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Conversion - draft
Summary: A space junk reclaimer discovers that a synthetic species has decided to brazenly and briskly takeover Megacomplec and replace humanity which had finally arranged itself into a utopia of automated megacities on several planets.
The conflict is between Bunks' preferences for future conditions or his life.
His limbs are having more instances of seeming separateness. He had had friends who had lost theirs and later complained that they felt like they were there uncomfortably which prostheses usually smoothed over. His case was the opposite. Luckily, he could use the exoskeleton instead to prop himself up.
When he had faced meaninglessness in social activities, he had sought refuge in machines. When they had taken away voluntary action, he had fled to Mars. Now that the synths had eliminated logic, he could see no path forward. It was the humans who had needed it and without them the posthumans had their own forms of decision-making. There was nothing left of humanity for him to guard which presented a fundamental contradiction. The answer was an escape route. This one would be one way, without fanfare or salute. A more creative person might have built themselves a better maze. He had had enough when they took away the members of his squad. Now that he had formed a new one among the heads on deck of several species groups, his enemy had targeted those as well. There was no end to loss in this universe. The moment that he paused to accept that was when he became a standing bullseye himself and the inevitable occurred.
Someone had changed his status in the archives. Instead of being the confidential asset, they had listed him as a trained shooter on the loose seeking revenge for the decision of an officer who had demanded that he complete a mission which lost the rest of his team. Somehow he had outwitted the pursuers from all of the groups and carried out his goal. They had later found that it was he who had also taken out the others in his strike and blamed it on command. He had then beaten every level of defense on his way up to the ultimate milestone of erasing his own species.
This was false, but it had been put into the deepest reports which had been marked destroyed so there was no way to modify them. It meant that it was not only his friends that had a bounty on them. Cartel had done this type of thing in the past to deceive the opposition into self-destructing. If he was no longer around, then the others would no longer be in danger since noone could claim that he was still after them. No Strangelove, if he had to go, he would have preferred to have had enough time to fake it.
They had used his closest contacts to lure him, of course, and exoskeletons for the coup de grace. Someone took aesthetic pleasure in this. His last thought was that he would have liked to have met them.
Continued draft
The conflict is between Bunks' preferences for future conditions or his life.
His limbs are having more instances of seeming separateness. He had had friends who had lost theirs and later complained that they felt like they were there uncomfortably which prostheses usually smoothed over. His case was the opposite. Luckily, he could use the exoskeleton instead to prop himself up.
When he had faced meaninglessness in social activities, he had sought refuge in machines. When they had taken away voluntary action, he had fled to Mars. Now that the synths had eliminated logic, he could see no path forward. It was the humans who had needed it and without them the posthumans had their own forms of decision-making. There was nothing left of humanity for him to guard which presented a fundamental contradiction. The answer was an escape route. This one would be one way, without fanfare or salute. A more creative person might have built themselves a better maze. He had had enough when they took away the members of his squad. Now that he had formed a new one among the heads on deck of several species groups, his enemy had targeted those as well. There was no end to loss in this universe. The moment that he paused to accept that was when he became a standing bullseye himself and the inevitable occurred.
Someone had changed his status in the archives. Instead of being the confidential asset, they had listed him as a trained shooter on the loose seeking revenge for the decision of an officer who had demanded that he complete a mission which lost the rest of his team. Somehow he had outwitted the pursuers from all of the groups and carried out his goal. They had later found that it was he who had also taken out the others in his strike and blamed it on command. He had then beaten every level of defense on his way up to the ultimate milestone of erasing his own species.
This was false, but it had been put into the deepest reports which had been marked destroyed so there was no way to modify them. It meant that it was not only his friends that had a bounty on them. Cartel had done this type of thing in the past to deceive the opposition into self-destructing. If he was no longer around, then the others would no longer be in danger since noone could claim that he was still after them. No Strangelove, if he had to go, he would have preferred to have had enough time to fake it.
They had used his closest contacts to lure him, of course, and exoskeletons for the coup de grace. Someone took aesthetic pleasure in this. His last thought was that he would have liked to have met them.
Continued draft
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