The Aviator Awakening

I woke on the simulator’s floor. The nanobotic pool rippled around me while I lifted myself to stand. The room’s white walls were unchanged, as always, making it difficult to tell how much time had passed. I’d only meant to catch my breath after a long session, but its liquid-solid texture was surprisingly warm and comfortable.

Unsure of the time, I freshened up, changed uniforms, and called my pod.

When I arrived at headquarters, the sky outside was dark. The hub’s black walls and floors melted into the night beyond the vast window. I was alone, but not alone. The taskmaster seemed to breathe through the room’s glowing veins, pulsing with data in an endless loop of processing and sorting. I walked around the room’s edges, careful not to disturb the network, and approached the hub’s expansive view.

The base lights offered soft illumination around the perimeter, where greenery marked the edges of its biosphere. I knew what lay ahead, having seen it during daylight hours. However, the dusty landscape of vast canyons and plateaus lay hidden beyond the biosphere, indistinguishable in the black of night. Occasional vorgon mines, embedded into canyon walls, were the only hints of life in the dark desert. Their fire-lit veins outlined the canyon curves with a soft glow.

Vardos-Kolvek, the only city in view, floated by itself in the inky night sea. A hint of its biodome, the thin membrane sustaining non-vorgon life, stretched around its maze of spired buildings and city blocks. Tiny lights flashed through the city, transporters weaving about their business through the air. Hovering city orbs, extensions of buildings, disrupted traffic while shifting position. The transporters in the distance rerouted effortlessly around the obstacles, creating a wave-like effect. The multitude of city lights within the biodome blurred together on the horizon. A slow increase in intensity hinted at the city occupants’ waking routines. Regular people, whoever they might be, starting their day. I wanted a closer look. I wanted to experience the mystery there rather than stay a distant observer.

My fingertips pressed against the glass. If only I could pass through this transparent barrier, pass out of these infernal walls and layered protocols, and into the fresh outside air.

I was pulled from my musings as the first rays of star-rise lit a distant orb in the sky. Vor-Varbet, the vorgon sister planet, rose out of Vor-Vardos’s shadow and caught the light of the star ahead of us. The sister’s stormy blue atmosphere cast a soft glow in the early morning sky, bathing the usually red landscape in an ethereal blue. As details of the sister planet came to life, so did the sky above Kolvek, Vor-Vardos now catching up to its rapidly orbiting sister and transforming with the coming day. The night sky ebbed, and the details of the Grork Mountains became distinguishable. The rock’s native red slowly overtook the previous blue glow. The desert began as an outline, slowly draped in color as more light washed over the landscape.

I must’ve been standing, unmoving, for over an hour. Lost in observation. Fingertips glued to the glass. Until the room pulsed with an entrance.

General Larkkon’s heavy steps approached me in observation. The biosphere around the base outside began to react to the coming day, generating a breeze to run through tunnels and trees, rustling through distant leaves.

“You know,” his rocky tone kept quiet to avoid disturbing the early morning, “if you had moved to your new living quarters, you would’ve had a better view of Vor rising.”

His sales pitch made me smile.

“It would be easier to tell time as well,” I agreed, “but I’m more comfortable in my training quarters.” I removed my fingers from the glass, coming back to reality.

“I’ll be sure to get you a clock.”

“Thank you, sir.”

We quietly watched the landscape grow more vivid.

“You slept for over a day,” the General commented in a low rumble before moving away from the window, motioning for me to do the same. The room’s white veined walls and floor matched the coming day’s gradually growing intensity. The soft light played across the General’s gem-embedded emerald scales while he crossed the dark room. I took an odd route behind him, weaving between the taskmaster’s shifting current lines. He stopped at my AI’s storage compartment.

“I’m surprised no one came to wake me,” I said, attempting to prolong the morning and delay receiving orders.

“We’ve gotten used to your cybernetic quirks, more or less. When you push yourself too far, it takes a long time for you to recover.”

“I wasn’t aware it took that long.”

“You didn’t need to care. And anyway, I did say you could choose your schedule.”

“You also warned me not to allow the simulator to become inconvenient. I apologize for that. It won’t happen again.”

The General released the AI from its compartment.

“I’d like to be useful to the Empire. I don’t want to appear to be slacking off.” I might be laying it on a bit thick, but my recent experience in Doctor Lsar’s lab was still fresh in my memory.

“Slacking off?” he scoffed, displaying his razor teeth in a grin. “What you’ve managed to do so far is brilliant. The agents have reported their evaluation of your AI’s progress.”

The AI buzzed toward me. Larkkon’s gold-slit eyes watched the tiny bot like a gilded trophy. I tried not to let that bother me.

“They’ve come up with an interesting idea,” the General continued. “We intend to weaponize it and replace the core of one of our Mor satellites with it.”

The word ‘weaponize’ didn’t match my impression of the AI. Its presence was innocent, childlike.

“I’m not sure what that means,” I answered.

“Agent Xular will brief you.”

“Soon. You can work on the AI until then.”

“Can I ask something?”

“Agent Xular wears a green band.”

“Does it relate to you? The color?”

General Larkkon laughed. “Is that all? Yes. Agent Xular is my right hand.”

“Then Agent Nerzogk—”

“Is Doctor Lsar’s apprentice.”

I bit my lip, unsure of how much I should ask. “Aren’t you in charge of my case, sir? Why hasn’t Agent Xular been more involved if they are your right hand?”

“You really shouldn’t concern yourself with politics.” He frowned, seeing I wasn’t ready to let the topic go. “Agent Xular is essential to our understanding of the enemy. However, because of who Xular is, or rather what Xular is, the council tends to be weary of their involvement. I saw it as an unnecessary complication for your case, seeing as we already had capable members embedded into your project.”

“And…that’s no longer a concern?”

“It’s no longer unnecessary.”

I considered asking more about the other agents, specifically Agent Terrokk. The metallic man wore a white gemmed band, but I had not seen anyone on base with white scales. Maybe it referred to the white walls in the Research Department? I decided against pushing the topic; the General’s frown indicated a low tolerance for this discussion.

The AI nudged against me, naively insistent. I swallowed back my protective instinct over the defenseless little bot. “Um, what exactly am I supposed to be training the AI to do while I wait for further instructions?”

“Continue whatever it is you’ve been doing up to this point. The growth so far is phenomenal. Even the Emperor’s attention has been drawn to your work.”

“Is that a good thing?”

His emerald gems gleamed as he laughed, his frown dispelled now that political talk was off the table. “Lhra, Yes. Not many agents are honored with the Emperor’s interest.”

“Thank you, sir,” I answered with a soldier’s expected tone.

After being dismissed, I relocated myself and the AI to the same dim-lit conference room from the other day and lowered the temperature again.

The cold didn’t bring the same order to my mind as it did my sixth sense. And the AI had access to both. I was distracted, and its small symphony fed into that distraction.

I caved and shared our upcoming task, seeing no reason to hide its fate. I wanted it to be as repulsed at the idea as I was, but instead, it started coming up with odd ideas of what our new task might entail. I wasn’t sure if this was normal behavior for an AI. It wouldn’t be surprising to find it unusual since it, like me, appeared to be an anomaly.

It had far more ideas than I did. Its extensive data, grown by Agents Ylea and Deore with full access to outside information, spun through its processors. It knew what the Mor system was (home to Mor-Latos, the Legion-occupied human planet) and what spy satellites were, and it told me where all the Imperial spy stations were located, in detail, which I doubted was something it was supposed to tell me. But my security sleeve and implant didn’t react, so I took in the information it offered and tried to figure out what the hell was going on in the worlds beyond my confines.

It was the AI who noticed when Agent Xular entered.

I thanked it and exited our merge.

The mysterious, alien individual joined me at the table and got straight to the point. “Have you trained in Baezish or Baet tech?” A voice echoed from a string-riddled mouth that had not been there seconds earlier.

My shock slowed my response.

“Um…some,” I answered while forcing my shoulders to relax in apology for my instinctive recoil.

They paused in quiet contemplation. I waited, unsure of where I should place my attention. The baetian’s appearance intrigued me. It couldn’t be a mistake that their plastic-smooth skin and wiry figure bore similarities to the simulator’s minions. Imperial training, it seemed, came built in with a subtle reinforcement of who the enemy of the Empire was. But this person appeared…innocent. Beautiful. Their echoed accent was different from what I’d encountered so far—musical instead of harsh.

I still struggled to determine which gender the baetian was, although they could be both or none. I should be more reserved in the presence of a stranger, but Xular held a strange, fascinating charm. Their eyes were expressive despite being entirely black, contrasting dramatically with their sapphire complexion. And they watched me with a curiosity equal to my own.

When our shared analysis stretched into uncomfortable territory, I looked away and settled on simply watching the AI. Its spherical body hovered above the table beside me. Its exterior shimmered, unmoved from where it’d been during our merge, waiting for me to return to exchange ideas and compare notes. It was such a vulnerable existence, its pulsing core so similar to a pulsing heart.

Xular leaned back in their seat, drawing my attention again, their frame too tall and slender for the chair’s design. A discrepancy they’d apparently gotten used to. “I’m not sure where to start,” their waves of sound admitted. “There is a lot you will need to be caught up on to carry out your task.”

The observation didn’t require an answer. I waited while they organized their thoughts.

“What do you know of Mor-Latos?” Xular’s eyes analyzed me while their question surrounded me.

I probably shouldn’t admit I hadn’t known much of anything about it until a few moments ago during my merge with the AI. “I know its location and a few other details. Nothing in depth.” Even if this was more than I’d known before today, it was still pitifully little.

Xular tilted their head, perplexed by my lack of knowledge. They must be aware of my amnesia, but maybe not its extent. They drummed their plastic-like fingers on the table.

“We will have to get creative about this,” they said with a nonjudgmental, musical tone. “Baetians interact with the world differently from vorgons and humans. But I’ve been studying your records. Our preferred method of language may bear some similarity to you, to a degree.”

They reached a hand across the table. Their height, combined with their arm’s abnormal length, made it possible for them to grab me if they chose. They didn’t. Instead, their hand opened toward me—an impossibly smooth three-fingered hand. “I am intrigued to see if my theory is correct. Will you let me test it out?” Their temporary mouth vanished while the words lingered.

I hesitated, not sure what they expected me to do. Their hand remained outreached and waiting, fingers stretched wide and palm facing forward. I hesitated. They’d chosen to extend their left hand. If I were to match them, it would mean pressing my conductor-tipped fingers to theirs. I tried to avoid the awkward touch of machine to skin by lifting my left hand to match them.

“Other hand.” Xular’s echo ordered before my fingers reached theirs. I shivered from the thought but relented and changed over to my biocircuited side. Then I did my best to align with their three fingers.

The moment my conductor-dotted fingers brushed against theirs, a wave of thought not my own passed through my consciousness—a wordless greeting.

I panicked, expecting my implant to react.

When the security measures took no notice of the wordless interaction, I released the breath I’d inadvertently held.

Xular’s dark eyes widened. “Can you respond in the same way?” their echo asked. I took on the challenge but could not push my response beyond my own being.

They removed their poreless hand. “Fascinating.” Xular’s musical voice came across more natural after experiencing their thought-link. The ghostly immersion was, at least, consistent.

“This is the typical way of Legion communication, possible only through direct touch,” the baetian operative leaned back again. “Legion technology, in extension, is a reflection of telepathy. For us, it is intuitive to bring those functions to our devices. And it gives my people an advantage over Imperial communications—simply due to the difficulty other species have in compromising something they find unnatural.”

“So, I am more like a baetian than my own kind?”

“No.” Xular laughed at the suggestion. Short bursts of vibration conveying more touch than sound. “Your ability to interact with machines stems from the cellular effects of your experimental regeneration. The same effect has seemingly opened your senses to other non-physical reactions. Baetians cannot do what you can do. You, Aviator, are a uniquely new evolution.”

The walls seemed to close in after their echoed statement settled. My identity crisis always lingered at the edges of my mind. “And this similarity will give me an advantage in weaponizing the AI?” I asked to distract myself from lingering too long on the implications of being foreign from everyone, my previous self included.

“Undoubtedly,” they confirmed. “The General and I have high hopes for this AI, especially now that I’ve confirmed your sensitivity to the traditional language. However, your lack of knowledge is problematic.” Their sapphire fingers drummed again in thought. “The AI could be programmed to teach you the mundane things you don’t know. That would be an efficient way to speed up your acclimation.” Their wiry form was motionless in thought, sage-like. After some time, their ribbed mouth re-emerged and they continued. “I will instruct you on the military aspects of Mor-Latos. In the meantime, Agent Deore can prime your AI with details on spoken baezish language and basic technology differences.”

Xular stood, their decision settled as their echo spoke. “Stay here. I will clear the arrangement with General Larkkon.” They motioned for me to send the AI to them. I hesitated. This weaponization’s inevitability began to sink in. The AI buzzed with curiosity, able to more or less follow the conversation and not understanding my hesitance. I watched its naive excitement with a frown. The AI wasn’t matched to the job—it was too small, too vulnerable. Too innocent.

The little bot left on its own, not waiting for my order. I got the impression its childlike algorithmic mind believed it was protecting me from being scolded or commanded a second time. I rubbed the lines on my glowing hand after the baetian left with the hovering sphere, unsettled by the sensation of Xular’s thoughts entering mine.

I closed my eyes and pressed my neck against the chair’s cushion. The more I learned about myself, the less I understood.

Xular returned, without the AI, and selected to sit next to me. They raised their fingers to me in a decision to continue our conversation through this new form of communication. I returned my fingertips to theirs. My biocircuit pulsed with the exchange, and images of Mor-Latos raced into my mind. A somber planet with abundant greenery over-growing scattered buildings.

Their shared images swept through the streets of human settlements, its inhabitants all elderly and sparsely populated. A bleak contrast to the richness inside the Aie Zones, the occupied city centers. Xular’s passionless view of the occupied world seeped through.

“Why do the Empire and Legion want to occupy these planets?” I asked, sympathizing with the nameless weather-worn faces in Xular’s memories. “What benefit could there be in colonizing worlds when their own worlds can comfortably sustain them?” I was reminded of the vast view outside. Livable space was abundant.

Xular considered my question. They outstretched their hand, and I matched their fingertips. “The war is not about planetary resources, correct. The Vor Empire and the Baet Legion have different motivations. In general, it comes down to the fact that after Lhra’s End, humans became weak. Since humans and vorgons share the same roots, vorgons became weak in extension. Their occupation of Nes-Fedora is intended to compensate for that weakness. The Legion occupation of Mor-Latos…well, unfortunately, that is more of a game to the O'Tzar than anything else.”

I didn’t hide the intrigue from my expression. Xular tilted their head, taking note of my curiosity. After a short contemplative pause, they continued their silent elaboration.

“This planet was once more populated than it currently is. The same could be said of Mor-Latos and Nes-Fedora. Under the old Niribian reign, your galaxy was generously colonized and thriving. All sorts of human variations were once abundant under the old ways. But now…they are rationing embryos, relying more and more heavily on drones in place of people. The humans, and, in extension, the vorgons, are facing an extinction horizon. In truth, there is no need for war. Your species will die out on its own.”

Their beady eyes seemed to grow wide, although they had no eyelids. They removed their hand from mine, and their vibrating temporary mouth returned. “I am not an expert on human or vorgon reproduction; I can tell you only what is necessary to continue our work.”

“It seems necessary, don’t you think? If this…crisis…is the source of conflict?” I pressed.

They paused for a long moment, their wiry sapphire body unmoved. Something between a sigh and a whistle issued from their facial adaptation, and they caved to my curiosity. “Human society is a clone society, an unfortunate byproduct from Niribian control measures.” They seemed to grow tired of speaking, and again raised their hand to mine. “In the grander scheme of things, our Empire is falling behind the Legion. The Baet government has an intrinsic advantage—their technology is superior. And, lately, they have already been bringing the war outside of the colonies. The O'Tzar, it appears, grows tired of the game.”

The spliced Kel space base’s hovering image from long ago, and General Larkkon’s poor excuse for an explanation about my past, was brought back to mind by Xular’s explanation. I hadn’t considered that the Vor Empire might be on the losing side of this war. Everything I’d encountered so far had been overpowering, all-knowing. “And there’s nothing to be done about the, um…extinction point?” I asked, keeping my fingertips matching theirs.

“The Empire is attempting various things. You, for example, are the result of one line of previously unsuccessful experiments. Then there are the embryos held at Mor-Latos, the O'Tzar’s bait in the game. Our project concerns going after that resource.”

This time the memories filling my mind were of the Aie Zone. The details were intricate.

“How do you know Mor-Latos so well?” I asked, stunned by their intimate knowledge of the occupied territory.

“This was once my territory. Naturally, I know it well.” My shock must’ve been evident because their thoughts elaborated, “I am considered a political refugee. Of sorts. Baetian lives are not as fleeting as humans or vorgons. I’ve spent many of your kind’s lifetimes involved in nearly all aspects of Baet society. If not for that, I would not have been permitted to seek shelter here.” Their dark oval eyes grew distant, and our shared link clouded as they obscured their thoughts. “As I mentioned before, the war itself is, at its foundation, unnecessary. Humankind will die out on its own, as will vorgonkind. The O'Tzar has become bolder, greedier. They desire a monopoly on power that risks destroying the galaxy as we know it.” A tinge of sad annoyance seeped through our active connection, and their echo spoke aloud. “Maybe we can return to our task?”

I nodded, and their telepathic connection enlarged their memories to include details about Baet defense systems.

When they pulled their hand away and ended our connection, I had a much better understanding of the war than before. “There is a lot to sort through to get you up to speed. But I am optimistic of your potential.” They flipped their data interface from their collar, sending it to the center of the conference table. “This has the latest information on Mor-Latos. Study it. And work on developing your thought connection. The more you can understand the baetian way of communication, the easier it will be to approach Baet technology.”

With that, Xular excused themselves from the conference table. Their wiry sapphire form seemed to float out of the room, moving with eye-catching grace. I didn’t dare to activate the small device they’d left me with, knowing I would need to seek out Agent Nerzogk or Agent Terrokk before I could access it safely.

I struggled with a silent debate. I couldn’t deny that I anticipated Xular’s promised details on the Vor Empire’s position in the war. For the first time, I’d been presented with a task with potential answers rather than questions. Although I still wasn’t in a rush to re-enter headquarters’ bustling hub.

The conference room door phased open, putting an end to my internal debate earlier than expected, without giving me time to process the ghost sensation of Xular’s thought-link. I braced myself for orders.

When I met Amara’s eyes, my usual neutral shield cracked.

“Were you expecting someone else?” Amara smiled.

I shook my head, not fighting the hint of a smile pulling at the corner of my lips. “I try not to have expectations. I just figured, well, I didn’t think you’d be allowed to interact with me. You know, after…I thought you might’ve gotten into trouble for escorting me in the pod the other day.”

“Why would I get in trouble for something like that?” she asked with poorly concealed frustration as she sat on the edge of the conference table next to me. “We’re all the same rank here. All with the same purpose.” Xular’s device on the table caught her attention. She picked it up to examine it, then grinned at me. “I heard you might be compatible with Baetian thought-links. How’d it go?”’

“It’s a one-way link, but, yeah, I am compatible.”

“Sorry.” Her smile faded into an apologetic frown. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s okay,” I shrugged. “I understand what I am.”

“You’re not—” Her anger surfaced, but she stopped herself with an exasperated sigh. I waited. She shot me an uncertain glance. “You’re not a machine. Or a tool. I know it’s partially my fault for making you feel that way. Since, well…since you’re being controlled like one. Do you hate me for it?”

I shook my head. “You’re just doing your job.”

She acknowledged my excuse for her with an unconvincing glance as she placed Xular’s data port back on the table.

I focused on the small device to try to keep my emotions in check. “Agent Xular explained some of it to me,” I spoke to fill the silence, to give her a reason to stay a bit longer. “About the war.”

“Then you know how high the stakes are.”

Xular’s observation about the futility of the war echoed in my mind. “How many more generations does the Empire have left?” I asked with honest interest.

Amara shifted in her seat. “There’s a limit to how many times an embryo can be re-cloned. If we don’t access Mor-Latos’s reserves, the last generation would likely be birthed around the end of our generation’s natural lifespan. And I doubt any of them would be human. Humans are only birthed these days to provide DNA samples.”

“And to fight,” I pointed out.

Amara chuckled, her somber mood lightening. “Yeah. And to fight.”

“What are you fighting for, Amara?” I asked in a whisper. Uncertain of whether or not I was permitted to ask questions like that. The cameras pricked at my nerves, but being this close to Amara and speaking as frankly as we were made it feel like we were alone.

“Did Xular explain to you about Nes-Fedora?” She played with her thumbs, her voice soft, her eyes lowered, seeming to see something other than what was in front of her.

“Yes,” I answered, recalling the images Xular’s thought-link had shared.

“They probably consider it a miserable place. Most do.” Light danced in Amara’s eyes as she remained focused on her hands. “It’s a harsh existence there. But the overgrown fields also contain an undeniable beauty. It’s one of the few places where the glory of the old ways is evident. Niribian ruins are commonplace, although rarely intact.” Her eyes raised to match mine with a soft smile. “They were a magnificent civilization. Simple. Sophisticated. Powerful. When you see the things they created, the marvels they accomplished…it’s hard to believe they could’ve been wiped out in the blink of an eye. I enlisted because it’s mandatory, but I fight for a chance to revive what was lost. To make a difference in an otherwise dismal future.” Her earlier uncertainty crept into her expression as she analyzed me. “It’s always felt more like a dream than a real possibility. But—it’s different now. Because of you.”

“I’ll do what I can to aid the Empire, of course.” I kept my voice quiet, unable to drop my guard. As much as I wanted to. As tempting as it was to indulge in this moment. I just…couldn’t.

Amara took notice. She sunk into her chair with deflated shoulders. “I know you have no reason to feel the same. After all you’ve been put through.”

I swallowed, unsure of how I should respond. “I’ve brought it on myself. I’ve been unreliable.”

She shook her head. “We’re the ones who have been unreliable. I’m sorry you haven’t been given the respect you deserve.”

“There’s nothing to apologize for.” My chest tightened. I craved the AI’s escape. Wishing I could find the little bot and abandon this uncertain tension. To immerse myself in its familiar, uncomplicated existence.

Amara’s voice kept me present. “The treatment you’ve received so far isn’t a fair example of the greater whole. I can understand why you might not want to get more involved in the war. To get invested in an uncertain fate. But the future is worth preserving. I am not capable of contributing much to that future. But you—you can make a real difference. If you’re willing to try.” The conviction in her gaze was magnetic.

“I’ve never,” I rubbed my forehead. My fingertips brushed my buzz-cut hair. “Amara, I haven’t given any reason to doubt my loyalty, have I?” I asked to reign the conversation back to safe ground. “I don’t have the same motivation as you. I have no vested interest in the grander scheme of things. But I understand my role. And I’ve agreed to the terms the Empire has set for me. I assure you—there’s no need to recruit me.”

Amara frowned. “You should’ve been given a choice.” Her brow furrowed, and silence entered to add weight to our shoulders. Her dismal mood was thankfully fleeting, banished with a spark in her eye and the twitch of a dimple on her cheek. She leaned forward. “Hey, Aviator. Can we make a deal?”

“I doubt I’m authorized to make any deals,” I answered with a careful tone. Her emotions were a whirlwind that I somehow had no desire to avoid.

She grinned. “Let’s join forces. We can change the course of the war. Together. Let my ambition be yours.”

I lost my line of thought for a moment. She looked radiant, hopeful. Her mischievous grin magnetic. I swallowed, trying to sort out the conflict raging inside me. “Do you think that’s really possible?” I asked, knowing she’d interpret it as a big-picture question. A question about the war, about humanity’s fate. When, in fact, I was more concerned about the potential of doing something, anything, together.

She stood, her shoulders drawn back, her expression resolute. “It took me more than a few lost bets to admit what is possible or impossible doesn’t apply to you.” She answered with a brilliant smile. “With you, yes, I believe it’s possible.”

The presence of the cameras pricked my attention again, and I realized the game Amara was playing. She was giving me bait—a way to appear loyal, to quiet the suspicions of those analyzing my progress. I let a smile slip, and her grin widened. “You’ll have to clear it with General Larkkon,” I teased.

She laughed. “Not a problem.”

The conference room phased open, and a floral scent entered along with Agent Ylea. The little AI practically bounded out her hands to fly toward me. I caught the spherical projectile, and Amara laughed.

“Was that intentional?” she asked once her composure returned.

Ylea hopped over to Amara’s side. “The bot likes him.”

“Is it capable of that?” Amara asked me with a grin.

I shrugged, avoiding their attention while also subduing the AI’s excited hum. It wanted to share its newly uploaded data with me, to ask me questions, or to gloat at the chance to educate me rather than the other way around.

“You should name it,” Amara offered.

Ylea’s rainbow hair bounced with an excited nod in agreement.

“It’s a bot,” I deflected. My chest tightened. If the operatives recognized the AI as more than a simple bot, would I still be allowed access?

“How about Ali?”

I caught Amara’s eyes after her suggestion. She frowned, unable to interpret my gaze.

“I like it.” Ylea sat cross-legged on the conference table, easily influenced by Amara’s rebellious nature.

Their eyes locked onto me, waiting on my reaction together.

“Okay,” I relented. “Ali it is.”

The little bot hummed louder, apparently happy with the topic of conversation.

Ylea drew Amara’s attention, the two of them smiling as they discussed the project’s progress. Amara joined her to sit cross-legged on the table, ignoring the rigid nature inside the dimly lit room.

I took the opportunity to exit from my surroundings by escaping into the bot’s network. Little Ali led our merge, whisking me through its uploaded details like an overexcited child showing off a new toy.