29 Oram, 2417; September 20, 1513; approximately one week after the J’Ruhn’s departure from Val’Trax.
“Kaler seems to have taken the pep talk very well,” Tieralyene observed. “You wore that happy face like a champion.”
“Mm. I hope so.” Alecha keyed the pad beside the cryobay’s entrance. With a gentle hiss, the heavy bay door glided shut. Low thumps echoed through the structure as magnetic locks engaged. It wouldn’t open again for decades. “He was nervous. This isn’t training anymore.”
“And you? Are you nervous?”
She didn’t immediately answer. Instead, Alecha made her way down the corridor, watching each section illuminate as she approached. She didn’t need to look back to know the opposite was occurring in the sections she left behind. It was just something she knew would happen, just like so many other things she knew would continue to happen. The ship’s atmosphere would continue to be purified. Artificial gravity would continue to accelerate mass toward the deckplating. The cryopods would continue to do their damnedest to keep their occupants alive through their long sleep.
The ship was quiet now, a state of semi-permanent night extending across all decks to keep power requirements as low as possible. The rest of Alecha’s family was finally asleep, along with all the other colonist family groups. Even her junior cryotechs had already gone under. Alecha and Tier were the last individuals still awake on the J’Ruhn. Soon enough it would be only Tier.
Alecha took a long route to the Commons, stopping occasionally at the small gardens dotting corridor intersections. Tending the plants always helped settle her thoughts, but today it gave her an excuse to simply take her time. As she finally entered the large, empty common hall, her eyes were drawn to the faintly rippling border of the Displacement field out the forward viewport. A week had passed since departure. If she could have seen home from here, the visible light would present a picture from years ago. Even with such an incredible distance already covered, decades more would pass before they arrived at their destination.
The illumination in the corridor behind her faded away; the Commons lighting remained subdued, lending a sense of nighttime to the overall quiet. She didn’t bother to brighten the space; instead, she grabbed a sandwich and some crackers from one of the replicators and sat down in the relative dark to eat. Watching the flickering energy field, her lunch sitting before her, she leaned her elbows on the tabletop and rested her head on her hands.
“No,” she finally spoke, knowing the AI had been patiently waiting. “I’m not nervous. I am a little worried, sure. If anyone went to sleep without concerns, they’re either lying to themselves or they’re a fool. With the selection process and the way we’ve trained these last few years, I don’t think any fools made it aboard.”
“There may be one or two,” Tier replied. “Statistically speaking, of course. And, based on a reasonable margin of error, I predict that they may not all be asleep yet.”
“Thanks for that. You’re awake too, you know.” Alecha smirked. “Has anyone ever asked how you feel about all this?”
“More than you may expect,” the AI confirmed. “I have told everyone aboard the same thing: I will do everything within my power to ensure the colony crew gets to their destination safely. My personal feelings aren’t relevant to my current mission.”
“I disagree,” Alecha countered, frowning slightly. “I think your feelings are completely relevant. It can’t be any healthier for you to bottle up your thoughts than it is for anyone else.”
Tier paused. “Speaking of bottling up… Have you decided when you’re going to join the others in cryosleep?”
“This evening, I think. I’d like to record a couple of letters for you to add to the family’s archive. There’s really no sense in delaying more than that now that everyone else is under. I’m sure you’d rather go into idle mode than listen to me, especially with that evasive maneuver you just pulled off.”
“Do you really wish to know how I feel about everything?”
Alecha smirked. “I wouldn’t have asked if I didn’t.”
She glanced around as the room’s holographic emitters powered up, a faint tickle of ozone reaching her nostrils. In the months leading to their departure, Tier tended toward using her avatar less and less, limiting her communications mostly to audio. Alecha assumed that it was just a personality quirk; some AIs preferred their avatars for personal interactions, while others opted not to use them except when absolutely necessary. But now, looking at the auburn vixen before her, Alecha had a better idea of why the AI remained out of sight. Even with only the Displacement field as the room’s faint source of illumination, Tier’s body language broadcast her innermost thoughts far more clearly than words ever could.
Tier looked worried.
Present day.
She’s dying.
Two simple words shattered Alecha’s thoughts. If what Toliya said was true, if Tieralyene’s other cores were down and her last potential shards of consciousness were now fading away…
Alecha excused herself from the meeting, stepping out of the room while it continued. It took everything she had not to break down in front of everyone. Even before the door shut, her vision was blurring with tears. She fought them back, leaning on the wall as she tried to collect herself.
Every single one of the colonists knew and understood Tier’s first mission: to ensure as many of them as possible made it to Arvus. Briefings always said ’the colony crew’, never ‘as many as possible.’ Everyone understood the math and the risks. While Tier hadn’t succeeded in reaching the scheduled destination, she had managed to keep the cryobays running despite everything else that happened to both her and the ship. Whether each individual could be revived remained to be seen—Alecha had yet to visit the final two bays—but Tier’s efforts to date ensured each would at least have a fighting chance.
Regardless, ensuring safe passage had merely been her first mission. Arguably more important, Tier would become the colony’s primary support AI once they arrived, coordinating work and helping keep the colony’s development on track.
It was an accepted fact that not all the colonists would arrive alive. They’d planned for that. No one ever expected that Tier wouldn’t make it.
For Alecha, it was more than Tier’s logistical skills. Tier had been the first to welcome Alecha and her newfound family aboard the ship when they made their official move-in. She’d been there as a friendly ear and emotional confidant as they finished training and prepared to leave home for what was effectively forever. The AI had been the very last individual Alecha spoke with before going into cryosleep herself. While Tier was in some way a part of all the colonists’ families, Tier felt like a big part of Alecha’s own family.
Taking several deep breaths, Alecha moved to one of the hallway windows and leaned against the sill. As if something—or someone—was reading her mind, the stars outside began to move. The Serin’s gentle roll continued until the J’Ruhn slid into view.
“Thanks,” Alecha whispered.
T’bia materialized just behind Alecha, the AI’s reflection visible in the window. After a few seconds’ hesitation, T’bia took up a position beside Alecha, facing the window. Neither said anything for quite some time; together, they simply gazed out at the other starship in silent contemplation.
“Tell me about her,” T’bia finally spoke.
“You’re joking, right?” The lightness Alecha was reaching for cracked in the middle of it. “You must have known her.”
“Why? Because all AIs automatically know—” T’bia stopped. “No. You don’t need the bit right now. Tier kept to herself. She focused on her duties and didn’t talk to the rest of us much before she up and disconnected altogether. I constantly got the vibe that she was worried about something, but she wouldn’t open up about anything.”
“She was worried about letting us all down,” Alecha explained, thinking back to her last night before going into cryosleep. “She felt her avatar would give away how concerned she was. She hid her avatar from us and kept to voice comms unless a physical presence was necessary. Being that worried… I never considered that an AI might have thoughts like that. None of the others ever seemed to.”
“They didn’t. Not exactly the same, anyway. The ARIA AIs definitely had a sense of emotion, of purpose, disappointment when things didn’t go according to plan… I’m not convinced they experienced the same depth and breadth that I do and that I presume Tier does. Worry, regret, sappy amounts of joy, random general empathy… I confused the heck out of the rest of the network most days.” T’bia tapped out a beat on the windowsill with her palms. “That’s probably part of how I got to where I am today, being so far out of the normal mold that even you don’t feel you can trust me.”
Alecha turned her head, giving T’bia a sideways look. “Subtle flows of the Art exist around everyone, all the time. That aura reacts to mood, health, state of mind… With most individuals, if I watch close enough I can sense their aura contort when they knowingly lie. AIs are the exception. You’re all supposed to be honest and forthcoming because there’s no way to look at your avatar and sense when you’re not. How did you even get around that? I thought it was part of the hardware designs.”
“Want a rare bit of pure honesty? My core’s design doesn’t have a hard block on it. Kieran made sure of that. I assume Tier’s cores are the same.” T’bia smirked. “Even so… Starting out, I didn’t see the need to be anything but brutally honest about everything. Tact was not a strength.”
“From what I’ve seen so far, I’d argue it’s still not always your forte.”
T’bia laughed. “Fair. My current lack of tact is entirely by choice. Back then, I didn’t know any better. It took a while for Kieran to get it through my thick hull that there can be value in softening an emotional blow by not always telling the truth, that in certain situations a half-truth—or even less—can be the more ethically sound path. He had to teach me how to lie. I didn’t like doing it.”
Tier had been doing the same thing… Except no one ever taught her how. Going voice-only was the only softening she knew.
“What changed?” Alecha grimaced as the question registered in her own ears. “That sounds harsher than I intended. I don’t mean to sound as if you enjoy doing it now.”
“No offense taken. After everything fell apart and we left home, duplicity became a valuable skill to polish when interacting with other cultures. Jadyn’s an easy target to practice on because he puts up with my incessant insanity. Pretty sure it helped keep him sane over the years. Nowadays, seeing what parts of my nonsense people call me out on has become a deep part of my personality. Also? It’s fun to mess with him. Call it a hobby.”
Everything Jadyn and T’bia had gone through, they’d done it together. They’d adapted and survived as a team, as family. Tier set off on her mission knowing she’d be alone for the journey. And then, when everything stopped following the plan?
“We can’t let Tier’s sacrifice go to waste,” Alecha declared, gazing out at the J’Ruhn. “She’s given more to this fools’ errand than any of us had a right to ask of her.”
“Plenty of fools around to run errands these days. Myself included.” T’bia peered at her own fingers. “May also have been a few on the J’Ruhn at some point. Statistically speaking, of course.”
Alecha went still. For a fleeting moment, she thought she’d heard her friend’s voice.
“You two are sisters,” she whispered. “Statistically speaking.”