Bastion's response was not what anyone expected.
Instead of attacking, they invited. A delegation to tour their city. An exchange, they said. You showed us your home; we'll show you ours.
The Compact debated for days. Was it a trap? A provocation? Or a genuine overture?
Elara, now six, cast the deciding vote in the family council. "They're afraid," she said. "When I'm afraid, I want people to understand me. Maybe they're the same."
So Kael, Lin, and Elara went, with Carter and two other Longevos as security. The journey to Bastion was through stark, beautiful emptiness—the Siberian tundra in late autumn, all gold and bronze and gathering cold.
Bastion rose from the ice like a crystal. Not organic like New Alexandria, but precise, intentional. Walls met at perfect angles. Windows were uniform. No decoration, only function. The air smelled of ozone and filtered sterility.
Their host was Dr. Alistair Finch, once a Nobel-winning biologist, now the Ephemeral League's chief scientist. He was elderly, moved with a cane, but his eyes were sharp behind thick glasses.
"Welcome," he said, his voice cultured, British. "To humanity's answer."
He showed them everything. Laboratories where researchers worked on advanced prosthetics. VR chambers where baselines could experience "digital immortality." Genetic therapies that promised to extend healthy lifespan to 120 years—"a mortal duration, but a full one."
The tour culminated in the Center for Cognitive Preservation. Here, technicians mapped neural patterns, creating digital backups of consciousness.
"We accept that bodies age," Finch explained. "But the mind—the essence—that can endure. In silicon, not flesh. Preserving what matters without the... distortion of endless biological life."
Lin studied the equipment. "The fidelity?"
"Ninety-four percent and improving." Finch smiled. "Not perfect. But perfect enough to continue learning, growing, loving—without the burden of centuries."
Kael watched a demonstration. A volunteer—an elderly woman—lay in a scanner. Her neural activity projected on a screen, complex and beautiful. "And when her body dies?" Kael asked.
"Her consciousness continues in our network. She'll be able to communicate with the living, experience virtual environments, even guide research." Finch's gaze was intense. "We don't seek to avoid death. We seek to make it meaningful."
Elara, who had been quiet, approached one of the interface terminals. "May I?"
Finch hesitated, then nodded.
Elara placed her hands on the sensors. The screen, which had been showing the woman's stable patterns, erupted in cascading fractals. Algorithms scrambled, then reformed into new, complex structures.
"What's she doing?" a technician asked, alarmed.
"Just looking," Elara said softly. Then she pulled her hands back. The screen returned to normal.
Finch stared at her, then at the screen. "Your neural patterns are... remarkable."
"We're adaptable," Elara said simply. Then she asked the question that had been forming: "Where do the minds go when they're in your machine? Is it like dreaming?"
Finch crouched with some difficulty to her level. "It's like being awake in a world you can shape. A world without pain. Without loss."
"But also without rain," Elara said. "Or the smell of soil after a storm. Or holding someone's hand and feeling their warmth."
Finch's certainty faltered for a moment. "Some trade-offs are necessary."
The meeting ended with strained politeness. As they were leaving, Finch gave Kael a data crystal. "Our research on cellular senescence. Perhaps your people will find it useful."
On the journey back, in the tracked vehicle, Lin analyzed the crystal. "It's genuine. Advanced work on telomere regeneration without triggering oncogenes."
"They're not monsters," Carter admitted grudgingly. "They're just... afraid of becoming us."
Elara, looking out at the tundra, said, "They're building a different kind of forever. One made of light instead of cells."
Kael thought about Finch's certainty, his conviction that silicon was purer than flesh. He thought about the woman in the scanner, choosing digital eternity over biological death. And he wondered: Were they both right? Were they both wrong?