by Michael Kan
She motioned with her hands, flinging her wrist in a throw.
Julian had seen the results first hand. “Damn,” he said, impressed.
she replied.
Lifting the device, Julian returned it to its rightful place on the wall, the weapon surrounded by other objects he thought long gone.
“Is this what I think it is?”
The specialist nodded.
It modestly hanged on the wall, the circular dial held inside a block of lumber. A golden bell swayed at the bottom, ticking back and forth.
Next to it were a row of paintings, each different than the others. Outside a few digital images, Julian had never seen such artwork; the oils and brushstrokes depicted vistas and peoples free of modern technology. One showed a coastal town at night, both the abstract beach and sky swirling in a blue. Another held the image of a regal woman, adorned in the classical jewels and fabrics belonging to a far-off past.
Julian walked further, and noticed the other relics, recognizing a musical violin, several hanging dresses, and even figurine-like toys, among the exhibited objects. He then came upon a cabinet, and found a technology long absent — the shelf containing a library of books. Actual books, bound and crafted in paper pages, still preserved.
He placed his finger on a row of them, trying to read the titles. One of the larger tomes grabbed his attention, the order of the letters dated in language Julian could not place.
The specialist stepped to his side, and lifted the cover off the book, opening the novel to its first pages.
Julian lacked the language to appreciate the book. However, he still enjoyed its craftsmanship, even as the text seemed daunting to try and digest. He looked around, and recognized that by today’s standards, some of these items would be considered irrelevant. Others were a lost and forgotten art, replaced by a future culture manufacturing and consuming everything in its virtual form.
In spite of the age, Julian stood there and saw the beauty of it all. He carefully placed the book back on the shelf, thinking about how far humanity had come, along with the great strides it had made.
the specialist said.
She pointed to the object at the end of the room. Encased in glass, it appeared like a remnant of stone under the light. But in reality, it was a piece of bulkhead, sawed off from a famous ship. Inscribed upon it were the old and faded, but still readable words.
“Seed Ship 106,” Julian said. “The New Terra.”
The specialist crossed her arms, pleased that, for once, she had someone to share and enjoy her possessions with.
She delicately placed her hand down on the casing. Together, the artifacts all undoubtedly represented an impressive collection. Few actual relics had survived humanity’s escape from the Endervars, and most had come from the outer-colonies, and not from the original homeworld of Earth.
Julian looked again at his surroundings and recognized that he was actually in a museum. Yet it wasn’t just the objects that were age-old, but the woman standing next to him. He turned to the specialist, and saw the engineered youth in her perfectly cropped face — the golden strands of hair unblemished after all this time. It belied so much. Not only her age, but her own place in the pantheon of human history.
“So, should I still call you Alysdeon?” Julian asked. “Or is Sovereign the proper term?”
She had expected as much, knowing that her past could not remain a mystery for long. Alysdeon sheepishly grinned.
“You are the Sovereign,” Julian repeated. “Sovereign Davinity.”
Julian stepped back and gazed over the specialist.
“I didn’t make the connection at first. But your age. You were the first. The first real New Terran.”
The specialist shook her head, nearly rolling her eyes at the thought.
It was true. The specialist had never uttered a word, or even much a sound to him. Other New Terrans, meanwhile, spoke with ease. She touched her throat, and massaged it back and forth. It left Julian to guess that perhaps she had no vocal chords. Or at least not like a human.
Alysdeon walked away in a drift, only to spot the portraits on a wooden desk. They were a series of photos, printed on paper, and framed to sit on individually propped up stands. Each held a picture of a different person, spanning what could have been centuries. She held one in particular, the photo of the man so old it had been shot in gray and black hues.
she said, looking at the far-off ancestor, and thinking of another.
She placed the portrait back down at the table, and sighed.
Julian felt the coldness enter his mind, the failure sapping his breath.
“That’s not true,” he said, calling upon the history he knew. “You’re a legend. You rallied the seed colonies together. United the remnants of mankind. Entered us into the Alliance. All this happened before I was even born.”
Alysdeon shook her head, refusing the praise.
Julian could not recall how things had ended with the historical figure standing before him. But Alysdeon certainly could.
she said.
Alysdeon briefly clenched her fist, like the anger was at her grasp. It was a hatred Julian could never know, lasting not for years, but for decades upon decades.
The specialist, however, let it all figuratively fall to the floor. Her fingers simply dangled free in what was now a disarming smile.
Julian could have been mistaken, but it now seemed that specialist had begun to laugh, the sound lost, but the relief evident.
She approached Julian, her hand reaching out to almost touch his face.
Alysdeon raised her hands, and Julian could see the shine of the implants we
ave throughout her arms, neck and even face. Her crystal eyes glowed. They were all meant to be enhancements, but at what cost?
It led Julian to think about his own condition, technology keeping him alive, reviving him twice.
The specialist placed her hand on Julian’s shoulder.
“No, this is my duty as much as yours,” he said firmly.
Julian smirked. “Good riddance. The SpaceCore I knew is long gone.”
Alysdeon nodded, still apologetic, but comforted by his determination.
“Does he know robotics?”
The specialist glanced off at the glass casing, spying the remnant of the seed ship housed inside.
“Isn’t that their homeworld?”
***
The Au-O’sanah — an alien name, for an alien ship. It was still hard to believe the vessel was alive. Not only that, but a child, according to the specialist. Only over a decade old on from what he had been told, practically a teenager.
Julian didn’t know what any of that really meant. Much of the ship was still a mystery to him, the way it worked an almost indecipherable mixture of biology and machine. He walked the porcelain hallways, no longer surprised by its congealing walls, the strange echoes, or the way the doors opened like a gestating organ. At least, he could say it all had become a little more familiar to him. The purr of the ship’s confines had oddly become comforting.
But as he approached his quarters, Julian spotted the figure standing in the hallway. For a second, it seemed to be a woman, standing alone, like she was waiting for him. Clothed in a black tunic, she raised her hand in the sign of hello. Julian cautiously waved back, thinking that maybe Alysdeon had recruited another human crew member on board. Yet for a brief moment, he thought he recognized her — the auburn hair long and let loose, the face smiling in nearly the same way.
“Are you...?” he asked, ready to say the name.
But no. This was different. Walking closer, Julian saw that the figure was less a woman, but more like a child. Maybe 13 or 14 years old, her stature surprisingly tall, but the face so young and so delicate, the hands still small.
Like Alysdeon, she did not speak, but could fully communicate, its soft, but familiar voice, tip-toeing into Julian’s mind.
She waved again, but more shyly, the smile on her lips hoping for the right response. “I think so,” Julian said slowly. “You are the ship, am I right?”
She grinned, delighted that he knew.
“Is this all in my mind?” he asked. The child nodded, her presence a trick of telepathy.
“Well I don’t know about that. I...”
As imaginary the child was, Julian felt he saw flesh. Her face suddenly turned glum, her mouth on the verge of opening in disappointment.
she asked, visibly hurt.
Julian quickly corrected himself. “No, I mean. I’m happy to teach you anything, but I don’t know how much help I’ll be.”
The child was confused. It was odd for it to speak to someone who was so clearly undecided, and hesitant. Julian was saying one thing, but he was thinking something else. The ship wondered what was wrong.
the child asked innocently.
Julian did not know what to say. What was the proper etiquette?
“It’s complicated,” he replied. “I don’t know... I hope I’m not sad. I don’t mean to be.”
It felt like a fumbled response to a simple and yet large question. Julian shut his eyes, embarrassed at his complete flop. Would the ship even understand?
The Au-O’sanah sensed it all, the child concerned. It had taken this form to be likable, not to bemuse. But more importantly, to try and connect. It had watched Julian before, and knew he had grown attached to someone. The ship looked for any signs of it again, finding the memory not far within his psyche.
the child said. She briefly held his hand, the telepathy going as far to create the actual sensation of touch.
She then happily ran off like a human child, unaware of the complexities of adult interactions. Eventually, she disappeared out of the hallway, her innocent laugh still ringing in Julian’s head.
He fell on one knee, his hands shaking uncontrollably. Julian knew the ship meant no harm. But he had felt the vessel reach in further, psychologically pulling at his mind. The ship had touched something, the strands of which, felt like regret.
“Nalia,” Julian said, blowing the air out from his cheeks. “I...”
Eventually, Julian gathered himself, unsure what to feel, only to later think that maybe it was a reminder. He then walked on, and entered into his designated quarters, the ship welcoming him with another giggle inside his mind.
Perhaps it was only fitting. After all this time, the alien vessel, Au-O’sanah, was also becoming familiar with him. It wanted to be his friend.
Chapter 44
Date: June 1, 4891
Advanced time: 12109 day 163
Just save yourself.
Arendi’s consciousness felt the words, the phrase passing through her mind like an echo. She wanted to gasp for air, her consciousness jolting back into existence. The errors, there had been so many — the pain so excruciating. She had wanted to die.
Save yourself Julian.
Arendi had been on the station, her feet nearly dragging on the floor. She was about to fall, and give into the damage, the pain simply too much to bear. But the captain had held on, raising her with all his strength, and pulling on the armor to move in each step. She could feel the force from his hands, the captain’s breath next to her cheek.
It’s over for me.
Arendi had read the diagnostic. It was clear: the systems inside could not recover, not when the energy she carried was on the verge of total collapse. She had pushed it to the limit, and paid in full. The point of no return, their pursuers likely drawing near. Just save yourself, she had said. Save yourself Julian.
But it was not over for Arendi. She had regained consciousness. Yet there was no light. No image at all. Only the emptiness. The unending darkness.
She did not know why. All she could remember was the system failure, her mind teetering on oblivion.
How long had she been out? Where was she? What had happened?
Arendi could access none of her systems, the network of intricate machinery detached and maybe even gone. There was only the shroud of black, punctuated by a total silence.
Julian, she said, with not even an echo coming back. Are you there?
No. There was nothing. Not a sound.
Arendi was alone.
Date: June 2
“Hey, her eyes, they’re open!”
They were the first words she could actually hear, the voice alert, even excited. In her vision, she could see him, the captain hurrying over.
“Arendi, are you there?”
He smiled in relief, and naturally she wanted to respond. Yes, she was ready to say. I’m here. But the words never came. Arendi could not speak, the commands staggering, the bodily algorithms failing to generate.
Yes, I’m here, she insisted. The command still failed, stunted by an error in the artificial synapses. She wanted to move. Lift her hand. Raise her feet. Pretend to breathe. But the failures persisted, the body inert. She could not even blink.
Th
e captain was only inches away from her face, looking down at her. He waved her hand in front of her eyes, hoping to elicit a response.
“Arendi, can you see me?”
She ordered a diagnostic, and yet only silence came. Arendi tried accessing any available system, and still it was the same, the data flow not only empty, but nonexistent.
“Can we communicate, maybe through her link? The last time... It was through her onboard comm-system.”
He was talking to someone nearby, the shadow moving in the edges of her vision. She could hear the footsteps, and even feel the air move. However, there was no reply, only the captain in her sight, shaking his head.
“Is she even active?”
He peered down at her again, the excitement in his eyes slipping away.
I’m here, she said. I’m here!
Arendi yearned to speak. Make a signal somehow. But the sight of Julian’s face held still, the response the same.
The captain reached out. Suddenly, she felt the touch, the brush of the hand lasting only a second. Arendi glimpsed it, the thumb gently stroking her face.
“We’ll figure this out,” he said solemnly. “We have to.”
He then left, disappearing from view.
Date: June 4
The tall woman stared down at her, but said nothing. She only smiled, as an automated robotic arm went to work, the metal fingers stuttering down at Arendi’s body, trying to repair the damage that had been done.
The woman had remained speechless since the day Arendi had awoke, entering and leaving her vision, but always seemingly close by. She was, in fact, no stranger. Weeks ago, Arendi had met the woman, albeit only briefly on Alliance Command. Specialist Alysdeon, she recalled, the New Terran operative.
Arendi looked at her now, and saw the white and gold implants run down her sabled cheeks. Apparently, the woman was telepathic, a trait commonplace among her kind. She wished that could apply now. The things Arendi wished to say, only to be trapped inside her crippled body. Never before had she so badly wanted to speak. Admittedly, she was losing patience.