There’s only one final frontier, and that’s our imagination.

-Cecil Augustus, 2212, The Tycoon Initiative Inauguration Speech

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The hall busted with music and ovations as the students walked down the red velvet. Finally, after grueling decades of study, they would graduate. The years had been harsh, but more so was the damned three-hour-long speech. We had all the time in the world, but that was no reason to waste it!

The lights of Rigil Kentaurus, Toliman, and Proxima Centauri washed over us. We may have lived for decades on solid ground, yet now we are showered in the vastness of space and the luminosity of starlight. In the space station, a glorified ceremony stage, the only welcome illumination right now was that of the triplet stars. The yellow lights of Alpha A and Alpha B, plus the red light of Proxima. This was but the first step for us future cosmonauts.

The freshly graduated students looked at the stars enthralled. Not only we were in space for the first time in our twenty-five years of existence, but we had a first-class view only a few millions had seen before. Some ached to see Sol and the original system, but the beauty of the ternary stars eclipsed it. If one single star was great, then three were triple as great.

“Mister Ipsum, could you share with us a few words?” The voice of the headmistress of Proxima B’s seventeen education institution echoed through the hall. A voice so potent and commanding that it felt like the tempered glass – meant to support the pressure of one atmosphere colliding with the vacuum of space – vibrated as if close to breaking.

Yet amongst that awe, one star overshadowed them all. A presence so bright that everyone, teacher and students alike, were forced to look at it.

Me.

My steps were slow yet decisive. A complex task to perform considering the nullity of gravity. This type of station could simulate human-suited gravity, but for obvious reasons, it was deactivated. Why even do your first space travel if you couldn’t even experiment with zero gravity? My pompous stroll was an act as it was hard to walk so loudly without being shot to the ceiling, but a meaningful and practiced act nonetheless.

I had won this spot. People forgot their studies to seek pleasure, yet I didn’t. I didn’t blame them, there was no reason to study after all. The United Human Nation fed, housed, and clothed everyone. They went as far as to give an allowance of computes big enough to have meaningful access to the QEF. 

Unlimited information, unlimited lifespan, unlimited resources.

There was no reason to study, yet some like us did. And like me, some excelled.

The lectern was preposterous. Made of a silver-aluminum alloy judging by the color and shine, it levitated in place. This was, of course, a result of the zero gravity of space, but there was more to it. The station was in constant movement, and so was the lectern, so it shouldn’t stay static in place as it rocked up and down. Some sort of magnetic field kept it in place. So that’s why they used aluminum. Any other metal would have had too much magnetic conductivity, attracting the lectern to the magnet, or repelling it too much. Still, that’s a waste. Why not use just a polymer like everything else?

Truth was, it didn’t matter. Hyperfixation and rambling had always been my coping mechanisms against nervousness, and right now, they were in overdrive. I had excelled, my actions had been certified and recorded to the annals of history already, yet now as all the students of my generation looked at me, I couldn’t help to feel nervous.

Stupid, I know.

I had demonstrated more capabilities and long-term results than most humans alive when I hadn’t even reached adulthood, and yet I was on the brink of a panic attack induced by stage fright.

I landed my hands on the lectern with a powerful thud that thundered across the colossal transparent edification. Symbolic, yes, but mostly to keep myself from barrel-rolling across the room. I cannot state how hard it was to work in zero gravity. Your body screamed to do things instinctively, even if they were just plainly wrong. I was dealing with psychological and physiological aches, yet I didn’t let my composure waver. I had worked five years for this, a fifth of my life.

Nothing else remained but to manifest supremacy.

“Fellow comrades!” I started by appealing to humanity, a sense of unity. If I foiled this speech, a prospect that looked highly likely the longer I pondered about it, at least I would be remembered as a patriotic man. “We are joined today together in the very orbit of our home planet of Proxima B to celebrate, not only our graduation from our studies but our adulthood!”

Perhaps it was because the previous three-hour-long speech had demotivated them, but my novice words were enough to get an ovation from the gathering. Praise, even if it was from reflexive clapping, was intoxicating and reassuring.

“My name is Lorem Ipsum and you may know me as the ‘1% Boy’ as the media lovingly referred to me.” My introduction got some giggles out of the audience. Good work so far. “My studies have been Quantum Engineering Applied to Swarm Robotics and Transport, a field as boring as long is the title, but with even greater applications.”

I could see their eyes light up, the interest growing as flames emboldened by words. I was no public figure, humanity barely knew about me, only a handful of scientists, who also were a race in decline. My fellow students probably hated me. Not only I made the already long graduation speech even longer, but they would be forever compared to me. “Why couldn’t you be as competent as Lorem?” The voices would whisper to them. Voices probably coming from themselves too.

Appeal to humanity.

There was no greater fallacy.

No PURER fallacy.

I needed their love and reaffirmation, not despise.

“My first paper alone has had a big impact on civilization as we know it.” Unfortunately, not the whole speech could be fun. “Swarm Robotics is a semi-new field, especially on this unprecedented scale. Control units, whether they are signal stations or drone-assignment facilities, were never created with the intention of commanding millions of robots simultaneously. This led to a lot of inefficiencies. That is how I, a twenty-five-year-old boy, managed to augment humanity’s energy productivity by a whole 1%, my namesake as you may have noticed.”

I gripped the lectern with more strength, the wobbling of the magnetic field only making me more nervous. I wanted to talk more about my studies and research papers with my contemporaries, I ached for it. It was awful to only be able to talk with people quintupling my age. What use was a job, a discovery, if you couldn’t develop it with college during a coffee break? I didn’t want to gloat, I also wanted to hear their stories, their discoveries. I wanted to be part of the herd, but it wasn’t allowed to me.

Not until now.

Yet I feared now it was too late.

I took a deep breath and continued with my speech.

“A simple algorithm and shrewd application of colony behavior has allowed me to become influential. Influential in a sector you are very knowledgeable about. The Project Tycoon.”

Thousands of heads raised up to look at me. The magic words had been spoken.

Project Tycoon.

After years of stories, of being told how important this initiative had been to humanity, in a few days we would be able to experience it ourselves.

And they CRAVED for it.

I knew it because so did I.

“Project Tycoon has been the greatest initiative of the twenty-second century.” I tried my best to not sound like I was reading a wiki. Which I may or may not be doing. “Quantum Entanglement Communicators and Faster-Than-Light inorganic travel have allowed humanity to expand beyond the cosmos and colonize at impossible speeds, but the technology is far too new. New enough for a youngster like me to push, if ever-so-slightly, humanity higher on the Kardashev Scale.” 

They didn’t care about trivia or my achievements, they cared about what their future awaited them. I was not the best spokesperson; I wasn’t even social. But I could understand what they wanted; they didn’t want me. They didn’t want Lorem, the engineer, they wanted an icon. A hero, if possible. Their hearts ached for the romanticism of the cosmos. There was nothing more beautiful than tailored propaganda.

“So I implore you, my colleagues, my comrades, you still can leave your mark. I will not be pedantic about science and technology; a mark is not limited by scientific discovery. You are free to pursue your artistic freedom and go down the path of entertainment but mark my words. Your lives, OUR lives, have only just begun. Just because I left my mark before coming of age does not mean that you will not have that chance. From now on, keep your heads high up, and be ready to march into the stars!”

---

Gravity felt awkward as I took the first steps. After being a few hours in a room with zero gravity, my body had somehow forgotten my two decades of gravitational knowledge.

“It’s weird, huh?” The headmistress directed to me as she turned back. She had walked several meters, unaffected by the sudden change of gravity.

“H-how are you well?” I found myself panting. Panting.

“Well, I have been in space before, that’s one reason.” The headmistress offered me her soft and small hand. I took it, any help was appreciated. “My line of work requires me to meet with people in person if possible, and spatial travel is way faster than any other planetary alternative. Any planetary alternative if the planet in question is Proxima B, something should be done about the geography and public transport. Terraforming is just not enough.”

“Alright?” I replied as neutrally as I could but my confusion at the woman’s outburst was not easily controllable.

“Oh, sorry for my behavior.” The headmistress apologized, putting one hand in her cleavage on bowing down. 

Her body was clearly fake. Maybe fake wasn’t the most correct word, as it was her real body and made of real cells, but I was 100% percent sure this wasn’t her biological body. 

There were many ways to tell, but what ground my gears was mostly the perfection of her body. It was just too perfect. Total symmetry, almost glowing eyes, no pores, big breasts, long hair that wasn’t combed yet exercised perfect straightness, et cetera. Those just were a few of the points. She hadn’t comprehended at her age that the perfection of the human body lay in its imperfection. Instead, she tried to correct everything, but instead became a chimera of the uncanny valley.

“Your attitude with me and on the speech has been so composed that it has been hard for me to think of you as a boy.” If I didn’t know any better, I would say she was flirting with me. Unfortunately for her, I wasn’t interested in this type of older woman.

It certainly didn’t help that we were walking across the corridors of the space station whilst holding hands. But nothing could be done about that, my sense of equilibrium was utterly devastated. There was a reason why the old world’s government trained astronauts for years before going to space.

I tried focusing my sights on the corridors, but unlike the graduation hall, these just were nondescript passageways mainly thought for communicating zones rather than serving a decorative purpose. In the end, the magnificent space station was a series of tubes in which a fifth of the surface was windows. Space was spectacular, but not when seen from oppressive slits.

“I haven’t had the luck of being with my contemporaries for a prolongated exposure.” I expressed with calculated tiredness. “My research always involved communicating with scientists. But if I am completely honest, I have found that…”

“Old people are less mature than children?” The constructed beauty responded with a giggle.

“I wouldn’t put it in those exact words, but yes.”

“Oh, don’t be so pushed up.” She giggled more. “That’s what immortality tends to do to one. Brain development activities cease and decay to a point. There are no more legal guardians, or tutors. Manchildren with age equal to the length terraforming incentive are more common than you might think.”

The headmistress led me to an elevator of some sort, yet another tube. But this one was fully translucid, not only allowing me to see the vastness of space but also many parts of the space station that were previously hidden.

It didn’t take me long to notice that there weren’t any cables in the elevator, nor any apparent brakes for that matter.

“Electromagnetic acceleration?” I mused aloud.

“Indeed,” The headmistress corroborated. “Such applications and banalities are impossible on celestial bodies with high gravitational fields, but here, in the middle of absolute nothingness, they are so cheap that it makes no sense to not apply them.”

“But how do you break the elevator then?”

“The rings around the elevator shaft aren’t just decoration or to reinforce the structure, but acceleration controllers. And also, the reason why this piece of junk moves slower than a pitch drop.” The woman clicked her heels on the platform. “Otherwise, this one-ton platform would be a very deadly railgun. And let me tell you, in space, nothing would decelerate it.”

“I see.” I could understand that she meant it as a cautionary tale, but talking about accelerating one-ton projectiles with magnets did a thing with men. Mostly turning our brains off and appealing to our instincts of ‘more is better’ or more commonly referred to as ‘ooga booga’.

“Now, switching subjects. May you look at your interface? I’ve just sent you a document.”

I focused on my vision and lights appeared in the corners of my eyes, the interface flashing before me and a red dot pinging me that I had, indeed, a notification. I displaced my hands in front of me to select the floating dot and unfolded the message. It looked like a very boring legal document.

“I will not make you read it right now, but you should have the bullet points first.” The headmistress spoke with the diction of someone who was reading the document right now. “For your scientific endeavors in order to boost humanity’s progress and might, the United Human Nation has gifted you a bonus of 1 million computes for 10 years, alongside doubling your monthly stimulus for life.”

“Huh?” My jaw dropped to the floor. I almost lost my equilibrium, and that sentence may have not been a metaphor. “An annual paycheck of 1 million computes?” I knew that my voice was high, basically shouting, but this was wholly unexpected.

“Annual? Think more of salary.” The headmistress looked at me with a coy smile.

“A million a month?” She nodded. “For ten years?” She nodded again, my vocal cords hurting from the shouting. “That’s 120 million computes!”

“Distributed over a decade for your mental welfare, but very much, yes.” I was bewildered at the woman’s composure. No human needed that amount of currency, it was virtually useless.

“Why?” There were many questions in my mind, that was simply the first.

“You underestimate your contribution to society greatly, mister Ipsum.” The headmistress's tone stopped being playful and turned business-like. “Whilst your speech was pompous and overexaggerated, especially about the reference to your contributions to the Kardashev Scale considering you only optimized energy usage rather than increasing its production, a 1% optimization – an instantaneous 1% optimization and easily applicable – of all human energy consumption, is nothing to scoff at.”

The elevator started decelerating mid-speech and the doors opened by the moment the headmistress stopped talking. She got out and I followed her into a new set of corridors. This part of the station was clearly more populated as there were plants in the corridors.

“Let’s put it into numbers easier to understand.” The headmistress explained whilst moving backward, her eyes locked on me. “If 1% of humanity were to die, something that would almost correlate to that 1% energy consumption, then 2 billion people would die. A single death is already a humanitarian crisis, can you even imagine 2 billion of them?”

“I-I can’t…” The brutal analogy took me out of my game.

“Of course you can’t.” The headmistress showed me a pearly white smile, her crimson red lips contrasting perfectly with those perfectly fake teeth. “Humans are not meant to think numbers that big. Even those that are going to become immortal.”

Before I could add something, she turned on her heel and pointed at a reinforced door.

The promise of wealth disappeared from my visage as another one replaced it.

The promise of agelessness.

Of immortality.

“Isn’t the process supposed to take a month to start? You know, to prepare the procedure for the individual and such?”

“This must stay between us, but the UHN do a screening for the candidates with more potential beforehand.” The message was clear, bureaucracy be damned.

“Meaning I will become immortal before my peers.”

The headmistress stepped forward, closing into me, and laid a finger on my chest. Her crimson eyes met with my dull grey ones.

“A few months makes no difference in the eye of eternity but tell no one. Some are just that jealous.” I knew she was toying with me, that until I accepted and underwent the procedure I was nothing but a child, barely human in her and the UHN’s eyes, yet my body desired for her.

I ignored the physiological reaction as I didn’t want to have that type of relationship with anyone. Carnality without passion was meaningless. I took a deep breath.

“I am ready.” My voice was resolute even if I could feel every cell of my body tremble with nervousness.

“By all means, step forward.” She whispered into my ear. “Embrace the cosmos, seize immortality, graduate humanity.”