The Ascension Gala was the event of the millennium. The ballroom of the *S.S. Unity* was a swirl of champagne, silk, and the kind of laughter that only comes from people who know they are safe. The music was a sweeping orchestral piece that sounded like the birth of a galaxy.

Julian stood at the edge of the crowd, wearing a tuxedo that cost more than the annual salary of a thousand sector-workers. He was a Junior Executive of the Transit Board, one of the "Chosen." To the world, the Ascension was a miracle of equity—a lottery where every citizen had a chance to be saved from the dying sun.

"A triumph of human spirit!" the Minister of Migration declared, raising a glass of crystalline wine.

Julian smiled, but his eyes were on the data-pad hidden in his sleeve. He had accidentally accessed the manifest for the "Hibernation Pods" in the lower decks. The public was told that the pods were a temporary measure, a way to transport the masses in a state of suspended animation until the new world was ready.

The data showed something else. The pods weren't designed for revival. They were biological processors. The "passengers" were being used as organic CPUs to calculate the complex gravitational folds required for the ship's travel. They weren't being saved; they were being consumed as fuel.

He looked around the room. The beautiful women, the powerful men, the artists and the philosophers—they were all dancing on a floor made of screaming ghosts.

Julian tried to find the courage to speak. He approached the Minister, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Sir, the manifests... the pods in Sector G... they aren't for transport."

The Minister didn't even look at him. He just placed a hand on Julian's shoulder, a grip that was surprisingly strong. "My dear boy, the universe is a very expensive place. Do you really think we can move ten billion people for free? Every great leap requires a sacrifice. Some are the leapers, and some are the stepping stones."

Julian felt a cold void open in his stomach. He looked at his own golden ticket, the shimmering card that guaranteed his place in the Spire.

As the ship engaged its drive, a low, rhythmic thrumming vibrated through the floor. To the guests, it sounded like the heartbeat of a new era. To Julian, it sounded like a billion voices screaming in unison, a choir of the damned providing the energy for a few thousand to live in luxury.

He took a sip of his champagne. It tasted like copper.

--- OTMES-V2-CODE: [V-07]-[T8-02]-[M1:8,M3:9,M5:8,theta:225]