On a canvas of twinkling twilight, Cape Canaveral springs to life, , the pulsing core of America's space exploration saga.
Nearby, a beam of light flits across a window pane, catching the attention of a sleeping boy. Awakened, he moves to the window, mesmerized by the vision of a rocket climbing the sky. His eyes, ablaze with desire, fixate on its ascent. The call to be an astronaut resonates, echoing his soul's deepest drive. With measured pace, he approaches a telescope, an ever-present sentinel, to trace the shuttle's journey upwards, toward the intersection of our Earthly realm and the Martian beyond. The vision fuels a fierce longing; sleep's embrace is now powerless over him.
He swears his destiny will be written among the stars—to touch the surface of Mars!
His spirit climbs with the shuttle into the expanse; slumber cast aside for amazement. A trek to a bookcase, he procures a VR headset like a modern wizard's globe, placing it on to carve out his fate among the spaceman.
Our vast world is filled with kids who dream of adventures on Mars.
Yet on that faraway, terraformed sphere, stands a man who came from our azure world, had to come to stay unwillingly...
Mars sits a serene 225 million kilometers from Earth,
nestled in the spacious confines of Colony Asia's premier conference room.
Phakin Kung (Japanese style), the Japanese Industrial Director, presided at the table's helm, his gaze settling on the high level technician sporting a long-untended beard.
Naming the technician Thai, a nod to his heritage, Takeda looked out to the celestial expanse, its dusty, oxygen-barren surface witnessed through the window. Upon engagement, Thai reverently responded in Takeda's native tongue, confirming his attention.
With a smile, Director Takeda acknowledged Thai's acknowledgment before pivoting to address the assembly of managerial and engineering minds, each prominent in the industrial fabric of the colony.
Celebrating six years since Colony Asia's inception, Takeda heralded Phakin Kung as a vanguard. His metal separator, a marvel in the magnesium mines, performed exceptionally, forging energy blocks dispatched Earthward. More so, as a steward of mechanical engineering within the colony, Phakin Kung manifested excellence. Oversight of hardware manufacturing plants elicited not a whisper of discontent but fervent accolades. Acknowledging Phakin Kung's indispensable role, Takeda implored the congregation for an ovation, leading the charge with an ardent display of applause.
Every technician rose and clapped, beaming with pride, celebrating Mr. Phakin 's dedication.
Upon sniffing enough of the sweet scent, Phakin stand up, declaring, "This thriving colony, it's our collective achievement, a testament to mutual support. No single individual can claim its inception - it's a shared endeavor. As we part ways, as the world fades, my chapter ends. It's time I pass the torch, entrust the legacy. I foresee no shortcomings; may you all tend to it with care..." He then lowered his head in respect.
At the table's end, a fresh Mongolian graduate and new to the station, spoke with conviction, "Our seniors' wisdom has shielded Asia from ecological perils - pollution and nature's wrath. Thanks to them, families, all our kin, can cherish life in our homeland. As the newcomer, I vow to give my all!"
Phakin once more gracefully declined, quipping to the technician, "Think of it as a grand United Nations initiative to decimate Martian nature, only to ship the spoils back for our own planet to consume. So let's get on with it, shall we?"
Among the recent graduates just starting their careers, optimism remained, despite the solemn reality that our world faces an unprecedented environmental crisis—massive storms, tsunamis, floods, earthquakes, volcanic eruptions, and the piercing UV radiation through a depleted ozone are clear signs. Desolate lands, relentless mining, overzealous oil extraction, and pollutive industrial practices have brought our Earth to a dire state. Unless the United Nations mandates a cessation of mining and oil drilling, plus a shift of all contaminating industries off-world, risking other planets, within a century, humanity may no longer be able to inhabit Earth, the very place we all call home.
Five years of technological investment in metal refining, automotive, aviation, mining, petrochemicals, and other manufacturing sectors have begun to replace terrestrial production. The result : A discernible reduction in global warming, with climate and seasons readjusting towards equilibrium. Credit is due, in part, to the trailblazing team on Mars, setting the stage for a sustainable existence for Earth's burgeoning population—at 10 billion and counting living with convention—powered by technology that sustains us without leaving a trail of pollution behind.
Director Takeda eased the atmosphere with a playful joke, miming a sweat wipe from his brow, he teased, "Ugh, feels like even Mars has cranked up the heat."
"Haha," chuckled the subordinates dutifully as the boss cracked a joke, regardless of its humor.
Phakin allowed himself a small smile, musing on an old colonial blueprint—extract resources to enrich the homeland and its people. It's a pattern human are now replicating with Mars, he thought.
Harvest the valuable, discard the useless. Such actions would purify Earth.
With another peck, Director Takada lifted the holographic commendation. Displaying it to the attendees, he announced, "The purpose of this gathering is clear to all. I've summoned you to bear witness. It's a momentous occasion for Phakin kung to be named a special citizen by the United Nations—granted lifelong tax immunity. Whatever nation he resides in, he'll enjoy these exclusive rights, a reward for his unwavering commitment and hard work to the Asian community!"
The room erupted in applause once more.
Director Takeda faced Phakin and resumed formally, "Mr. Phakin Naresamutkul (his surname) has entirely settled his scholarship with the World University of Engineering. As the fiscal overseer, I must request Mr. Phakin to vacate his role as Manager of the Mechanical Engineering Division at the Asian Colony and make a safe return to Earth, honoring a significant five-year commitment to all Asian citizens." He offered the special citizenship declaration along with essential documents pertaining to the scholarship funds, all directed to Phakin.
The man, having risen, gazed at the meeting room's glass ceiling, observing Earth's silhouette afar. A sigh of relief escaped him. Gathering the materials that signified his cleared educational dues, he brandished them to his colleagues who witnessed.
Around him, peers and juniors erupted into applause and cheers, expressing gratitude and admiration for his enduring efforts.
Post-farewell revelry, the weighty toll of evening's indulgence bore down.
Alcohol, once a familiar companion, no longer a buffer against the toils of employment, now a distant recollection as he staggered to his quarters.
Half a decade's trek through academic rigors had left its mark. University times brimmed with ambition—dreams of elite engineering halls, prestigious roles, and financial frivolity once assumed as given. Yet, global upheaval beckoned, a natural world buckling under human excess. Economic principles dictated adaptation to scarcity, seeking novel veins of resource—a lesson Phakin learned swiftly upon his emergence from academia.
Self-funded through scholarships tirelessly sought (Thai's traditional, most students using their parent's money in university life), year upon relentless year, Phakin's academic excellence aimed to unlock doors to global corporate echelons. However, it was a double-edged sword, a self-inflicted stab magnifying misfortune.
Both excel academically, both weighed down by debt, compelled to tap into their capital.
Or, to put it succinctly, having both the capability and the duty is a superb decision, launching one on an escapade across an uninhabited planet beginning with the establishment of a colony.
Regrettably, the United Nations is once again the proprietor of the capital. When faced with the directive to reimburse the capital, Phakin found himself powerless, with his only option being to acquiesce. His journey to Mars, in accordance with the United Nations' resolution to construct a factory there, came with a five-year term for repaying the invested capital.
Still, it remains a favorable situation to draw a full salary, in addition to travel allowances, hazard pay for perilous tasks, and more — not to serve as a bondman nor to remit funds to the United Nations gratuitously.
Now, relieved of this encumbrance, Phakin wearily made his way back to his quarters, readying to return his belongings to Earth. But the inebriation was too overwhelming, leading to his collapse upon the bed.
A sudden loud alert broke the silence.
With bleary eyes, he glanced at the VR headset that sat atop his head, noticing a light flashing insistently.
He took it in his hands, fitted it onto his head, and was immersed instantly into a room that seemed plucked straight from a nineties arcade, the graphics riddled with glitching pixels.
There, before Phakin, materialized the fuzzy outline of a young woman cloaked in white. "Master," she began, her voice emanating through the digital space, "as you instructed, the accounting department has compiled the annual earnings. The task is complete. We present a total income of 32,854,784 million gold coins, marking a growth of about 35 percent from the previous year."
"Ah, a 35 percent increase from last year? That means our city retains its allure," muttered Phakin, a hint of surprise coloring his tone. His mind turned to figures and strategy as he instructed, "Allocate the budget thusly: reserve treasury, 15 percent; military expansion, 15 percent; construction for further expansion, 30 percent; internal management, 30 percent; and offer a 10 percent bonus to all our NPC employees."
As the girl leaned in response, the quest mission window instantly sprang to life.
This scene is quite familiar to Phakin as part of his daily routine in the colony—after the establishment of an interstellar connection,it's common for even diligent students like him to indulge in MMORPGs within the virtual realm. The drawback, however, is the necessity to disconnect upon exit from this world, primarily because Mars had yet to be equipped with restrooms at that time, let alone a robust interstellar internet signal for gameplay. Subsequently, with the dispatch of United Nations personnel to Mars, it became imperative to recognize and accommodate such needs. This recognition involved an official announcement allowing for terrestrial businesses to extend their support to these pioneers, including facilitating the live streaming of major events such as the World Cup, all the way to the Olympics, for their viewing pleasure.
MGC Online (Midgard Cosmoony Online) , complying with the UN's directive, retrofitted their interfaces—technology's brainchild from fifty years prior—for Mars-bound internet aficionado Phakin's gaming pleasures. MGC, then a quaint MMORPG, understood Phakin grasped that although the internet's reach extended to Mars, its bandwidth wasn't designed to shoulder today's high-res gaming data loads. Hence, the nod towards VR goggles and wireless remotes—a more data-efficient duo.
Pre-Mars extravagance, Phakin's gaming pinnacle was a level 50 mage. When MGC Online reached out with promises to facilitate his gameplay and hint at an expansive storyline, it wasn't merely service, but a prelude to their pioneering venture into secondary, advanced career paths in-game, a leap from the foundational mage, swordsman, and healer archetypes.
To smoothly manage the initiation of a colony, Phakin opted for a secondary vocation devoid of any adventurous undertakings, such as a landlord, engaging in urban administration tasks. This choice was strategic to minimize the length of romantic endeavors. Phakin's gaming routine involves slipping on a VR headset over one ear while leaving the other free, to remain alert for any urgent summons due to complications within the colony.
For five years, this has been his ritual.
Remarkably, just a year prior, MGC Online reached out with an offer to upgrade to a capsule player that operates through neural activity, given Mars' robust and stable internet that can handle vast data transmissions. Phakin was intrigued by the prospect of an immersive brainwave-guided gaming experience. Nevertheless, charged with the intricate oversight of the colony's mechanical systems, his schedule is relentless. Often while half-listening, an incoming call would report significant issues, necessitating a swift game exit to address the matters at hand within the colony. Therefore, utilizing glasses, which rely on technology from half a century ago to transmit small data packets, proves far more practical for his needs.
In a slurred tone, Phakin addressed the AI assistant, "Mina (form month : March, Thai call Minakom), I'm coming back to Earth tomorrow. You're gonna see Mina's face. The one I made a while back. I've been staring at these chunky pixel boxes for five years now." Data transfer was sparse. The clarity of the images wasn't great either. So, it figures they look like something out of an old-school arcade game, not quite true-to-life.
Mina's voice had been nothing but smooth over the past five years. Yet the news of the Master's return to the AI realm had her genuinely chirpy. "I picture the Master as an arcade character too!... And would you like me to look after your real-world matters as well, Master?"
"Ummmmmmm... catch you later..." Phakin attempted to focus on the conversation but, heavy with drink, he succumbed to sleep aboard the VR. In his boozy state, he likely won't recall what he's given the AI the thumbs-up to do.
"Sure, I've got it all covered. Here's to rolling out the red carpet for the Master on Earth."
The following morning, a sudden alarm went off.
Stirring from slumber, Phakin realized he was still donning his VR glasses. Swiftly removing them after a night's unintentional wear, he observed the vanished battery. Grasping the alarm, he gave it a glance. His eyelids dropped, his heart raced, and out burst an exclamation, "OMG! I'm bound to miss our flight!" His possessions lay unpacked, a testament to last night's revelry and its forgetful haze. Even his suitcase awaited attention, unpacked for the journey home. Time was slipping; the interstellar shuttle's departure was imminent.
Simultaneously, Phakin was consumed by a sense of restlessness.
Within the virtual realm, laboring in the public relations division of MGC Online afforded every staff member the leisure to engage with capsule machines from the comfort of their dwellings, thereafter transporting themselves to their virtual workplace.
On this particular tier, wherein grievances are tended to, a female colleague, currently tasked with the shift, encountered all manner of complaint through the web portal. She happened upon an email, one that beseeched the termination of a service: "The interface for VR glasses on Mars, user ID number xxxxxxxxxxx." Puzzlement seized her, prompting her to transcribe the request onto paper. With the document in hand, she proceeded to consult with her supervisor.
Supervisor, comfortably middle-aged, languidly remained at the farthest table. Perplexed, he too struggled to grasp the information. Now that the brain wave capsule machine has become globally ubiquitous, the once-familiar VR headset interface has faded into obsolescence—a tale aged over three years. Yet, amongst us is a singular individual, steadfast in their use of the VR interface.
The renowned gamer in question monopolizes the supervisor 's attention, compelling him to reread the email with intent focus.
Eagerly activating the table's touch screen, he searches, his gaze capturing the vehement red and assertive bold letters among the three hundred remark. The email's rich symbolism was masterfully crafted, eliciting from him an astonished exclamation.
"Hey!" No mistaking that—P.kin@ email is certainly the one. It has to be.
Supervisor lauds the female employee for her keen eye, having recognized the deceitful nature of the email and hastily escalated it to the upper echelons.