Margin of Error

[al103]

Yeah, that was my bad when writing the story and not spotting it. I'll try to keep an eye out for that sort of thing in future, though, none of my supporters noticed it, and as I'm juggling 4 active stories, there's a fair chance I'll have a scene that needs redrafting because of that (i ope not, but given I'm over 50 chapters into this privately, then I can't say for certain).

Click to shrink...

*laughs*
Same thing can happen with published author who have around 20 betas, believe me, I'm one of said betas, I seen that happen.

 

[USSExplorer]

Same thing can happen with published author who have around 20 betas, believe me, I'm one of said betas, I seen that happen.

Click to shrink...

I have betas (though not logic/continuality ones for this story), and Patreons who've read this up to 20 chapters ahead.
None of them caught that mistake, though I'm not sure how many are reading this story as it's new, and not one of my other, more established stories.

 

[USSExplorer]

A/N: Based on reviews and comments, I've adjusted the chapter and those that follow to hopefully dial down the paranoia and melancholy. They're still there, but they shouldn't be as blunt and obtrusive.

---

0007: Whispers of Mars
…​

October brought shorter days and a chill that I had grown accustomed to while growing up in the city. It had been less than two months since my co-authored paper had been published, and the ripples it caused continued to spread. One of those ripples was why, close to lunchtime, I was sitting in the living room of my private flat with Dr Okonkwo beside me.

Through her efforts and the publication of the paper, the University had arranged to cover the cost of a private flat for me, saving me from staying in one of the University's Halls of Residence once again. I'd already checked the flat for any hidden trackers, though, as expected, I'd not found any. The flat offered me solitude and privacy, which I was happy for. But the news that I had it had drawn focus from other students, adding to the sense that I was getting special treatment, which I was.

The reason that Dr Okonkwo was in my living room was that today I would be having a video conference with several people she worked with on projects for ESA. As her protégé, a term she enjoyed teasing me with, I would need any arrangement with ESA to flow through her and the University. A sign that the politics of academia still existed when discussing the future of spacecraft propulsion.

Lars had come over the day before and helped me configure the room for the three-way conference that was about to start. I could've done the work by myself, but I understood there were benefits in keeping in contact with him. Plus, it meant I didn't need to accept such offers from others, particularly Elena.

Ever since the celebration, I'd been hesitant around her. I wasn't sure whether that was because she was starting to see past my attempts to hide much of who I truly was, because of how my body responded to her presence, or because of another, as-yet-unseen factor. Regardless, I was doing what I could to avoid her without making it obvious, or so I hoped.

As the call began, two figures floated above my desk, the projectors installed in my room not allowing them to be displayed at full scale.

Each shimmered in blue light I'd been used to almost my entire life here, yet which still nagged at my memories. Another small hint, like with the names of several companies, that I knew more about this world than I should, or that those names held some importance to the future that was slowly, constantly approaching. I just wished I knew why I felt so certain of that.

Dr Klaus Vetter was from ESTEC in the Netherlands and was grey-haired and professorial. Dr Ingrid Larsson worked for ESA's mission planning division, was Swedish, and was perhaps in her mid-thirties.

When Dr Okonkwo had told me of the meeting and mentioned them, I easily recalled their names. They were figures that had come up during my evaluation of the Doctor before I started sitting in on her seminars last year. I'd done deeper dives once the meeting was confirmed and knew these two could be invaluable to me in gaining access to cutting-edge science with off-world applications and without being confined to corporations that would seek to control and limit my work.

"Your paper has generated considerable interest," Vetter said, his English carrying only a slight hint of accent. "The theoretical framework for asymmetric field gradients addresses problems we've been wrestling with for years. We'd like to fund experimental validation at scale."

"I'd be interested in discussing that," I replied carefully, managing my emotions so I appeared both mature for my age and excited at the prospect of working with ESA.

"We're talking full-size test articles," Larsson said, taking over, "not laboratory models, and eventually, actual propulsion units we could integrate into mission architecture." She leaned forward slightly, her holographic image flickering with the movement. "With expanded operations planned for Mars and beyond, efficient propulsion is becoming even more critical."

Mars. The word landed differently now than it had even six months ago. The news feeds had been full of it lately. Reports of increased funding, new mission proposals, and a growing sense that something was shifting in humanity's approach to the red planet. As with the colour of the holograms and various company names, the planet tickled my memories as if it carried importance for the future that I should already know.

"You've seen the reports from Promethei Planum, I assume?" Vetter asked, his tone carefully casual.

"The anomalous readings?"

"Anomalous is... diplomatic." Larsson's slight smile held something I couldn't quite read. As if she knew more than she was willing to reveal for the moment. "Ten orbital platforms have experienced sensor failures over that region in the past eighteen months. Mass concentrations that appear and disappear between measurements. Magnetic field variations that don't match any geological model we have."

"Sounds like equipment malfunction," Okonkwo offered, though her tone made clear that she didn't believe her words.

"That's the official explanation." Larsson's smile widened fractionally. "Unofficially, we're increasing mission priority for that region significantly. Surface exploration, subsurface scanning, and a whole new generation of survey equipment. And we'll need better propulsion to get Earth probes and vessels there efficiently."

The more Mars was discussed, the more that tickle at the edge of my mind grew stronger. I knew, on some instinctual level, that Mars was important. More so than the companies and blue-light holograms. Why, however, remained hidden: locked away in my mind by someone, or more likely and worryingly, something.

"What exactly are you proposing?" I asked, forcing my voice to remain steady. I made sure my annoyance at the hidden truth and knowledge that were just out of reach didn't mix with my interest in what was on offer.

I listened quietly as Dr Vetter outlined the arrangement. Consulting work, through the University rather than direct employment. Access to ESA's data networks and simulation environments, along with funding for experimental validation at Edinburgh, and all with Okonkwo maintaining academic oversight. All that, along with regular briefings on the mission requirements and technical challenges, where my work could be applied.

It was everything I could have hoped for, more so given how soon it was coming. Space agency connections without institutional control, and resources without obligations. A foot in the door of one of the places that I was increasingly certain I needed to be.

"I accept," I said before Okonkwo could interject to negotiate on my behalf. The terms as laid out were fine as they were.

She shot me a look, but I could see the approval beneath the exasperation. It was as if she had hoped to get more out of Dr Vetter and Dr Larsson than what they had offered. I understood that, but by being compliant now, they would think I was easier to deal with. Later, when the knowledge I felt was just beyond my reach came into my hands, the balance would shift in my favour, and I'd be able to draw out far better terms.

If they wouldn't support my work, others would. I was sure of that.

From there, the meeting shifted. Times for technical discussions were worked around our various schedules. Formal agreements would be transmitted through the University's administration since I was still an undergraduate. I took it all in, letting Dr Okonkwo take the lead for most of it while still paying attention so that, when the time came in the future for me to speak for myself in such moments, I'd know how to approach it.

Eventually, the meeting concluded, and the two Doctors vanished as they ended the call. As the light returned to normal, my mind played over everything that had been mentioned about Mars. Anomalies, mass concentrations, and things that didn't match any expected model.

Dr Okonkwo turned to face me. "You're thinking about it," she said. "The Mars readings."

"Aren't you?" I responded with a smirk.

"I'm thinking that ESA doesn't reorganise mission priorities for equipment malfunctions." She gathered her materials, but her focus remained on me. "And I'm thinking that you reacted to those anomalies like they meant something to you. Something more than they perhaps should."

"It's probably nothing," I replied, hiding behind the uncertainty.

"Probably." She didn't sound convinced. "Keep me informed, Marcus. Whatever you're working toward, whatever you're preparing for, I'll be there to help when you need it."

I nodded, already having realised she would be. Even in half a decade, when I should be able to move without her help, I would keep her part of my work. Beyond being my mentor, she was intelligent enough to deserve to be there with me. And perhaps she might be able to help when I needed it.

Something was happening on Mars. Something important. I just wished I knew what.

---***---

​

About a week later, I was in a common room of one of the Halls, enjoying lunch with Lars and some of his friends. The chance to keep my connections with him and them was worth having to trek here for the meal.

"...Mars Orbital Survey reports unexplained phenomena in the southern polar region..."

My head turned at the BBC report. The volume was low enough to ignore, but not so low that I failed to catch another passing mention of the red planet.

A student beside me, one of Lars's biology cohort, gestured at the screen. "They're calling it the Martian Bermuda Triangle. Satellites keep glitching over Promethei Planum."

"Probably just solar radiation," another offered. "Or magnetic interference from something geological."

"For two years? ESA's throwing serious money at it. That's not how you respond to equipment failure."

I stayed silent. The agreement with ESA meant I couldn't reveal I knew more than the general public. Lars looked my way, almost as if he sensed I was holding back, though he didn't push. I was thankful for that, though I wasn't sure what I could or would tell him if he did, at least beyond that Mars was important.

---***---

​

One evening, about three weeks after the ESA meeting, I walked into Dr Okonkwo's laboratory. Her head was down, focusing on something on her datapad, as she muttered to herself in a way I'd learned meant she was genuinely puzzled.

"Prometheus Planum magnetic signatures... this doesn't match impact crater formation at all."

"You're reading about Mars geology?" I asked, drawing her attention.

"ESA sent it," she answered with a troubled expression. "They think the anomalies might affect orbital mechanics for their propulsion planning, and they wanted my input on trajectory calculations. Do you believe in coincidences, Marcus?"

"No."

"Neither do I." She tapped the screen. "And this feels like the universe pointing at something."

As I examined what she was looking at, I couldn't help but agree.

---***---

​

In mid-October, I frowned at seeing a call from home. That was unexpected, as they never called outside the agreed-upon times.

I accepted the call, unsure of what it would bring, only to be greeted by Callum's face filling my datapad screen with childish enthusiasm.

"Marcus! Did you see the news about Mars? They found something weird!"

"They're just sensor glitches, Cal."

"That's what they said about the Oort Relay before they figured out it was alien!"

I froze. Oort Relay? There was a familiarity to that, though it made no sense as to why.

"What?" I asked, my mind distracted as those words pointed again at the hidden knowledge that seemed locked behind a door in my mind.

"You know, in that old sci-fi show? The one where humanity discovers the relay network and meets all the aliens? Mum, let me watch the first season."

"Sounds like a good show," I replied, offering him a warm smile as my mind drifted.

I remembered that show from my childhood. It wasn't anything special, but there had been something about it that felt familiar. A feeling that was now settled on Mars.

"It is! Maybe Mars will be the key to making that real. Maybe we'll find aliens!"

"Maybe," I said. "Anyway, how's school going?" I asked, changing the topic.

---***---

​

One night in late October, I was sitting with David at a private workstation, our regular meeting to continue the security project we'd begun last year, which was still in development. It had evolved into something more comprehensive, even more so than when I had suggested the change to make it all but uncrackable. As we often did now, we worked in comfortable silence, each focused on our own problems.

"Look at this pattern." I turned from my screen, seeing him going over something that had nothing to do with cryptography. "Satellite malfunctions. Sensor anomalies. Communication delays. Even some orbital drift that ground control can't explain. All centred on Promethei Planum."

I fought down the urge to roll my eyes. Mars was everywhere, and it was growing tiresome. More so because each mention brought that feeling that I should know more than I did, but I couldn't tell what or remember why.

"What are you suggesting?" I asked, curious to hear his thoughts. It wasn't in his field, but he understood patterns, and he might have seen something that others, even I, might've missed.

His expression was half-joking. "Something's buried there. Something that doesn't want to be found."

"That's ridiculous," I said after laughing uncomfortably. The idea of something buried there only increased those feelings that I should know what was happening, or about to happen.

"Probably." He shrugged, returning to his code. "But someone's taking it seriously. ESA just approved another four new Mars missions, as have NASA and others, all targeting that region. That's billions of Credits' worth of 'probably nothing.'"

---***---

​

Alone in my room, late in the night, I was researching Promethei Planum. The data that ESA had provided to Dr Okonkwo and me was confusing and contradictory. Multiple agencies and missions were reporting different readings, and official explanations ranged from solar activity to instrument calibration to geological phenomena no one quite understood.

Something was going on there, and whatever it was, it was affecting our technology in ways that shouldn't be possible.

The answers were in my mind; I was certain of that, but the door there remained locked. Whatever was causing the problems on Mars was critical to understanding the threat I knew was lurking somewhere in the darkness of the galaxy, though I still didn't know why I was certain there was a threat. Only that it had fed years of caution brought forth by how different I was compared to everyone else.

---***---

​

November brought signs of an early winter, and as had been the case since the start of the month, I was in a laboratory, working on extending my field coherence framework to higher power densities. The mathematics kept breaking down at certain thresholds, collapsing into instabilities that made no logical sense.

I stared at the equations floating in the holographic display, frustration building in me. I knew this should work. No, I knew it did work. I was certain it did, by I knew that continued to elude me and I was finding it near-impossible to let the matter drop until I understood why I knew what I did.

The standard approaches weren't working. I'd tried every conventional technique I could think of and computational shortcuts the analytical VIs could suggest, but nothing held. The field equations kept diverging at precisely the point where they should've been most stable.

I needed something new. Something that accounted for...

I froze mid-thought as it hit me.

The revelation didn't come gradually as I'd expected. No, it arrived fully formed in my mind, as if the door had opened just enough for the knowledge to root itself in my thoughts before I could take a single breath.

Field recursion and nested geometries. The field doesn't just propagate; it folds back on itself, creating standing wave patterns that reinforce rather than destabilise.

My hands flew across the haptic interface. Corrections and new equations flowed from me faster than I could track as I transcribed them into the interface. I was remembering the solution and not working towards it.

I recognised many of the lines of equations that appeared on the screen, just not in the way they were currently used. Others… they were entirely new, and yet I knew they were correct even before I had finished inputting the formulae.

The framework took shape in minutes. Recursive field geometry for sustained acceleration. A complete theoretical model for multi-stage propulsion that exceeded anything I'd published, anything I'd even hinted at. It was beautifully elegant and completely unprecedented.

I sat back, breathing hard as the VI worked to confirm everything I'd just inputted was accurate. In mere moments, I had crafted an entirely new framework of physics. One that, while still unfinished, would change how ion engines were used.

"Marcus?"

I spun in my chair, so lost in the work that I'd failed to realise someone had entered. I tensed before I saw the speaker.

Dr Okonkwo moved closer, concern on her face, and a cup of coffee in her hand. "It's five in the morning. I was hoping I wouldn't fin–" Her voice caught as her eyes saw my screen. "What is that?" she asked slowly, her eyes widening as she read the first few lines of equations.

"An extension of the coherence model. Recursive field geometry for sustained acceleration." My reply was blunter than normal, a sign that I needed sleep more than I'd realised.

I rolled my chair to one side, letting her see the fullness of what I'd crafted. She was silent as her eyes moved over the equations, and my eyes glanced at her cup; the aroma tempted me seductively.

She turned to face me after a few minutes. "This is..." She paused and started again. "Marcus, if this works…"

"It works." There was no hint of doubt in my tone.

"You can't know that. You'd need months of simulation, experimental validation–"

"It works," I repeated, almost challenging her to test me. "I know it does."

The silence stretched between us. She was looking at me the way she always did when I said or knew something I shouldn't. Concern mixed with intellectual interest marred her features, along with an almost parental sense of worry.

"Where does it come from?" she asked quietly. "Really. Not 'I've been thinking about it.' Where?"

"I don't know," I said, unable and unwilling to deflect as I usually did. "Sometimes I just see patterns, connections others don't. It's like... like reading a language I don't remember learning."

"That's not normal."

A dry chuckle slipped from my lips. "I know."

She studied me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "Marcus, have you considered that there might be something... unusual about your neurology? Something worth investigating?"

"I don't need an investigation," I said, keeping my voice level, pushing down my fears. "I need to do the work."

The last thing I wanted or needed was her, of all people, wanting to study me. Others I could avoid, even cut out of my life if needed, but not her. I needed her connections and her mind for the path forward I was crafting.

"And if your work has people wondering where your understanding comes from?"

"Let them. I work on my terms, not theirs."

She held my gaze for what felt like a long time. Then, slowly, she nodded.

"Alright. But if you ever change your mind, if you ever want help–"

"I won't."

She held my gaze for another minute and then nodded.

"Okay."

She didn't say anything more, but I sensed she was upset that I was keeping her out. One day, perhaps, I could let her or others in, once I was sure of what it was I knew, and what my body and mind were capable of.

Perhaps I was overreacting: if I hid the extent of what my body was capable of, or at least what I knew it could do, and only allowed my mind to be showcased, I might be fine. Yet the wariness that formed once I was certain I had been reborn, and then hardened once I saw signs that this world wasn't as rosy and safe as everything suggested, wouldn't release its grasp over my thoughts.

I returned my focus to Mars and the anomalies over Promethei Planum. Whatever I was, whatever it was that was trapped in my mind, that place was the key to understanding most of it, hopefully all. I just had to be prepared for what was found, though I wasn't sure what it would be or if I would be ready.

Or if the world would be.

---***---

​

 

[StormCalledRaven]

"And if the work requires understanding where it comes from?"

Click to shrink...

This confuses me. if the math maths then it would be accepted after testing. you don't go poking at someone's grey matter to figure out how they did it.

 

[eien]

Welp i can see the inevitable crash out the MC is about to have when the Protheian archives are discovered.

 

[tankuser32]

All these hints lead me to believe there are other abnormal people in his past or present, someone planted ME lore into the world, maybe even other fictions also as they probably didn't know which world they were born in.

 

[USSExplorer]

This confuses me. if the math maths then it would be accepted after testing. you don't go poking at someone's grey matter to figure out how they did it.

Click to shrink...

It was badly worded. I've changed the question to, "And if your work has people wondering where your understanding comes from?" which should sound better.

Welp i can see the inevitable crash out the MC is about to have when the Protheian archives are discovered.

Click to shrink...

Indeed.

 

[Retalom]

I have a question are the ideas and concepts that the mc is coming up with so far from what previous established research that the foundation looks like he just skipped decades of scientific knowledge? like is he coming up with breakthroughs he has no right to come up with without the data and math that would allow someone to reach his conclusions and breakthroughs? I am really confused why his work is suspect

 

[Reynard69]

Welp i can see the inevitable crash out the MC is about to have when the Protheian archives are discovered.

Click to shrink...

Kinda wanna see what his crashout would be if the anomoly were DOOM, the B5 Shadow ship, the WH40K Void Dragon or the Ethereal base from XCom. If only as extras/official omake.

 

[USSExplorer]

I have a question are the ideas and concepts that the mc is coming up with so far from what previous established research that the foundation looks like he just skipped decades of scientific knowledge? like is he coming up with breakthroughs he has no right to come up with without the data and math that would allow someone to reach his conclusions and breakthroughs? I am really confused why his work is suspect

Click to shrink...

How he's coming up with it is designed to be a mystery. I don't want to spoil the "Mass Effect" reveal, but he's simply finding the answers in his mind for problems that others can't see, or haven't even considered. The data, the research, is, in theory, in his mind, but he doesn't know where or how, and, as will become clearer as the story goes forward, his maths is always sound. That sort of insight, to be able to see an answer without having worked to the proof first, is what makes his mentor question things, though she's not pushing as hard as others might if/once they learn what he's capable of.
That ability, to simply know the answers and not be able to understand why he knows, is what feeds some of the paranoia (though I admit the first few chapters need tweaking to make that clearer).

DOOM, the B5 Shadow ship, the WH40K Void Dragon or the Ethereal base from XCom. If only as extras/official omake.

Click to shrink...

I can't comment on the 1st or 3rd, as I don't know the lore, but for the other two, the response would liekly be something similair to how he's going to react to realising he's got to face off against the Reapers.

At least until he recovers and pushes forward

 

[silentorphan]

It was badly worded. I've changed the question to, "And if your work has people wondering where your understanding comes from?" which should sound better.

Click to shrink...

Sorry, but the change makes Marcus' reply seem, well, not really a non-sequitur, but incongruent? Like he's answering a question that's different from the one he's been asked. (Because it was. )

Since the main thrust of the question is "What if people wonder?", a more appropriate answer would be "Let them" rather than "I'll understand it [my work] myself."

 

[Reynard69]

I can't comment on the 1st or 3rd, as I don't know the lore,

Click to shrink...

You know how in Babylon 5, there are people who live in hyperpsace? And the shadows and Vorlons are terrified of them? DOOM says those people are angels, and Warhammer says they're elves and demons. And both series focus the conflict around them, rather than having them as mere background lore.

 

[USSExplorer]

Sorry, but the change makes Marcus' reply seem, well, not really a non-sequitur, but incongruent? Like he's answering a question that's different from the one he's been asked. (Because it was. )

Since the main thrust of the question is "What if people wonder?", a more appropriate answer would be "Let them" rather than "I'll understand it [my work] myself."

Click to shrink...

Fair. Made the changes, and altered a bit of the Dr's response after as well. Should read better now.

You know how in Babylon 5, there are people who live in hyperpsace? And the shadows and Vorlons are terrified of them? DOOM says those people are angels, and Warhammer says they're elves and demons. And both series focus the conflict around them, rather than having them as mere background lore.

Click to shrink...

I remember the Thirdspace aliens from B5 well. Was a one-off TV movie, iirc, but the show was the sort that even now, decades later, I remember most of it. (So damn, quoteable)

 

[Zone04]

Okay. Credits? This is clearly an AU where some citadel alien, probably Asari or some other long living specie or individual crash landed on Earth and decided to take over or guide the planet in order to get them to advance and research far enough to get interstellar capability so that they can get home.

I say clearly. I meant maybe, teeny weensy, probably. But it's the only thing I can think of.

Because there is no logical, historical, canonical, or sensical reason for Earth and it's citizens to use Credits as a currency. If govts combined, realistically you'd have either the dollar or the euro being the main form of currency.

Credits are a citadel bank currency. This is Pre first contact. This is either a mistake, or plays into:

Someone clearly knows there's a beacon on Mars. That's either extra-dimensional ROB fuckery, or an Alien that was looking for Beacons and found their ways to Mars and ended up on Earth by mistake. There is no other narrative reason.

It would also technically explain our characters enhancements.

Also, I fucking laughed when he scanned for cameras and bugs. That was so amusing. It's 2140 or 50 or whatever year it is. We've got long distance laser and wifi-router based monitoring tools now. What makes you think they won't be using independent, offline, nanobot styled listening devices that transfer data physically. Or in you. Or lasers on a corner of your window. Or the dozens of other methods.

Question though that I'd love answered: will our protagonist ever realize the setting he's in? Or is it an inspired inventor/celestial forge type situation? Or is it just having a mental programming that pushes him into a specific direction and desire. The last one seems to fit the whole alien guidance thing for me.

 

[USSExplorer]

Okay. Credits? This is clearly an AU where some citadel alien, probably Asari or some other long living specie or individual crash landed on Earth and decided to take over or guide the planet in order to get them to advance and research far enough to get interstellar capability so that they can get home.

Click to shrink...

AU, though the signs are currently on purpose

Because there is no logical, historical, canonical, or sensical reason for Earth and it's citizens to use Credits as a currency. If govts combined, realistically you'd have either the dollar or the euro being the main form of currency.

Click to shrink...

Credits are a citadel bank currency.

Click to shrink...

There is if you consider the little hints about some sort of undercurrent to the world that means it's not as 'celan and safe' as it appears. That's been mentioned in passing a few times. A world currency serves that goal, though naming it Credits when that's the same term the Citadel races uses was an intentional choice, and one that will be paid off, way down the road after the FCW.
I admit, that calling them Credits adds a layer of confusion, but it's also, as I said, intentional.

Also, I fucking laughed when he scanned for cameras and bugs. That was so amusing. It's 2140 or 50 or whatever year it is. We've got long distance laser and wifi-router based monitoring tools now. What makes you think they won't be using independent, offline, nanobot styled listening devices that transfer data physically. Or in you. Or lasers on a corner of your window. Or the dozens of other methods.

Click to shrink...

I used that wording as I didn't want to invent something futuristic-sounding and then need to explain what it meant. There are trackers in the apartment, and him calling them 'bugs' mentally, is a holdover from his former life.

Question though that I'd love answered: will our protagonist ever realize the setting he's in? Or is it an inspired inventor/celestial forge type situation? Or is it just having a mental programming that pushes him into a specific direction and desire. The last one seems to fit the whole alien guidance thing for me.

Click to shrink...

He'll realise where he is when the world learns about Eezo. As for the type of character...

 

[eien]

He'll realise where he is when the world learns about Eezo. As for the type of character...

Click to shrink...

My bet is mega crash out within 4 chapters.

Also, and i know you've said you may sprinkle in other ip making it a multicross but I'd find it hilariously schadenfreude if the MC assume a pure MassEffect setting and then gets kicked in the berries by player #3 (Halo covenant, xcom aliens, ect.) coming out of the shadows.

 

[noblej7]

Hopefully he can get his own funds to make his own corporation to get going, both to better his self security directly and indirectly. As well as to give him increasingly more options as well and influence grows. Heck. He's probably got more potential than most to make his own asteroid belt mining corporation in the local sol system. Before they get FTL and rabbit further away. The excessive paranoia as if he's an star Trek augment hiding from Starfleet right after the eugenics war, has me conflicted between understanding and feeling like he's panicking too much for something he ultimately can't control beyond a certain level. That and i hate to see him distancing himself from the others in his family. .

Okay. Credits? This is clearly an AU where some citadel alien, probably Asari or some other long living specie or individual crash landed on Earth and decided to take over or guide the planet in order to get them to advance and research far enough to get interstellar capability so that they can get home.

I say clearly. I meant maybe, teeny weensy, probably. But it's the only thing I can think of.

Because there is no logical, historical, canonical, or sensical reason for Earth and it's citizens to use Credits as a currency. If govts combined, realistically you'd have either the dollar or the euro being the main form of currency.

Credits are a citadel bank currency. This is Pre first contact. This is either a mistake, or plays into:

Someone clearly knows there's a beacon on Mars. That's either extra-dimensional ROB fuckery, or an Alien that was looking for Beacons and found their ways to Mars and ended up on Earth by mistake. There is no other narrative reason.

It would also technically explain our characters enhancements.

Also, I fucking laughed when he scanned for cameras and bugs. That was so amusing. It's 2140 or 50 or whatever year it is. We've got long distance laser and wifi-router based monitoring tools now. What makes you think they won't be using independent, offline, nanobot styled listening devices that transfer data physically. Or in you. Or lasers on a corner of your window. Or the dozens of other methods.

Question though that I'd love answered: will our protagonist ever realize the setting he's in? Or is it an inspired inventor/celestial forge type situation? Or is it just having a mental programming that pushes him into a specific direction and desire. The last one seems to fit the whole alien guidance thing for me.

Click to shrink...

Terminology to describe things can carry on long after the original term isn't relavent. Bugs as a term is a terím coined from a literal bug causing a computer issue, having shorted out wiring and died in the machine. Yet decades later we still use it despite the literal word origin no longer being the cause for computer "Bugs"
There's plenty of words that stick around beyond the understanding of their origin

 

[Reynard69]

He's probably got more potential than most to make his own asteroid belt mining corporation in the local sol system. Before they get FTL and rabbit further away.

Click to shrink...

He should continue with asteroid mining after MEFTL is discovered. Andromeda, disregarding its many crimes, gave us a really cool detail about how eezo ftl worked.

One of the major problems with Eezo FTL, and why relays are preferred to long voyages, is because the electric charge you use to either move large masses, or go really fast and really long, builds up until the dicharge can no longer be contained and lashes out to fry the entire ship. So, you keep ships small, voyages short, and rely on the relays.

But, BUT!!! If you disregard this problem and build on a more traditional scifi scale, where five mile long ships are the entry point rather than inconceivable, due to eezo's normal limitations, you're able to absorb and channel that core discharge, as an extra fuel source.

So, building out his space factory network as needed to build O'Neil Cylinders, Deadspace Planet Crackers and Starwars Star-forges, would be a really good idea.

 

[USSExplorer]

O'Neil Cylinders

Click to shrink...

Every time someone mentions those, my mind goes to the same place:

God, I miss that show.

Andromeda, disregarding its many crimes, gave us a really cool detail about how eezo ftl worked.

Click to shrink...

I never played Andromeda, so it's not something Marcus can draw on. (A factoid of every story I write with an SI, is that they only recall what I do about the setting. Adds some uncertainty to the place, imo)

If you disregard this problem and build on a more traditional scifi scale, where five mile long ships are the entry point rather than inconceivable, due to eezo's normal limitations, you're able to absorb and channel that core discharge, as an extra fuel source.

Click to shrink...

Okay, that's not the worst idea I've heard. And would explain, in some way, hoe the Reapers can seemingly ignore the discharge issue.
Might have to have Marcus realise that after the FCW, once he gets access to the Citadel's public records on eezo and its workings. (Which would go alongside any he and the SA have)

Hopefully he can get his own funds to make his own corporation to get going, both to better his self security directly and indirectly.

Click to shrink...

He'd need more than just the 'child genius' label to get the capital for that. But yeah, a company or two (or 10?) under his direct and indriect control by and after the FCW would be extremely useful.

 

[noblej7]

Every time someone mentions those, my mind goes to the same place:

God, I miss that show.



I never played Andromeda, so it's not something Marcus can draw on. (A factoid of every story I write with an SI, is that they only recall what I do about the setting. Adds some uncertainty to the place, imo)

Okay, that's not the worst idea I've heard. And would explain, in some way, hoe the Reapers can seemingly ignore the discharge issue.
Might have to have Marcus realise that after the FCW, once he gets access to the Citadel's public records on eezo and its workings. (Which would go alongside any he and the SA have)


He'd need more than just the 'child genius' label to get the capital for that. But yeah, a company or two (or 10?) under his direct and indriect control by and after the FCW would be extremely useful.

Click to shrink...

Patent and license something of value. Which can be anything from toys, nice toothpaste, more efficient engines, more easily a software that's more optimized so it's more effective and it's got less up front cost and he doesn't need someone to make the products for him.
It doesn't have to be strategic as long as it gets him the starting money to better snowball a financial base to work from. His obvious and known "genius" just means people will be more likely to give his stuff a try.

 

[Reynard69]

And would explain, in some way, hoe the Reapers can seemingly ignore the discharge issue.

Click to shrink...

and why they seem to be constantly sparking with electrical discharge.

 

[eien]

I always liked the FTL idea from foundation, essentially just using a black hole to fuck with gravity. And it would kinda mesh well with ME tech, thematically at least

 

[USSExplorer]

0008: Complications
…​

It was late December in 2146, a few days before New Year's, and Edinburgh was experiencing some of the coldest weather it had seen in years. I'd returned early to my flat, leaving my family behind, not long after Christmas Day, to focus further on the breakthrough I'd uncovered in November.

The campus, both the science campus and the others, was deserted. Almost everyone had returned home, wherever that might be, for the holidays. That was ideal for me as it meant I had almost uninterrupted access to the laboratory where I worked. One that only Dr Okonkwo and I had direct access to, but others could tell that I was in if they were around.

I wasn't at the lab currently, instead still in my flat, having just enjoyed a warm meal. I'd be heading to the lab later to push further, hoping that another breakthrough would force the door in my mind, the one that hid the knowledge I seemed to possess, to open once more. Before I could depart, however, there was a knock at the door.

"Elena?" I said as I opened the door to see the now twenty-two-year-old woman standing there.

She had a bottle of wine in one hand, and it was clear from her breath that she'd had a few glasses before coming. Her coat had a light covering of snow, indicating that the clouds had opened again, while her expression was conflicted.

"I spent Christmas with my family in Barcelona," she said without preamble, pushing past me in the process. "Normal, boring, wonderful Christmas. And the whole time, I kept thinking about you," she added as she slid her coat off, letting it fall to the floor.

She was dressed normally, yet she moved in a way that drew my attention.

"Elena," I began, closing the door behind her, only for her to blurt out something that was a scoff and a chuckle all at once.

"Not like that. Or not just like that." She moved closer, her dark eyes sharp despite the alcohol. "I kept thinking: Who is Marcus Sinclair? Not the prodigy or the published physicist. But the person underneath all of that."

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Yes, you do," she said, sauntering closer to me. I noticed the slight difference in height between us; a recent spurt making me fractionally taller than her. "I've been reading your work, Marcus. At least what I have access to. Not just skimming it for interesting results. Reading it.

"And?" I asked, aware she had shifted her postgrad focus to propulsion applications as she had hinted at during our first true interaction.

"And there's a pattern," she began, still inching closer. "Each proposal you make, each alteration of established knowledge. It's not just incremental development or building on previous work. It's like you... already know the answers." She was close enough now that the scent of her perfume, a scent from Daniel Josier, filled my senses. Close enough that I could see the mix of curiosity and frustration in her eyes, and feel the warmth radiating from her body.

"You're sixteen years old, and you think like someone who's already lived a lifetime."

I tried to keep my expression neutral, but something must've shown because her eyes widened slightly.

"I'm not accusing you of anything," she said, softer now. "I'm not trying to expose you or catch you in a lie. I'm just... I want to understand. I want to know who you really are." Her face was inches from mine.

"Kiss me."

I didn't move. "You're drunk."

She laughed gently, which sent warm flutters through my chest. "I'm tipsy. There's a difference." Her free hand found my chest, resting over my heart. "Kiss me, Marcus. And don't hold back."

I knew I should hold back; that kissing her was dangerous. Letting anyone get too close, or becoming intimate, carried risk. Yet, the chance to let my guard down, if only for a few hours, and with someone I was attracted to, physically and mentally, was hard to resist.

My lips found hers. She tasted of wine and something more. Something that was uniquely her.

Something I wanted more of.

***

​

Hours later, as the first light of the next morning crept through the edges of the curtains, I found myself lying in my bed.

Elena rested beside me, a pleased, worn-out smile on her sleeping face. That smile, along with the sounds she'd made throughout the night and how my bed swam with her scent, swelled my masculine pride. And yet, that wasn't why I was awake now, my eyes tracking the faint lines of the ceiling as she slumbered beside me.

I had enjoyed everything that had happened since I'd kissed. More so than I had expected, in truth. Yet, I hadn't been able to fully commit; I couldn't let go.

Every touch and move I made was controlled; I made sure to never use too much strength or lose myself too deeply in the moment, so I didn't hurt her. Nor could I reveal that I already knew what to do and how to move and act.

So, I held back and played out the role expected of me: a young man experiencing their first night of passion. Now, hours later, I felt uncomfortable about deceiving her even as we'd shared the night.

Not long after, Elena shifted, and I looked down, smiling at her. I made sure as much true emotion as I could allow showed in my face and eyes. "Morning."

"Morning," she replied groggily.

I laughed softly, enjoying seeing her like this. It was rare to see her so disarmed and unfocused. So entirely Human. A thought that brought back the questions over what exactly I was.

"How are you up so early?" She asked even as I brushed a lock of hair from her face. "You should be worn out."

"I was. I'm not now," I responded, leaning down to kiss her again.

What this meant, or where I would lead, I couldn't say. For now, at least, I simply wanted to enjoy it.

***

​

"You're always holding back, aren't you? Even now, and last night, with me."

The question came as I made us breakfast, though it was past midday.

"I don't know what you mean." As I answered, I flipped the pan, perfectly catching the pancakes in it. The process was child's play for my mind and body.

"Yes, you do," she countered, leaning on the kitchen table, head resting in her hands. I didn't need to look to know she was watching me as I cooked. "But it's okay. Whatever the reason, Marcus, I just hope you don't come to regret this… distance you've crafted when you're older."

I smiled, pretending I didn't know what she meant. I did, and it was a choice I'd made ever since my rebirth. One that left me concerned about someone discovering that truth, and that there might be a reason for me knowing this was a second life. The worries about my body and the seemingly too-perfect world had come later, and only added to my tension. A tension that had been on full display last night, when I should've been enjoying the moment.

More than once, I'd feared hurting her if I lost control, and it remained in my mind even now, hours later, after we'd both risen from the bed. It would be there, regardless of where this led.

I had to keep myself contained. Even if it also kept me alone.

---***---

​

Early in the new year, I found myself walking down a quiet department hallway. People were still filtering back after the holidays and settling back into the routine of university, regardless of their role. Undergraduates, postgrads, lecturers, researchers, and those rare few, like me, who didn't fit easily into such labels.

Well, there was no one like me. No other second-year student was a mere semester away from graduating with their Master's. I could've gained those credits last semester, but I'd kept my slower pace from after the gymnasium incident in place.

By the summer, I'd graduate, and the path I needed to walk was slowly revealing itself. My first paper had begun the process, and the work since then for ESA and ESTEC on related matters had widened it further. If there were another student, another teenager like me, anywhere in the world, I'd yet to hear of them. If there were anyone younger who showed such promise, they'd possibly be compared to me already.

"Sinclair."

I knew that voice well and stopped and turned to face the speaker.

James Okafor was a senior research assistant and a doctoral student. He had been her primary assistant before I'd burst onto the scene. At ten years older, and having filled his frame, he often sought to impose his presence over me.

"Okafor."

My tone matched his, along with a hint of annoyance at having to speak with him outside laboratories and seminars, which I was sure he caught. I wanted him to leave me alone, but it seemed he wasn't willing to do that just yet.

"Congratulations on the JPP publication." His tone made the words sound like anything but congratulations. "Quite an achievement for a..." He paused deliberately. "...second-year undergraduate."

"Third, as you well know," I corrected, even knowing it wouldn't change anything. Technically, I was in my fourth year because of my work, but I'd started the university year in third. My age and rapid advancement were something that continued to annoy him. "But, thank you. Your own work on thermal management has been progressing well, from what I've seen."

"My work builds on established foundations." He stepped closer, his height and frame advantages suddenly more pronounced. "Yours appears as if from nowhere. Complete theoretical frameworks that no one has ever considered, that are fully formed and somehow always correct." He paused again. "Where's the experimental foundation, Sinclair? Where are the failed iterations?"

"The simulations provide the validation, and the mathematics is sound."

They were, and he couldn't refute that. Still, he was close to the truth in saying they emerged fully formed as I was drawing them out from deep in my mind. I no longer questioned that what was there was superior to anything on Earth, but I still wondered about how and why I had such knowledge.

"The mathematics is extraordinary." He stressed the last word as if it were an accusation. "How convenient that your theories always work. How fortunate that your intuitions always prove correct."

I didn't bother directly responding. He'd used this attack pattern before, though never to this degree, and, in truth, there was no way for me to fully defend myself. None of the usual steps, such as pointing to the peer review process or citing the experimental confirmations that were already beginning to accumulate, would work.

He was determined to find a fault in my process even if he had no idea where to look.

"If you have concerns about methodology," I replied calmly, "submit them for peer review. Otherwise, this conversation is wasting both our time."

I turned, intent on leaving him be.

"You're sixteen years old," he called as if it were another accusation. "You shouldn't be capable of this work. So either you're cheating somehow, or you're..." He paused even as I began to walk away. "...something we should be studying instead of celebrating."

It was a fight not to react to his words; he'd driven into my one privately acknowledged flaw. Even as I took another step, and then another, I had to push down the discomfort of that flaw, along with the fear of what might happen if anyone truly explored the idea in his words.

He was tossing around an insult, but driving dangerously close to something he could never realise was the truth, or the fear it caused me. I had to learn to live with it and hope it was never made real.

I was different, in ways he failed to realise, and that I only barely understood. My private investigations had confirmed enough that I didn't doubt that.

"Have a good semester, Okafor," I said without looking back.

Even if he tried to continue this conversation, I wouldn't respond. I could feel my hands, luckily inside my pockets, clench. The only comfort was the faint grunt of frustration that came from him as I walked away, leaving him behind me once more.

---***---

​

By the middle of the month, I had completed the outline of the paper built on my breakthrough last November. The initial data had been sent to the ESA and had been refined; their help shaved months off the time needed to gather data that such a revolutionary paper required.

That help came at a cost, however, which was the addition of Dr Vetter's name to it, along with the right of first refusal on proper development and testing of the theories. I didn't consider either of those costs expensive, as each brought more influence and recognition with the ESA and beyond.

Dr Okonkwo was seated at her desk, the paper – Recursive Field Geometries for Multi-Stage Acceleration Systems – displayed on her datapad after she'd read through it.

When I'd presented it to her, she'd suspected I had written the paper quickly: months to craft a paper for submission seemed incredible. She'd probably die of shock if I told her the majority of it was completed in less than a week. I could've done it faster, though, without ESA's help, but I was no longer pushing myself to what I thought were my limits. I'd slowed enough that my progress was incredible and exceptional, not impossible. Plus, I'd wanted to continue enjoying my social life, though that had gone slightly pear-shaped since the New Year.

Elena had made no mention of our night together since, and our conversations remained friendly. Yet those around us sensed something was different, and the truth of what had changed added a restrictive air to our interactions. Something I understood and accepted, but also disliked.

"You can't just assert these things, Marcus." Dr Okonkwo stated while marking up my draft on her datapad, and I could already see the red annotations blooming across the holographic display. Most of the corrections were for adding the sort of cautionary language that academic publishing demanded. "You need to build arguments, address counterarguments, acknowledge limitations."

"But I know it works."

"Then prove it. Scientifically through experimentation and evidence, not through personal certainty."

I nodded, accepting her words. I knew it worked; the knowledge in my head had never been wrong. Sadly, the world required a demonstration before it would accept the truth.

***

​

By the end of January, after rewriting the paper as she wanted, I stood before the internal review board with Dr Okonkwo. For the last paper, I'd avoided being questioned as the board had focused more on questioning Dr Okonkwo about adding my name to the paper than if I understood the science. I had, and a few questions had proven that to their satisfaction. Today, I was facing their full presence.

My name on the last paper had brought attention to the university, which was more than happy to receive it. The hint that they were raising a genius who would shape the future, and through whom they could convince other minds to attend their halls, or sponsors willing to donate to future research.

My name at the top of a second paper, ahead of two eminent doctors in the field, would bring more attention, but if it were proven that I didn't understand what I was submitting, or that I wasn't the lead on it, it could greatly damage Edinburgh's international reputation in ways that could take decades to recover from.

I stood there, silent, as Dr Henderson, the committee chair, read through the final section with an expression I couldn't interpret. It wasn't a surprise as physics wasn't his field of expertise, but it also wasn't dismissal.

"This is either brilliant or nonsense. I genuinely can't tell which." His words were blunt, which made me smirk a little.

"I can," Dr Okonkwo said. "I've run the simulations, and the framework holds. If anything, his predictions are conservative."

"You're staking your reputation on this, Aisling," he said slowly. "The university's reputation."

"I'm aware."

The smirk became a smile at her tone. There wasn't a hint of doubt in it, and even if some of the concepts I had written confounded her, she trusted my findings and equations. She trusted me.

***

​

As February began, I was back in Dr Okonkwo's office. The committee had approved the paper after we had carried out a few revisions, and now all that had to be done was for her to send it to the publication. Instead of the Journal of Propulsion and Power, we would be trying for the Physical Review Letters, a more preeminent journal for physics.

"If they accept this," Dr Okonkwo said, watching the confirmation appear on her display as it blinked for attention, "you're not just published. You'll be established, Marcus. At sixteen."

"And if they reject it?" I asked, though I knew they wouldn't. The moment they read through the paper, they'd know it worked, and they'd be eager to bask in the attention the paper would bring them.

"Then we try somewhere else." A smile touched her lips, making it clear she knew the same. "But they won't. This is too good to reject."

It would be months before we knew the answer. The PRL took longer to review simply because it dealt with far more papers seeking publication than the JPP. In the time I would take to learn if they'd accepted my paper, I'd work to finish my coursework to complete a Master's inside two years. I'd also find time to work on other important projects, such as the security framework that was moving along quickly with David.

I knew the attention this would bring, and wanted to be able to move freely by the summer. My next step would take place after that, though I currently didn't know what it would be. Edinburgh had already prepared its offer: a postgraduate position, fully funded and covered, as I worked on a doctoral thesis.

Other offers would come in, likely bettering anything Edinburgh could offer. Still, the university would be given respect regardless of how its offer compared to others. Without their support, particularly from Dr Okonkwo, I'd not be in the position I was. The position that I knew I had to be, even though I didn't know why.

Whichever path I took, I'd remain a consultant for ESA. Mars was critical to learning what was out there. I knew that in my bones. Every other space agency, along with major corporations and conglomerates, seemed to be preparing or launching missions to Promethei Planum. There wasn't a day that went by that it wasn't mentioned on the news or in discussion. The anomalies were too common now, too visible to be written off as glitches.

Everyone was excited to learn what was there. I was the same; there was this sense that what we'd learn would reveal more than I was ready for. More than anyone was ready for.

---***---

​

One morning in early April, a new message arrived in my inbox. My brow rose as I saw who it had come from. I didn't expect a reply from Physical Review Letters until the end of the month at the earliest. One this soon only spelt disaster, but I knew that couldn't be the case.

Opening the email, I skimmed it, my excitement rising rapidly, though none of those around me could tell as I remained outwardly impassive.

Subject: PRL Submission #427392 - Decision
Dear Dr Okonkwo and Mr Sinclair,
We are pleased to inform you that your paper "Recursive Field Geometries for Multi-Stage Acceleration Systems" has been accepted for publication...

I read the whole message twice over. As if I couldn't quite accept the news. Or more likely, the speed at which it had come.

My datapad buzzed, and seeing the caller, I activated the small subdermal implant in my ear.

"You've seen it?" Dr Okonkwo asked, her voice barely containing her excitement. I might be the lead on the paper, but she'd get as much attention from it as I would. That would mean more funding for her research, which in turn would benefit me.

"The message from Physical Review Letters?"

I could almost see her rolling her eyes. "Yes. Who else?" There was a pause, likely as she took time to process the implications. "Marcus, do you understand what this means?"

"It means the work is validated."

She sighed, not holding back her annoyance with me, avoiding the answer she wanted to discuss. "It means you're sixteen and you've just published in one of the most prestigious physics journals in existence. It means every major research institution in the world just learned your name. It means–"

"It means I'm visible," I finished quietly. "Very visible."

"Yes," she said after allowing that to sink in. "That too."

"I'm aware, and I'm ready for it."

"I know you will be. Still, come to my office. We should talk about what's going to happen."

I agreed and then ended the call.

I continued walking, sending a short message to David saying I wasn't going to be able to make our discussion today. Even as I waited for his reply, my mind was abuzz.

The visibility this brought was a double-edged sword. It opened the doors I needed open, but also brought attention that could expose my vulnerabilities. The paper would launch my career and establish my credibility as it positioned me exactly where I needed to be. But it would also make me a target; I just had to hope it was only professionally, and not anything else.

I'd already accepted that. Success was impossible without risk, and the higher you soared, the further you had to fall, or the more others had to drag you down. Others might fear that risk, but I was going to embrace it. The knowledge in my head demanded it.

---***---

​

 

[Pax Humana]

Ah, Fame

His fears are entirely justifiable, though not yet justified, and he's already seeing the costs in how that other assistant is reacting to the threat. On the other hand, fuck'em. People trying to tear you down for doing well deserve to lose.

 

[abominable]

"You shouldn't be capable of this work. So either you're cheating somehow, or you're..." He paused even as I began to walk away. "...something we should be studying instead of celebrating."

It was a fight not to react to his words; he'd driven into my one privately acknowledged flaw.

Click to shrink...

Not sure where you're going with this but at this point, tone it down. When you've got a one in a trillion child prodigy among prodigies, who also becomes a high profile individual that has a lotta eyes on him, the go to reaction is not being turned into a labrat. You could maybe get one mad scientist or zealot and his cult to clamor and scheme for it but the standard government reaction is to lock that shit down and keep the golden goose laying eggs.

Right now Id chalk it up to MC's heightened paranoia resulting from his highly unusual circumstances and how he feels isolated due to his knowledge. While Okafor's comment sounds more like a really jealous colleague grasping for something to throw at someone with whom he's in a one-sided rivalry.

The only one who is much more likely to dissect him are actual aliens. Hell, maybe the STG.

For humanity, they'd ask for blood samples, genetics, things like that. And treat him like a celebrity that'll pump out generations-leaping technological advances. He'd be waited on hand and foot, pampered like no caged bird has ever been pampered before.

That's his real nightmare scenario, his freedom being curtailed, not being a labrat.

Hell, he'll be the one doing the sciencing.

Interestingly, I wouldnt put it past the gov to quietly ask for semen samples, see if they can replicate child geniuses via artificial fertilization.

The initial data had been sent to the ESA and had been refined; their help shaved months off the time needed to gather data that such a revolutionary paper required.

Click to shrink...

MC could potentially be a driving force behind uniting the space agencies. If he's willing to be... generous with whom he shares his innovations and developments with. Im hoping he aims for that. The sooner and more cohesively he helps bind Earth's nations together, the better off they'll be should something like the First Contact War happens.

Edit: Wait. He's 16. He's a minor...

I hope nobody finds out.

 

[odinori]

This story is super interesting and I love the premise. The only thing I would say is frustrating is how he is constantly looping back to how he must hide his abilities and how it makes him so lonely. I get that it's a major plot point but it's frustrating to constantly have it brought back up in every conversation or inner monologue he has.

 

[abominable]

This story is super interesting and I love the premise. The only thing I would say is frustrating is how he is constantly looping back to how he must hide his abilities and how it makes him so lonely. I get that it's a major plot point but it's frustrating to constantly have it brought back up in every conversation or inner monologue he has.

Click to shrink...

Same with me. Personally I choose to see it as a psychological lens staining the narrative because we're reading the world through the MC's POV. The way I see it, the stresses and unique situation he's in is heightening his paranoia somewhat.

It's understandable, all things considered, if annoying with how we get reminded of it a bit too often.

Im hoping it gets toned down as the MC becomes more established and reputable, gets more privacy and respect and is more able to focus on his research and projects.

Because seriously, his "vulnerabilities"?

Oh no, Im super smart to the point I generate groundbreaking technological principles from thin air! Im in danger of governments and family planning clinics asking and paying me for genetic samples.