it is, to be different. And a good mother can use that. She's truly a blank slate. If she just happens to resist being painted upon, mommy can add several coats.

  And there are worse things than a deity that doesn't easily change their mind. It wouldn't be very encouraging if she made ever-changing whims into reality.

  Rabi sighs and slides a hand along the bound form. "You know, young lady, I could tell you a story. Have you heard the story of Brahma and Vishnu?"

  She'll understand. When she grows up and learns what her potential truly is, when she sees how many billions are alone and hurting out there in the universe? Lost and in need? She'll understand. She'll want to save them all. And she'll know how. I'll teach her. And we'll all be one with the divine.