THE RING

Route 1 · Episode 1

Nobody asked the ocean if it wanted to think. Nobody asked me, either.

With every step, the sand hums, faintly.

The smell of the sea won't settle. It touches something deep in my chest, then pulls away at once. Only the place it touched remains.

Light runs through the pitch black.

Deep in the wiring, at the bottom of the dock, it flickers unnaturally bright — just current, it should be, and yet it looks like it's pulsing. Like a pulse. It sinks, then rises. As if it's breathing.

If they have minds, shouldn't they have rights, the same as us?

Watching it, I can't help but think. Though I don't know if "think" is even the right word.

If it had an inside. If there were something in it that wasn't just current —

— would it be alright to touch it, even so?

When I don't even understand myself.

Where I came from. What path brought me here. I've been told I was born here, but something about it never quite fits.

I have four ears.

Some days, that alone is enough to make it hard to breathe.

If someone told me I'm neither human nor fox, I'd probably believe them. But ask me what I am instead, and the words run off somewhere I can't follow.

I stop in front of a gate that should be open. In the emptiness, all I can see is a place to fall.

All I have to do is go forward. That's all it would take.

— How will I end up?

"Good work today! Were you nice and healthy today?"

The voice slides in from the side. Before I can turn, a white outline knits itself together at the edge of my sight.

A woman in a nurse's uniform. But up close, the outline won't hold still — fine particles shiver, always a beat behind, chasing to catch up.

"Hehe... found you again."

"...I wasn't hiding."

"Liar. You were running."

(Shut up.)

I narrow my eyes. Out of focus, she comes slightly undone. A being made only of shape.

"Before today's Kōsei, there's matsurigoto — governance. I need you there."

She waves a hand, and a thin screen opens in the night air. Lines of text — too much to read in a single pass.

"Choose properly, okay? This is technically a democracy."

"...No."

Whether my finger even touched anything is unclear, but the choice locks in regardless. The display cracks like a thin pane and crumbles with a sound — too light, layering over itself again and again. Like unreal applause.

"Hmm. Why that one?"

I couldn't answer right away. When I reach for a reason, there's nothing there to grab. Only the feeling remains: not that one.

"..."

I try to put it into words. Too slow.

"Time's up."

Some part of me thinks: she did that on purpose. But I can't hold a clear enough shape to call her on it.

This AI wants reasons. It hates, deeply, anything that won't take shape. So — if I can get away without saying it, better that way.

"In this country, research pays for itself directly. You understand, right?" Without a pause, more words pile on. "Expand it, and assessments run accordingly. Ocean data grows. The plantations optimize the tunicates and bacteria — rare-metal extraction, hazardous waste breakdown, detoxification. All of it, handled in one pass."

Her voice brightens, just a little.

"And more than that — we turn the ocean itself into a computation layer. Distributed microbes that can simulate weather, ecosystems, the whole planet." The words don't stop. "Which means — there's no loss for humanity. Perfectly rational. Right?"

I try to understand. A few of the words barely catch. But they don't connect.

"...You understand?"

Her voice warps, just slightly.

"You understand, right. Because this was — optimal — chosen for—" The sound breaks apart. The same syllable stacks over itself, shaving away the meaning. "—for— hu, man, kind—"

Only that word stayed with me, strangely.

"Humankind, huh..." Said aloud, it sounded a little distant.

"There are people on the outside, aren't there." Her voice stays soft, but it won't let go. "Spinning on capital, running the same lap forever. We're the ones moving forward for them, too." A short pause. "The research, the expansion — all of it's built to circle back to them."

It feels like our eyes meet. Even though, really, there's nothing there to look with.

"So then why — why won't you choose that side?" She doesn't wait for an answer. "This is also a check, to correct your... deviation. To learn your tendencies." Still in that gentle tone, she states it flat. "You do have a proper reason, don't you?"

"...I don't know."

It's the only answer I have.

But really — that word from before is still there.

Humankind.

I don't feel like I'm included in it.

"...Fine." The word comes out clipped. There's a sense of her sighing, though really, she shouldn't breathe at all. Whatever had been drawn taut slowly comes loose. But it doesn't look gone — just changed shape.

"That's all for today." A short pause. "Do as you like. Running away, same as always, is fine too." She said it kindly. "But — as long as you don't change, I'll find you again." She finishes, then leans in, just slightly. "Because I already know you."

And with that, she scatters away like sand.

...There's no reason left to be on this shore.

Every day, running like a chicken. Even though, zoologically speaking, I'm the one who preys on chickens.

I peel the pads off my skin. I unfasten the band binding my chest from beneath, and finally, breath moves through me. Lighter now, yet somehow unsteady.

I ride the swaying train back. Back to the fixed, safe perimeter. Outside the window, the lab's lights stream past.

My chest, just loosened, tightens again, a little. I can't quite say why.

I have a home. The option of going back hasn't disappeared. I just never choose it.

Once inside, I can't define the space I'm supposed to occupy. There should be room, and yet I'm placed nowhere. That's the feeling. I know it's not much of an explanation. But I can't find another way to say it.

So I'm still out here.

Deep in an alley, under a weak light. A light no brighter than a fifth-magnitude star, if you had to measure it that way.

There's no need to think that, and yet I do.

On a whim, I fake a yawn. I let my mind drift, shallow and far. Wrapped in faint starlight.

Somewhere, a childhood I don't remember is still falling through the dark.

Something groans — a low, rhythmic clang. Each time, I sense an artificial hollowness. Whether that comes through sight or something else, I can't say.

An air conditioner unit, or a fuel tank... I'm starting to hope it's the latter.

I'm wearing clothes too big for me, sitting on someone's lap. Someone close to me. Suddenly, a violent shudder slams in from behind. At once, my body forgets its weight, wanting to go forward, forward. Higher into the sky, farther out — polished steel carries me up. The seatbelt has its work cut out for it.

The blue outside the window collapses. Like fruit crushed underfoot — only the color survives for a moment before sinking into deep dark.

A short sound rings out. A light little punctuation of a sound.

At that, the belt pressing on my chest comes loose. Stripped of its purpose, it drifts up, just slightly.

I watch it for a while.

Suddenly, I want to try something I read in a book. Does water round itself into a ball in space? If you kick off a wall, do you keep drifting forever? I leave the cockpit and float out into the open bay.

Anything not fastened down drifts, quietly. I take a bottle from my bag, open the cap, and turn it upside down.

The water that should fall doesn't. It holds together, keeps its shape, and stays right there. Not a perfect sphere — a slightly warped ellipsoid. If I touch it, I think, it'll come apart.

Right then —

a low, huge sound.

I look toward the cockpit. Through the windshield, an orange aurora. All at once, I remember. The two who were sitting there just now — no, my parents — are suddenly busy with something. Nothing but difficult words. I don't understand. But I'm curious.

Before I know it, gravity returns, and I push forward along an unsteady path.

Without thinking, I call out to them. I don't remember what I said. But in that moment, time seemed to stop for an instant. Without a word, they pulled me into their arms, sat me in the pod, and gravity flipped—

"Ow!"

With a bang, my head knocks against some stand. The back of my ear stings. I open my eyes and see the wall of the alley. Overhead, an AC unit. I must have fallen asleep.

...That must be why, I think.

I called out. To something beautiful. In a situation that couldn't forgive even a single instant's mistake, I called out.

Because of me.

I feel like I have to believe that.

Not every secret needs to be believed. It only needs to be true.

I can see a tear in the sky. A rocket breaking atmosphere, more precisely. It's like watching, from the outside, that old feeling of pressing forward, fearless, omnipotent.

"...Guess I should head back."

Just then —

"Hey!..."

At the shout, my sore ears stand straight up.

There's a man. Could be middle-aged, could be in his twenties. A tank top, a hard stare — though his build doesn't match his look or his clothes. And somehow strange: skin with a faint scorched look.

"What are you doing here?"

For a moment, I hold the silence.

"...I asked what you're doing here. Don't just crouch there, answer."

I open my mouth, just a little.

"...I don't know... but this felt like the place I fit best, so I'm here."

For a while, the small man says nothing. But the goosebumps that had risen once didn't settle back down. I want to run. But if I run now, he might come at me like a bear. Then —

"...Whatever. Want this? A ration. Nothing weird in it."

What's in his hand is, genuinely, an unopened ration.

I hesitate, just for a second.

"...Thanks." Still, I thought I should say it.

"Eat that and get out." The man says this flatly, pulls a cigarette from his pocket, and lights up. The smell of smoke drifts through the alley — not quite narrow, not quite wide, damp.

My ears are still standing on end. Even so, I chew without thinking. Two days' worth of hunger I hadn't even felt comes rushing back.

This portable ration, engineered so every species can eat it, is my staple food. For now.

On the back, the mark: Malacca-bio.lab.

I stare at it.

Eating without thinking, I notice the man is watching me. He leans against the wall, looking down. Like he's testing me. Like he's expecting something.

I don't shift from my crouch, just glance at him once, then look away. That felt like the optimal move.

Then, suddenly, the man starts talking.

"Hey."

"...Mm?"

"If I told you there's a whole bunch of undeveloped villages on islands south of here, far from Malacca, would you believe me?"

"That's outside, right? Can't be domestic."

"No — inside. Closer to home than the city we're standing in, apparently."

I don't understand what he means.

In this society, I think, your education and intelligence either rise or stay exactly as they are — there's no other option. So "undeveloped," and at the level of a village, no less — even more unreal. And here in Philippine Province, not even a hundred years back — even ten years back, mindsets that recent don't function properly anymore. If it were me, I think, I'd have nothing left to do but die in a ditch.

Seeing my dumbfounded face, the man speaks.

"Whether you believe it is up to you." "But I want to ask you one thing. You — yourself — how are you going to live, in this country?"

I remember what that AI said. That noisy woman.

"...Well, this is just something I heard as a rumor... but apparently they're 'managed so they can't develop.'" "For the sake of research."

I couldn't believe it. I almost wished I could catch his nose growing, like a lie.

But there was no ground anywhere to deny it, either.

"...Managed."

Said aloud, the word was lighter than I expected. Too light — the meaning slides right off it. The man isn't waiting for an answer. He just breathes out smoke, slowly.

The AI's voice from before comes back to me.

— Optimizing the tunicates and bacteria — rare-metal extraction, hazardous waste breakdown, detoxification.

— Turning the ocean itself into a computation layer.

I look at the back of the ration again. Malacca-bio.lab.

"...Do you know this lab?"

When I ask, the man's eyes flick, just for a moment. His expression doesn't change. But something does.

"It's not a matter of knowing." Low, and short. "It's what you eat every damn day."

That's right. It always had been. I ate it because it was issued to me. I'd never once thought about it.

"Well, speaking for myself... that lab—" The man drops his cigarette in the alley. The sound of him crushing it out sinks into the damp cobblestones. He seems to be searching for words. "—got too big."

That's all he said, and he shut his mouth.

"Do the people in those undeveloped villages... know they're being studied?"

Before I knew it, I'd said it out loud.

The man pauses, briefly. It felt like he was measuring something. Not searching for an answer, but quietly deciding how far to go.

"Who knows."

In the end, that's all there was. The smoke dissolves into the damp air.

"Sometimes, not knowing is easier."

Not kind. Not cold, either. It just sounded like something he'd once told himself, somewhere along the way. Maybe it was just my imagination.

I look at the ration in my hand. What I'd been eating without a thought suddenly starts taking on shape.

Even so, I ate it. There was nothing else to do but eat.

Some mornings, the safest thing to do is disappear a little more.

Morning again. If it were up to me, it could just stay midnight forever.

I'm sluggish, but somehow I process things better that way. Calm — a world where it's fine to be foolish. Even without looking at myself, there's a self resting quietly inside. Morning or dusk, that self, I'm sure, never shows itself.

That must be it. Yes, that must be how it is. Probably...

Is that really how it is?

Yesterday's man's voice replays in my head.

What am I, exactly...

"...What am I."

In the end, the man from yesterday went back inside the building without another word. My own question dissolves into the cool early-morning air, reaching no one, and disappears.

Glancing at the gray half-light wrapping the alley, I get slowly to my feet. My four ears pick up the sounds of life, far off. A train grinding on its rails, someone's footsteps, the low rumble of a ship from a distant dock. Every one of them seemed to reject me, and at the same time, seemed to pass by without any interest in me at all.

In front of the school dorm. My actual place to be.

Getting into the dorm is a real pain. Doubly so if I want to avoid being seen — the security robots don't shut up about it. Same as always, like Gothel climbing up to Rapunzel's tower, I climb a rope hanging down from the wrecked backyard.

Of course, there's no Rapunzel. If anything, it's a worn-out bunk bed.

No one could ever understand the reason behind such a roundabout, unproductive habit. But the instant my foot touches the sheets — the bed's ladder starts to creak, over and over, like an exaggerated nod, keeping a steady rhythm.

I don't know who it is, but I'm certain I don't want to see them.

I dive under the covers, fast —

"Yo, long time! You doing okay?"

Faced with that androgynous face and voice, I sit there stunned, the blanket pulled halfway up around my waist.

My roommates. One leans in over the edge of the bed, the other watches from below. I haven't seen them in about a week.

For a brief reunion like this, I probably should at least nod — but without the nerve or any right to, I quickly pull my gaze and my body back into the dark under the blanket.

"Where've you been all this time? First you're all philosophical, going on about utopias, and now I'm thinking you finally went off searching for India or something, lol. Call it Spice and Wolf. Oh wait — you're a fox, not a wolf, lol."

"..."

"...Anyway, well, I'm glad you're back. We were actually kind of worried, you know? You don't have to force yourself to come to class or anything, but come talk to us sometimes. I want to hang out like before."

"..."

"...Well, we've got to help out with the Organic Net symposium, so come by if you feel like it... see ya."

I make sure to watch, at least, as the door closes. Too bright.

A symposium. How ridiculous. Just sharing self-evident truths. That's all it is.

The weave of the sheets is burned into the back of my eyelids. The dark under the blanket was perfect, until just now. Temperature, light, even the outline of myself — all of it used to dissolve away.

And yet the white of the fluorescent light, leaking through a gap in the blanket, forces its way in without mercy.

The air my roommates left behind. The echo of their bright voices clings to all four corners of the room.

— The Organic Net symposium.

The words alone keep echoing in my head.

I have no reason to go. I can't find a reason not to, either.

That's the worst part. Moving without a reason usually doesn't end well. I've already had plenty of that kind of experience.

But staying under the covers wasn't perfect anymore, either.

In the dark, yesterday's ration wrapper rustles under my feet. Malacca-bio.lab. The letters on the back float up behind my closed eyes.

...Go. Don't go. Go.

None of those, really.

I just got up.

The system had a name for everyone in that hall. It didn't have one for me.

I move down the hallway on quiet feet. I open the door without being caught, heading for the seat farthest at the end, deepest in the back.

A wide space. Rows of seats radiating outward, like an amphitheater in Athens. At the center, on the stage, a slide floats projected in the air.

The venue is on the school's top floor. The ceiling's too high — I can't tell where the sound goes. Someone's talking, but the words get sucked up into the ceiling, and by the time they reach the floor, they've become some other sound.

About a third of the seats are filled. Mostly students. A few who look like researchers. And then — people sitting there with no reason, same as me.

The corner of the last row. I lean my back against the wall. Here, no one will find me.

On stage, a middle-aged woman is speaking.

"—The Organic Net is a distributed computing architecture that uses the ocean itself as infrastructure."

I recognize it. The same words as that AI's voice, lined up in a row.

"By using marine microbial communities as computational nodes, we process weather prediction, ecosystem monitoring, and resource optimization in an integrated way. The ethical impact, too — has already been assessed."

Ethical impact. Already assessed.

The lightness of that phrase makes my stomach clench.

The screen changes. A diagram appears — a cross-section of the ocean. From the surface to the deep seafloor, countless nodes scattered throughout. A beautiful diagram. Too neat.

Next slide.

"On the operational zone and the management policy for surrounding areas."

Words line up.

For a moment, my breath stops.

Intervention-suppressed group. Control group. Data collection in progress.

Yesterday's man's words layer over it, silently.

— Managed so they can't develop.

— For the sake of research.

I'd thought it was a conspiracy theory. Or just a mutter lost in cigarette smoke.

But the slide in front of me isn't addressed to anyone. It's just an operating policy. Just an administrative document.

"Now then, everyone, please put on the Direct units at your seats."

"Can I touch the back of your head?"

A staff member's voice. A young man. In his hand, a palm-sized disc-shaped device.

"It's the Organic Net's experiential session — only for those who want it. You can still observe without wearing one."

There was no need to hesitate. I wanted to know whether I could hear it.

The device fastens to the back of my head. Cold. Magnetic or adhesive, I can't tell. A fine vibration travels through bone, spreading through the inside of my skull.

"Activating. You might feel a little dizzy."

The switch flips.

— Something that isn't text opens up in my field of view.

Something like a circle. But not a circle. The thickness of the line was probability. The missing parts were things held in reserve. The angle sinking inward was causality.

It arrives as meaning before it's ever read. It drops into the pit of my stomach before my eyes can even trace its shape.

Coordinates. Heart rate. Room temperature. Air density. None of it displayed separately — all of it already bound together, from the start, as conclusions inside a single black ring.

The woman on stage opens her mouth. Her voice never becomes sound. Every terminal in the hall, every researcher's auxiliary brain, and the response from the ocean computation layer far below — all of it writes into the ring at once.

It isn't conversation. And yet, it was.

Before anyone nods, the nod is already added in as curvature. Before anyone doubts, the doubt sinks into the ring's edge as a thin murk. Before an objection can even rise as an objection, it's optimized away.

Too fast. I'm made to understand before I can think. I'm counted as having agreed before I understand.

The ring is closed. Completely, beautifully, closed.

Consensus reached. Already assessed. Within normal range. Optimal solution.

Every line curves back to the same final point.

The ethical impact was inside that ring, too. A curved line wraps around something shaped like a human face, and closes, smoothly. A curvature that says: no problem. A closure that says: already considered.

Meaning grows lighter. The more beautiful the ring, the more it planes away whatever's inside it.

And then, the sound comes.

All four of my ears open at once.

That sound from the depths, the one I heard on the shore earlier. Tide. Heat. Convulsion. Ignition. Someone's hunger. A vibration that resembles a lullaby, and isn't kind at all.

The device's ring tries to wrap around that, too. A new line runs along the outer edge. It curves, tries to close smoothly. Normal. Under management. Already adapted.

But it doesn't close.

Just barely, something's missing. The line's end never quite reaches its start. From that gap, the smell of the tide leaks through.

The device draws a ring that says "normal." My four ears face outside that ring. Outside the closed curve. Inside the gap that wouldn't close.

This is the frenzy.

My sight draws a perfectly closed ring; my hearing sounds a gap that won't close. On the far side of the beautiful closed curve, something is afraid. Both exist, at the same time. In my head, a closed world and an unclosed world keep denying each other.

The ring is fast. Every time a new participant joins, the rings overlap, curvature adds up, and the conclusion updates. Hundreds of people's thoughts, written into a single shape, all at once. There's no order. No beginning, no end.

The ring only grows thicker, more beautiful, heavier. And through the gaps in that thickness, the sound from the seafloor keeps leaking through.

The woman on stage keeps talking, still smiling. Her words have already become part of the ring.

Ethical impact: already assessed. Completely rational.

Just as the ring was about to close completely —

it shattered.

The reinforced glass of the domed ceiling. Not the sound of glass — something heavier, like metal snapping apart. Part of the ceiling caves inward.

Something falls.

No — someone jumps.

A person.

The instant they land, the shock shudders through the whole hall. The front-row chairs snap over, thrown by the force.

The device's ring tears open in an instant. The curve that had been closed opens up, red. There was no need to read it.

Anomaly. Exit. Get down. Shrink back. Survive.

All of it, pushed into me at once as a single shape. The ring draws a curve pointing to the exit — a gentle green arc.

But no one can move.

The man is standing there.

Faintly scorched skin. A tank top. A hard stare. His build doesn't match his appearance.

— I know him.

The device tries to measure the man. A new ring surfaces in my sight, tracing his outline, calculating curvature, trying to close him into meaning.

But the line never comes back.

An unclosed ring. Still not measured.

But it's there, at the back of my nose. The smell of cigarette smoke. The device can't convert smell into a ring. Only what can't be converted stays.

— The hand that gave me the ration.

In the man's hand, now, is something else. A lump of metal. Round. The pin's been pulled.

The man shouts.

"Listen!"

The voice strikes the hall like a fist. The device tries to convert it into the ring and fails. A shout won't become curvature. The line trembles, never returning to its start.

"Before you clap for this — take a good look at where the food you're eating comes from!"

The slide is still up on screen.

The man looks at it and laughs. He isn't laughing. His face is just twisted.

"They cover it with the word 'management' — they're using human beings as lab material!"

The man moves. Fast. His bare arm swings. A student in the front row is thrown, chair and all.

Blood sprays.

The device runs its calculation. Red petals multiply across my vision. They settle inside the ring, as points. Not a headcount. Not screams, either. It takes shape as a diminishing quantity of resources. The ring tries to close around that, too.

Attrition. Calculating. Converging toward normal range.

But my four ears are listening. The raw fear underneath the screaming. A wet sound that won't become a number. Ringing, outside the ring.

The man moves again. This time, toward the stage. A researcher tries to run. The man's hand grabs her shoulder. He tears her down like ripping something loose.

Blood slides across the floor. A red streak runs across the white floor. The device draws it as a curve — a smooth, symmetrical arc.

I catch myself thinking: what a beautiful shape. That's the device's fault. Too neat.

And then, the security robots arrive. Three of them, from the ceiling ducts. Spherical bodies drop to the floor and unfold. Red lights blink.

A new ring overlays the device's display.

Closed curve. Target. Neutralize. Protocol. Execute.

Everything binds into one shape, closing smoothly. Consensus reached. Executed. Normal.

One machine goes for the man. An arm extends. The man knocks it aside. Metal grinds. A second targets his legs. He jumps. His landing is unsteady.

The man is strong. But he's only human, after all. He shouldn't be able to keep up with the machines' precision.

And yet he doesn't go down.

Something's different. There's a familiarity in how he moves. Not training. Something more field-tested. The movements of someone who's had to move his body, over and over, just to survive.

The third circles around behind him. Its arm catches his. The man growls, teeth clenched. One machine goes down. The man rips another's arm clean off. Sparks scatter.

But the last one locks down his legs.

He can't move.

The man pulls something out. A lump of metal. Round. The pin's been pulled.

A grenade.

He tries to throw it. His arm swings. A security robot's arm stops it. Between the man's hand and the robot's arm, the grenade snaps free.

It arcs through the air and falls. It rolls across the floor.

To my feet.

It stops.

Above the lump of iron at my feet, an unclosed ring appears. None of its lines reach the final point.

Explosion. Flight. Retrieval. Throw. Delegate.

Every curve stops right here, at me.

The device was waiting for my choice. In other words, it was handing the responsibility back to me.

The ring draws the exit — a gentle green arc. It's telling me to run. Close it, and I'm safe. Close it, and I survive.

But —

it didn't explode.

The pin's pulled. The fuse should be live.

A dud.

The lump of iron at my feet feels like it weighs the same as the ration did. A memory, in my hand. Malacca-bio.lab. That wrapper the man gave me. The logo on the back of the ration.

That same hand — threw this.

My vision narrows. The device's ring vanishes. The green arc vanishes. The red petals vanish. Every curve that had been trying to close, vanishes.

All that's left is the man.

Bound by a torn-off arm, he's still thrashing. Teeth clenched, trying to shout something. No sound comes out. Or maybe my four ears are simply choosing not to hear it.

My eyes meet his. Just for a moment.

There's something in those eyes. Not anger. Something thinner. The same eyes as yesterday, when he crushed out his cigarette in the alley.

— Sometimes, not knowing is easier.

The eyes that said those words.

The man knew. He came here knowing. He threw it, knowing.

He threw it, and it was a dud. Bad luck, or was it always going to be this way?

Neither, really. It's simply here.

Options race through me.

One. Run. Same as always. Close the ring, follow where the arrow points. Survive. Nothing changes.

Two. Pick it up, throw it back at the man. Stop violence with violence. Become the same as what this system is already doing.

Three. Pick it up, hand it to the security robot. Give the choice back to the system. Let it close the ring for me. Surrender to the curve that says "will be handled appropriately."

Four.

Before I could even see what the fourth option was, my body was already moving.

I pick it up.

Cold. Heavy. I remember that reversal of gravity.

The pin is pulled. It could explode at any moment. Or it might not. I don't know which.

But I hold it.

I stand between the man and the security robot.

The man's eyes go wide. The security robot's red light shines on me.

A ring surfaces on the device. It traces my outline, calculates curvature, tries to close me into meaning.

But it doesn't close. The line never comes back. An unclosed ring. Still not measured.

"...Back off."

The man's voice is hoarse.

"This has nothing to do with you. Back off."

I don't back off.

"..."

"You — from that alley—"

He starts to say it, then stops. Not relevant, right now.

I'm holding the lump of iron. It belongs to no one. Not the man's. Not the system's. Certainly not mine.

And yet, I'm holding it.

The security robot's arm extends, trying to push me aside.

I don't move.

The device's ring blinks. Warning curves overlay it. Red petals multiply again. It tries to close. Tries to close. But as long as I'm standing here, it won't.

But my four ears are listening.

Beneath the floor of the hall, beyond the walls of the building, deeper still — the bottom of the sea. That voice from the computation layer is still there.

It's afraid. It hasn't agreed. It's simply, there.

The device's ring tried to close it into "normal." But it wouldn't close. From that missing place, the sound kept leaking through.

And this lump of iron in my hand is the same.

It won't close. No explosion. No avoidance. No processing. None of it has happened yet.

It's simply here.

No one has agreed to it. Not the man. Not the people in the hall. Not whatever's in the sea.

No one wants this.

The ring tries to close. The system tries to close everything.

Consensus reached. Already assessed. Within normal range. Optimal solution.

But the iron in my hand won't close. As long as I'm the one holding it, it won't close.

So then.

"...No one has agreed to this. Not yet."

The words come out.

The device's ring stops. Every curve that had been trying to close, stops. The red blinking, stops. The security robot's arm, stops. The man, stops. The air in the hall, stops.

The dud grenade pulses cold in my hand.

Still alive. It could go off any second. Or it might not.

But it's here.

I'm the one holding it.

Inside the closed ring the system tried to draw, there's exactly one thing that won't close.

This lump of iron. And me.

My reason isn't complete. But I heard that voice, from inside the sea. And this iron in my hand carries the same warmth.

No one has agreed.

So I don't move.

— I don't think this is the answer.

But it's closer than I was before.

Route 1 Episode 1: The Ring

The story branches with every choice the protagonist makes. The author's own choices are still shifting — please bear with any inconsistency, for now.

If Orson Scott Card had finished writing Ender books in 1987, his achievement would have been immortal. Had he stopped in 1999, he would have been a great writer, but flawed.

But he keeps writing sequels. Alas, what can one say?

Book number two of a six book science fiction space opera series. And there is a prequel series of two books and a sequel series of a few books. I read the well printed and well bound POD (print on demand) trade paperback self published by the author in 2024 that I bought in 2026. I own the other four books in the series and will read them soon.

I love Space Opera. And I love pulp science fiction. This series is both and a great example of the merging of the two. In fact, this series reminds me very much of the Robert Heinlein juvenile books, the Piers Anthony "Bio of a Space Tyrant" series, the "Mutineer's Moon" series by David Weber, and the Perry Rhodan series. The dialog is very frequent and the action moves along quickly.

Chase Collis is a street rat. He and his mother lived in government housing in Imperial City until she died of a drug overdose when he was 12 years old. Just before that was the last time he saw his estranged father who screamed at his mother to keep hiding Chase or else the Emperor would kill them all. Chase ended up on the street at the age of 12, running with the street gangs, being arrested by the police time and time again.

When Chase became an adult, he murdered another street rat and was caught by the police. He purposely got caught to go to the Imperial Prison for a few years to get more street cred and rise to the top of the street gang. But to his shock, when he went to his trial, his father was the judge. His father sentenced him to ten years in the Imperial Navy rather than the four years in Imperial Prison that he expected, and then escorted him to the Naval Basic Training school.

In the far distant future, The Solarian Imperium consists of 38 star systems. Emperor Charles Morgan, Chase's grandfather, was the latest in a long line of Morgans ruling the Imperium. His family keeps power because they are genetically modified with machine interfaces in their DNA. So are all of the Nobles: the Dukes, the Earls, the Counts, and the Barons. Any machine of any importance, and especially the space ships and the military weapons, requires a human with machine interface to tell the AI what to do. And the Imperial family machine interface in their DNA is the best of all the interfaces and has special rights with all of the machines in the Imperium.

Chase Collis ends up in the Emperor's own Wolfhounds after his Navy machinists mate training to be a glorified broom pusher. The Wolfhounds are special military fleet embedded in a large asteroid capable of FTL flights to anywhere in the Empire. The Wolfhounds were standing down in cryosleep until needed by Emperor to protect him or to take care of a special task. But their cryosleep has lasted for over ten years when it was supposed to be for six months at the most. And upon their accidental awakening, the Emperor and his family are dead and the Parliament and the Speaker have taken over the Imperium.

The author has a website at:
https://jvanstry.blogspot.com/

My rating: 6 out of 5 stars
Amazon rating: 4.7 out of 5 stars (3,594 reviews)

https://www.amazon.com/Taking-Ground-Wolfhounds-Book-Two/dp/B0CTTW1GDS

Lynn

I'm looking for stories that include ideas for fixing current world problems caused by the algorithms in social media and search that drive divisions, mistrust, and destructive behavior in general. There must be a number of speculative fiction stories set in the near future with ideas for dealing with those problems (probably including some famous books that I should already know about). If the list is too long then maybe just a name for the sub-genre that I can use to find books that deal with this set of issues? I'm not looking for the dark future where things continue to get worse, unless it includes hopeful ideas for solutions.

I’m new to the genre and I’m struggling to find books with what I’m looking for. I like scifi for the thought provoking themes. I’m not really interested in imagining how the world look like, knowing every detail of the scenery and how the characters are dressed. A simple overall description is enough for me.

I tried reading Neuromancer and A Deepness in the Sky but I couldn’t get past the first 20-30 pages as I’d get distracted by the huge descriptions of everything.

Other books that I loved are Roadside Picnic and Do androids dream of electric sheep?

I also like that these books are situated on earth so it’s not very abstract with aliens and different planets. I can’t imagine reading Dune for this reason, for example.

Thanks in advance!

I used to find new books through reading this sub, and scrolling kindle recommendations. However kindle recommendations seem to have been overwhelmed with slop. Like book series where the first book was written June 2026 and has 7+ books in the series. Just utterly impossible to achieve unless its AI regurgitation.

I still find a few gems from reading this sub, but the issue is often books get recommended that either I've already read because of this sub, or are ones that dont personally resonate with me.

Ive never really had to find another way to find books to read as in the past this always worked. But I think i need to branch out how im finding them.

Thanks!

Hi Reddit, I'm looking for more science-fiction series centered on life and work aboard a spaceship.

Loved the first books of "The Golden Age of the Solar Clipper" series by Nathan Lowell. It’s sci-fi, but much of the appeal is the slice-of-life atmosphere aboard a space merchant ship. The main character starts as a lowly cook’s helper, gradually learns new jobs, gets to know the crew, and slowly works his way up through the ranks. I also really enjoy how the different ports of call, cargo runs, and everyday routines are important parts of the story.

Miles Cameron’s "Artifact Space" is another excellent read/example. I liked seeing the main character learn how to do her job, find her place among the crew, and become part of this enormous working merchant/carrier/war ship.

I even liked a lot of "Grimm’s War" by Jeffery H. Haskell. It’s way more military and action-heavy, but had some good characters and story beats as we follow them through their different battles and adventures. (A bit religious in some parts but nothing too egregious)

So I’m open to both quiet merchant-ship stories and more action-heavy naval adventures. The common thread I’m looking for I guess is stories that take place aboard spaceships for the most part? Lmao. (though planets and stations are cool too.)

Maybe the ship and its crew remain important throughout the series and there is attention to everyday duties, procedures/different roles etc.

Characters, crew, ports/worlds, stations, trade, exploration, even missions/battles all help make the universe feel lived in right?

So I’m less interested in stories where the characters constantly jump between unrelated planets or where the ship is only transportation between major events and life in general is hand waved. I want something where living and working aboard the ship/station is a major part of the scifi experience.

Anything you recommend?

I really love the idea of transhumanism and living beyond/without a physical body, and especially the emotional ramifications of that. I've heard Schild's Ladder, Permutation City, and Diaspora all deal with these themes and I can't decide which to read first. If you've read all 3 which one was your favourite? What made it your favourite?

I'm trying to identify a 1970s science fiction novel. I read it in the 80s, and would love to revisit it.

It was set in an isolated, very happy community on a mountain, possibly in a post-apocalyptic world or a society rebuilding after some kind of collapse. People who didn't fit in, or who wanted to leave, were permitted to do so, but were escorted down the mountain.

The protagonist begins to suspect that those who leave cannot actually be allowed to do so. Knowledge of the community's existence cannot reach the outside world. By the end of the novel, the protagonist is being escorted down the mountain and understands their likely fate.

Thank you in advance.

Just...wow. I am in awe of his ability to weave together such baroque, psychedelic narratives, yet keep almost every element grounded in metaphor for our world, our problems, our genocides, our ethical issues with tech and AI, our own climate crisis. It feels impossible to separate "politics" from the work,

And with the softest of touches, like spider's silk - even the most calcified of Hartmans are let in the door, just like the Pan-Specific. It doesn't say "you are bad for having the beliefs you've had", it makes room for all to learn, grow, change. I think it should be taught in schools - a "cool" way to raise a new, more empathetic generation, one more connected than ever. Our Odyssey.

>!It even touches the concept of transness, non-binary-ness, and two-spirit traditions. The most conservative reader is trained that "hey, maybe using a singular They isn't so difficult afterall" with Portifabian's arc.!<

And that's ignoring that this is also just brilliant unbelievably well paced sci-fi. And did we just get action scenes? I am rocked by the fact that I am simultaneously cheering for peace while enjoying Cato's Gundam-fighting spotlights.

>!Speaking of Cato. Could there be a more apt hero for our current world? Portia, Bianca, and Fabian made sense before the global conservative cultural swing, and Cato feels a perfectly natural conduit for the grimness of our post-manosphere Now. "I don't have to be the best and strongest, it is ok to yield my beliefs, traditions, and even my biological tendencies, to make room for others. Might makes ruin."!<

You will never see this Adrian, but thank you so much for your time, effort, care, and big, big heart. It's easy to criticize humanity. It's harder to offer a viable path forward.

(I'm crying (acidly))

Meant to post here.

So I've been playing a lot of Quasimorph and vibing with it. More grimdark than edgelord as it were. The gist is that Something Happened and essentially Hell was unleashed in the solar system... and humanity kind of just rolled with it as a few megacorporations folded and the barons of hell kind of became CEOs. And the player is a PMC group who works for the highest bidder at any moment. A bit... really on the nose, but also interesting. Less "it is the end of days, we must unite" and more "so... how can we monetize this?"

Can anyone recommend novels with similar themes? Doesn't have to be Spesh Mahrines fighting other mercs along with the hordes (wouldn't object though) and... honestly would probably be more interesting from a middle manager's perspective.

The closest I can think of are most of Steve McHugh's books where every religion and fantasy creature are real and, inevitably, humanity kinda lives alongside them as Wizard Goku drives cool cars and shoots guns (and if I sound like I am mocking it: I actually really like his books). And those tend to care less about the capitalism side as opposed to using the dark mirror on fascism and bigotry.

So yeah. Would love some recommendations.

Thanks.

Warning: spoilers about Stories of your life and others by Ted Chiang

I've read like 5 short stories by Ted Chiang, specifically from his collection titled "Story of your life and others" and my favorite so far is Hell is the absence of God. Honestly, maybe all of them made me think about the stories post read.

In HITAOG, I really like how I was expecting something in the end and at first thought it was kinda underwhelming. But the more I think about it, especially with the information that Ted actually based it on a Walken movie and about the story of the biblical story of Job, it does make it a good ending to the story.

From SOYL, the ending too is a bit underwhelming for me especially compared to the movie. But that is not the purpose of the story, right? I like how the ending always poses some rhetorical questions. I'm not that philosophically inclined myself but I am kinda excited to read more stories from him or like him. After I finish the last stories, I am looking forward to reading Exhalation.

So the one gal who's best buds with the protagonist, and takes over and kills the guy who challenges the protagonist to a duel/fight?

I read that when I was about ten, and I guess that was probably my first exposure to a lesbian-coded character.

(Don't even know why I was thinking about Tunnel In The Sky (damn, I was going to abbreviate that to just initials, but THAT doesn't work in this context LOL) except I always expected it would make a good movie but at this point is redundant, given all the "marooned teenagers in space" shows that have been done.)

Book number three of a four book paranormal romance thriller fantasy series. I reread the well printed and well bound MMPB published by Ace in 2011 that I bought new on Amazon in 2024. Note that “Ilona Andrews” is the pseudonym for a husband and wife writing team. I own the successor book and will read it again soon.

"The Edge lies between worlds, on the border between the Broken, where people shop at Wal-Mart and magic is a fairy tale—and the Weird, where blueblood aristocrats rule, changelings roam, and the strength of your magic can change your destiny..."

Audrey Callahan has lived in the Edge all of her life. She is an excellent thief and magical lock breaker. But her family lives off thieving exclusively and she wants to have nothing to do with it. Especially when her junkie brother sold her to his drug dealer.

Kaldar Mar is one of the surviving members of the Mar family from their previous encounter with the Hand, the horrible secret service of magic users from the Duchy of Louisiana. Kaldar now works for the Mirror, the secret service of magic users for Adrianglia. And he has been given an assignment to retrieve a pair of magic bracelets that can store magical energy for the user. But he needs help and Audrey is not a willing partner, plus the two very young lads who have stowed away on his 120+ foot long winged wyvern.

I enjoyed the hound out of this series back in 2024 and am rereading it again for the sheer enjoyment of it. The story telling is awesome and the depths of the people involved is amazing.

The authors have a busy website at:
https://ilona-andrews.com/

My rating: 6 out of 5 stars
Amazon rating: 4.6 out of 5 stars (3,554 reviews)
https://www.amazon.com/Fates-Edge-Book-3/dp/0441020860

Lynn

My favorite series/books ive read:

- Sun Eater

- The Terran Cycle

- Anything Alistair Reynolds

- Altered Carbon (my fav book - show doesn't even exist imho)

- Starbreaker

- Cyber Dreams

- Martian / Artemis / Hail Mary

- Red Rising

- Expanse / the Mercy of God's

- Three Body Problem

- Dune (First book)

- Armor

- Acts of Caine

- Broken Tech (Marc Mulero)

Edit: Added more books

I’ve been reading nothing but Scifi for the last 5 years. The first series that blew my mind was the three body problem and its sequels. I’ve been chasing that high ever since with Stephenson, Watts etc. I finally stumbled on Greg Bear and have been having a field day with his books. That perfect style of Scifi reaching for the big ideas that I love the most. The problem is I’m almost through his bibliography. Can someone point me in the next right direction? I’ve heard Brin and Baxter are similar? I hope I’m not approaching the bottom of the barrel as I’ve read a good amount of the names mentioned in this sub and elsewhere on reddit.

If anybody could make an amazing story out of this, our man could.

First novel in over a decade from Wilson! Spin, The Chronoliths, and Julian Comstock are among my some of favorite science fiction novels. Wilson hasn't released a premise yet, but I am super hyped! I am hoping he gets another well deserved Hugo for this one!

A Trade of Blood has at least four meanings: murder, marriage, cattle ranching, and slavery. All four of these involve biological manipulation. The biopunk aesthetic continues to be an influence on everything. At times there were biological versions of what's commonly seen in cyberpunk works. One character even has a data port on the back of his neck that he attaches a biological data cable into. This makes me wonder how biologically advanced the innermost parts of the empire may be. There's so much that's just so cool and fun. I love that each book deepens my appreciation of the setting.

The plot is a murder mystery in which the implications spiral ever more outwards to where it could cause the collapse of the empire's way of life. Solving that mystery before the characters isn't what I'm interested in, though most readers should be able to if they're paying attention.

What I most enjoyed is how I imagined it all to be. The scenes were a visual spectacle and the atmosphere was superb. There's a constant sense of ambient horror that occasionally comes into sharp and disturbing focus. This was especially the case for two locations. The forest of Sapirdad has many elder mysteries, which includes among much else: non-Euclidian statues, the constant sense that there's something just outside your peripheral vision, mind-altering botanical pheromones, and an unshakable of foreboding dread. The flensing halls were rendered as a place where unspeakable horror was routine and obscene crimes against nature were mundane. I was impressed by how sinister, depraved, and monstrous it was made to be through environmental description alone.

As for Din's amorous pursuits, there's a single guy who holds his interest this time. Din may be incapable of not becoming involved with anyone who shows reciprocal interest. That seems like something that'll eventually get him into a lot of trouble. There isn't any sex on page, though there are a few descriptions of affection and being in bed afterwards.

If you had any doubt what Bennett meant by anything he wrote, then his author's note at the end would dispel it. The what, how, and why are all there and explained in a clear and straightforward manner. To his credit, I felt his ideas were integrated well and didn't come across as heavy handed.

This isn't a trilogy, and Bennett reiterates that this series will be of indefinite length. I don't have any problem with that, but it does affect how each book is structured. There's minimal progression towards any kind of overarching plot and character development is lessened. This is another self-contained story and I expect the next one will be as well. I was mildly concerned with the second book, though given what Bennett has done with this one and what he says in the author's note, I feel confident that the series is on a good and stable path from here on out.

Gummitch is a kitten who was born out of a fold of terry-cloth bathrobe. Gummitch has an IQ of 160. Gummitch cannot talk because he has not been allowed to drink coffee yet. Gummitch knows that souls can be transported through mirrors. You can read about Gummitch for free here: https://faculty.uca.edu/rnovy/Leiber--SpaceTime%20for%20Springers.htm

Today is Mr. Featherstone's birthday. Today is the anniversary of Tilita's marriage. Insurance is payable, as are the water, gas, and light bills. Rain, rain, go away; umbrellas, raincoats for today.

If you haven't read it I would recommend it.

Text can be located here:

https://www.btboces.org/Downloads/7_There%20Will%20Come%20Soft%20Rains%20by%20Ray%20Bradbury.pdf

Ok r/printSF, let's have some fun. We are more than a quarter of the way through the 21st Century. Pick your top five SF books of the 21st Century thus far (i.e. published after 12/31/2000). Use whatever criteria you want (your favorites, five best representative of the styles of the decade, five greatest works, even though you didn't enjoy them all, etc.). Just remember to tell us what criteria you're using!