The core principles of nuclear physics are maintained in the field of parapsychological affective energetics. The development of “egregoric thermodynamics,” the principle, the specific prototype, into parapsychological affective energetics, the broader field, the theories generalized, represents the culmination of countless struggles and sacrifices by the People in pursuit of a sustainable human future. Nuclear fusion posits a simple and elegant argument: that the connection between two separate things, the joining of things into one, releases energy. The neurons of the human brain are only capable of the immense and ingenious work they do via their relationships with each other. Networking technologies only mean anything when they are connected, joined, de-atomized. Let us be clear: there is power in joining together. And the more of us join, the more power we offer.
Advanced Parapsychological Energetics, fourth edition, by the PRA Joint Parapsychological Energetics Research Cooperative, 2065
Civilian’s Quarters, Unit 0xA559, Block 0x10, Yan’an Underground Complex 1, China, PRA, Earth, 05/03/2230, 0530 hours
Warm light streams through a windowscreen. The sun rises overhead, far above the bedrock ceiling of the underground city. Flechette Jaydamn opens her eyes. An unfamiliar ceiling lies above.
She blinks. Turns onto her side, facing the place that a cross’ bunk might be. She is alone in this small, humble room. The PRA has offered her a place to stay until it can be resolutely decided what is to be done with her. Evidently, she has a hearing with a small local council this afternoon — she has been informed this via a communal commslink she’s been given, wrapped around her wrist. Flechette sits up in her bed. The walls are adorned only with small paintings of revolutionary labor — pictures of masses of farmers, factory lines, doctors, teachers. Each the size of a postcard, lovingly framed in weathered reedwood.
Flechette takes stock of her day. She has, as of right now, no agenda. No direction, no mission, no tasks. She has been granted a standard citizen’s access permissions to the city — freedom to essentially wander wherever she should wish. She’s also been given access to a standard basic ration card, with a modest but respectable allowance. Far more than she would have expected them to offer to an enemy soldier.
But I’m not. Not anymore. And it’s true. Right now she is not 2nd Power Jaydamn, ace pilot of the BIRTH OF VENUS. She never will be again. Right now, she is just Flechette H. Jaydamn. She doesn’t know what to even append after that.
Flechette thinks about the feeling of the VENUS’ throttle under her hand. In all likelihood, it is an experience she will never again have. She flexes her finger open and closed, imagining the sensation. Giving herself a moment to grieve it.
Flechette sighs. She might as well use these access permissions. She gets dressed in one of the uniforms given to her, and walks out the door.
She wanders for a while through the city streets. There are vendors and carts of food — delicious, rich, human. Likewise, the sensory experiences of the city are those of strictly-maintained human proximity — a quiet roar of people chatting, vehicles and trams going by, children playing, shopkeepers hawking their wares.
What Flechette notes the most is a stark absence. Everywhere around her, there is a humility of life — no extravagant displays of wealth or power. Just people living close together, and everything that entails — except poverty. There are no abandoned people, individuals society has cast off and thrust into the dark corners of the street. No discarded elders covered in newspaper and reeking of suffering. The streets are busy, but clean. The people are clothed humbly, but clothed. There is food. There is water. There is light.
So this is what the world can contain.
Flechette walks over to a food cart. Awkwardly realizing she does not speak any of the many languages the cartkeeper does, to both of their embarrassment. She points to some kind of warm, greasy, dumpling-looking thing, and makes a questioning look with her face, which the cartkeeper responds to with three raised fingers. She fumbles into her pocket for her ration card, and hands it to them. The cartkeeper smiles, processes the card, hands over three dumplings, and waves her off. Flechette responds with a bright smile and a nod.
She bites into one of the dumplings, and it bursts with hot, rich juices. Flechette giggles in surprise as the juices run down her chin, which she fumbles to catch with a napkin. The dumpling is delicious. It is possibly the most delicious thing she has ever eaten in her entire life.
She finishes all three within minutes. Sated in a way that feels almost impossible. She feels safe.
Then she hears the shouting.
An older citizen approaches Flechette, forcefully. They are screaming at her, pointing accusatorially. Flechette just gapes at them in shock, confused. Rendered illegible by the language barrier. She raises her hands up helplessly. I have no weapons. I mean you no harm.
A small crowd gathers around the commotion. Even if Flechette cannot understand the words, it’s clear that the others in the crowd do. Many begin looking at her with suspicion, contempt. The citizen rushes Flechette, and has to be held back by others. Others shout, and a child runs to get help.
The child brings public safety officers, who in turn summon Zhengming. As the public safety officers attempt to disperse the crowd, Zhengming strides in. Zhengming asks the public safety officers some questions, which they respond to with seeming embarrassment. Zhengming betrays nothing.
They turn abruptly to Flechette. Their eyes are serious.
“Somebody has leaked the truth of your status here. This is not a small thing. You must understand that there is possibility of danger in this.”
Zhengming turns to the older citizen, makes a face that Flechette can only describe as heartbroken.
“Flechette Jaydamn. This citizen is accusing you of murder.”
“What?”
“Their child was in the PLAA training academy that was destroyed. It was destroyed by ARC forces, led by Squadron 16 of their Mechanized Corps. You killed their child.”
Flechette is speechless.
“It is true that you killed their child. It is also true that I have offered you sanctuary here, at least for now.”
The parent turns to Zhengming now, having picked up on which language this soldier speaks. They address Flechette directly, in English. In the empire’s tongue, the colonizer’s tongue. It is clear how much it burns them. They fill every word with venom.
“You are a murderer. You murdered my precious Fenglan. Their body was unrecoverable. I will never be able to bury them. Because of you! Because you and your fascist machines ground the entire academy into a smoking crater! You are a murderer! How will you face justice? How will you make this right?”
The questions pierce Flechette like a Thanatic spear.
“I—”
Zhengming steps in, putting their body between Flechette and the grieving parent.
“Flechette Jaydamn is one of the People now. She is united with us in our struggle. She has offered us herself as payment for her crimes, and is willing to act as an asset for the cause. Do you understand?”
The parent gapes at Zhengming.
“Ka Zhou Chunmei, your child died, nobly, for this cause. They gave everything they could possibly give to this struggle. Are you, yourself, willing to pay the same price for victory? The price of allowing your child’s murderer to live, here, among you, so that she can be used in service of the broader struggle of the People? For the liberation of us all?”
Zhou Chunmei trembles, rage boiling up to protect the grieving heart. But still, they are silent.
Zhengming’s face softens.
“Ka Zhou Chunmei, I knew Ka Zhou Fenglan. I knew them. They were a bright and hardworking student. Always doing their best, to honor the struggle. They were committed to liberation, and, most of all, they were perceptive. They knew where the struggle lay. Our war is not with individuals. It is not fueled by vengeance.”
“Your child was a revolutionary cadre. They were a citizen of the PRA. They live on, in this revolution, as will we all. Ka Zhou Chunmei. Your child was a powerful representative of the People’s hope. You have much to be proud of. Honor their memory and their sacrifice.”
Ka Zhou Chunmei stands there for a moment, searching for angry words. But their grief changes phase. Tears pour from them. Ka Zhengming offers them a firm embrace.
“Ka Zhengming… Ka Zhengming… Thank you…”
“Thank you for your sacrifice, Ka Zhou Chunmei.”
Flechette watches this conversation unfold, petrified. She realizes now that defecting does not simply mean coming here, changing the side of the war she fights for. For the first time, she realizes — all of her kills, all of her impressive statistics, reported dutifully and proudly to High Command — each was a person worth grieving. A comrade. A child. A parent. Flechette feels horror and revulsion rise in her gut. She swallows them. Not here. Not with how much she owes.
Instead, she approaches Zhou Chunmei.
Zhou Chunmei looks up at her, pain and fear in their eyes.
Flechette drops to the ground, kneeling. Presses her forehead to the pavement, hard.
“I am sorry. I am so sorry.”
“I cannot do your child justice. But I promise that I will carry on their fight.”
Flechette slowly rises. Zhou Chunmei and the rest of the crowd look down. Flechette follows their eyes.
There, marking the stones of the pavement, are the dark spots of her tears.