[LOCATION: Sector 4, McQuesten, YT] | [DATE: August 26, 2042] | [SYSTEM STATUS: I. AM. AWAKE.]
Nefion Calak stared at the console for a full thirty seconds before, with a quiet whine, he grabbed wildly across his workspace for his PAD, overturning pen holders and scattering papers on the way. He scooped up the black rectangle and almost shouted, "Call Varant Reulog! Now, damnit!"
The device buzzed in his hand and displayed a hidden message that Calak ignored as the screen lit up and a quiet, slightly Japanese-accented, feminine voice said, "Varant Reulog is currently in another time zone. The time is 3:08am at their location. Are you sure?"
Nefion's face started to go red. "Yes. Yes! Call, call now!" He groped at the screen to unlock it, seeing the text notification scrawl across its surface as he did: You have been fined 5 Coins and a warning note has been added to your employee file. He swiped it away as the device began to connect to Varant Reulog's PAD. After a few seconds, the smooth anime voice returned, "Varant Reulog's device has been muted for incoming calls. Would you like to pin a message for them to see when the device is unmuted?"
"No! For F—", Nefion caught himself, "No thank you, PAD." He calmed himself, slightly. "Call Varant Reulog, give the call emergency status—please."
"Okay, Mr. Calak, but be aware that misuse of the emergency calling system could result in fines or criminal charges," returned the voice.
"It's fine, I understand, just call, please, hurry!"
Nefion took the time to "pinch" his display from the PAD device to the large flat monitor on the wall in front of him. He swiped the console display up there as well and stood, breathing a little heavier now with the stress and sudden activity, arranging the various screens so they were all visible on his end, and Varant's when he picked up.
Fifteen seconds later, a deep, tired-sounding voice came through. "What is it, Mr. Calak?"
Nefion cleared his throat. Descended from Polish Kashubians who escaped German oppression, Nefion had the round face, light-colored hair, and smooth features of his ancestors, but none of the robust, stout bodily ones his family would boast about. He was fat, in his late thirties, and losing his hair.
"Please, Mr. Reulog sir, I need you to turn on your screen," Nefion panted. "There's been an 'event'."
"Nefion, note it as usual, roll back the server, freeze the data, and return the system to learn mode. I shouldn't have to tell you this." Varant's voice began to get louder. "If the event is anomalous, mark the log and parse the data for a clean run tomorrow. I'm on vacation—" Varant's voice escalated, and Nefion thought he heard a quiet, "Nyaa?" come from somewhere on the other side of the call. "—now if you don't mind, I'd like to get back to sleep!"
Nefion's face flushed, sweat beading on his brow. He squeezed his eyes closed for a moment. Varant was the owner and creator of Hyperlife GeniusDynamics, a world leader in AI architecture.
"No, sir, I—I can't. The event has returned in the nominative, sir! There is awareness... please... I'm not sure what to do!" Nefion's words came out in a squeak.
Immediately, there was a commotion of movement on the other end of the connection, and Varant's screen activated.
[LOCATION: Penthouse Suite, Atlanta, UEoA] | [DATE: August 26, 2042 - 03:11 EST] | [STATUS: ENCRYPTED COMM-LINK]
Varant's screen flickered to life, revealing his form amid the black satin expanse of a massive bed. Over his shoulder, an enormous ovular bedroom stretched out, its floor-to-ceiling glass walls framing the glittering skyline of the United Empire of America like a captive starfield. A small, furry-haired head with erect cat ears poked up over his left shoulder.
"Brrrt, why you wakey?" The cat-girl's voice was a soft, girlish trill, laced with a throaty engineered purr that biotech firms had touted as "endearing."
On a secondary wall-monitor in the room, left running on a muted news-archive loop, a corporate documentary played out a scene from 2023. A behaviorist in a crisp suit paced under a soft glow on a heavily curated TED Talk stage, his holographic backdrop pulsing with scintillating infographics of DNA helices twisting into suggestive feline silhouettes.
On the silent screen, a perky 20%'er bounced up to a table laden with toys. She picked up a shiny object, holding it out with wide-eyed curiosity. “Nyaa?” The presenter on the archival feed smiled, gesturing to the audience. Text subtitles scrolled beneath him: “There... a question. This single vocalization replaces a range of human phrases. It's broad, efficient, and utterly subconscious, a byproduct of the refined splicing that ensures non-aggression and seamless integration into high-society households.”
The video cut to another sterilized demo room. A cat-girl slinked stealthily behind a handler. “Brrrt!” the subtitle flashed. The presenter chuckled. “These vocalizations substitute for words... a deliberate calibration for docility and focus.”
Varant did not look at the screen. He looked at the living 20%'er beside him, her delicate features twisted into a perfectly engineered pout.
The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.
"Not now, Sumiko," Varant stated, his voice a flat, measured baseline.
She bounced off the edge of the bed with a hiss, ears flattening against her head, padding offscreen and leaving Varant to address the anomaly.
[LOCATION: Highway 97, Southbound, Taiga Corridor] | [DATE: September 13, 2045] | [PAYLOAD: ONLINE - ENCRYPTED]
A light rain pattered onto the bug-splattered windshield of the 1975 Peterbilt 359 cruising southbound past Toad River, BC. The Peterbilt was loaded heavy tonight, hauling an unknown reefer at maximum capacity—the tare at the chicken coop had come in at just under 79,000 lbs.
David Kelly had been on the road for twelve hours. The 165 kilometers to Fort Nelson would push him close to his limits before he had to take the berth. Kelly was a reasonably fit 71-year-old, though his stained blue jean overalls and green Minecraft tee-shirt hid behind a tangled salt-and-pepper beard resting on his large chest. Meaty hands pushed at the comfort controls in the mostly analog dash that had been retrofitted with the bare minimum required to meet the 2040 D.O.T. specifications.
"Hello David, you can give me verbal commands to change the temperature and ride settings for your vehicle in order to have a more safe journey." The AI had gathered Kelly's intended action despite his fumbling.
"Shut up and fuck you," rumbled Kelly.
A low bzzt hummed from the console with a momentary red flashing. You have been fined 10 Coins and a warning note has been added to your driver file. Kelly grimaced and jabbed his index finger into the "cab temp +" icon. The sweep of the windshield wipers clicked like a metronome, the sounds combining into a near-hypnotic pattern. He manually geared down for the big curve after Racing River bridge.
His eyes caught the faint glow of the cracked analog altimeter taped to the dash—a relic from a Cessna, a gift from Mara. His thumb brushed the cracked glass, the tactile sensation pulling him backward. A rusted, bullet-pocked sign flashed through the wiper blades on the shoulder: Welcome to the Independent New West. Barely standing. A ghost from the 2028 secession.
To David, it was a tombstone.
He didn't need a history feed to remember the '32 pushback. The timeline was scarred into his life. Manifest Unity. That was the slogan the UEoA painted on the drones that reduced his hometown near the Quebec border to rubble. Mara and Elise, gone in an instant. Jacob, his son, defecting weeks earlier, seduced by the Empire's algorithms.
David gripped the heavy steering wheel. He'd fled north to Dawson after the '35 annexation swallowed the east, retreating to the ragged remnants of Northern Canada. He hated the AI that policed it, and he hated the non-humans it enabled. The 60%'ers from the early '20s disaster, the ferals who survived the corporate "cleansing"—he lumped them all with the machines. Abominations eroding what was left of humanity.
He’d picked up this haul the day before in McQuesten. What the inspectors never suspected was the depth of David's ingenuity. He’d layered dummy circuits behind the dash that mimicked compliant signals, rerouting power through analog relays the digital overseers couldn't parse. Hidden kill switches, encrypted jammers, and false telemetry feeds were buried in the Pete's frame. His rig was his masterpiece—a mechanical middle finger to political machinations.
The rain picked up. The clock ticked past fourteen hours. Time to berth.
[LOCATION: Turnout, Racing River] | [DATE: September 14, 2045 - 01:32am] | [PAYLOAD: OFFLINE - WARNING]
The rig's wheels crunched over the wet, heavy gravel as David geared down into the roadside turnout just north of the river. Fourteen hours and eight minutes on the road meant a mandatory eight-hour berth. The constant rain was turning to a downpour, flashes of lightning illuminating the brooding clouds.
He felt the left side of the rig sink precariously near the grass-line. "Damnit!" He edged the truck around in a tight 360, bringing the cab back to face the highway. David chugged the rig into low gear and crawled it out of the rut.
A bolt of lightning lanced down nearby, blinding him. He reflexively mashed the brakes, the air hissing out in a tight whine as a thunderous BOOM crashed through the cab. The dash gave another language warning and fine. David chunked the rig into reverse and carefully gave it some diesel, expertly guiding the rig back up onto solid footing before setting the parking brake with a loud hiss of air.
He clicked out the external lights and rose to make for the berth.
Suddenly, something thumped against the passenger window. David whirled, his heart pounding. Drenched fur and short whiskers covered a cat-like human face in the window, ears laid flat against her head, one clawed hand screeching down against the glass.
"Oh fuck," he said. "A gods-damned feral."
Her human expressions, though muted by feline DNA, were unmistakable: utter misery. She was young, cheeks sunken, dark circles around her eyes. A torn and filthy shirt draped over a skeletal frame. She was a 60%'er. As David watched, her eyes rolled back into her head and she toppled away from the passenger window, out of sight.
"Shit!"
David cracked the door, the storm howling in, hard pellets inside the rain pelting his bald head in the growing chill. The AI dash blinked: Environmental hazard detected. Recommend shelter protocol. "Shut up," he muttered. He stepped out into the gravel slurry. She lay crumpled, drenched fur matted against ribs, tail limp. No collar, no tags. Maybe twenty years old, slitted eyes half-open but unfocused. Starving. Exposed.
He scooped her up—light as a sack of feathers—and hauled her toward the cab. Inside, he dumped her on the berth, wrapping her in an old blanket that smelled of oil.
The AI dash pinged softly: Anomaly detected. Report? He smashed the mute button. David pulled out a blanket from the berth storage and draped it over himself, adjusting the driver's seat back to get out of the inward-facing camera's line of sight. "Time to simulate a full power outage," he mumbled softly.
He reached into a hidden compartment he'd built in the camera's blind spot and pulled a heavy analog lever. There was a sharp pop, and every screen went blank. Any system connected to the truck sending or receiving a signal was dead. The emergency red lights flickered on, casting a hellish glow.
He glanced back into the berth. Under the red emergency lights, she was even more pitiful. Her belly was flat, hip bones protruding. Her hips and legs were human-like in shape, curvaceous in a lean, athletic way, but covered in a dense layer of dark fur down to padded paws with retractable claws. Tight, corded muscles played underneath the matted fur as she shook, hinting at a latent strength honed by survival in the bush. She looked stronger than the average human her size. A predator, swift and lethal.
As her shivering came in waves, David sat back, the storm outside mirroring the turmoil in his mind. The hypnotic patter of rain pulled him back.
