Ad astra per aspera, et ultra ad Logos (Chapter 14)

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Chapterr 14.

The alarm woke Ivko at the proverbial "crack of dawn" —or as close to it as one could get aboard a spaceship.

Blinking twice to push the tiredness away, he sat on the edge of his bunk for a brief moment before rising and heading to the claytronic wash station. He splashed cold water on his face, rubbed it in, then toweled off quickly. After slipping into his workout gear —black shorts and black tank top— he padded barefoot to the door, slid it open, and stepped out into the hallway, where he found Willy already en route.

The two humans had spent years working together, and their morning routines had become synchronized to the second —to the point where they could fall asleep at exactly the same time, regardless of where they were.

They greeted each other with a nod, then silently made their way through the central junction toward the bow module, heading for the gym.

The door slid open, revealing a spacious chamber, ambiently lit, filled with several beige mounds of dormant claytronic workout machines.

While Ivko walked over to one of the mounds, Willy programmed the room’s temperature to fluctuate between 35°C and -10°C in five-minute intervals, then queued up the day’s playlist.

“Any musical preferences?” he inquired.

“Nah, I chose last time,” said Ivko, inputting the bench-press configuration into the claytronic mound, and the nanomachines begun taking the desired shape. “You decide, go crazy.”

“How about…” Willy scrolled through his playlists. “Here —something crude and old-school, but deeply energetic.”

The hard, pulsing sound of Hardstyle began thumping through the room as the temperature started to drop.

“Ah, I see —something to really get the blood pumping,” said Ivko, lying on the bench and programming the gravity nodes to increase the weight on either side by 20 kg.

Willy selected a pull-up bar configuration on one of the mounds, and a two-meter-tall arch grew from the ground. With a swift jump, he grabbed hold of the bar and began lifting himself.

They used the alternating rise and fall in temperature to time each set, steadily increasing the load via the gravity nodes.

The rhythmic hiss of their groans, punctuated by plumes of condensed breath, rang out in tune with the ripple of strained muscles clenching under the growing cold.

Ivko was mid-rep —90 kilograms pressing down on him— veins like cables, eyes half-closed and fixed on nothing, as sweat trailed down his pale face, droplets catching in his finely trimmed beard. The biting chill reminded him of his home-world’s winters: playing with his father’s bears in the snow, sledging, hunting wild deer...

“Aargh!” he roared, as the gravity nodes added another 5 kilos to each end of the bar.

He powered through the final ten reps, thoughts burning with the indomitable urge to conquer his former self —yesterday’s self, who had also struggled under this same weight.

As he dropped the bar behind him, Ivko stayed there —heaving in exhaustion, grunting with each exhalation.

Next to him, Willy was also nearing the end of his final pull-up, neck muscles bulging, jaw clenched, drops of sweat dotting his dark mahogany skin.

“So,” grunted Willy, voice steady despite the deep burn, “big tits or small tits?”

Ivko, still recovering from the strain, gave a loud chuckle and, without missing a beat, replied:

“Ceteris paribus?”

“Ceteris paribus.”

“Then small,” he said between breaths. “Elegance. Proportion. Geometry. The Hellenic ideal —energy-efficient, restrained, timeless.”

Willy scoffed, dropping to the ground and stretching out his arms. “Boring. You’re describing a statue. A woman should overflow —Nietzschean abundance, you know? Barely contained entropy pressed into curves.”

Ivko rose from the bench, rolled his shoulders, and reconfigured the machine into a shoulder press.

“And what you’re describing is a shoggoth, not a woman,” he retorted, sitting down and starting his first set of 10kg reps, lifting the machine’s gravity-weighted arms, one at a time.

“Efficiency, modesty, grace, and poise. Those are the nonmenial virtues of small breasts.”

The temperature began rising as Ivko continued both his reps and his arguments.

“Their delicate subtlety whispers to you, revealing sweetness with every breath.”

“What’s the point of breasts that whisper when they could roar?” Willy countered, opting for a butterfly rack, lifting his weights by bringing his arms together.

“Big breasts bring abundance, passion —an embrace that leaves you satiated, not hungering for more.”

“One will always hunger for more,” Ivko replied. “The key difference lies in the aftermath. One leaves you satisfied —like a simple hardy meal— while the other makes you gorge yourself.”

He paused for breath, then added:

“I prefer a woman who steps into a room and redefines it —not floods it.”

“And I prefer one who breaks the room and lets you rebuild it in her honor.”

“Christ,” muttered Ivko, starting a new set with increased weight. “You sound like you’re worshipping some kind of lunar harvest goddess.”

“That’s part of the eternal duality of man,” Willy explained, the added weight making each embrace harder to close. “To strive for the ever-devouring female archetype… while also knowing how to keep it at bay.”

A brief silence settled between them as both men fought against the strain.

“Big breasts are like a church choir,” continued Willy, starting a new set. “They elevate the priest’s singing —completing the liturgical experience.”

Ivko laughed, dropping his arm mid-rep.

“Only you could make such a fucked-up analogy,” he said, resuming his reps. “But I will concede one thing, though —there is something deeply human about a set of big breasts. Something that goes beyond just being enough to denote one as female.”

He strained under the 50kg weights on each arm.

“The idea of going so overboard, as if wanting to leave no room for doubt, no room for subtext, that one was, in fact, a woman… has a certain mystique to it. They demand your attention, become impossible not to notice —to follow up with your heretical comparison, like Wagner blasting through cathedral walls.”

Willy laughed out loud, nodding sagely. “Precisely. Tits are theology, brother. Some whisper the divine. Some proclaim it.”

By the time they ended their sets, the temperature in the gym was unbearable —humid and hot.

It was now Willy’s turn to reminisce about his tropical home-world: the merciless sun, the fine sand of the beaches, the raging hurricanes, diving with his father amidst the massive and gorgeous sea fauna…

They kept working out for another couple of hours, blasted by both the temperature shifts and the deep bass of the music, as they broke themselves upon the anvil of self-improvement.

***

Angela was on her morning jog, traversing the massive ship from the starboard node into the bow node through the circular junction, then to the port node —once again through the circular junction— and back to the starboard node —again, through the circular junction.

Each time she passed the mess table, she greeted Ivko, Willy, and Navrek, who were having breakfast. Kana and Tuyaara had just entered the gym as she passed them, greeting them with the same enthusiastic “hello.”

As she returned from the far end of the bow node, she saw the two women sprinting out of the gym, screaming in anger.

“Ivko! Willy!” yelled Kana, her train fluttering behind her. “What the fuck have you done with the temperature settings?!”

As Angela came around the opposite end of the junction, she saw the two women storming into the living module.

“What kind of maniacs train with such a brutal temperature shift?” Kana demanded, her anger only partially obscured by her goggles.

The two humans, still sitting at the table, looked at one another and shrugged.

“Us?” answered Willy.

“No, really?” Kana snapped, sarcasm dripping like sweat, arms crossed and tail tapping the floor.

Next to her, Tuyaara simply scowled at them —more annoyed than angry, though her irritation softened slightly as her thoughts drifted to Ivko mid-workout… her mind trailing off into naughtier territory.

“Well, why didn’t you put the settings back to normal when you finished?” demanded the furious seyalthra.

“We never do,” replied Ivko, calm as ever.

“What do you mean you never do?” said Kana, her tone sharp with confusion.

“I believe it’s my fault,” said Angela, slowing down behind the women.

Both turned to look back at her.

“I usually train after them, and I put the temperature settings back to normal,” she explained, as affable as ever. “Today I chose to switch things up a bit, and go for a real jog. Hence, the temperature settings stayed as they left them.”

Kana stared blankly at her. Then at the men. Then back to her.

“Oh,” she said. “And you didn’t find that weird?”

“The temperature shift? Not particularly, no,” said Angela, shrugging. “I mean, sure, I was surprised the first time, but I just set it back to how I like it.”

The men said nothing, quietly sipping their protein shakes.

Kana looked at them, then, a bit embarrassed by her outburst, simply said:  

“Ok, well… don’t do it again.”

And with that, she turned around and headed back to the gym. Meanwhile, Tuyaara lingered a moment longer —stealing one last glance at the object of her desires— before following Kana inside.

“You know,” said Navrek, “we should really automate the gym’s settings. It’d make things easier for everyone.”

“Things are easy enough as they are,” said Willy. “Some strife is good for the soul.”

“He’s not wrong there,” added Angela, before resuming her jog.

She ran along the same circuit several more times. Each time, Nirales’ pod —still stashed in the cargo hold like some bizarre ornament they were all too lazy to deal with— filled her mind with new ideas of what to do with it. They could deconstruct it and build something useful —though she quickly decided that was too mean; they had no right to just scavenge away the only link poor Nirales had to his people.

Maybe they could hand it off to the elders living at the Diadem —but there was little they’d be able to do with it, other than store it away like some odd alien artifact.

Distracted as she was, she almost didn’t notice Yupgo coming down the stairs between the port and starboard modules. Luckily, her reflexes were sharp enough, and she managed to spin around him —dodging him entirely and scaring the daylights out of the poor Taftid.

“Angela!” he yelped, face red with fright. “Seriously, look where you’re going. You almost gave me a heart attack!”

“Key word there —almost,” she winked at him with a cheeky grin. “You’re getting tougher by the day. In no time, you’re going to have to move down here with us.”

“Very funny,” he muttered, frowning his eyes into slits. “Now I lost my train of thought... Oh, yes. We’ve got word from Eirenarch. We’re to head to the Sol system and receive a brand-new Mobile Platform.”

“A new one? Not a hand-me-down from another crew?”

“Correct,” he answered, head held high with pride at the fact.

“Great, then,” she said, then paused for a moment in thought. “Hey, what if you guys upstairs take advantage of the situation and spend some time at one of the many Martian resorts?”

Yupgo looked at her in horror.

“On Mars? On a planet in your cradle system? Woman, have you gone mad?” His voice was shrill, full of incredulity.

“Mars actually has only a third of old Terra’s gravity —even below GC standard,” she explained. “And on top of that, it has a solid magnetosphere —artificial, but sturdy—, no mantle, so no earthquakes, a nice and thick atmosphere, and its sole purpose nowadays is to be a vacation spot.”

Yupgo looked at her with uncertainty.

“Here, I’ll send you some brochures,” she said, and began flipping through her PIT.

“I’ll have to discuss it with the crew…” he said, reluctance slowly fading away, giving way to a growing interest.

“You go do that. I’ll let folks down here know what’s what.”

As Yupgo turned back upstairs, Ivko, Willy, and Navrek came from the living module, curious about the exchange.

“What was that about?” inquired Navrek, wiping some food from his lower mandible.

“We’re getting a Mobile Platform,” she said, smiling, eyes shining with excitement.

“Nice,” answered Willy.

“And a brand-new one at that,” she added.

“Very nice,” said Ivko. “I’ve heard there’ve been some new upgrades recently.”

“Yeah,” agreed Willy, eyes half-closed, trying to recall. “Something about making them magnetically modular?”

“No clue,” confessed Angela. “Techno-jargon is your thing. If you want to know about any good new books or what a specific star is made out of, I’m your gal.”

The three men looked at each other for a brief instant.

“Got any good books you could recommend?” asked Navrek, taking advantage of the offer.

They all chuckled at his candor.

***

Azzum’Ek sat in his navigator capsule. Once it was fully shut, he focused on the fluorescent Ægistri symbol before him —three white, interconnected circles arranged in a triangular formation, each one linked to the others by a thin white line. He visualized it in his mind’s eye and began to make it spin, pushing it upwards —or, more precisely, away from him.

This was the CTS activation process.

Through it, one propelled oneself inwardly, projecting the Psyche into high consciousness —like a kite— tethered to the body, yet soaring toward the threshold of the Current. And, just like a radio modulates and carries a voice, the capsule’s psychically resonating mechanisms acted as a catalyst for this naturally occurring phenomenon, amplifying it a thousandfold.

On his ascent, he glimpsed a fledgling mind —a sapling consciousness. Though small and inexperienced, it was dense, tightly grounded in itself, pulsating with the fervor of life.

It was Neryh.

The otherwise large and imposing Kaelarun now —compared to Azzum’Ek— seemed as fragile and meek as an infant.

The Unaris was, somehow imbued with a strong feeling of protectiveness toward the weaker being. Having spent so much time in the Current, he often felt detached from reality —but not here. In this liminal space between material existence and higher-dimensional presence, he was drenched in life’s purpose, seized by a deep need to nurture this small light.

Hello, Neryh, he thought*.*

The small light blinked towards him, seemingly startled by Azzum’Ek’s presence —as if he had been so vast that Neryh hadn’t even conceptualized him as being there.

Dear God, man! he thought in surprise*. Have you been there this whole time?*

This whole time, Azzum’Ek answered*.*

I’m still trying to take off, while you’re already skimming the Current…

The awe in his tone filled Azzum’Ek with a deep, unexpected sense of affection.

Rise up my trail, he proposed*. Think of it as a current of warm air, and fly atop it.*

Neryh sent his Ægistri toward Azzum’Ek’s, thereby latching onto his powerful link to the Current. He rose up the beam as if up a space elevator, material reality fading behind him like a strange, incoherent dream.

As he moved, he felt himself both falling and ascending at once —drawn into the plane of the Current. His usual, tentative steps were now drowned in the sheer intensity of this approach. It was only thanks to Azzum’Ek’s chaperoning that he managed to remain intact, tethered to him like a psychic raft atop the ever-inviting waters of the Current.

He tried to express what he felt —but found he couldn’t. Not even conceptually. The closer he came to the Current, the less he needed to say anything at all. His fears, his hesitations, seemed to melt away… but not entirely. They were still there, safely compartmentalized by Azzum’Ek. He understood then that the unaris was carrying his material self’s thoughts, desires, ambitions, fears and remaining elements that made up the gestalt of his being, as if they were luggage aboard the psychic raft —his personal baggage, the things he was too afraid to leave behind in order to grow as a navigator.

Not even that revelation seemed to faze him. It was but another piece of carry-on luggage.

The Current’s map of consciousness formed before the combined minds. They searched for a brightly lit segment of the Milky Way, finding it before they’d even sought it out —the original human cluster, with Sol at its center.

Around the spot of negative psychic space that was the star, they could count several orbits full of life: four small clusters circling another void —Jupiter—; a faint but intense one —Mars—; a steady yet ever-dimming one —Earth—; the next, teeming with life —Venus—; and another...

Somehow, it sparkled —like a cluster of fireflies in a field— definitely not as bright, and yet… there was a slight hint of sentience. Like an afterimage, something that eluded perception, but was still very much there.

The two minds found it odd.

A world didn’t just grow sentience out of nowhere…

Could it be…?

 ***

“I guess this must feel like a homecoming, right?” asked Yupgo, looking up at the humans from his captain’s chair. However, none of them seemed to show the least bit of enthusiasm.

The whole crew —except for the two navigators, still descending from high consciousness— had gathered on the bridge, as the Silvdrake fully materialized on the edge of the Sol system, above the Kuiper Belt. The Gardenworlder crew, upon hearing the idea of stopping on Mars for a spell, grew excited at the prospect of some human-AI-based touristic pampering.

“Not really,” said Willy, lips curled into a slight grimace. “Although I would like to see Venus. I hear it’s awesome.”

“I thought you would be happy to see Terra,” said Yupgo, looking at them, even more confused.

“Cap, no Deathworlder looks back at his cradle-world in fondness,” explained Ivko.

“We wouldn’t have left if they were so great,” said Navrek, in a gloomy tone.

Yupgo just sat back in his chair, getting the hint and dropping the matter.

From the back of the bridge, Azzum’Ek stepped out of his navigation capsule. He stood up on his lanky limbs, rubbing the back of his head with equally long fingers. The unaris looked at the gathered crew before him, big dark-grey eyes scanning for someone.

“How are you feeling?” inquired Tarv’ch, observing him with medical appraisal. “Your skin looks too clammy.”

Azzum’Ek looked at him and dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

From the right-side corridor appeared Neryh, smiling like an idiot high on God-knows-what.

“Star brother!” he proclaimed as he saw the tall and skinny Gardenworlder.

The crew looked back at the sudden outburst. Neryh walked over to the frail-looking navigator and embraced him gently.

“Man, that was beyond anything I’ve ever managed to pull off by myself!” he said, looking up and meeting the gaze of the unaris. “Thank you so much for that.”

“You’re welcome,” came his simple yet heartfelt answer.

“Well, someone seems to have come down from the highest high any man can reach,” said Angela, turning back to look at him, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Oh, sweet Angela!” he said, walking up to her and hugging her with both pairs of arms. “You can’t even begin to fathom what it was like. There’s so much beauty to behold upon the face of God’s infinite glory.”

“Man, that looks fun,” muttered Ivko, mildly jealous of the kaelarun. “I want to try.”

“And so you should, brother,” he said, stretching one of his rear arms to embrace him as well. “Man, I’m starving. I’ll go make something for us all —how about that?”

And before anyone could say anything, the young noble ran away, humming some old, energetic military march.

“And he was never seen again,” Kana said, her voice mockingly ominous.