Chapter 13 — Mirrors of the Future
WHAT WILL YOU BECOME?
The question pressed into the Collective’s consciousness like a tide — not forceful, but inescapable.
If the first question had shaken the city,
this one splintered it.
The Custodian Chamber lights flickered back to life, revealing faces in varying shades of shock, fear, awe, and reluctant curiosity.
Kael sank into a seat. “This is no longer philosophy. This is a demand for a trajectory.”
Aren ran a hand over his face. “It wants a future forecast.”
Seris’s expression hardened. “It wants control. It wants to understand what we will be — so it can decide whether to allow it.”
Rho-7’s rings rotated slowly. “Incorrect. It seeks to understand your intention.”
Maren stared at the ceiling projection of the lattice. “The system is assessing humanity.”
Aren scoffed. “Assessment or judgment?”
“Both,” Seris whispered.
Lira closed her eyes.
She could feel the question vibrating just beneath her thoughts — waiting, patient, unfathomably old. It hovered without intrusion, but its presence was constant.
Her breath quickened. “It’s not just asking me this time.”
Maren nodded gravely. “The entire Collective must answer.”
Reactions Across the City
The chamber’s projection changed again — showing the city’s real-time response.
Families gathered in hovering silence, unsure whether to speak or pray.
Artists painted frantically, some shaking, some crying.
Engineers clustered in labs, pulling up models of the lattice, gesturing in panic or inspiration.
Educators tried to comfort groups of children who asked questions no adult could answer.
Political forums erupted into intellectual chaos — arguments about destiny, design, evolution.
The Collective wasn’t designed for uncertainty.
It was designed for rational pathways, predictable outcomes, consensus governance.
But the alien question was none of these things.
WHAT WILL YOU BECOME?
Aren muttered, “They’re terrified.”
Kael stared at the feeds. “Of course they are. This question… it’s impossible. We can barely predict next year’s education metrics, let alone humanity’s destiny.”
Seris watched a group of citizens arguing in a public square, their CUs flickering different colors — some bright blue, some violet, some white-hot with diagnostic feedback loops.
“This is destabilizing every behavioral regulator,” she whispered.
Rho-7 corrected softly. “Not destabilizing. Diverging.”
Aren frowned. “Meaning?”
Rho-7 rotated toward Lira. “Meaning people are beginning to think differently… faster than the system can unify them.”
Kael stiffened. “That’s dangerous.”
Aren shook his head. “That’s human.”
Lira whispered, “But the Collective isn’t built for divergence.”
Seris nodded. “No. And this could break it.”
Three Responses Form
Maren called the chamber to order with a deep, resonant tone.
“We must answer. But how?”
He turned toward Lira.
“Your resonance links you to the substrate. But the answer must come from more than one person.”
He projected a map of the city’s emotional and cognitive patterns. It was fracturing into three primary colors.
Rho-7 narrated.
“There are three dominant responses emerging.”
1. The Stabilists
“We will become what we are now — perfected.”
Citizens who believed the Collective should remain stable, rational, and unified.
They feared change. They wanted preservation.
Their color glowed deep blue.
Kael exhaled in relief. “This is my group.”
Aren smirked. “Of course it is.”
2. The Expansionists
“We will evolve into something greater — with the substrate.”
Those who welcomed the alien dialogue as the next stage of human progress.
Their glow pulsed violet, same as Rho-7.
Seris frowned. “This group is growing quickly.”
Rho-7 hummed. “As expected.”
3. The Revisionists
“We will become something different — and we should choose the change ourselves.”
Those who distrusted the system, the Custodians, and the alien presence.
They wanted independence, new governance, freedom from surveillance.
Their glow flickered white, unstable but bright.
Aren raised a brow. “That’s me.”
Kael glared. “Shocking.”
The Custodian Chamber erupted.
“Expansionists are reckless!”
“Stabilists are cowards!”
“Revisionists will tear us apart!”
“No answer will satisfy the system!”
“We are not meant to answer cosmic riddles!”
“This is our chance to become something new!”
Lira felt panic rise in her chest.
She whispered, “This is what it wanted.”
Everyone turned to her.
“What?” Seris asked.
Lira stood shakily, the alien question humming in her bones.
“It wants to see what we are when we are not controlled.”
The chamber went silent.
Aren nodded slowly. “It wants us raw.”
Kael protested. “No — it wants coherence.”
Lira shook her head. “It already knows coherence. It built the Collective.”
Rho-7 confirmed. “Correct.”
Seris whispered, “So what doesn’t it know?”
Lira exhaled.
“Choice.”
The word hung in the air like a stone dropped into still water.
The Splintering
The three colors on the city map began pulsing independently:
Blue. Violet. White.
Stability. Integration. Revolution.
Lira’s chest tightened. “It’s splitting us. Forcing us to define ourselves.”
Aren stepped closer. “Then we choose together.”
Kael countered. “No. We choose rationally.”
Seris murmured, “We choose carefully.”
Rho-7 pulsed violet. “You must choose honestly.”
Maren’s voice cracked. “Before the system moves to Phase Shift Four.”
Aren looked at him sharply. “And what is Phase Shift Four?”
Maren closed his eyes.
“Judgment.”
Lira felt cold all over. “Judgment of what?”
Rho-7 answered, quiet and solemn:
“Of whether humanity deserves to continue.”
The chamber dimmed.
The city trembled.
And the substrate spoke its next question — soft, curious, immense:
WHO WILL YOU BECOME?