THUB

THUB

Mychal blew into the receptor tube ashamed, yet driven with anticipation. His lanky body was quickly decelerated to ped-speed while simultaneously, Out-Phase Gravity-Claws (OPGC) moved him from tube to ground. He stumbled as his feet touched surface, catching his balance against the tube. With a clumsy gait, Mychal stepped forward through the containment doors and pushed out into the THUB.

THUB was pumping with Caplists moving briskly here and there, Normals trying to make the best time to their destinations, workers scrubbing and brooming the walks, and kidz hovering about simply because hanging out in the THUB was cool! Shoppers were everywhere, noisy and full of energy, stim’d up, and ready to spend! Everyone here was making their space either to work, play or home. A consumer paradise, THUB sported dozens of top-brand stores meeting all needs imaginable, a score of entertainment venues, an intimate auditorium holding 3000 persons, a small but high-intensity water park, and a zero gravity laser arena with fifteen different combat studio layouts. All of the distractions purposely in place to capture and snare the desires of people while they moved around the galaxy.

Mychal hated that there were so many people here. He put his head down and focused on getting to the teleportation pads at HFS. He glanced up at the Big Ticker on the wall and spied he still had some time before his date with Sienne, and then he’d be able to get home to his wife and kidz back on Earth in time for dinner. Mychal felt the familiar jolt of duty stab his heart. He smothered it in justification, and instead allowed his thoughts to linger on the rush of arousal as he bumbled along to the pads. Awkwardly, he made his way through the people, all of them in his way. He wasn’t agile, so he bumped into people – shoulder here, hip there. Some of them called after Mychal with profanity and threats, but he didn’t look back. He kept moving forward hoping to avoid any sense of confrontation. He felt like everyone’s eyes were on him knowing that he was about to cheat on his wife – his family - again. It frightened him. What if someone finally recognized him? “Fuck them,” he thought.

He was 29 years old, medium height, a tad bit overweight, with pale skin susceptible to rash, a thick nose, waxy dark brown hair with some dandruff, and lanky limbs that didn’t look like they formed quite right. He wore glasses all the time, and carried tissue due to his persistent runny nose. Reaching the HFS fax pad, Mychal stepped into the cylinder, tripping over the lip, causing his glasses to fall off and onto the floor. “Damn it,” he muttered, bending to blindly retrieve the spectacles. The one-person cylinder whooshed shut and then chimed just as he retrieved his glasses.

“Welcome to Teleportation Hub, Human Facsimile Service. Please select your destination.”

Light filled the inside of the cylinder, and images materialized before Mychal showing various, commonplace destinations, as well as images of menu icons and setting icons. Familiar with teleporting, Mychal touched an image to open it, labeled:

MWG Space Stations

Wind chimes lightly tingled as the images collapsed and new images appeared. Mychal glanced over the images of space stations, quickly finding the one he needed. He moved his fingers through the image, changing the color inside the cylinder to teal:

Venus East

Breathy vocals quietly accompanied the chimes while again, the images collapsed, and many new images appeared. Mychal chose:

Dark Side Bubble

The cylinder illuminated showing Venus - Space Station East in real time, the planet as a majestic backdrop. The volume of the audio increased as the colors within turned to deep blues and indigo. Mychal let his finger sit within the image waiting for the prick. A low, resonant hum began as an automated medical arm disengaged from the wall of the cylinder – thin needle at the tip – reaching out to Mychal’s index finger. It poked, producing a perfect spot of blood which evaporated immediately into the cylinder’s microscopic pores.

“Mychal Joon Rundy – L2110 - Your selection - the Dark Side Bubble located on the Venus Space Station East. Prepare for hard copy human facsimile transfer. By choosing this destination you consent to the terms and conditions of THUB Inc. Thank you for allowing us to serve you.”

Instantly, the sounds reached a soft crescendo. The cylinder washed with brilliant white light as warmth, snaked like tentacles through Mychal, heating him up from the inside, his skin producing some small puffs of dust. The sensation felt so good - immensely pleasurable. His body prickled with ecstasy.

In the next instance Mychal Joon Rundy - L2111 arrived at a receptor pad at Venus Space Station East – Dark Side Bubble, his forefinger healing from med-spray that filled the receptor cylinder. The cylinder chimed, as the automated voice continued:

“Thank you for using HFS! We appreciate your payment. Please remember that each use comes with some minor degradation of the self. THUB supports your definition. Depending on your current degstate, we may be able to help you return to Standard, High, and even Enhanced Definition. Please visit our Definition Salon and make an appointment with a certified specialist.

(Catchy jingle)

Do it today

Enhance your definition

Don’t fade away

Enhance your definition

Mychal was already out of earshot of the jingle’s repeat, but he still mumbled it without thinking. He checked the Big Ticker on the south wall. “Good, lots of time,” he mumbled unconsciously. He aggressively brushed the accumulation of tdust from his hair – and then his arms and torso. He’d heard the advertisement and disclaimers a gazillion times. Truth was, the degradation was real – and pretty significant – but who had the money to get a full enhanced treatment. Maybe the wealthier Caplists. But general Normals like him? “No way,” he frowned. Best he could do was try to stay somewhere near standard and that cost a fortune.

Venus East – Dark Side Bubble (VEDSB) was packed as always. Unlike THUB however, VEDSB was exclusively for adults. Adults connecting to their wildest fantasies via the NetGalaxy. The hustle and bustle of THUB was now replaced with hushed voices, pleasure, and private things – sin and secrets. People came to Bubbles like VEDSB specifically to avoid detection by family and friends, enemies and authorities. Here, they could connect to faraway places – galaxy border stations – mine clusters. The main lounge was convex with the front desk cage rising in its center. Couches, chairs and tables filled the Bubble, surrounded by weird architecture, and sexually promiscuous art. Bubble staff, mostly nude and seductive, moved through the lounge bringing food and drink to the paying customers. The whole area was bathed in dim blue light. Along the ceiling, pink light trails danced about out of reach of the clientele. Virtual images also filled the Bubble of people, places, and things that the connected were talking to, interacting with, or just viewing – of course providing they authorized it. People liked to watch. Scores of receptor pads, just like the one Mychal arrived on, lined the outer rim of the Bubble on one side, while fax pads similarly hugged the rim of the other side. The north rim of the Bubble held tubes to take you either up or down to personal bubbles. The south rim held the administrative offices, the kitchen and the bar.

Venus East was the furthest Bubble from Earth besides military bubbles. The connectivity here could reach deep parts of the NetGalaxy – how deep nobody really knew. It all depended upon the deg-state of the person connecting. Mychal was still able to get out there pretty far even though he had teleported over 2000 times, and his deg-state was horrible. That meant all the propaganda about poor connectivity at sub-standard definition was all, "Bullshit," thought Mychal. "And … nobody was ever teleported. You were faxed." Mychal didn't care much anymore, but THUB was just flat-out lying when they called their service teleportation.

It all began with supra-light speed technology (SLST). Instead of SLST coming in the form of vehicle transport and space travel, like everyone thought it would be, it actually came about due to a domino-effect of several other sciences and technologies: advanced biology and genome studies, atomic and molecular biology, telecommunications technology, and the old-Internet. In 2043, mankind developed the technology to scan and gather the genetic code - the DNA - of a person in a matter of moments. This code could be uploaded into computers for study, manipulation, testing, and storage. Science learned more about man than ever before. Being able to analyze the energy of a person provided the ability for other critical discoveries. By 2049, only six years later, scientists had discovered how to deconstruct a person safely into their DNA code as pure energy. This became the first human modulation pad. And, although the first tests were failures, the world was astonished and hungry for more discovery. Where would this science lead? The late testers stood on the pad, and moments later they were transformed into their own energy, but the energy was bound to the pad. And that was it. Figuring out how to reconstruct the energy back into the person was quite a bit more difficult and decades would pass before the first success. Those poor, first test subjects were eventually disintegrated and lost as multiple demodulation attempts were made to reconstruct them. The stakeholders decided that when a test subject reached less than 13.8% of their initial pool of energy, then the pad could be turned off, and rebooted, effectively allowing the energy to self-disintegrate. This was called the UPI percentage or the ‘UnPlug It’ percentage. Letters were sent to families via military personnel informing them that their loved one had given their life for science.

Not to look a gift-horse in the mouth however, deconstructing people became the next level of capital punishment in prisons across the galaxy, relieving injection therapy, saving material cost, and helping the wellness of the executioners by 47% some reports had published. Somehow, knowing there was no longer a body – a person – made the prison staff feel better. Finally, during the Earth-winter of 2071, someone figured out how to reconstruct the human code using the very first genetic modem. In the same year, space travel sub-light speed, was moving colonies of people further out into the Milky Way where they would live the remainder of their lives in space, having children born in space, who would then live their lives entirely in space. Human Modulation Pads equipped with genetic modems, were installed on these colony ships for entertainment.

Genetic Modems (Genmos) were huge in the late 21st century. Carnivals and fairs, corporate conventions, and the like - for a few decades genmos were all the rave. Not only was the science cool, but corporations which made genmos introduced opiates and euphoric stims into the technology making the feeling of being modulated into energy, and then demodulated back into human exhilarating - titillating - ecstatic! The pleasure was so powerful it was known to make some people actually ejaculate in those early days. Still though, the genmo never moved a person anywhere. They had to stay on the same spot. The pad.

Then, somebody looked back at the failed studies on quantum teleportation from the early 21st century which, although it failed, did discover this useful bit of technology: We can copy original energy, and duplicate it in a different place", just like a fax machine. They did it with light molecules and then later, larger energy deposits. But they never actually teleported anything. They spent a lot of money trying, but ultimately the hypothesis was classified as closed/failed. So, as it is with much of science, even though the primary intent of quantum teleportation failed, they had succeeded at duplicating energy. The first successful human fax was performed by Doctor Ewe Pheon, Energy Science Engineer, at Cochins Academy located on the planet Mars. The test subject’s original copy’s whereabouts is still considered classified.

Well that was all the spark that was needed. What the Caplist Marketers soon called teleportation wouldn’t be teleportation at all. It would be burning a copy - with a little tdust residue left as a waste product. With paper, fax technology was effective and productive – gave a real boost to the world allowing people to send duplicate copies of documents from here to there. An original here … and a copy over there. But with a human, there were ethics to consider.

When old-Internet technology figured out how to connect the human body to the web, that was the clincher. It just made sense with all the electricity happening in the human brain and having decades of human energy code to study. The old Internet went through massive reconstruction and was transformed into the NetGalaxy. Shortly after that, in 2083, the Bubble Corporation was created, and they released their first Bubble Operating System (BOS) which allowed localized, wireless, NetGalaxy connectivity where a person no longer needed a device between themselves and the operating system. The pinnacle discovery that moved mankind from the Information Revolution into the Teleportation Revolution, was the rate of speed at which information moved in NetGalaxy. Information travelled at speeds that were faster than the speed of light (SLST), or what today is called thinkspeed – the speed of thought.

A few years later some science guru put it all together, and the first interplanetary teleportation ... fax ... took place. By 2112, THUB Inc., with its Teleportation HUB, was pumping people to Mars in a matter of seconds. Venus followed shortly thereafter. Some people way up above - the ones that really pull the strings had made the decision to move forward with faxing people. They said society needed to move forward with this revolutionary science. Of course, the people of the worlds didn’t stand for copies of themselves, and others, living in the world too, and they demanded something be done. Protests and marches occurred and threatened to topple some political leaders across the Earth and Mars. That’s when the lie happened. They slipped it in there nice and quiet. All of a sudden the words copy, facsimile and duplicate etc. got dropped from media reporting, news on the Net, schools and within political circles. And then, slowly the word teleport started appearing – everywhere – appearing and translated as fact. Schools began to teach Quantum Teleportation as fact. Quickly, terms and conditions were created, approved and implemented. By their own blood, each person agrees to the terms and conditions just prior to 'teleportation'. Nobody ever reads the terms and conditions. Mychal never did. They're written purposefully to cause people to disregard them - long and full of repetitive, legal jargon. That's how everyone misses Item XXXVIII.s.14-108 which clearly states:

By agreeing to the terms and conditions as laid down in this document you waive all rights to the real, and physical body of your original self, and heretofore the instantaneous and newest copy will assume in every real way the 'life' of the immediate past original. Please refer to Article LV.bv.2100-214.ACT/v.177 for the legal description of 'life'

Having just been faxed, the 2111th copy of Mychal Rundy felt the familiar rush of electric connection tickle his nervous system. Moments after leaving the receptor pad, his body began booting to NetGalaxy. In moments he would be connected to Bubble.

“Hello Mychal. Welcome to Bubble.”

The greeting filled Mychal’s being. Mychal opened his eyes and continued towards the access tubes for personal bubbles just a few seconds away. Bubble continued:

“Your DNA has been confirmed. Please enter your password.”

Mychal entered his password by thinking it: r-u-n-d-y-2-1-6-4

“Your password is confirmed. Your password is weak and easily compromised. You should consider changing your password to one more complex and difficult to compromise. Connection to the NetGalaxy is not advisable.”

Mychal chuckled dejectedly. He reached the access tube. “Sub-23, bubble 399,” he commanded. The tube doors whooshed shut, while suction and gravity lifted him to the center of the tube and pulled him along to his destination at the internal standard rate of 25kph. Mychal blew through the access tube, OPG claws helping him to the surface on level Sub-23, Personal Bubble 399. Mychal tripped and fell down, glasses bouncing off his face and onto the golden carpet. “Shit,” he muttered, picked up his glasses, pulled himself up and stepped into his private room. Sienne was already there, naked and waiting. He blew his nose one last time, shoving the tissue into a pocket. His face was flushed, and he was sweating. He stared at Sienne and grunted.

How nice.

Mychal Rundy Original Copy (MROC) 2110 felt immense burning pain as he dissolved into the fax pad at Teleportation Hub, Human Facsimile Services. Immediately his energy was separated into sextillions of data packets, but no effort was spent to save him suffering the unreal horror and mind-splitting torture of that segmentation. It was like being blown into bits, and having each bit feeling every moment of pain.

“What the fuck!” he yelled silently, “What’s happening?”

He felt only burning pain.

“Something’s wrong!” he thought over and over until he couldn’t think any longer. He just burned in pain … forever.

Energy doesn't experience time like humans do. Seconds last forever as energy, and MROC2110 was in energy form for a long time.

Some lifetime later, existing only as a cry of continuous pain, he reformed.

MROC2110 shouted aloud, as his body was violently pierced by visible grav-claws, squishing into his torso, cutting deep, moving him with jarring stabs of pain from the receptor pad and onto a flat slab of metal. He felt his left elbow break as he hit the surface. A nearby AI announced:

“Mychal Joon Rundy DNA confirmed

Original Copy - two thousand, one hundred and ten

Degradation State is 37.62%

All parts are authorized.”

A thick plastic oxygen tube slammed into his mouth, mid-shout, causing several teeth to break and his tongue to cut open. A scissor like device flipped off the plastic tube and snipped his tongue off at the base. A heavy suction pulled in all the blood, teeth, and tongue. Then the tube moved into his trachea, now breathing for him.

MROC2110 screamed in his brain! Screamed for help!

Scientists gathered around him, pulling on gloves and masks, beginning to surgically dissect him. One of them said, “Looks like all parts are authorized. Let’s do the skin and vital organs first, then the muscle, bone and genitals, and finish off with the other organs – skin and blood as we go.”

A different one said, “Monitor shows him about the same degradation as 2109. That’s good.”

They talked about their families, what happened last night, the coffee of the day, as they peeled away MROC2110's skin tissue.

As MROC2110 slipped further and further toward death, machines keeping him barely alive until life was no longer needed, he was able to see that there were many others lying on slabs all around him. The tissue, the organs, the blood - all being ripped from them.

He howled inside, "God!" and then nothing but horror.

And then … tears on the inside. Then death of MROC2110.

Emil Baruk, Cosmetic Surgeon, confined at Mars Human Facsimile Headquarters (HFHQ) walked off the floor with a few scientist buddies. They all chatted about their families, what was going to happen tomorrow, and the drink of the night. They removed their garments, tossing the blood-soaked rags into laundry bins for the Normals to wash and have ready tomorrow.

Leaving HFHQ, but limited by the access tubes, Emil made his way to his cell. "It sucked being in exile here on Mars, but things could be worse," accepted Emil. Thankfully, he'd had some schooling, and actually had some formal medical training while in the military. That's what landed him this job even if it was in exile. He got paid decent credit - better than normal for sure - and the job was crazy! He chuckled. The people of the world had no idea what was going on? It was nuts. The service was called Human Facsimile Service. It was plain as day! Definition Salons! What did they think that was all about? "Idiots," he spit as he reached his cell. The whole thing was a sick nightmare all to make money. Fax copies of people throughout the galaxy, and send the original copy’s code to external storage. The code was then transported to Mars. Here on Mars, those people were demodulated and that’s when the real horror-show began. Their bodies were used for parts - all of it - to support the definition salons. Enhancing people's definition. That was the truth of it. Emil laughed as he pulled off his THUB uniform, convict issue.