Ejected Earth - Chapter 6
Dr. Jeffrey Kern | Journal Entry
3 September 2023 | GNI Site-4, Consultation Wing
Subject: Preservation Models – Final Draft Review
Fifty—three—thousand. That’s it.
Fourteen years. Unlimited resources. The cooperation of every developed country on the planet. And still…everyone will die. Everyone except these fifty-three thousand.
As a percentage of population, marginally better than Noah’s ark. Marginally worse if you count the animals.
It’s pragmatism gone mad. When a ship is going down, you don’t interview the passengers. You throw them a vest.
In my gut, I know it’s wrong. But we’re not saving people. We’re likely not even saving humanity. The only survivors will be whatever emerges from these frozen tombs in the millennia that follows.
The predictive modeling is crystal—there is only one scenario that gives favorable odds to a multigenerational surviving population.
Individual settlements spread equidistant across the globe with no more than 13,000 apiece. That’s it. Any more and the odds begin to go down. Sharply.
We’ve decided on four settlements in total. Salton Sea in California, Reykjanes Peninsula in Iceland, Lake Turkana in Kenya and Kamchatka Peninsula in Russia. All situated in geothermal hot zones. There has been some research to determine minimum human population; however, maximum population? That was a little trickier.
The DARPA spook seemed unnervingly confident in her quantum predictive modeling. Makes you wonder.
The project would be an engineer’s dream if it wasn’t already a nightmare. Geothermal power, water treatment, food production, air quality, seismic abatement. It’ll need to be big enough to allow expansion as the population grows, but eventually they will need to expand. Humanity will need to adapt to life underground, but this too is temporary. At some point, they will need to find a new home. It’ll take a lot of luck and a little sorcery to pull off.
The real magic trick—selling it.
So far only I and the five other GNI board members know the true settlement numbers. We’ll need to keep it that way to have any chance of global cooperation. Officially, we’ll report populations of a million per settlement. That means we’ll need to build it out for a million per settlement.
We can sell that.
Fifty-three thousand? No one can sell that.
At those numbers, some morally dubious decisions will need to be made. You don’t need to be a geneticist to understand that none of us would be here if Eve had cystic fibrosis.
It wouldn’t take more than a few generations to amplify any existing genetic defects present in a population that small. The need for digitized family history alone would exclude entire regions of the world.
We’ll think of some other name for it. ‘Genetic Optimization’ or ‘Generational Viability Planning’. Make no mistake.
It will be a genetic purge. A holocaust on massive portions of the human genome.
And it will be absolutely necessary for the survival of mankind.
Chapter 6
Basement Level Conference Room of Kern’s Tower
Lucerna, Endeleza
3 May 2579
Six Years Earlier
“One final order of business. A proposal for selection into the program.” Erik Francs stood, distributing six folders around the table before taking his seat again.
“Elara Voss. Recent graduate from Zabaia University with a doctorate in Computational Neuroscience. I believe some of you are familiar with her work.” Erik looked to Dr. Bray.
Dr. Bray felt his gaze, but continued to read along.
Erik continued. “Twenty-five years old. Orphan from Sol Seterra. Exceptionally bright—unorthodox, but sharp. Her thesis on predictive mapping algorithms, though controversial, has demonstrated a mind that works well outside of conventional models.” Francs turned the page.
Dr. Bray gave a curt laugh. “Controversial? Try incendiary. Heretical, even.”
Erik looked up over his glasses. “Her algorithm has promise in many fields.”
Her voice flattened. Her pace slowed. “Neural Deviation Mapping.” She let the words hang.
“To forecast one’s mental collapse. Their cognitive deviation from established norms. I trust I don’t need to explain to anyone at this table the implications.”
Erik held his glasses in his hands. “I understand and share your concern, Dr. Bray. But intent matters. Elara’s father was schizophrenic. When she was six, he beat her mother to death. She watched.”
The room stilled.
“You see a mind blind to the repercussions. Or worse. I see a young woman dedicated to change.” He continued. “Regardless of its potential abuse, the point stands: They split the atom for a bomb. It also gave us nuclear power. Tools don’t choose how they’re used. People do.”
Dr. Bray rolled her eyes. “The point is moot. Her thesis is entirely theoretical. The real controversy is whether or not it’s even viable.”
She took a breath, weighing her words. “She studied under Dr. Dreyfus—her words, not mine: ‘methodically erratic, occasionally brilliant.’” Her tone was clipped. She closed the file with deliberate care.
“We don’t have the time—or the bandwidth—to reverse-engineer a theoretical model that barely survived a dissertation defense.”
She addressed the room without looking at anyone in particular. “We need execution, not untested abstraction. We’re at the stage where rigor matters more than intuition.”
Dr. Reyes had a way of bringing the blood pressure down in any room.
“I know Dr. Dreyfus—Laura. A dear friend. She wastes few words. She values precision.”
“I’d be lying,” he said deliberately, “if I claimed to understand the entirety of Elara’s thesis—her algorithm.”
“But her results supported her model. With confidence.”
He looked back up.
“To me… that puts her firmly in the ‘occasionally brilliant’ category.”
He looked to the wall. “At present, we are charting a course with no map.”
His eyes returned to them. “That isn’t science… it’s faith.”
He placed his folded hands on the table. “When methodologies stagnate, innovations cease.”
He leveled his eyes to Dr. Bray. “Perhaps we could use some… erraticism.”
Bray didn’t respond. Her fingers folded neatly in her lap, but her jaw had gone tense.
The room stayed quiet a beat too long. Not disagreement exactly—just discomfort. No one wanted to say what they were all thinking: they couldn’t afford to be picky.
Vance, unbothered, had already moved on. He slid the file across the table with a mischievous grin that said more than it should aimed at Francs. “She’s perfect.”
Francs met his eyes and gave nothing back. The game had started.
Dr. Bell straightened in his chair. “I agree with Erik. I’ve read her thesis. Her algorithms have tremendous potential in course modeling and fusion propulsion. Combine that with her age, and she’s a prime candidate.”
Francs looked to Dr. Sarah Thorne. “Dr. Thorne? Do you have any objections?”
“If her algorithm is as potentially impactful as Dr. Bray fears,” she said, “we’d be wise to keep it close.”
Francs shifted his eyes. “Tom?”
Dr. Reyes measured his response. “Potential should be tested,” he said, folding his handkerchief and sliding it back into his pocket. “Not dismissed.”
Bray didn’t look up. Her fingers interlocked on the table, tighter now. Just enough to whiten the knuckles.
All eyes went to Dr. David Cestel. His eyes darted between Francs and Vance. Uncertain of what passed behind the grin from the moment before. His eyes fell to the file and lingered on her family history. Sparse. Even for an orphan.
“You know I was orphaned.” He chewed the inside of his lip. “So was Aristotle…so was Bundy.”
The room was quiet. Even Vance stopped fidgeting, if only for a second.
Cestel covered the doodles in the margins of the file that he didn’t remember starting. “No exceptions on her test results. Without her family history, her psych profile will need to stand on its own.”
Francs acknowledged with a single nod, as he quieted his sigh of relief.
“Thank you, David. I will see to her recruitment. As Dr. Bell pointed out, the most promising application is deep space course modeling. That will be her primary focus while Dr. Cestel evaluates her for integration into the program.”
Erik took off his glasses and stowed them in his shirt pocket. “If there are no additional orders of business, we can adjourn.”
Dr. Bell closed his notepad. “Our deuterium demands are about to double. Velocity is there, but our fusion propellant isn’t nearly as efficient as we had hoped.”
Erik calmly crossed his hands in front of him on the table. “You’ll have all you need.”
“How? Dr. Bell leaned forward. “Chair Strauss is already sniffing around our deuterium usage. The numbers don’t line up, and we’ve run out of excuses. His Auditors don’t need pretext. Just a ledger that doesn’t balance. If we can’t get the deuterium we need—”
“Strauss is a banker.” Vance stood, slipped on his jacket, and checked his watch. “Deuterium is cheap. And the fools in Greylunde will keep it that way. Supply outpacing demand into the grave.” He smiled at Dr. Bell. “You leave Strauss to me, Dick.”
Dr. Thorne addressed the room. She spoke the least among the seven, but everyone listened when she did. “We shouldn’t underestimate Chair Strauss. He’s consolidated more power in the last nine years than any of us thought possible. And these Auditors? Tripled since Chair Friedrich.”
“Well—which is it Erik?” Dr. Bray placed her hands in her lap. “You’ve served under Friedrich and Strauss. Is he too naïve to see through us, or too clever to let on?”
“Both—neither?” Erik exhaled and sat back down. “James—Chair Friedrich—was a true believer. He genuinely believed that his office’s neutering was the single greatest threat to humanity. As did I.”
“I’ve listened to Strauss mew for nine years.” Erik ran a hand down his beard. “He is an opportunist and an idealist. Credulous and incredulous. To put a finer point on it—“
“I have not a fucking clue.”
Erik looked down to his folded hands. He measured nine years of maneuvering in a breath. “We only have his actions to consider. Listeria outbreak, cyber attacks, adulterated pharmaceuticals—manufactured or not, no crisis has gone to waste.”
Erik paused to gauge their faces. This wasn’t news. “He knows he’s in the dark. It is highly unlikely he knows about what. He likes to posture like he does. He’s not nearly as subtle as he’d like to believe. He doesn’t know. Couldn’t.”
Francs looked up. Filtering his digressions had only gotten harder with age.
“But until it comes to a head, there’s nothing—no crisis for him to exploit. No excuse to extend his reach. If we do our jobs—if we finish what our predecessors started over a century ago—there will be nothing left for him to control.”
The seven sat in silence. Each of them had been so focused on their siloed responsibilities, they rarely stepped back to see the future they were actually building.”
“If there’s nothing further,” Erik said, rising once more.
They rose in silence, placing their notes and folders into assigned lockboxes before filing out of the buried chamber. Under dual control, Francs and Cestel logged the minutes into the air-gapped console, then sanitized and secured the room.
After watching the elevator close behind Dr. Cestel, he stepped into his lift. Once the door closed, he shut his eyes and leaned against the wall.
Alone with his thoughts, Erik reminded himself why he couldn’t take his true aim to council. He had heard it said that a camel is a horse designed by a committee. He thought of the founders that convened some 560 years ago. The atrocities they committed. All in the name of survival.
Francs was resolute. He would not repeat the sins of their founders.
Francs stepped out of the elevator and into the atrium. Peter Vance waited by the wall.
“Orphaned at six, adopted before her eighth birthday. Her, and her brother. In Sol Seterra, no less. A nation of the orphaned.. And neglected.”
“She was a prodigy. Her, and her brother.” Erik was grateful Vance had chosen the direct approach for once.
“Oh, of course. ‘Exceptionally bright,” were your words, I believe.” Vance held onto the smile just a little too long. “You’ve been playing your own angle for years now. And today, we got our first real glimpse.”
Vance straightened. Erik blinked.
“Don’t get me wrong—I still don’t have a fucking clue what you’re up to. But it’s taking shape. Underselling Voss, leaving out her obvious connection to Vera Kaine… I haven’t been this intrigued since I first heard the name Iannone.”
“Say that name outside that bunker again and…” Erik said, eyes scanning the corners of the hall.
Vance’s smirk sharpened. “Like I said—intrigued.”
He could feel Vance studying every micro reaction on his face. Like his face was confessing in morse.
Vance dropped the smile. “I’ve known you a long time, Erik.”
“Not that long. I’m an old man. Time is relative.”
“Eleven years is long enough to know you’re principled. Whatever it is you’re up to, you believe in it. And you believe in Ms. Voss.
Erik didn’t speak. He’d already listened longer than he planned to.
Vance let the charm fall. Just for a moment. “I know you don’t respect me—what I do. But no one does it better. I’m not the narcissist you think I am. Not entirely.”
He slipped the mask back on. “When the time comes—and I believe it’s coming soon—you’ll need me.”
Vance adjusted his hat and made for the far door. Erik stood a moment longer, puzzling over the exchange. Erik wanted to believe Vance was capable of selflessness. It really didn’t matter if he believed him or not. He was right. He would need him—a fact that said more about the situation than it did about Peter Vance.
Lucerna, Endeleza
12 May 2579
Kern’s Day (Day of Last Light)
1158 hours
The tram came to a silent stop inside the east arrival terminal. Elara stepped out into a city that was never supposed to exist.
The dome above was disorienting. It mimicked a perfect sky. A sky no one had seen, with a sun no one had felt. Unbroken blue, flecked with drifting clouds that would never rain. A crisp spring breeze cut through the terminal. Filtered, scented—managed.
The scale of Lucerna alone was enough to induce vertigo. It was the largest single chamber in the world, but the panoramic projections made the world feel infinite. Elara knew that this was the closest facsimile to earth’s surface before the intervention of Neovise, but nothing felt more alien.
She turned slowly in place, trying to take in its five miles of simulated grandeur. Buildings stretched upwards in clean, crisp lines and reflected trees that swayed with the programmed wind. Somewhere above, digital birds chirped right on schedule.
She wanted to squint—throttle the overwhelming assault on her senses. But her eyes stayed wide, seemingly starved for the unfamiliar light.
“Good afternoon, Ms. Voss.” An androgynous voice came from the oval pod that rolled silently to her side.
“Fuck! You scared the shit out of me.”
“Apologies, Ms. Voss. It was not my intention to startle you. Dr. Francs has requested that I transport you to your quarters and serve as your concierge for the duration of your stay here in Lucerna.”
Elara let out a sharp laugh. “I’m going to have a hard enough time adjusting as-is. I’m not sure having a robot…
“Personnel-oriented drone, or POD, ma’am.”
Elara rolled her eyes. “Right. Always an acronym.”
“If you would prefer to walk, then I will escort you.” A door silently opened on the side of the cart. “Your luggage, Ms. Voss?”
She lowered her focus from the sky and watched the current of pedestrians and silent transit carts. No one seemed to appreciate how batshit crazy this all was. “This is fucking wild.”
“Indeed. Most report the sensory overload to subside after 24-48 hours. Stay here long enough, and this will all feel perfectly natural.”
“I seriously doubt that.” Elara picked up her bag and tried to gain her bearings. “How about you just give me directions. You never really know a place until you get lost.”
“As you wish, Ms. Voss.” The door on the cart closed. “Your hotel—The Faraday—is located directly north of Kern Tower. The front desk is expecting you.” The luggage door slid closed. “If you change your mind, just ask for me by name. My name is Doren.”
“Ask who?”
“Just ask. If you are in a populated, public area, you will be heard.”
“Fan-fucking-tastic. You guys really took ‘nanny-state’ to a whole new level.”
“Indeed.” The pod feigned a chuckle as it silently skated into the flow of the crowd.
Kern Tower was impossible to miss. Taller than any structure in human history. A cathedral of glass and steel that reflected the faux sun like a lamp—a lucerna.
Elara pulled her auburn hair into a tight pony, took a deep breath and stepped into the torrent of Lucerna’s pedestrian flow.
She couldn’t help but stare at the audacious oddities that passed her on the street.
First-time visitors weren’t common, but they were always easy to spot. Even the floor tiles knew she didn’t belong. Her clothes were stiff. Functional. She squinted at the sky like it was about to fall. Walked like the floor might disappear. They didn’t stare back.
Chin a little higher now, she cut through the crowd hoping no one could see how small she felt.
Few were born here. Citizenship in Lucerna wasn’t inherited. It was earned, married into, or bought. However you got here, everyone still remembered their first day in Lucerna. It didn’t matter if they came from the gritty sprawl of Sol Seterra, or the cold, pragmatic mines of Greylunde, they all appropriated the culture of Lucerna. Some quicker than others.
“Excuse me.” Elara had finally spotted someone she felt she had the stamina to talk to. It was an elderly man in a white shirt and disheveled tie standing at a small doorway.
“Ma’am.” The gentleman straightened his tie and gave a respectful nod.
“Good afternoon.” The formality caught her off guard. “I was just wondering—are the streets always this…active?”
“No, ma’am. It’s the Day of Last Light.”
“So—what? People just wander the streets when they get a day off?”
The gentleman chuckled. “Well, I suppose some might. I don’t pretend to know the mind of a Lucernian.”
“You don’t live here?”
The gentleman laughed. “Oh, no ma’am. Turaza.”
“I’m sorry?” Elara blinked, genuinely confused.
The gentleman smiled, then pointed downward with two fingers.
“The original settlement?”
“Yes, ma’am. After they expanded up here under the ice, this became the new Turaza. Down there, it was just the underbelly—the slums. They renamed the settlement Endeleza and this city Lucerna. I guess someone got tired of it being called the underbelly, so they reclaimed the name Turaza. Nobody else was using it.”
“How have I never heard any of this?”
The gentleman just smiled, eyebrows raised. Silly question. A city this clean doesn’t run on ideals alone. Everybody shits—even Lucernians.
“Have a beautiful day, Ma’am.”
The gentleman remained planted at his door. His averted gaze said plenty. Turaza wasn’t something they wanted discussed. Especially not in a city where the air had ears.
As she walked, the conversation echoed in her skull. Everything had a different hue now.
Elara was no stranger to inequality. Sol Seterra had taught her that early. She remembered standing in the Artisan District as a child. City center at Five Fingers, you could see it all. Wealth and want. Power and desperation—the full spectrum of humanity colliding. And sometimes coexisting.
This wasn’t that.
This wasn’t inequality. This was exploitation—buffed to a mirror shine. Sold as progress.
The closer she drew to Kern Tower, the more obscene the opulence became. She did the math. A city this perfect didn’t run on luxury. It ran on labor. Twenty-five, maybe thirty thousand workers doing jobs no Lucernian would touch. Conservatively. Triple the original settlement’s designed capacity.
Lucerna’s sheen had dulled. Her fascination with Lucerna—its façade, its perfection—was giving way to something else. Not outrage exactly. Not yet. Static, maybe. A pressure building behind her eyes.
Elara caught her reflection in the mirrored glass of a storefront. Posture too straight. Face too composed.
You’re fine. You’re here for a meeting. One meeting. Focus.
Whatever Turaza was—whatever it asked of her—could wait.
Before stepping through the door of the extravagant hotel, Elara cracked her satchel and sent a message.
“Welcome to The Faraday, Ms. Voss.” A model-grade girl no older than seventeen greeted her at the door like she’d been watched for blocks.
Blonde hair. Rare. Beautiful, really—until you considered the implications.
“Thank you. Please, call me Elara.” Her voice came out far smoother than she thought it might.
The girl smiled with her eyes more than mouth. She gave a slight nod to her right. Bellhops practically materialized beside her to take her bags.
Elara squinted to read her name badge. Rory.
“Rory? Let me guess. Raised by a witty single mother with a poor sense of boundaries?”
Rory feably tried to hide her confusion with a smile.
Pre-ejection pop culture was practically her second doctorate. Statistically, her references had a low hit rate, but the blank stares were often more rewarding than recognition.
The Faraday rivaled even the most luxurious pre-ejection hotels. The staff were all teens. Kids, really. Apparently, some jobs were just below the station of Lucernian Elite, but just above that of a Turazan. Truly, their jobs should have been automated, but being greeted by flesh and blood was quietly appreciated.
Her room was even more luxurious than she imagined. Even the door was exorbitant. Solid white oak. It had to be real. Maybe one of the first trees they planted.
Rory stood by the door as Elara took in the room. “If you need anything at all, just ask for me by name.”
Elara turned sharply. “Are you serious? They can hear me in here too?”
“No, ma’am.” Rory blinked, unsure. “Just press here for the front desk.” She pointed to a small console near the door.
Elara exhaled. “Of course. Thank you, Rory.”
With a polite nod, she started to close the door behind her.
“Uh, Rory?”
She turned sharply. “Yes, Ms. Voss?” She wasn’t going to use her first name.
“The window. Does it—?”
“No, ma’am. The windows don’t open. Safety.”
“No, I mean… is there any way to block it?”
“Oh! A privacy veil. Yes, of course.”
“Yes. Privacy.”
Rory stepped back inside and gestured toward the console. “Everything in your room can be controlled from here.” She slid two fingers down the screen, and the window frosted over in a smooth blur. “It’s all very intuitive.”
“Thank you, Rory.”
“My pleasure, Ms. Voss.”
“Please—Elara.”
Another subtle smile and curt nod.
Worth a shot.
Elara waited for the latch to click, then walked back and locked it herself. She wanted to believe her. She really did. But nothing in Lucerna convinced her she was ever truly out of earshot.
Still, she had to take the chance.
She dropped her bag of clothes on the floor and placed her satchel on the bed. Out from her satchel, she pulled her tablet and sat cross-legged on the bed.
“What gives? You’ve been a Lucernian for what? Three hours? I figured you’d be in a giant barrel hat by now eating chocolate with your new socialite friends?!” Meredith was Elara’s sponsor and, whether Elara admitted it or not, her closest friend.
The moment Meredith’s face appeared, Elara’s chest tightened. A tear she hadn’t approved welled up. She wiped it away and forced a smile.
Meredith gave her an understanding smile. She let Elara take the lead. However long it might take.
Elara took a moment to listen to her heartbeat and find her breath. Once found, she looked for a piece of a chuckle. “This place is utterly batshit.”
Meredith smiled ear to ear. She waited on Elara’s inevitable rant that always made her smile.
“Did you know they engineered wind? Not air circulation. Wind. Shifting, variable-speed patterns. And the ‘sunlight’? It’s warm. Not the air. Not the vents. Just the beam.”
She leaned forward, her voice sharper now.
“I need you to appreciate how hard that must’ve been to pull off. Motion tracking, pinpoint thermal emitters, and a hell of a lot of wasted energy. All to make people feel like they’re living in a past no one’s lived in twenty generations.”
Meredith tried to put herself beside her, stepping off that tram, blinking into artificial sunlight. “I can’t begin to imagine how jarring that must’ve been. How overstimulated you must feel.”
“And the people,” Elara said, brushing a lock of hair behind her ear, “they don’t look like me, walk like me, talk like me. Like they’re all from a different planet—where all of this is normal. And I’m the alien.”
Meredith studied the tension in her face. The fatigue. The flicker behind her eyes.
“I did see one normal person,” Elara added. “Not sure I was supposed to. An elderly man—eighties, maybe. Said he lived below Lucerna in the old settlement. He called it Turaza.”
She looked down at her finger, bloody now at the cuticle. She stopped picking.
“People get real dirty making a city this clean. And these people?” She glanced off screen. “They don’t clean anything. Turaza’s keeping this city running, and from what that man didn’t say…it might not be a choice.”
Meredith quietly listened. Elara wasn’t finished.
“This place doesn’t overwhelm me because it’s fake. It overwhelms me because it’s flawless. Every surface, every sound—it’s all curated. Orderly.”
She rubbed at her forehead, wiping away grime that wasn’t there.
“It makes the noise in my head feel like the only messy thing left.”
She glanced off-screen, eyes settling on the solid oak door. It really was beautiful.
“This old man—white shirt, loose tie. Standing at a door no one noticed. Too small to need a doorman. It didn’t make sense. The way he just stood there. Like he was part of a different story I didn’t understand.”
She hesitated.
“Like me.”
Her voice thinned.
“Everything about him felt… real. Nothing around him did.”
Elara looked down to her finger. The blood started to dry.
“That’s when I wanted to make it stop.”
Meredith had been keeping count. “That’s quite a few triggers.”
She leaned in, voice calm but firm.
“But if you’re wondering whether you can do this—you already are. You got through the shuttle. You made it to the hotel without buying anything. That’s not nothing. That’s doing it.”
She let that settle between them.
“You don’t have to believe you can do this forever. You just have to believe you can get through tonight. That’s what we do. Stack up one night at a time. That’s strength. That’s recovery.”
Elara swallowed hard.
“I don’t feel strong.”
“I know,” Meredith said. “You don’t have to. You just have to stay honest. Stay connected. Tell the truth. You’ve never had issues with that.”
Meredith’s mischaracterization of her honesty stung in the silence that followed.
Meredith was perhaps the only living person who knew how much everything had cost. Her intellect, her breakthroughs, even her sense of humor came at a price few were willing to pay.
She just didn’t know what it had cost.
“I’ll check in tomorrow?” Meredith asked.
Elara nodded again. A little steadier this time.
“Yeah. Tomorrow.”
Elara put away her tablet and wiped the last of the tears from her face. She leaned back into the oversized pillows on the oversized bed.
She still had one drug she never had to quit. The one that never betrayed her.
A soft pillow. A warm blanket. And The Faraday had the good stuff.
Restful sleep was a rare gift in recovery—a fact not lost on Elara.
She brushed her teeth, pulled on her black satin pajamas, queued up Kid A, and slid beneath the covers.
She was already halfway to nirvana when the first explosion lit her darkened room in shades of blue, green, and orange.
Elara launched out of bed and hit the floor hard.
“What the fuck?!”
More flashes. Louder cracks. A hissing sound?
She crawled to the console by the oak door. Another burst cast jagged red shadows across the ceiling.
She slapped at the screen, swiping up with both fingers.
The window unfrosted in a blink.
Fireworks.
She sat back on her heels, catching her breath.
“You have got to be kidding me.”
She’d heard Lucerna made a spectacle of Kern’s Day. Seen the official pictures. The gleaming towers, simulated night sky, and a celebration so perfect it felt unreal.
She’d assumed the scale was exaggerated. Just another piece of Endelezan propaganda.
It wasn’t.
Elara sat back in bed and watched, arms wrapped around her knees.
The irony was there. She just didn’t have the energy to chase it.
So instead, she did something increasingly rare for a mind like hers.
She just watched.
Morning came gently. Elara was already awake before the facsimile sun even considered rising. She’d always been a morning person. Genetics, mostly, but that never stopped her from feeling quietly superior about it.
She spent the morning getting into gear. For what, she had no idea. All she knew was that Erik Francs, the brain behind Neural Intent Synthesis (and a personal hero of hers) had invited her to Kern Tower for a meeting.
Probably the only reason she would’ve agreed to step foot in Lucerna.
She didn’t spend much time getting ready. Pretty girls are always disadvantaged in the lab, and she was always disadvantaged in the lab. Makeup would’ve just made it worse.
She spent even less time walking to Kern Tower. Head down. Big strides. Didn’t need Lucerna’s curated perfection wigging her out before sitting across from Francs.
The ground floor wasn’t nearly as populated as she’d expected. Seven—eight people, maybe. Maybe the room was just a lot bigger than she thought it would be.
She approached a reception console mounted on a nearby pillar.
“Ms. Elara Voss for Chief Francs.”
A familiar, androgynous voice came from the screen.
“Good morning, Ms. Voss. I trust you had a restful evening.”
Elara ignored the pleasantry. She always enjoyed watching an algorithm feign awkwardness.
“Yes…well, Chief Francs will see you now.”
An elevator opened to her right. She stepped inside, catching her reflection on the polished panel as the doors closed.
Ugh. Maybe some foundation wouldn’t have been the worst idea.
The doors opened on the seventh floor. She was quietly devastated.
Tallest building in history. Over nine hundred meters. One hundred eighty-seven floors. And she gets the seventh.
It was quiet. Just hallways and closed office doors. She skipped the reception console and read nameplates as she walked.
One empty office after another she walked. Floor, glass, walls. All spotless. Brand new. The possible explanations started to fall in line, but was interrupted before she could narrow any of them down.
“Ms. Voss.”
Erik Francs was standing down the hall behind her.
She turned quickly to face him.
He smiled.
“Welcome to Lucerna.”