Nothing I'd been producing was bringing in the credits. Even my mate had given up hope that we could save up enough to move into the next phase. Our morning conversation was brief: its sole topic was focused on my inability to be an "equal". Every phase in our relationship had been a struggle for us, and now we were stuck. Her words mocked me as I wiped the screen clear with my hand. “If we don’t produce any movement in the next week, it is over between us. Our file is going to close and it will take at least twice as many experience levels to get the attention of an elder. Of course, we could always choose demotion and start afresh, but I didn't Bind with you to find myself going backwards.”

I was desperate and willing to do whatever I could to save our standing. I had an idea, which I had not shared with anybody, fearing I would be branded a hack. I had purchased a black market text conversion program called "Codex". Legitimately, it was used by the coalition to write data in the uniform and accepted style. The pre-programmed material, mandated by the tribunal, could turn any text into a Manuscript, which could then be submitted for credits.

You see, I had slightly altered this program to suit my literary needs. Up to this point, I don’t believe it had ever been used in this fashion. I directed the search towards the dead files. The name I picked had to be ancient and I hoped was utterly unknown. The tribunal had attempted to delete these past records since they were considered to be dangerous to the population, but the man I purchased the program from had found them. It had cost me three training points, but I was willing to give them up to the blackmarketeer for a chance at a better life. I located a name, hidden away in the cracked archives of the outlawed prior culture. Mary Shelley. I liked the sound of that name. Who was she? I didn’t know, but there was something in those two words that I believed could work some magic in my life. Perhaps her dead writings, mingled with my own would produce something of interest. I wish I knew what she looked like. Maybe she looked like me. I briefly imagined, or rather hoped, she was related to me in some way.

Opening up the program, I downloaded the text I had already written into the primary field. I then entered the name "Mary Shelley" into the secondary field. The screen went blank for a moment and then it flickered to life with words and phrases scrambling and aligning themselves together. I watched them hover over each other, distorted and misshaped, like the pre-living found floating in the old container ships. My stomach tightened and a migraine formed in each temple. I put my cold hands on my eyelids, hoping to calm my nerves.

Refocusing on the monitor, I saw that my story was completed. Before I had the chance to hesitate, I sent the story out into the world towards its final destination. My elder would receive notification instantaneously. I was transformed into a criminal, a cultural outlaw. Nobody could ever find out. The words shimmered before me like stars and my eyes felt wet. There was no way to undo it.

My mate walked into the space we shared together. I scrambled to close the program and reached out to my mate, pulling her close to me. She arched her back away from me and studied my face carefully as she sat uncomfortably on my lap. I could tell she was still unhappy from our earlier interaction. Her body was tense and she drew in a controlled breath.

“I’ve done it, my only one. The next phase for us will come to be. Success!” I smiled wildly at her.

She put her hands on my face and touched the wet places on my cheeks. “You've written something, finally?”

I nodded at her. The migraine was gone, replaced instead with a feeling of weightlessness.

She looked towards the sky light, exhaling, and I could feel her body soften. “I am so relieved. Can I hear it? Can I hear it in your own voice? I don't understand how people can listen to those synthetic voices and not feel that pressure building up against their eardrums.”

I began to read my creation out loud to her, slowly and resolutely owning the words as they formed in my mouth. “It was the time of the Luvane, the acid rain scarred the hull of my ship, and my light source had succumbed, when by the dimness of the lowering actinic ray, I saw the dull yellow eye of the replicant open…”