SIYANE
Space, North-Central Quadrant
Humans 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.