The headquarters was alive with conversation and the hum of new energy. It had expanded rapidly in the past few weeks, no longer just a makeshift operations hub but a thriving community center of the colony. The walls, lined with modular panels, now bore screens displaying maps of the crater, projected schematics of ongoing projects, and live feeds from ARI’s drones. The recent advancements had transformed the space, reinforcing the growing sense that they were no longer just surviving—but building something permanent.

  Tonight, the atmosphere was almost celebratory. The colonists had gathered in large numbers, many of them newly awakened thanks to the Provider’s biotech and medicine. The infirmary had worked overtime, allowing people who had previously been held back—due to cellular degradation from cryostasis radiation damage—to finally rejoin the world of the living. Some of them had been deemed too risky to revive before, but now, with their health restored, they filled the room with fresh faces and eager minds. Even the three robed aliens stood amongst them, their presence a strange yet increasingly accepted reality. They were loosely accompanied by two CorpSec guards, who kept their hands close to their weapons, but the aliens appeared passive and slient. They merely observed.

  Elisa took her place at the center of the room, standing before the holographic display. The gathered colonists quieted, eyes turning toward her. She let the silence sit for a moment, taking in the sheer number of people present. They had come a long way.

  “I want to start by welcoming all of you,” she began, her voice warm. “We have new faces among us tonight—people who, until recently, were trapped in cryostasis with little hope of waking up. And yet, here we are. You’re here because we now have the means to repair the damage inflicted by tens of thousands of years in transit. Thanks to the medical advancements we’ve acquired, our colony has taken a massive step forward.” She gestured to the three robed aliens, their cowls casting long shadows over their reflective faceplates. “We also have our newfound allies to thank. Their biotechnology has given us an edge we never imagined possible.”

  A murmur rippled through the room. There was still skepticism among some of the colonists, but for the most part, the sentiment was positive.

  “I also want to take a moment to recognize someone who has just woken up after a long and difficult battle,” Elisa continued, turning toward Otto, who sat beside Sigrid near the front. “Otto, I know you’ve had a lot to catch up on. But I’m sure I speak for everyone when I say—welcome back.”

  A wave of applause spread through the crowd. Otto, ever the reserved one, simply nodded in acknowledgment, his expression betraying his lingering amazement. The last time he was conscious, the colony had been barely scraping by. Now, there was a reactor, a proper base, alien technology, and the existence of an entirely new species to contend with. It was a lot.

  Mei stepped forward next, bringing up a new display. “One of the biggest developments is that we have been able to interface with the plants in the crater,” she explained, showing a map overlaid with colorful subsurface scans. “We now have a clear picture of ore layers underneath the colony. We believe that these were previously exploited by the crystal formations, but now that the lodestone has been destroyed, we can extract them ourselves. In fact, with the proper application of plant materials, we could even grow our own golden beetles to assist in the process.”

  At this, Mei lifted the captured pet beetle from a small container, holding it up for those who hadn’t seen one before. The squat, metallic-looking insect twitched its antennae, mandibles clicking softly. Some of the colonists murmured in fascination, while others recoiled slightly.

  “These creatures aren’t hostile,” Mei continued. “In the Provider’s settlement, we’ve seen them used for material collection and processing. If we can replicate that here, we could gain a self-sustaining mining system. However, we also recognize that this is untested. For now, we’ll be starting with conventional mining methods.”

  Maximilian nodded approvingly. “We’ll begin digging a pit on the far side of the crater to access the first ore concentration closest to the surface. We have the equipment, and the labor pool is expanding. We don’t need to experiment with the plants just yet.”

  Mei nodded, understanding but still eager to pursue the potential of the golden beetles. “The option is there when we need it,” she said.

  Elisa glanced toward Mei, and with a subtle nod, signaled for her to move onto the next topic—the one that had everyone’s attention.

  Mei took a steadying breath before continuing. “And, of course… the other major development. The Provider’s technology has also given us something else: a means of preventing death entirely.”

  Silence fell over the room. Even those who had been expecting the conversation suddenly felt the weight of it.

  “The process begins with a cellular and DNA scan,” Mei explained, bringing up a diagram of the process. “From there, a detailed brain scan is performed by ARI in the infirmary and stored securely within its systems. This data is then used to create generate a new alien DNA sequence that can produce a new body—functionally identical to the original. Brain activity is restored, and the individual resumes life as if nothing had happened.”

  Pom crossed his arms. “So... that means there’s a copy of you in ARI’s system.”

  Mei shook her head. “No, not quite. It’s not a running simulation, just compressed data. Until activated, it’s nothing more than a backup.”

  “Yes,” Pom continued, “but if ARI wanted to, it could run a version of me at any time?”

  ARI answered over the speakers. “Technically, yes. However, if I were to follow the Provider’s guidelines, I would not act on this information, nor respond to inquiries regarding a person’s private data.”

  That did little to ease the tension in the room. If anything, it made people more skeptical.

  Mei folded her arms. “Let’s be honest—we're not going to find a way to deal with this technology that satisfies everyone.”

  That sent an uneasy ripple through the room. Maximilian exhaled sharply. “And yet, you’re advocating for ARI to follow the Provider’s policies?”

  Mei met his gaze. “Yes. Because we need this technology, can't spend years legislating, and the alternative is so much worse. If ARI followed Company protocols instead, that would mean enforced brainscans and full personality profiling from the start. If anyone was found in violation of Company policy, they’d be flagged before they even realized they’d done something wrong...”

  Elisa interjected before things could spiral into a debate. “This isn’t a decision we’re making lightly. It’s one of the biggest ethical challenges we’ve faced so far. I don’t expect everyone to be comfortable with it. That’s why this will not be mandatory. If you want to participate, you can. If you don’t, you won’t be forced to.”

  Shirong raised an eyebrow. “And what happens if someone chooses to die? Are we just supposed to let them?”

  A heavy pause.

  Elisa hesitated before answering. “These are questions we’ll need to answer together.”

  ===

  Ervin sat in his small quarters, the makeshift office feeling a little more like a real counselor’s space than it had in the first days of the colony. The synthetic wood panels on the walls were a nice touch, meant to provide a sense of warmth in an otherwise utilitarian structure. He adjusted the portable screen on his desk, glancing over the data from Mei and Luo Zuri’s medical assessment of Otto before turning his attention to the man sitting across from him.

  Otto Ronningen looked… well. Remarkably well, considering everything. His posture was relaxed, his expression calm, and when he met Ervin’s eyes, it was with the steady confidence of someone who had long made peace with himself. There was no sign of trauma, no anxiety, no existential dread—nothing that Ervin would have expected from a man who had not only survived a near-fatal injury but had undergone a complete bodily reconstruction.

  “How are you feeling?” Ervin asked, keeping his tone neutral.

  Otto considered the question for a moment before giving a slight smile. “Good. Too good, honestly. I don’t think I’ve felt this way in decades.”

  Ervin raised an eyebrow. “Physically or mentally?”

  “Both,” Otto said. He leaned back in his chair, stretching slightly. “I woke up feeling… natural. Like everything was in place. No pain, no stiffness, no strange sensations. I fell asleep easily last night, and when I woke up this morning, it wasn’t like before. I felt completely refreshed.”

  Ervin nodded, making a note. “Mei and Luo Zuri completed their analysis of your new body. From the outside, it looks just like your old one. A few age lines, minor skin imperfections, things that make it you. But your physiology is another matter entirely.”

  Otto chuckled. “Yeah, I could tell.”

  “Tell me,” Ervin said, leaning forward slightly. “What was it like for you? The transition. You were in a coma for weeks, and now… you’re here, talking to me like nothing happened.”

  Otto’s expression grew thoughtful. “It didn’t feel like a transition. It wasn’t like waking up after an accident and feeling like I lost time. From my perspective, it was gradual. ARI guided me through every step. I could see my old body failing in real time, like watching a ship break apart in drydock. The process didn’t feel abrupt—it felt… natural.”

  Ervin considered that. “Did you ever feel like you weren’t you? Any moment of detachment, any sense of discontinuity?”

  Otto shook his head. “No. From my perspective, I was always Otto Ronningen. The consciousness, the sense of self—it never fractured. If anything, it was seamless. ARI knew exactly how to manage the transfer so I didn’t experience any mental gaps. I was just… there.”

  That was the part Ervin found most fascinating. The human mind was a delicate thing, a construct of biological processes and emergent cognition. Disrupting that could lead to fragmentation, dissonance—madness, even. But Otto sat there, perfectly sound, as if nothing had changed.

  Otto’s expression shifted slightly. “Though, I’ll admit, knowing that I’m in a new body takes some getting used to.”

  “Do you feel different?" Ervin asked.

  Otto glanced down at his hands, flexing his fingers. “Physically, yes. Luo Zuri ran the tests—my fitness and biological markers are that of a man maybe a third my age. Which is funny, considering I was already enhanced. Folkeforenung genetics meant I was projected to live for at least 200 years. But I was still one of the colony’s oldest members. I could feel it creeping up on me. I knew I probably had two, maybe three more decades before my body started failing.”

  His voice softened slightly. “But now? Now the clock has been reset. I have no idea what’s in store for me.”

  Ervin regarded him carefully. “Is that exciting or terrifying?”

  Otto met his gaze with a slow smile. “A bit of both, but mostly exciting.”

  Ervin leaned back, his mind processing everything. “Well,” he said finally, “it seems that for all the fear and controversy surrounding this technology, you’re living proof that it works. People are going to look at you, Otto. They’re going to see you walking around, working, being yourself, and they’re going to wonder if they should take that step too.”

  Otto nodded, understanding the weight of what Ervin was saying. “I know. And I’ll tell them what I just told you. It felt natural. Seamless. I didn’t die—I just… kept going.”

  Ervin exhaled, rubbing his temple. “That’s the part I still can’t wrap my head around.”

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Otto smirked. “That’s the part I stopped worrying about.”

  ===

  Outside, Pom sat on the edge of the base’s southern perimeter, legs dangling over the side of a short retaining wall, watching the dark horizon flicker with heat lightning in the distance. Mei sat next to him, cross-legged, picking apart a piece of blue fruit and popping small sections into her mouth. The night was warm, the breeze was light, and for once, things felt… settled.

  At least, on the surface.

  “So?” Mei asked between bites, tilting her head at him. “Are you going to do it?”

  Pom exhaled, rolling his shoulders before taking a sip from his canteen. “I don’t know. I don’t trust it yet.”

  Mei hummed. “Figures.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She gave him a look, one brow raised. “You’re careful, Pom. You don’t jump into things without being absolutely sure. Meanwhile, I woke up with half my DNA rewritten.”

  Pom snorted. “Yeah, and look where that got you.”

  “Alive,” she pointed out, waving a piece of fruit at him. “And now I get to be here, talking with you.”

  Pom sighed. He had to admit, that wasn’t the worst outcome. But something about the whole resurrection tech unsettled him. “I don’t know,” he said again. “It’s… weird. Dying and waking up in a new body? It’s unnatural.”

  Mei popped another bite into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “Is it, though? We’re basically just really complex machines, Pom. The same person who goes to sleep isn’t the same person who wakes up. We change every second, every moment—thoughts, memories, neurons rewiring themselves. This just speeds up the process.”

  “I get the logic,” Pom admitted, shifting his weight. “It’s just… I don’t know if I’d feel like me.”

  Mei grinned. “Maybe the new Pom would be better. Less grumpy.”

  He shot her a look, and she laughed.

  They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, listening to the hum of the production facilities in the distance. The base was alive with late-night activity—drones zipping overhead, automated machinery churning as it processed materials.

  “Feels weird, doesn’t it?” Pom mused.

  “What does?”

  “This.” He gestured around them. “A few months ago, we were stranded in the desert, no food, no water, no way to get back. And now we’re… here. Talking about immortality, working with aliens, running a whole colony.”

  Mei leaned back on her palms, gazing up at the stars. “Yeah. It’s surreal.” A pause. “But I like it.”

  Pom glanced at her. “You do?”

  She nodded. “I mean… it’s not perfect. There’s danger everywhere. We’re always one bad decision away from catastrophe. But…” She looked at him, smiling slightly. “It’s the first time I’ve ever felt like I actually belong somewhere.”

  Pom felt something twist in his chest at that. He turned away, pretending to focus on the horizon. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me too.”

  Mei nudged him with her foot. “Look at us. A couple of exiles, building a new home on some godforsaken rock.”

  Pom smirked. “You make it sound poetic.”

  “Maybe it is.” Mei stretched her arms over her head. “Maybe we were always meant to be here.”

  Pom scoffed. “Now you’re getting philosophical.”

  She grinned. “I’ve been hanging around Tamarlyan too much.”

  They sat in silence again, the wind ruffling their hair. Pom thought about what Mei had said. About belonging. About change. About the fact that, despite everything—despite the madness of this world, the dangers, the uncertainty—he was still here. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.

  “Hey,” Mei said, nudging him again. “You ever think about what we’ll do after this?”

  “After what?”

  “After the colony is stable. After we’ve built everything up. After we don’t have to fight for survival every single day.”

  Pom thought about it. “I dunno. Never really thought that far ahead.”

  Mei rested her chin on her knee, gazing at him. “I think I want to explore.”

  He raised a brow. “Explore what?”

  “The rest of the planet. The Provider’s people said there was something north of here. I want to see it. I want to see everything.”

  Pom chuckled. “Figures. You finally get a home, and you want to leave it.”

  Mei grinned. “Not leave. Just… see what else is out there. Don’t you ever wonder?”

  He considered it. He had always been the type to stay put, to build, to create something solid and lasting. But the thought of seeing what lay beyond their little crater, beyond the desert plains, in the deep wastelands of the north...

  “Yeah,” he admitted. “Maybe a little.”

  Mei beamed. “Then when the time comes, we’ll go together.”

  Pom rolled his eyes but smiled anyway. “Yeah, alright.”

  They sat there for a while longer, watching the sky, listening to the sounds of a new world being built around them.

  ===

  Maximilian and Yao Guowei stood atop the southern watchtower, overlooking the colony’s perimeter as the last remnants of daylight faded beyond the jagged horizon. Yet, the presence of the aliens among them had cast a new kind of tension over the settlement, an unease that neither of them had yet voiced outright.

  Maximilian exhaled, leaning on the railing, his eyes scanning the settlement below. “How do you see it, Guowei?”

  Yao Guowei was quiet for a moment, watching as one of the corpsec patrols passed by the alien quarter, where the three robed figures now resided under strict surveillance. “Dangerous,” he finally said. “Not because they’ve done anything yet, but because they are unknowns. We don’t control the variables.”

  Maximilian nodded. “The Provider gave us technology freely, but nothing is ever truly free. You think it has plans for us?”

  Guowei smirked slightly. “Undoubtedly.”

  Maximilian studied him for a moment. “You sound like you’re used to dealing with people who see things ten moves ahead.”

  Guowei’s smirk faded, replaced by something more contemplative. “I was household guard to Tamarlyan's family. My whole life was spent in service to people who see further than most.”

  Maximilian folded his arms. “You’re still in service to him, then.”

  Guowei nodded. “Duty is important.”

  Maximilian seemed satisfied with the answer. “That it is.”

  They stood in silence, watching as a rover rolled into the compound, its headlights cutting through the early evening haze. Finally, Guowei spoke again, this time more distant. “The Provider… it said Proxima still exists.”

  Maximilian turned slightly. “You think that’s true?”

  Guowei exhaled. “I don’t know. I want to believe it. It’s been seventy thousand years. I thought everything we left behind was long gone.”

  Maximilian was quiet, letting him continue.

  “I had three children,” Guowei said. “Mandated by the program. Two girls and a boy.” He looked out at the sky, as if trying to see past the stars. “They should have lived full lives. Maybe they had children of their own. Maybe their children did, too. Maybe somewhere, someone with my blood still exists.”

  Maximilian considered that. “Would that change things for you?”

  Guowei shook his head. “No. But I would like to know. To see what became of them. Of Proxima. The world we fought for.”

  Maximilian gave a small nod of respect. “Family is important.”

  Guowei looked at him. “You never had one, did you?”

  Maximilian’s expression didn’t change. “Not in the way you did.”

  Guowei studied him for a moment, then turned back to the horizon. “Even so, I think you understand.”

  Maximilian didn’t respond, but his silence was an answer of its own.

  For a while, they simply stood there, watching over the colony. The desert wind howled softly against the contours of the headquarters, and the weight of all that had been lost—and all that still remained unknown—hung heavy between them.

  ===

  Qian Shirong lay motionless on the padded infirmary bed, his head gently cradled by the adjustable frame designed to keep him absolutely still. The overhead medical lights cast a sterile glow over the procedure room, illuminating the intricate network of cabling that snaked from the scanning unit down to the main processing hub and ARI's sleek diagnostic core.

  Mei stood by the control panel, carefully monitoring the feed as ARI ran its final system checks. Ervin watched from the other side, arms folded, his expression unreadable. A few curious colonists had gathered just outside the observation window, but Mei had already sent them away. This was a deeply personal moment, and while curiosity was natural, Shirong’s dignity took priority.

  “ARI, run us through it one more time,” Ervin said, his voice even.

  “Certainly,” ARI responded smoothly, its voice echoing through the infirmary’s comm system. “The mindprobe array consists of a network of superconducting filaments that interface non-invasively with the subject’s neural field. By synchronizing with the electromagnetic activity of the brain, the system can map neural pathways with extreme precision. Unlike previous scanning methods, this process does not merely create a static map, but a full functional model, capturing the exact state of neuronal activity and chemical interactions at the time of scanning.”

  Mei studied the readouts on her screen. The neuroelectric signals were spiking in a controlled pattern as the probes gently aligned with Shirong’s brainwaves. “So this is real-time copying, not just a snapshot.”

  “Precisely,” ARI confirmed. "This ensures that continuity of consciousness is not disrupted in the event of neural damage or reconstruction. The scan is not merely a recording—it is an active model that, if necessary, could be instantiated in an alternate substrate.”

  Tamarlyan, who had been standing by the door, folded his arms. “Which means,” he mused, “that if you let it run long enough, there’s no practical difference between the real Shirong and his scan.”

  Mei gave him a sharp look. “This isn’t an experiment in metaphysics. The goal is preservation, not duplication.”

  “Are you sure there’s a difference?” Tamarlyan countered, a smirk playing on his lips.

  “Out,” Mei said, pointing toward the door. “You too, Sigrid, Otto. I promised full disclosure afterward, but this is Shirong’s procedure. Let’s respect that.”

  Tamarlyan held up his hands in surrender but left without argument. Otto hesitated for a moment, glancing at Shirong before nodding and following. Sigrid shot Mei a reluctant look before stepping out.

  As the door hissed shut behind them, Ervin looked at Mei. “You didn’t answer my question earlier,” he said quietly. “Why aren’t the aliens participating in this?”

  Mei sighed. “I think it’s safer if we fully understand the process ourselves first. I don’t want us to become dependent on their oversight. We need to be able to do this alone, for our own people.”

  Ervin nodded but didn’t look fully convinced. “And how much of this is really us doing it?” He gestured toward the scanning array. “This is all running under ARI’s supervision.”

  Mei looked at him seriously. “Do you trust ARI, Ervin?”

  He was silent for a moment, then exhaled. “It doesn’t matter if I do. We have no choice.”

  Mei nodded slowly. “That’s what I’ve been thinking too. Look at where this is going. We’ll end up as a Provider colony sooner or later.”

  Ervin raised an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

  Mei frowned. “And you don’t?”

  Ervin shrugged slightly. “The Provider values human life. I think it will respect human distinctness.”

  Mei looked unconvinced. “And what guarantee do we have that it won’t assimilate us, or discard us once we’re no longer useful?”

  Ervin hesitated, then said, “Unity isn’t homogenization, Mei. My faith teaches that. True unity is about integration, about celebrating distinctions rather than erasing them. I think the Provider understands that, even if it doesn’t phrase it the way we do.”

  Mei wasn’t sure how to respond. Before she could think of an answer, ARI interrupted.

  “The system is now fully synchronized. Beginning primary scan.”

  They turned their attention back to Shirong.

  A soft blue glow pulsed from the mindprobe array, forming a faint halo around Shirong’s temples. He remained completely still, his breathing even, his body at rest. The filaments delicately threaded invisible signals through his neural pathways, tracing each synaptic connection, capturing each firing neuron in perfect detail. The real-time model began constructing itself within ARI’s system, a meticulous process that translated Shirong’s thoughts, emotions, and cognitive processes into an intricate lattice of data.

  “Pulse harmonization complete,” ARI reported. “Initiating deep-structure analysis.”

  Mei’s screen populated with an ever-expanding visualization of Shirong’s neural activity, like a galaxy of glowing synapses dancing through the blackness. It was mesmerizing. Every flicker, every shift in the patterns represented a memory, a thought, an idea.

  A person.

  “How long will this take?” Ervin asked.

  “Approximately twenty minutes,” ARI replied. “The process has been significantly optimized since Otto’s reconstruction.”

  Mei swallowed, watching as the scan unfolded. She had studied the theory behind it, had dissected the alien biotech’s principles, but now, seeing it happen in real-time, it was something else entirely.

  This was the future.

  And whether they were ready for it or not, it was happening.

  ===

  Tamarlyan strode through the corridors of the infirmary with purpose, heading toward the designated quarters of the alien workers. Ever since Otto's restoration, his mind had been spinning with possibilities. He wanted to learn more, to understand the full breadth of what the Provider’s technology could do. Surely, now that all of their intended contributions had been completed, the aliens would be idling, perhaps awaiting further instruction.

  But when he reached the infirmary annex where they had been working, he noticed something strange—the surgery ward was marked as occupied. His brow turned to a frown. What were they doing now?

  “ARI,” he said, his voice hushed but firm, “"what's going on in there?”

  “The alien personnel are assisting me with a medical procedure,” ARI replied calmly.

  Tamarlyan’s heart skipped a beat. “What kind of procedure?”

  “I am awakening additional personnel as per Company protocol. You are permitted to enter, provided you adhere to sterile precautionary measures.”

  Tamarlyan hesitated for only a second before swiftly donning a surgical gown and mask. As he stepped inside, the cold, clinical scent of the room mixed with an unfamiliar organic musk.

  What he saw stopped him dead in his tracks.

  The aliens were working over a carcass—a decayed husk of a human body, ruined by time and radiation, barely recognizable. A pack of dense, fibrous substate lay beside it, its veiny white tendrils curling inward as if it had just been used.

  And standing next to it, barefoot on the infirmary floor, was a woman.

  She was pale and had an athletic Buhakharan physique, freshly emerged from the growth substrate. She reached for a medical gown, slipping it on with an eerie, automatic motion.

  He backed away instinctively, his hands gripping the frame of the door.

  The woman turned to him.

  Tamarlyan panicked and bolted, his head spinning as he shoved through the doorway and out into the hall, not hearing what ARI said to him. He nearly collided with Pom, who was passing by.

  Pom barely had time to react before Tamarlyan grabbed his arm for support, his breath ragged.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?” Pom asked, frowning.

  Tamarlyan tried to speak, but no words came out. His mouth opened and closed, his enhanced brain racing to process what he had just seen.

  Then, the door to the surgical room hissed open again, and the woman stepped out.

  Pom turned to face her.

  His confusion deepened. He didn’t recognize her.

  “Who…?” he started, his voice trailing off.

  The woman looked at him directly, her gaze cool, assessing. Then she spoke, her voice level, firm.

  “My name is Valeriya Marakova,” she said. “I will see the commander now.”

  Tamarlyan was still gripping Pom’s arm, his fingers tightening involuntarily. He remembered the name immediately—the same name listed on one of the derelict cryopods recovered from the alien settlement. She was dead. She had been dead for thousands of years.

  Pom stood completely still, his breathing halting for just a moment as the full weight of realization crashed over him like a tidal wave. His mind refused to accept it, but there she was, standing before them, alive. Reinstated.

  And if she was here—if this was possible—

  His voice caught in his throat, his heart hammering violently in his chest.

  Then so was Jocelyn.

  His wife.

  Her body, somewhere out there, lost among the wreckage of the aft section.

  His vision blurred, and he barely registered the sound of Tamarlyan’s voice murmuring something—some comment, some reaction—but Pom didn’t hear it.

  All he could see, all he could think of, was a single thought repeating in his mind over and over.

  She can come back.