3G: the Glowing Green Goo

Zax didn’t believe he could change the Core’s decision to make him stay behind without the rest of the group, but he tried anyways. The others pitched in, but in vain. In the end, he could only ask the fateful question:

“Why me?”

[ Zax(rescuer)’s mutation determined as uniquely suited for coming task(s) ]

“My mutation? What mutation? I’m a purestrain.”

“What?” Eety blurted.

“I know it’s a misnomer and I usually avoid using that word, but it gets the point across.”

““You’re a cultist!?”” Ertor and Vester exclaimed. The shock in their voice was palpable.

“What?”

“Cultist?”

“That’s a thing?”

Eety, Glob and Zax all expressed the same confusion in their own words.

They all knew their history: when the 3G had first happened – created or discovered – not all survivors were ready or willing to accept such a change in their midst. Some had clung to the old ways of machines and electronics, wanting nothing to do with that unknown phenomenon which seemed to defy both reason and science and rejecting that substance and its miraculous effects the same way it rejected them; others had given themselves fully to it, embracing the new strength and versatility of the flesh and aiming to never use a tool that wasn’t part their body ever again; and others were wary of it but had relented for survival, taking it in moderate doses without forfeiting the technology that had served them so long.

“Purestrain” was the name given to the group that actively or even aggressively rejected the Glowing Green Goo, named after the genetic purity they wanted to preserve. Not minding that even before landing on that world, genetic manipulations for medical purposes had been perfectly normal.

The name had stayed even after the first rule of the 3G had been discovered: it didn’t touch genetics. The mutant’s DNA stayed untouched, meaning the changes were not hereditary, and even the most advanced, twisted and inhuman human mutant was still as genetically human as it could get, and so would their descendants.

Despite that, it still allowed cross-breeding and prevented graft rejection. Truly an unexplainable and miraculous substance.

Over history, the Purestrains, the Transhumans and the Moderates factions had merged back in a single entity and faded from memory, and the more extreme ideas had been dulled to more healthy levels. They were only heard of in school and fiction, although the Shelter was still divided based on people’s mutation. The irony wasn’t lost on anyone. Hearing one of those names would raise a few eyebrows, but the three dotters had never heard of any cult related to those factions.

At first, the tensions between the two opposite views had been high, but it so happened that the Moderates were a majority and an excellent buffer, maintaining balance and unity, if not harmony. None could deny that the mutations were a boon, but they were also too unpredictable and uncontrollable to replace the stability and reliability technology offered.

While it had allowed some of the survivors to no longer need to consume dwindling resources to briefly leave their shipwreck, they could never know if they would stay able to come back in its artificial environment. The astral vessel that had brought them on this uninhabitable world had been heavily damaged in the forced landing; many of its functionalities and crew irreparably lost. It had already been fortunate that most life support systems could be fixed or maintained, they couldn’t adapt them to the wannabe settlers’ new and unpredictable biology.

By working together, they had eventually been able to build their makeshift shelter into the foundation that would grow into the Shelter that was their home. Some had developed an almost religious reverence toward the 3G, but there had never been any cult in the history of Shelter. The recorded history at least.

Not expecting such a united confusion, the pair explained the mysterious cult professing the superiority of unmutated humans for their untapped but unlimited potential. Their actual name was unknow, but ‘Purestrain’ came back the most often, and the dot was their most likely headquarter. They stayed unmutated the longest, after all.

“‘Untapped but unlimited potential’. That… sounds like something a parent would say to comfort a late bloomer.” Zax stated. “I heard it more than once. Without the ‘superiority’ part, of course.”

“Yeah…” Eety awkwardly concurred and Glob nodded

“Well, we always thought it was just an urban legend to make fun of dotters.” Dog, Ertor shrugged.

“You’re pretty weird, so when you used that name, we immediately thought it was related.” Vester shrugged the same.

“I’m not weird, I’m quirky!” Zax exclaimed in a fake upset tone. “And I don’t have anything to do with any cult, ideology or political party. I just never mutated.” Zax elaborated more seriously. “I did the same as everybody, but it never happened, even at puberty.”

“I never heard of that.” Eety stated.

“So you just have a slight general enhancement?”

“That can’t even be called a mutation at that point.” The pair continued.

“No, not even that. Yes, I’m sure.” He raised a hand to interrupt the questions he knew were coming. “I heard the first activation was unmissable even for the smallest changes. It. Didn’t. Happen. All the check-ups I did confirmed that I am a healthy unenhanced baseline human. Nobody knows why – or why not – or how, or what to do about it.”

“Woah.” Ertor was speechless.

“Everyone dream of being loved by the 3G, but I never heard of someone hated by it.” Vester expressed in a whisper.

“Definitely a rarity, but probably not as unprecedented as you’d think.” Zax shrugged. “I mean, not everyone examines mutations as closely as I, even their own. Eety was happy to think she only had feathers on the throat and never bothered with a check-up. It just proves we know even less than we think about the 3G. It’s one of its mysteries.”

And he had been called by the main computer? He was the team leader for a rescue mission? He had unclogged the impasse at the wall? He was the one they had naturally come to rely on? How!? What was happening in their world?

“But it doesn’t explain why someone has to stay. Or why it has to be me. Or why you can’t know what my tasks will be.” Zax went back on topic. As much as he wanted to keep stalling, he knew he couldn’t, and their eyes when he explained made him uncomfortable.

Before they left, Zax unmade one of the unused chairs and used the nanites to build a memory unit. He didn’t say aloud that it contained his sensory data and report of events so far, he trusted at least the Enforcers to understand what to do with it. It took some finesse, but he also managed to change his clothes’ colours in a blind spot of the Core to write instructions on how to protect the data: shallow it and keep the forcefield around them active until they reached the dot proper, not simply the no-man’s land. The Core had proven to be a reliable source of information so far, but they didn’t have aligning interests anymore, and he still wasn’t sure how far they could trust it.

The four left without fanfare, relieved but awkward at abandoning someone. The remaining pair waited for their new instructions, Zax on the now fully stuffed armchair and not-Zila bound in plain view of him, the scanner and the computer’s camera. Both were trying and failing hard not to mull over what was about to come.

When the others had passed the changing room, they were finally allowed to continue. Not-Zila was to detail everything he thought was relevant and answer any question even irrelevant; nothing surprising. Zax was to observe and… record everything for the relevant authorities outside? That was less expected, did the ban on outgoing signals include direct AI to AI communication? No, they did negotiate beforehand. Special protocols? Data size limit?

Regardless, it was well within Zax’s abilities; a fact that nigh let him relax a bit. He was still displeased that the potential target he wanted everyone to avoid was to be put on his specific back, but nothing could be done about it. He could only hope that not-Zila didn’t have enough information to directly incriminate someone, or that if he did, they wouldn’t come after him. They were about to have a lot on their hands, after all.

The Core made the prisoner begin from when and how he acquired his identity. He talked and Zax barely listened – recordings didn’t require attention. The readings confirmed that not-Zila was cooperative, no trace of lie or deception, but now that he knew he was being scanned and had time to unwind, it was not as reliable.

Not-Zila was indeed a former low-level Resident of the First Circle, but he had attracted the wrath of some unsavoury people and he was on the run. When he had found himself out of options and cornered, he had been contacted and offered a way out. He had no idea who it was or how they knew about him, and he didn’t dare to ask. They would give him a new life in the dot, and in exchange they would merely contact him from time to time with tasks to accomplish. No question, no looking for them and no mention of them to anyone, ever. It was as shady as it could get, and the dot wasn’t exactly a glamourous hideout, but he was desperate and it couldn’t be worse than whatever his pursuers would do if they caught him.

His new life had been, against all odds, fairly pleasant. The dot wasn’t the cesspit of mindless drone-people or lawless thugs in constant conflict he had expected. And since the exchange had been done at the same time the other one was changing job and home, nobody noticed he was an intruder.

The only shadow to this new life was the constant possibility of being called in by his creditors. And he was. They had kept to their word; he was only contacted occasionally with a task. The frequency and means of contact varied, he already had two in two days, and a year without anything. He listed everything he remembered, but there had been a lot over the years and he barely paid attention to it anymore.

It had been small things at first, such as moving a bundle of clothes from one point in the dot to another. The timing could be uncanny; it never interfered with his day job or his personal schedule, unless it was something already on his path. Even if it was not his usual path. Creepy, but since they had given him this life, it made sense that they kept an eye on it, and he never forgot the “no question” part of their deal.

Over time, the tasks had become more risky, complex or demanding, but never out of reach or illegal. He had once been tasked to buy a mask, go to a side corridor in a gym, put the mask on, open a certain window at a certain hour, grab the bag that would come flying in, immediately close the window and run to the other side of the building without being seen, open the window there and throw the bag outside the window, close the window, throw the mask in a recycler and leave at leisure. He still remembered that one not only because it had been the first to have so many steps, but also because it had felt like a spy movie.

The following tasks hadn’t all been like that, but it became more common. It had kept going until a few weeks ago, when his orders became… somehow less perfect. They had always given exact actions, times and distances; nothing more, nothing less. He hadn’t noticed immediately, but recently they were less precise or slightly off. A vague “a few” where an exact number usually was, a light road arriving a bit too early, a marker few steps further than announced. Not much, but it felt less reliable. Then had come the invite.

His task was to be in a certain place at a certain hour, with a full-face mask for anonymity. It was already weird, there should have been instructions on how to get there unnoticed, and he had never been told why he had to do things. But the truly weird part came after: for the very first time, he had been given the option not to go. If he went there, he would be pulled in deeper than ever before and there would be no turning back, but it would be a “high-risk, high-reward” situation. If he refused, it would be the last time they contacted him, with all it implied.

He had ended up going. He liked being part of something bigger, and despite the recent changes, they had never broken their word and he trusted them. And, well, how bad could it be?

After being blindfolded and moved somewhere, he had found himself sitting in front of a catwalk in a dark place among other masked figures. Too dark to see how many others were present, and no one spoke a word. On the scene was someone with a more elaborated mask, who congratulated them for their wisdom, as the absentees would never be seen again, and reminded them that being present meant it was too late to chicken out. After that they were explained why they had been called: to strike it rich, by robbing a vault. It had seemed crazy and impossible at first, but the speaker had explained a plan that had sounded extremely plausible.

Not-Zila didn’t have the option to go back anyway, and even in the worst-case scenario it wouldn’t lead back to him, and the possible reward was as insane as the plan, so he had taken the gamble.

For safety, they were only informed on a need-to-know basis, so he didn’t have much beyond that. His task had been to put the right people at the right positions in the powerplant. They were not in the know – as far as he could tell – just controllable people with the right skills. He didn’t recall most of their names, and he had had to let go of a few competent people, but he had managed. He kept telling himself he would repay those he had wronged and still have enough to do be one of the richest men of the First Circle, and maybe even beyond! That was how great the reward would be, and that let him continue.

For the rest, he only knew the broad lines: use an explosion in the plant to send something through the vault and keep the Enforcers busy, and use a distraction to get away with it. He had heard that the distraction would be some noisy mutant who couldn’t help but disturb everyone around them for attention, but that was it. Others would be tasked with retrieving the 3G and covering up the disappearance.

The explosion had happened as planned, and everything had turned wrong. The safety room had been launched with him inside, and he had realised he had been played and discarded. There was no way an error would give that result; the room was not even in the right direction. Whoever they were, they didn’t aim for a vault but for the Core, and they wanted to get rid of him. All his efforts and sacrifices had been in vain, he had been nothing but an expandable pawn to them. He had snapped, he was remorseful for what he had done, and- he was ready to keep going but Zax interrupted him. They didn’t need to hear his wimpy excuses.

That was as far as not-Zila knew. He had made many other attempts at rousing sympathy, but they were simply pathetic. He didn’t even notice how his egoism showed through his own words; only talking about himself even among a group and being unable to name who he had discarded.

The interrogation and retelling had seemed to last an eternity, but it was finally over. Some details had only seemed irrelevant at first, others had stayed irrelevant, questions had been asked multiple times with different wordings and in varying orders, but they ended up with as complete a picture of the situation as possible.

Zax was glad he hadn’t had to pay attention, because there was no way he would’ve remembered everything in one sitting. He didn’t even pay attention not-Zila’s real name, who he was running from or why. On the other hand, he didn’t care. He also made sure not to deduce from what he heard, that was an analysts’ job.

He didn’t have much success on that part, but at least it wasn’t included in the recording.

However, his troubles were not over.

[ Query to Zax (Rescuer): what punishment or reward would be deemed appropriate? ]

Zax was at a loss, but he answered as best he could. He tried to be professional, but disgust tainted his every word:

“He willingly and purposefully hindered the Shelter’s functioning for personal gain. It’s literally the worse thing someone can do. He sacrificed people, endangered some, killed others. His actions already cost a lot of resources and fixing them will cost even more.

He is the antithesis of what anyone in the Shelter should be. It doesn’t matter what Circle you come from and what your job is, everyone is taught from their youngest age that supporting the growth of the Shelter is the most important task. That should be everyone’s priority, no matter how small or how far removed their role is.

Every part of the Shelter is built around one purpose: to make it grow. It’s why and how the Core, the dot and the Circles are what they are. It’s why and how we support each other. It’s why and how our species survived. It’s why and how our culture exists. It’s why and how people’s worth is measured. It’s why and how deep and useful mutations are a boon that will get you closer to the outside world.

If you renege that goal, what’s the point of improving yourself? What is the point of working at all? Why is the 3G precious? Why do mutations matter? Why is Explorer the dream job every child dreamed of at least once in their life? Why have I lost all my friends one after the other!?”

Without realising, anger had gradually overcome his disgust and by the end, Zax was shouting, words and raw emotions spilling uncontrolled. He took a deep breath in and held it a few seconds to calm down, and let it go. He continued at a more normal volume, back on topic and more to the point:

“He’s an enemy of the Shelter itself. I can’t think of any punishment that would be harsh enough. His crimes are too big to fit within our laws. Even if spread among however many people were part of this… plan.”

Not-Zila wanted to protest, but the tirade made him reconsider.

“Don’t worry about how harsh it will be, I’ll take care of that. I want your idea of what type of punishment would fit.”

Not a message box anymore?

Now that he was calmed down, and after some consideration, Zax remembered something Quinn had told him once, talking about some of her more unruly charges:

“Er… I’ve been told that the best way to fix a bad behaviour is to give them exactly what they want, but more than they can handle.”

Some children had skipped school to play in the gym, she had made them work out until they collapsed, in multiple sessions. They ended up with perfect attendance sheets, and got the fear of her seeded deep in their hearts, but didn’t renounce sports as a whole.

“But that can’t apply here. He wanted more 3G, and not even to do something specific. Just to be rich. You can’t have too much-”

“Got it. Here are your instructions. To read after the changing room. Leave now.” The Core cut him before he could finish and transferred a file to his nanites before closing the line.

I hope it didn’t do anything with my nanites. Or to them.

He hadn’t thought that possible, but why wouldn’t it? His nanites were connected to the scanner, that was connected to the computer, that had a direct line to the Core. He had been extremely careless, and he had never been so relieved that while his nanites could do serious damages in virtue of where they were, they could not affect his subconscious or his thought process.

He would still need a detailed examination of his body, his psyche and his nanites when everything was said and done, just to be sure, but that would come later. At the moment, he had other instructions to follow, and it didn’t sound like it would be to go back to the dot.

That didn’t bode well, again, and it was getting tiresome.

Zax silently stopped the production of nanites he had started the first time he was in that room, turned the computer off, and gathered everything up, including his nanites and the prisoner. They left without a word. The furniture items were still where they had been moved to make room, but he couldn’t put them back on his own, and he wasn’t about to untie the prisoner or ask for his help. As an afterthought, he also sent a silent command to close back his mask over his eyes, mouth and ears. Just in case.

In the ring surrounding the factory, the echoes of his steps once again hammered home how huge this place was. He tried to not let it unease him, but they still arrived at the changing rooms faster than expected.

There were traces of the other group, namely misplaced protection gears and a haphazardly filled briefcase with mismatched parts. Zax quickly tidied everything up when he removed his own, out of habit. Unlike them, he was not in a hurry. His generator was shy of out of power, and the pair’s had been long before they left. Taking them had been a waste of time and space, but he didn’t blame himself; they had no way of knowing this room was nothing more than an obligatory checkpoint on their way.

He would’ve loved to ask about the forcefields suits, the pros and cons for his job, but it felt like pushing his luck. Keeping the new nanites he had had access to was already enough, and he still wasn’t sure he would get to retain them. They were a type he never thought he would have the chance to work with ever. He made the swarm into a blocky backpack, filled with nanites blocks for ease of transport, and deactivated them to avoid accidents. Trying not to gawk at how compact the result was – a swarm that size didn’t have any right to be that small and light – he took it and left.

After the changing rooms was pure darkness. Zax had forgotten there was no light in that area. The others might have regretted not taking his nanite balls when he proposed. Zax activated one of his to lit the way, chuckling at the thought.

In front of them was a short hallway leading to a small room with two familiar recesses in the far wall. One metre deep, rounded angles, the same type that had made him pass the Wall; it seemed so long ago. There hadn’t been anything like that before, so it confirmed again that the Core could rearrange the place as it wanted. Not that it changed anything.

Zax pushed not-Zila in the smaller, wider opening, which disappeared in an instant. It didn’t close like a door, the wall literally melted up on itself.

So that’s what it looks like from outside. Neat.

Zax went to the man-sized hole, which sealed itself after him in same fashion. He hoped against hope that the Core didn’t need him any further, but something was telling him it was impossible. It took embarrassingly long to remember why.

“Ah, right, it left other instructions. An ordinary text document, reassuring- what the stars is that!?”