“The number of relays needed for this enterprise is astronomical. We are talking two per connection so they can re-entangle, plus a proxy one. The Tycoon Initiative will be yet another revolution in communication as we know it.”
-Ricardo Bertolini, 2212, The Tycoon Initiative Inauguration Gala
To say I felt groggy when I woke up, was the understatement of the century. I groaned my way into wakefulness as I closed the Project Tycoon interface.
“Good morning, Lorem,” Sandra spoke as she noticed my movement. “Did you have a good rest?”
“You already know I didn’t.” If she could detect my vitals to the point of predicting my emotions, she could quantify my sleep quality without issues.
“Sometimes sleep quality does not correlate with good sleep.” My assistant said as if she read my mind.
“I guess,” I added with a sigh.
I stood up from the bed. It was comfortable and warm, but I was nowhere close to a sleep enjoyer. Years of going to sleep late with many thoughts and projects in my mind wouldn’t be undone by a simple reconstruction of my body. The issue was more mental than physical.
“How has your tycoon gone?” The VI asked, at this point it was only courtesy. However, I was sure one psychologist would say that having someone inquire about your life was beneficial for your mental health. And to that, I responded: if it was so beneficial, why there was a mute button on my assistant, huh?
I kept my thoughts to myself, the fact that I was a grumpy and bad person wasn’t something Sandra needed to know.
“Pretty well, actually,” I responded with veritable interest and happiness. “It’s a bit stressful that I have a whole stellar system to myself – so many possibilities – but I wouldn’t wish against it. I’m dealing with a geothermically active zone, but the probing has shown that I won’t have to face real problems, whether seismic or otherwise, for a long time.”
“Would you like for me to assist you in your tycoon?” Sandra offered.
“Wait, is that possible?” Having a sleepless virtual intelligence bring assistance to my tycoon seemed a bit unfair. One thing was a low-level AI that only overwatched the tycoon and followed given instructions, the other was a low-level VI. There was no point in comparison. It was like weighing a textbook against a teacher. Sure, the book contained the knowledge, but to truly learn its contents, you needed a person to digest it for you.
“Once you’ve established my compute core in your private property, I will be able to assist you with your tycoon.”
“No leeching of the hospital’s connection, huh?” I knew it wasn’t that easy. But waiting a month for constant and eternal assistance wasn’t much. But I smelled a ‘but’. “You will require computes to operate in my tycoon, right?”
“Affirmative,” Sandra addressed neutrally. “Because of the superior computing abilities and data load, I will consume ten times as much computes as an AI.”
“Motherfucker!” I swore.
Sending intelligence through the QEF was expensive. That’s why sites like Parallel which were open to anyone, remained mostly human as the Virtual Reality landscape remained too expensive for students. At 10 computes per hour, it meant that gaming sessions could lead some students cashless. 100 hours sounded like a lot, but like Project Tycoon, you could access it whilst sleeping. You could easily use those 100 hours in a single week, blowing the 1k compute allowance in less than a quarter of the month.
Parallel was only cheap because of the mega-servers that used common standard traditional computing as a proxy and lightly relied on quantum communicators for access and processing. If we were talking about straight communication like a connection to a tycoon, the number of computes needed skyrocketed. People could only afford their tycoon access because it was gifted, otherwise I doubted most tycoons were profitable enough to pay the connection by themselves. And then, AI and VI were less efficient at transferring data than the human mind. Adding another expense.
“Can I remind you of your current salary of 1 million computes?” Sandra barged into my thoughts with her calm voice.
“Oh right.” I calmed down instantly. “It’s so unreal that I totally forgot about it. 1 fucking million credits. I guess you won’t even dent my income.”
“Current exchange values VI remote connection at 50 computes per hour,” Sandra informed. “If I were to be permanently connected to your tycoon, that would only be 36.000 computes, or 3.6% of your salary.”
“Only she says.” I snickered in derision. “Sandra, that’s the allowance of 36 students. You are saying you take up the allowance of 36 students.”
“I am aware.” She replied. “But that would be in the case that I was always connected. Based on my calculation, I would need less than an hour per day to manage the tycoon optimally. Or around 1.500 computes.”
“Sandra, that’s still more than one student can afford.” I sighed. “What will happen when I no longer have my salary to rely on?”
“That will be a decade from now, and even supposing you spend it,” a thing that I doubted would ever happen, truth be told, “your tycoon will generate more than that amount per month. A single tycoon. And whilst I do not have access to the information nor the magnitude of your whole granted tycoon, you should be more than able to compensate for such expenses with a second tycoon. Three or more will be guaranteed profit.”
It was so curious how if this were videogame economics I would be grossly interested, but because we were talking about my real income, I couldn’t care less.
“That’s fine and all, but could you print me a protein bar? I’m starving.”
“I recommend eating outside. The Terra Nova Enclave has one of the most diverse culinary cultures of Alpha Centaury.” Sandra offered.
“I must decline, print that bar,” I stated grumpily and went to the bathroom.
I knew there were many foods out there, but I didn’t take joy in eating. If it weren’t for the girls or the deal I’d made with Gloria, I would have spent these 30 days in this room. I went to the toilet and took a long hot water shower. Sandra interrupted me once about wasteful water usage and that continuing would subtract from my wallet, but I didn’t care. I needed that hot shower.
I had been so excited about the tycoon yet simultaneously tired, that only now the events of yesterday factored on my brain.
“Oh, fuck me.” I lead my hands to my head. “I puked on a woman’s face.”
Most would say that it was Gloria’s fault, but it still was me who did it. And I felt awful about it. Even with the scolding water, enough to turn my sink searing red, the dirty feeling didn’t wash from my body. Once I turned off the water, I looked at my wallet and I had been indeed charged 3 computes for wasteful water consumption. There weren’t many, but I knew repeated offenses resulted in fines.
I just hoped this would be a one-time thing and I wouldn’t be stupid enough to do it again to merit a fine.
Taking advantage of that I was browsing through the interface, I looked at my notifications. By now some colleagues had gotten the news of my doctorate and had sent me emails, but judging from the rigid structure, it was clear that they used AI to send me forced congratulations.
“Bruh… If you feel obligated to congratulate me, just don’t do it. I won’t even remember.” I didn’t send that to them, but I very well could have done it. “Fuckers.”
Most of these colleagues I only knew them by name or voice, they had brought me a bit of help with my paper. That’s the thing with human scholars and researchers, they had more than enough time to help the occasional student with their thesis. One of these automatic responses came from Ricardo Bertolini, one of the main developers of the Quantum Entanglement Forum. Whilst we had only met for a 2-hour virtual conference, the earthling brought so many ideas to the table that I was able to shape my thesis into a more coherent paper.
Whilst no longer a Paragon as he had taken a few decades of rest, the man was the real deal. In just 30 minutes, he was able to comprehend everything I was doing and what my whole plan for the future was. I wouldn’t say he was a genius, but it was obvious he had lived for more than 2 centuries.
Mérida also sent a message if we could meet in four hours because she was going to go soon into the evolution process, which meant I wouldn’t be able to see her for a few days. I replied with a “Yes.” And she unleashed all the curses trapped in the Tower of Babel about my lack of enthusiasm. To which I responded “Yes.”
I muted my notifications after that.
Even though the protein bar was a brick, by this time I had finished it all up. I lay on the desk’s chair, my neck on the chair’s back.
“Sandra, put an alarm for three and a half hours from now.” My voice was low and exhausted. Even text-based socializing had depleted me. So many messages to answer back…
“Understood.” The virtual assistant didn’t protest my tone.
“Alright, what to do, what to do.” Gloria hadn’t messaged me yet, so either she was avoiding me – understandable – or only a few hours had happened since then, and she was just sleeping. Which was likely. Anxiety was a bitch. “Is there a robotics workshop here, Sandra?” My eyes remained closed and my neck was in the process of snapping in half with the back of the chair.
“Affirmative,” Sandra sent an update to my map of the station. “Many in fact, all specializing in diverse applications.”
“Nice.” That motivated me a bit. I may be a human of bone and flesh, but I preferred my cold and unfeeling machines.
“May I inquire what is the motive of the question?”
“I’ve just wanted to visit them and maybe work a bit in a few ideas to free my mind.” I raised my head and cracked my neck thrice in quick succession.
“I must notify you that you will not be able to do that,” Sandra added.
I frowned. “Elaborate.”
“You are currently being hosted under a ‘sick leave’ and are forbidden from working.”
“You must mean that I’m recommended against working.” I looked at the blue lights of the room.
“Negative. You are forbidden from exerting yourself mentally and physically – unless it is for health-related issues - under the Evolution Act of 2300.” The electronic voice was calm and informative. Sky blue. Meanwhile, I was seeing red.
“Fuck.” There was no better word to describe my feelings toward the subject.
I knew better than double check when there were acts involved. And considering how recent it was, I doubt I would be allowed any kind of bypass or leniency.
I jumped onto the bed. “What can I do?” The pillows muffled my words.
“Have you pondered exploring the Terra Nova Enclave?” Sandra suggested.
“I did that yesterday, and I am apparently restricted from the areas that I truly care about…” I twisted and turned on the bed.
Truth was, there was not a limit on the things I could do. Sure I had wasted most of my savings, but even those savings would become a grain of sand in the desert in the coming months. I could connect at Parallel without fearing running out of money, or waltzing around and trying the space delicacies of the Terra Nova Enclave.
Indecision born out of total freedom.
I debated whether to jump back into my tycoon but quickly decided against it. I left because I had nothing to do at the moment. I had to build more steel stockpiles, and most importantly, concrete ones. And the limestone quarry was far away, meaning that before I had a substantial stockpile, I would need to wait a few hours. Maybe a day.
“What are the chances I end up killing myself if I practice shapeshifting?” I asked to my room.
“Zero,” Sandra responded instantly. “You are currently hospitalized in a fast-response room. If mine or the hospital sensors were to detect you were in danger, you would not have the opportunity to end your life, whether voluntarily or involuntarily.”
“That’s good to hear,” I added with a hint of sarcasm. “But what about damage?”
“The human body has in-built countermeasures against self-harm, even if they are accidental. Any damage you may receive from faulty shapeshifting will not be lasting. Especially with the Terra Nova Enclave’s medical assistance.”
“Understood,” I mumbled.
In other words, I had free reign to mess me up. At the bathroom I had seen that I had forgotten to change my hair back to its normal color, still upholding its white lack of color. I left it that way and focused on other ways to change my color. I doubted I would achieve anything significant like body weight redistribution without Gloria’s assistance, so pigmentation would do for the moment.
“Sandra, are you authorized to print alcohol?”
“Affirmative.” The VI responded.
“Huh, I expected a negation.” I raised my back from the bed. “Doesn’t this go against the directives of the hospital?”
“Biological humans are more tolerant of alcoholic substances, though I am forbidden to serve you beverages with more than 20% alcohol contents.”
“Ah, that makes more sense.” I knew it couldn’t be that simple. “Okay, print me a vodka, Sandra.”
“Understood.” The printer lit up alive and started making its malevolent printer noises.
I opened shapeshifting guides on my interface, but they all were off in one way or another. “Aren’t there shapeshifting classes on the Terra Nova Enclave?” I asked Sandra. “Considering it’s the only location of Alpha Centaury where humans can evolve, isn’t it a bit shortsighted that there aren’t UHN-issued classes?”
“Most students’ biological evolutions possess limited shapeshifting capabilities as they only have access to basic, low-tier evolutions.”
“I forgot about that detail.” I was close to the one percent of one percent, but I had yet to interiorize it. “Either way, it still seems shortsighted.”
“There are many such establishments in Nova Jericho,” Sandra explained.
“But I’m not in Proxima b, am I not?” I frowned and crossed my arms. My homeworld's capital was far away now.
“You are going to stay less than a month from now, there is no need for haste.” The VI tried to calm me down and defuse the situation, I could see it.
“Yeah, but that’s the thing. I don’t want to wait. I don’t care I’m immortal. If I have obtained something, I want to test it as soon as possible.”
“You are free to do so.” Sandra added, revealing that it was indeed a ‘low-level’ VI.
“That’s not the…” I stopped shouting and sighed. “Doesn’t matter. Just hand me the vodka.”
The printer lighted up and a tray detached from the base, carrying the glass of vodka. For the first time, I was able to see how Sandra had managed to transport the printer’s products around. The tray levitated toward the bed in a clearly pre-established route alongside the wall. There weren’t any mechanical arms, drone rotors, wheels, or even gravitation shenanigans. It was simple electromagnetism.
Weak one at that too, considering how it maintained barely a few centimeters of the wall. Certainly not useful to transport heavy loads, but for something under a couple of kilos it was trivial.
The tray stopped on my bed’s headrest, and I picked up the glass. The floor of the tray was protected with a non-magnetic material, from what I could see. “Thanks, Sandra.”
“You are welcome, Lorem.” The assistant answered back.
I found myself smiling. Sometimes basic courtesy does that to people.
The vodka wasn’t strong, I already knew that because of the alcohol limitations, but it had no reason to be awful tasting. My face wrinkled from the taste, but I didn’t voice my discomfort. Not that Sandra wasn’t already aware of it.
It didn’t take long for my body to recognize the foreign poisonous substance and start attacking it and processing it. Now that my body was ‘hurt’, I could start shapeshifting. I wished I could do this without getting drunk, more of tedium than not wanting to get wasted.
I thought about changing the color of my eyes first, but that seemed hard. Not only I couldn’t look at my eyes – without assistance, that is – but they were a rather important organ. I preferred to wreck other places of my body first.
Pigmentation, by all means, was the simplest form of shapeshifting. Basically, because the body already does it on a daily basis. Too much sun? Just turn the skin darker. It was precisely from these in-built mechanisms that I hadn’t found much difficulty in convincing my skin to heal ‘wrongly’.
I was already pretty pallid, though my skin tone couldn’t be compared to the sickly albino tones of most biological humans. I hate fashion and trends. I knew humans couldn’t get as easily sick as students, but skin that white wasn’t healthy. I had an innate aversion to anything that implied putting one’s health at risk.
Unless I did it myself, of course.
My sight was focused on my arm, screaming at it to turn darker. And I wasn’t aware if it was because of the simplicity of the job, or any other factor, but I managed to turn my arm a shade darker. Not actually noticeable until I put both arms side by side, and even then, the difference was minimal. I took another sip of the vodka and hastily realized it wouldn’t be enough.
“Another round, Sandra,” I commanded, already focusing back on my arm.
“Understood.” The VI obeyed without issue.
Even after repeating the process three times, my left arm was vaguely different from my right one. The tan from a swimsuit on a beach day was more noticeable than this.
“Am I doing something wrong?” I inquired. “Maybe I’m being too safe… Should I try to go full black?”
If my skin were to turn into charcoal with a single thought, then I pondered that it would be as simple as turning back to my default state.
“Okay, here we go!” I drank half a glass of vodka in a go, my superior human body even taken aback by the whiplash of that much alcohol. “I just hope I don’t go full vantablack here.”
I tried limiting my shapeshifting from my arm, for if I really changed my skin coloration to 99% black or higher, I would set myself ablaze with ease. Well, not aflame, but my body temperature would increase fast, and even if I could take 45℃ in theory, absorbing that much light into my body would break that milestone.
Whether it was because of my limited shapeshifting capabilities or my fear of combusting, my skin didn’t turn into a black hole. Just a slightly tanned, maybe bronze skin.
“I suck at this, don’t I?” I mumbled as I waved my arm around.
In a vacuum, it didn’t look that dark. Certainly not black, more like a desaturated brown. But next to my sun-averse arm, I looked like a vampire.
“I would such transforming an extremity after two days of evolving, is quite an achievement.” Sandra bombarded me with positive reinforcement.
“Don’t congratulate me, I don’t need praising.” I frowned. “I have barely achieved anything, save that when I can morph wings or something. And actually fly with them. I heard it’s quite tricky.”
“Noted,” And I got reminded of the noting function of the VI.
“How long until the alarm, by the way?” I remembered about the meeting with Mérida.
“32 minutes.”
“Holy shit.” I was dumbfounded. Awestruck. Petrified. Shellshocked. Starstruck. “I wasted more time than I thought. Weird how time passes faster when you are doing something that you like.”
“This is a common and well-research phenomenon called-“
“Sorry, Sandra. Don’t care. I know that it’s a mechanism our minds use to function. I have the attention span of jellyfish; I know that already.”
The VI didn’t answer back, probably because she was upset I had shot down her trivia. And intelligences LOVED their trivia.
I put the alarm ahead of schedule, so I have around 45 minutes left. I guess I could practice a bit more. A single arm wasn’t enough of a shapeshifting feat of strength. I finished the vodka glass with another gulp. The sudden intake of alcohol made me dizzy already. I wasn’t used to alcohol, yet I had had three glasses in a few hours with no whatever in between. My body heated up as it felt the effects, unable to heal that damage, too focused on changing shapes.
I jumped and undressed. My body was well-built and doted from the evolution process, but this muscle mass was far from trained. A six-pack was already useless from a strength viewpoint, a fake one even more so. I left that detail for later and focused on shapeshifting.
My body itched from both the alcohol and the wrong healing. And excitement.
“Ah~” A moan escaped my lips as my body protested in pain, refusing my planned changes. A new magnitude of shapeshifting I hadn’t worked with yet.
Full body shapeshifting.
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