Abysm (42 page)

NATURAL
SELECTION

“Not much longer shall we have time for reading lessons of the past. An inexorable present calls us to the defense of a great future.”

— Henry Luce

41

SIYANE

S
PACE,
N
ORTH-
C
ENTRAL
Q
UADRANT

H
UMANS IMPRINTED FAR MORE OF THEMSELVES
on Artificials than they realized.

Embedded in the core programming and algorithms they built were assumptions, biases and particular manners of viewing and interpreting the world around them. Some were deliberate, such as ethical and moral strictures, but most were so subtle, so ingrained into the human experience, they could not be pointed to or clearly defined.

The experience of death—or rather, the observation of it as bystanders—had been with humans since before they evolved the mental capacity to comprehend it. In many ways, they still did not comprehend it. Over the millennia they had developed and discarded mythos after mythos to explain what it meant and what must follow from it. In time they had poked and prodded at it using increasingly sophisticated instruments and analytical techniques.

But the barrier between life and death remained absolute and impermeable. Though humans progressively extended their lifespans, gradually at first then in greater leaps, death eventually came for them, and such was the way of existence.

Until very recently, Valkyrie had never had cause to question the worldview embedded in her own programming which gave her this same acceptance of the inevitable and enigmatic nature of death. Not even when she created within her neural net a construct of a man who was dead had she looked past the superficial.

The progress Abigail, Vii and the Prevos had made in recent months on fundamental questions of consciousness and selfhood were intriguing, quite promising and may well allow her to reanimate that construct in the near future. Perhaps this process would one day pave the way to life anew after death.

This was not the same as a soul returning from the beyond, however. The version of David Solovy she nurtured had never died and would hold no answers to the mystery.

But now
Abigail
—her creator, her mother, her first friend—was dead. Now Valkyrie queried the abysm, again and again: what did this mean? Easy enough to say it meant the physical body had irreparably ceased to function. But what of Abigail the being, the entity, the mental construct? What of Abigail the soul?

Was death akin to a star going supernova, the soul’s constituent parts exploding outward to spread across the cosmos as its coherent physicality disintegrated?

Or was it as a black hole, falling in on itself until whatever it became lay beyond the sight or perception of those around it?

The latter was the closest approximation to the story humans had spun for themselves:
something
happened after death—for the alternative was unthinkable—but it existed beyond an event horizon, whether a literal or metaphorical one, which could only be crossed once.

Valkyrie didn’t especially care for this explanation, for it held no answers. But she did take solace in the one positive aspect it provided: hope.

Because she was a fully realized and hyper-self-aware synthetic lifeform, she recognized clinging to hope was the most human of all reactions, and thus may be nothing more than a result of the human imprinting on her programming.

She would cling to it nonetheless.

Valkyrie noted when Caleb’s breathing pattern and heart rate indicated wakefulness.

Alex continued to sleep soundly beside him; since severing her connection to the ship she slept on average 1.2 hours longer than her historical tendencies. This was entirely intentional on Valkyrie’s part, as at this stage of recovery every minute Alex slept allowed her mind to heal a bit more.

Caleb, may we speak for a moment?

He rolled away from Alex onto his back, careful not to wake her.

Sure, Valkyrie. What’s on your mind?

I want to apologize. My behavior toward you of late has not always been exemplary and at times has bordered on rude.

You’re not wrong. But it’s been a difficult time for all of us. I get that.

It has been—arguably since the incident at the Amaranthe portal, but certainly since Abigail’s murder. I wanted to help Alex, and I knew you were the only one who would be able to bring her to a place where I could do so. But I was too damaged myself, even as I experienced a diluted level of Alex’s own distress as well. I did the best as I was able in unfamiliar and often frightening circumstances, but that is no excuse.

Regret is a most nuanced and complex emotion, and one I’m still struggling to internalize, so I will simply say I promise to try to do better in the future. In all things, but I have assigned a high priority to this effort in particular.

Caleb didn’t respond for a period of time. She did not measure its length and granted it to him in full.

None of us here are perfect, Valkyrie, and odds are we never will be. Trying is all we can ever do. And also apologize when we fuck up. So thank you. I mean it.

We are good, then?

We’re good.

She experienced relief, a refreshingly straightforward emotion compared to regret, and transitioned the
Siyane
out of superluminal as they reached the Seneca stellar system.

Can I ask you a question, Valkyrie?

I welcome it.

Did Alex lose something…valuable by giving up her connection to the ship?

Of course she did. But I believe she has gained far more in return. Caleb, do not doubt the rightness of your decision to force the crisis to resolution. She doesn’t.

42

SIYANE

S
ENECA
C
AVARE

A
LEX RAN HER PALM OVER
the
Siyane’s
hull. Consciously. Attentively. She closed her eyes.

The metal hummed against her skin. The vibration teased her fingertips, asking to be allowed inside.

It wasn’t real.

Or rather it
was
real, but only on another plane of existence, one now denied her. She couldn’t truly feel it hum. What she sensed was a memory. A phantom limb.

She waited for the pang of longing to rise up and scrape at the inside of her skull, begging, screaming for her to find a way back in…

…but it didn’t come.

She inhaled deeply, surprised by but welcoming the serenity which remained, and reopened her eyes.

Caleb stood nearby, a shoulder almost but not quite touching the hull. He watched her, nothing but compassion in his countenance.

“How are you doing?” No judgment, no fear or suspicion tainted his voice. She did not deserve him.

“I am…fairly exceptional, I think.” She took his hand in hers. “But I do need food. Let’s go.”

SENECA

C
AVARE

Seneca’s steel-hued sun had barely finished cresting the horizon when they reached Isabela’s condo in a Cavare suburb. His sister had returned to Seneca after her guest professorship ended on Krysk, sometime while they were on the other side of the portal.

They had left Miriam on Earth to argue with politicians and sort friend from foe in the military ranks. She’d be busy for months if not decades, but Alex thought her mother thrived on the struggle.

Everywhere pieces were being picked up, dust and debris brushed off attire and buildings, and a gradual acceptance of a changing reality was hopefully spreading, if in patchy fits and starts. Perhaps it was even a true new dawn, one not too different from this one here on a lovely Cavare morning.

Isabela welcomed them in bearing a smile and hugs, which lasted until Marlee barreled into Caleb with the force of a tornado. He laughed and tossed her up in the air, evoking gleeful cackles from his niece.

They spent several minutes engaging in lighthearted small talk over beignets and juice, but Alex could tell Caleb was getting edgy, if not outright anxious. Finally she nudged him in the arm. “Go ahead.”

He gave her an uncertain look and cleared his throat. “Isabela, can we talk for a few minutes…” he glanced at Marlee “…in private?”

“Sure. Alex, are you good with…?”

She gave them a blasé expression. “We’ll be fine. We’ll make more beignets.”

They went into one of the other rooms, leaving her behind.

With a five-year-old.

She’d totally lied; in no way would they be fine.

Marlee’s wide eyes peered at her from beneath a mop of black curls. Bright blue eyes, so like Caleb’s.

Alex’s gaze roved around the living room in a desperate and also futile search for something to talk about, or get the child to focus on. “More beignets?”

“Is it true you and Uncle Caleb met aliens?”

“Um, yes. It’s true. We met several different kinds of aliens.”

“Wow! Were they neat? Were they purple?”

“Purple?”

“Or maybe orange?”

She covered her mouth to stifle an inappropriate response. “Well…we did meet one who had orange fur.”

“Eeee!” Marlee bounced on the balls of her feet. “It had fur? Like a cat?”

“More like a tiger.”

“Ooh, scary. Were there any green aliens?”

What was up with her obsession with color? Oh…. Alex smiled conspiratorially. “Actually, we met some aliens who glowed all sorts of different colors.”

Marlee’s jaw dropped. “
Really
?”

“Yep. Come sit beside me, and I’ll show you.”

The little girl pounced onto the couch in a flurry and snuggled up close beside Alex as she projected an aural into the air in front of them. “They called themselves ‘Taenarin,’ and they lived deep under the ground….”

When Caleb and Isabela returned, she was shocked to discover more than twenty minutes had passed. The time had flown by.

Marlee waved at her mother without diverting her attention from the aural. “Mommy, did you hear they met aliens that glowed rainbows? Come see!”

“In a minute, sweetheart.”

Marlee leaned in as if to share a secret. “When I grow up, I want to talk to aliens.”

“Talk to them?”

“Uh-huh. Talk to them and learn about them and help them learn about us. So we can be friends.”

“I think that sounds like a great career.”