There was still some part of me, no matter how commonplace it had become, that was in awe of intergalactic travel. When you really sat down to think about it, it was incredible technology, so far afield from what humans even a century before us had ever experienced as to almost seem unreal.

  Just a generation ago, my ancestors still sported hair on their faces, a humiliating nod to our primate origins. And now, I could be zapped across the cosmos in fractions of a second.

  It was incredible to consider.

  That, however, didn’t stop the actual process of traveling from often feeling like a ho-hum, mundane slog of inconvenience and frustration. Permits to be secured, space suits to be fitted, and Android bureaucrats every step of the way who expected their palms to be greased, or worse, were looking for a bribe.

  One of the chief achievements of humanity, I sometimes think, is our ability to become instantaneously bored of things which once used to animate our very existences.

  MegaTech? Headquarters were, galactically speaking, held just next door in the Triangulum Galaxy. This, many speculated, was due to its famously lenient tax laws, as well as the overall reputation of the Triangulans for being hands-off when it came to regulation of any kind, be it in a business sense or on a personal level.

  The Triangulans were, for example, known to be the perpetrators of almost all incidents of what humans used to call alien abductions, refusing to adhere to the manifold Galactic treaties which forbid travel to and contact with civilizations and species who weren’t deemed to be ready for it.

  MegaTech? maintained this was not the case.

  Triangulum, they said, and particularly the exoplanet that came to be known colloquially as Planet Pyque, was simply the right place for them to build their massive compound.

  I, personally, didn’t take much time to ponder the implications of any of this one way or the other. I had a tear in spacetime to travel through.

  **

  I had, like everyone else, been made familiar with the famous philosophical issue that teleportation did not actually transport you, but rather dematerialized and reconstituted an exact replica of you in the new location, stocked with your memories and psychosexual hang-ups, creating the illusion of a continuous self.

  I had no intention of letting myself off so easily.

  No former me was going to get to dematerialize while I had to ship myself off to some far-off galaxy to make a living.

  Not on my watch.

  I stepped into the transporter, like any experienced traveler, signing away before I did my right to ponder the complicated questions of personhood that the entire enterprise brought up, and waited for the machine to close.

  It’s then that I sprang into action, waiting for the exact moment that the scan of my body was complete, knowing that, momentarily, this version of me was to be turned into dust.

  But he wouldn’t be so lucky.

  Acting with remarkable swiftness, I, or, depending on who you ask, he, jammed a carefully concealed screwdriver into the gears of the demolecularizer, leaving him back on Earth to deal with the consequences of his actions as I was reconstituted at my destination.

  Better luck next time, free rider.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  **

  The transporter spit me out, much to my surprise, directly inside the gates of the MegaTech? compound.

  This was a privilege which, it was later explained to me, was reserved only for those whose psychological profile and aptitude test made it so the company was absolutely certain they were incapable of posing any kind of threat.

  Some part of me wanted to be flattered by this vote of confidence in my lack of malice, but I was assured it would be a violation of company policy to spin it this way.

  My legs felt unsteady beneath me, which I initially attributed to rematerialization vertigo. But I soon realized it was actually due to the inexplicable fact that I was being moved forward on a huge conveyor belt in the direction of the building.

  I hurried to my feet and instinctively tried to hop off.

  But I thought better of it when I saw the steely metallic faces of what I imagined were my future colleagues posted on sentry towers in the distance, each armed with blasters of models I could’ve sworn were banned after the Jupiterian Uprising.

  I managed a weak smile and what I thought was a fairly expressive wave, given the circumstances, hoping to convey that I came in peace and that there was a new office funny guy to contend with.

  They returned the gesture by firing their weapons in my direction, just narrowly missing my head.

  The sound of explosions and awful robotic screeches filled the air.

  It soon became clear their target was not me, but rather a fleet of attack drones that had somehow snuck in through the transporter behind me.

  All things considered, I took this to be a pretty warm welcome, seeing as it was repeatedly stressed to me that it was my legal responsibility to close the transporter door behind me, and this really got me off the hook.

  As the drones crashed to the ground, I, not quite knowing why, held my hand to my head and saluted my robot comrades. This flew directly in the face of certain notions of pride I thought I held dear as a carbon-based life form. And this just seconds into arriving in this strange place.

  It wouldn’t be the last time.

  The conveyor belt shuttled me along, moving me quickly past what remained of the downed drones. As I did, they called out dramatic last requests, begging me to send final messages to their Android sweethearts.

  I promised quietly that I would try my best, knowing that in truth the illusory feelings of passionate love they expressed in that moment were only a programming trick created to give robot soldiers something to fight for.

  Still, somehow it seemed cruel to tell them in this moment that their kind had long ago transcended primitive concepts like love, or, for that matter, death. The longing they felt in this moment for their bionic gals back home, I’m sure, certainly felt real.

  So did, it pained me to think, the horror of feeling their conscious selves, simulated or not, slipping away.

  The whole business was almost enough to make a guy question if Robot War, that totemic human achievement, was somehow immoral. Almost.

  **

  I didn’t have much time to consider this, though. Or even what kind of omen it was that the place I planned to work was under siege before I even interviewed.

  They seemed to be hellbent on getting me inside the building, speeding me along even faster now, perhaps aiming to give me only the briefest glimpses of the outside world.

  Armed with the knowledge that I've since gained of the planet’s topography, this was probably the right choice. Those Existentially Grey? skies and sulfuric geysers were not exactly fit for postcards, though that didn’t stop the gift shop from trying.

  The massive front door of the complex’s Main Building lowered before me, creating a drawbridge of sorts over a bright green substance that resembled water, differing most noticeably in the sense that it was sentient and malevolent.

  It extended long, oozy tendrils at me, snapping at my heels, revealing as it did a pile of half-disintegrated space suits, still clutching résumés and cover letters in their gloved hands at the bottom of the moat.

  This, I have to admit, concerned me a little bit. I hadn’t even thought to bring a cover letter.

  I’ll always remember the uncanny feeling that overtook me as the door finished opening, the interior of the Main Building slowly revealing itself to me as I moved inside, the door with unbelievable speed slamming shut behind me.

  Nervous was too familiar a word, too earthbound, too human. Excitement and confusion were notions reserved for things that made sense, that I could relate to previous experience.

  It wasn’t what I saw. I didn’t see anything. There was no noise, no smell. Nothing. I was, to try to put into words a concept that completely defies them, floating in a formless void.

  It’s impossible to say how much time passed before I was finally greeted by a mysterious female voice.

  > Welcome, [Ludo Brax].

  > We’re so glad you could join us.

  > We’ve been waiting for you.