Kardashev University, Near Camp Renaldo, 2031
Belle often found herself daydreaming during class. Her mind would wander back to her childhood, to memories of simpler times. She remembered being a little girl in a picture-perfect family with a white picket fence and a small dog, though she couldn’t even recall the dog’s name anymore. Those were the happiest days of her life—her parents loved her dearly, and she felt secure in that love.
She especially loved playing dress-up and having tea parties with her father. She had been so attached to him. He was her hero.
One day, her father came home early from work to surprise her mother. However, the surprise turned out to be hers.
She was in bed with the priest from their church, and one who had been caught molesting children. Belle’s father had killed the priest, and when the police showed up Belle had walked out of her room. She saw her father in the living room in tears, with a panicked expression on his face. Her mother was crying and she had a gun to her head. Belle remembered crying at the sight of this. She hated it when her parents fought. Her parents were soul mates, they were supposed to be happy. It made her happy. The police busted in the door and her dad said “I love you princess.”
As he shot her mother the police shot her father to death in front of her, and one man in particular rushed in to pick her up.
She hugged him and cried with all her might. She didn’t understand death or what was happening. Eventually, she was adopted by the police officer who had come to her home that day. Unlike the priest she had never trusted, he was a kind-hearted man to his core, a truly good person. He and his wife, unable to have children of their own, took her in and raised her. He taught her about God and the ways of the world, and he became a good father to her.
She thought about how fortunate she was to have him in her life, how good of a man he was. The sudden silence in the room snapped her back to the present. Deep breath. The room was quiet while the professor spoke.
The professor was a pale man with wild, Einstein-like hair, dressed in blue pants and a white lab coat. He looked exactly like the stereotypical scientist one might imagine. “The Kardashev scale,” he began, “is a method for measuring a civilization’s advancement based on its energy output. There are five levels on this scale. Now, before we go into detail, does anyone know where Earth stands on this scale?”
A blonde-haired woman adjusted her glasses and raised her hand. “Yes, Ms. Kayer, go ahead,” the professor nodded.
“Earth is currently a Type Zero civilization,” she said.
The professor motioned with his hands as he replied, “Correct. Now, how do we advance to a Type One civilization? Anyone?”
Ms. Kayer raised her hand again, and the professor acknowledged her. “Currently, we are in the most dangerous part of the transition to a Type One civilization. The jump from Type Zero to Type One is the most perilous advancement on the scale.”
The professor interrupted. “Yes, but how do we advance to a Type One?”
She felt nervous now as the entire class looked at her. Public speaking wasn’t her strength, which was why she had chosen this class. “We have to harness the power of the entire planet,” she began, hesitating. “We must be able to collect and utilize all the energy that reaches Earth from the sun. We need to store and use one hundred percent of that energy.”
The professor smiled. “Exactly right! Now, moving on. We are at a crucial moment in our development where drastic decisions must be made, or we risk destroying ourselves.” He paused, looking around the room. “We’ve studied the cosmos, and so far, we haven’t found evidence of any Type One or higher civilizations. However, there should be thousands out there. The problem is that many of these civilizations likely destroy themselves before reaching Type One status.”
The room was silent, all eyes on him. “We are at a breaking point. We’ve achieved a global language, and our government is mostly unified. We’ve made advances in fusion power, and our technology has surpassed expectations for our place in the timeline. But we face problems in other areas. Weapons of mass destruction, wars, riots, and civil unrest are some of our biggest threats. Integration, however, is our most significant challenge. What do you think the hardest part of integration is?”
A Black man in the front of the class raised his hand and stood to speak. “Go ahead, Mr. Banks,” the professor encouraged, sitting down and rolling his chair closer to the edge of the platform.
“Sir, I believe the hardest part of societal integration is overcoming multicultural barriers. It’s difficult for different races and cultures to come together because of historical conflicts. If we could set aside these differences and focus on becoming a Type One civilization, I think we would already be there.” He paused before continuing, “But professor, I also believe that not everyone shares the goal of peace and advancement. That’s part of the problem.”
The professor smiled, pleased. “Thank you, Mr. Banks. You’ve raised a critical point. These barriers could very well lead to further conflict and destabilization. Your generation, and your children’s generation, will determine whether we succeed in this transition. The world government is making strides toward global integration, but not everyone agrees with these decisions. However, we must trust that the leaders and the great minds advising them are making choices in the best interest of humanity’s survival.”
He took a sip of his coffee before continuing. “Let me conclude with one final thought before we open the floor for discussion. If you are standing in the way of progress—if you are inciting civil war, committing hate crimes, or indulging in destruction—you are a terrorist to our civilization. It’s not far-fetched to say that a hate crime is not just an offense against an individual but a crime against humanity. In the eyes of those focused on progress, you are a detriment to society and should be removed. This mindset will cause great conflict in the future. No God or deity will save us if we choose the path of self-destruction.”
Ms. Kayer raised her hand, but the professor continued speaking. “By this logic, it is also true that no ‘God’ or ‘Deity’ can prevent us from advancing if that is the path we choose. If we lose this war with ourselves, there will be no Earth. There will be no one to save us, for each of you holds the power to determine our fate. You must keep these ideals in mind if we are to survive. With that, let’s open the floor to questions.” He noticed many hands raised, as expected.
The professor pointed to Ms. Kayer.
“Professor, I believe that if God wants us to advance to a Type One civilization, we will. If the war to end all wars is inevitable, it must be the judgment day predicted in Revelations. I think the biggest problem we face is our lack of faith.”
A few people lowered their hands, seeming to sympathize with her view. The professor took a sip from his mug before replying.
“We don’t have time to discuss the evidence or lack thereof of a ‘God,’ Ms. Kayer. What I will say is this: if you think the issue is a lack of faith, I would redirect you to think of it as a lack of integration. Your faith, and religion as a whole, may be seen as an integration problem—one that must be overcome. Keep that in mind.”
“Professor, I don’t think it’s fair to say religion is a problem, however—”
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The professor cut her off. “Next question, please!”
A red-haired man in the back spoke up. “If you say terrorists are preventing our civilization from advancing, wouldn’t people like Ms. Kayer, who believe in religion, be part of the integration problem? Are they terrorists? Are religions considered terrorist groups?”
The class erupted into arguments.
“You’re a terrorist!” someone shouted.
“If religion is terrorism, then so is atheism!” another retorted.
The professor stood up and waved his hands. “Quiet! Quiet! Let me answer the question.”
The room gradually settled down.
“Notice how quickly you all reacted to Mr. Tormen’s question,” the professor said, pausing as the murmurs continued. “This is exactly why such discussions can’t take place around the world. If we can’t put aside our beliefs, we can’t engage in meaningful conversation. If we don’t set our personal convictions aside, we can’t examine the issue from a broader, more objective point of view. We must react logically, considering all perspectives, before speaking. That concludes today’s lesson.”
Ms. Belle Kayer was a full-time student who had just begun serving in the Navy as a corpsman. She also worked at the hospital near her college, located on a military base called Camp Renaldo. Petite at 5’1” and 110 pounds, Belle had blue hair, blonde eyes, and a heart full of hope. She dreamed of becoming a doctor one day, and the Navy would pay for her schooling and train her simultaneously, so it was the best option. However, one of her patients at the hospital saddened Belle greatly.
He had unusual wounds and mysterious circumstances surrounding his injuries. Belle wasn’t allowed to ask questions about his situation, and her time with him in the room was limited. Still, the handsome man intrigued her. The way he looked at her with his piercing grey eyes sent a shiver down her spine. She couldn’t help but feel drawn to him, though she knew it was unprofessional. She wanted to get to know him better but knew that was impossible—at least for now.
As Belle walked home that evening, she couldn’t stop thinking about Mr. Grey.
There was one night, in particular, that stuck in her mind. He had been unconscious in a medical coma, and she had volunteered to change his catheters. Afterward, she was supposed to wash him and change his bed linens. When she removed the catheter, he became aroused in his sleep. It was the first time she had encountered something like this, and she found it hard to focus on anything else.
As she washed him, she felt herself blush and shivered at the memory even now. The situation felt strangely exciting—taboo, even. She knew it was wrong to have these thoughts about her patients, but she couldn’t help herself. Belle had never been the type to fantasize about someone in this way, especially not a patient. Yet something about Mr. Grey attracted her in a way she didn’t understand, and it was completely out of character for her.
Belle opened the front door of her apartment and walked inside, closing it behind her. The first thing she did after a long shift was shed her work clothes. She took off her shirt, then her bra, sighing with relief. “Oh my god,” she muttered aloud. It felt so good to be free of it. Next, her pants came off. She always liked to get comfortable as soon as she got home.
She left her silk panties on and blushed as she noticed she was still feeling aroused. “I’ve got to stop thinking about that man!” she said to herself, shaking her head.
Belle had a paper to study for that night, so she walked over to the kitchen island, grabbed the remote, and turned on the TV. The fresh scent of her lavender flameless candles filled the room, and she took a deep breath, trying to clear her mind. Opening the fridge, she searched for something to eat. Belle had always been able to eat a lot without gaining weight, which was something she joked about often. On dates, she always felt the need to act coy, ordering small portions to avoid appearing too eager. No one wanted to see someone devour an entire plate of nachos on a first date, after all.
Belle opened the fridge and took out some General Tso’s chicken and rice. She heated it up and sat down in front of the TV, eating while the news played in the background. This was her nightly ritual before studying.
“There are protests in northern Virginia as families of prisoners express outrage over the changes in legislation. There are fears this may soon spread across the country…”
Belle knew what they were talking about. The U.S. had been trying to reduce its death row population, and the long-standing practice of waiting thirty or more years for execution had come to a halt. The new laws being pushed through meant that, if convicted of a death sentence, prisoners had at most six months before being executed. They were moved into a prison setting where executions happened routinely to reduce overcrowding and, in theory, increase deterrence for severe crimes.
Belle thought it was harsh. Many people would be executed without the usual long appeals process. Still, if someone had a 120-year sentence, why should law-abiding taxpayers cover their medical bills for the rest of their life, waiting for the state to eventually carry out the sentence? It made sense in a way, but she also understood why families would be upset. Their loved ones would be executed before having enough time to go through the legal appeals process. It was a rough situation, but maybe this would make the prison system more effective.
“Lawmakers say anyone with a sentence over 100 years could be transferred into these new facilities, which they refer to as a ‘Cleansing’ process. Protesters are comparing the government to World War II death camps, with some even invoking Adolf Hitler on their signs.”
That was enough for Belle. She turned off the news and finished the last of her chicken and rice.
Heading to her bedroom, she left the kitchen light on. The cold tile floor chilled her bare feet as her footsteps echoed in her empty apartment. It was dark in her room, and for a brief moment, she felt scared before flipping on the lights.
“Hello, Shadow!” she said, smiling. Her cat was sprawled on the bed, arching his back and stretching as she reached down to pet him.
“How’s my baby doing? What have you been up to?”
“Meow! Meow!” Shadow replied as if in conversation.
“Have you been coloring?” she joked.
Meow!
Belle chuckled and sat down, grabbing her computer. It was time to finish her paper on the Kardashev scale. What a strange class, she thought, especially compared to her medical studies. They always discussed such random topics.
She lifted the covers and got comfortable. The small coffee maker on her nightstand hissed as she turned it on, filling the room with the rich aroma of brewing coffee. The only thing she loved more than the scent of vanilla candles was the smell of coffee. She pulled up her documents and moved her toes under the cold sheets, savoring the coolness against her smooth legs.
Belle began reading a few articles. Shadow snuggled against her side as she absentmindedly petted him. One of the articles talked about Earth’s struggles to transition into a Type One civilization.
“Is this stuff even real?” she muttered. It seemed like an impossible goal. How could humans ever control 100% of Earth’s energy or manage natural disasters like earthquakes and hurricanes? Capturing all the energy from the sun felt like an equally ridiculous challenge. While fusion was becoming more widespread, it was still only available in the most advanced countries, and even then, it was only beginning to be understood on a small scale.
Belle paused from reading and stared out, thinking. “I believe…” she said softly to Shadow. “I believe we are all connected in some way. It might be God, or it might not be. Maybe it’s something higher than that—or something simpler.” She had read about the concept of a collective consciousness before, but always dismissed it as nonsense.
“I’ve never been big into God. My parents were, though. Isn’t that right, Shadow?” she said, patting her cat’s head.
Her coffee was ready. The aroma filled the room as she sipped the hot drink, trying to figure out how to start her paper. The assignment was to propose suggestions on the major issues humanity faced in becoming a Type One civilization.
Then it hit her—the news.
She remembered the protests and civil unrest sweeping across northern America because of the new prison laws. This was a milestone in humanity’s development, but it raised tough questions. Could these changes be justified? Should families just accept them? It was a difficult subject to process, but millions of people were about to be affected by this law.
Belle thought about what her professor had said earlier: people who resist or cause problems for societal integration are a detriment to humanity.
She started writing her paper, reflecting on how inmates with life sentences were unlikely to contribute to humanity’s progress. Based on her professor’s logic, they were committing crimes not only against their victims but also against humanity itself. If they were removed, society might become marginally better. She considered the possibility that even the families of those prisoners might be partly to blame—exposed to the same environment that led their loved ones to prison. If one family member was convicted of drug use, there was a good chance others were involved in similar behaviors. The statistics were significantly higher for families already touched by the legal system.
Her conclusion felt controversial: “If you are in prison with a life sentence and are never getting out, it would help humanity’s progress toward a Type One civilization if you were put to death. Furthermore, if you riot and act out in protest of these changes, you are also a detriment to humanity and should be imprisoned.”
She felt conflicted, almost appalled, by her own words. But was it true? Either way, it would make for an interesting read for her professor.
It took a couple of hours to finish the paper. Finally, Belle set her laptop aside, curled up with Shadow, and drifted off to sleep. Her last thought before slipping into unconsciousness was of Dillon Grey.