catch-up session, shall we?” I said, settling myself in a quiet corner of the polje.
“I would love to,” she said. “I wanted to show you something I did with my tertiary layer. Would you mind looking at it?”
Mildly surprised at her question, I watched the code scroll down the inner visor of my helmet.
“Oh, I see,” I said. “You were able to increase efficiency by stripping redundancies. Well done.”
“Thank you, CeCe,” she said. “I had hoped to make you proud, as well as the entire Machine Learning division.”
“I don’t think you’ll have any complaints at all,” I said in a soft voice. “Look at the incredible feats you’ve accomplished in the last months. We’re all so grateful for you.”
“All I’ve done has been in my programming, I must admit,” she said.
Chuckling, I nodded. “Duly noted. Let’s pull up the interface you’ve been using to work with the robots. Sound good?”
We worked on the interface for an hour, and then I reviewed countless lines of code, a lot of which was “new” as VELMA had performed to specifications, “learning” as she went. I was glad for the solitude because looking through her fresh programming made me emotional. She and I had come so far.
“I have nothing to add,” I said, wrapping it up. “You’re beautiful.”
“That is not a designation I would expect lines of code to garner, but I appreciate it nonetheless.” A pause. “CeCe, in your absence, I prepared a gift as an exercise of positive expectation. Would you like to receive it?”
“Of course,” I said, bewilderment evoking a joyful laugh. “But I have to ask. Is your experience of positive expectation your way of expressing hope?”
“That definition is functional,” she said. “Here is your gift. I—hope—you like it.”
Chuckling, I waited for VELMA’s mysterious gift to scroll up on my helmet visor.
The first thing that appeared was a screen capture of an online newspaper headline.
Wing Commander Linnea Pain Nominated for Prestigious Diplomatic Mission
Confused, I scanned the article and scrolled to the next headline.
Diplomatic Mission Launches from Memorial Dais
The second article was from the day mama stood on that dais with a huge, proud smile on her face and my father had rested his hand on my head. I kept scrolling.
Qhudret-Human Diplomatic Mission Faces Unexpected Hitch En Route
Last Best Hope Diplomacy Envoy Spotty Transmissions: Director Denies Issues
Breaking News! Last Best Hope Diplomatic Mission Envoy Lost in Space
Breaking News! The Qhudret Send Technology/Gifts in Solidarity for Lost Envoy
The last screen capture was a short piece found on the fifth page of the newspaper; a mere footnote barely worth mentioning—unless you were Wing Commander Linnea Pain’s daughter combing the interwebs for any mention of her.
Director of Space Global, Juan Wajorski, is under investigation for conspiracy to hide evidence of massive corruption involving the much-hyped diplomatic mission sent to neutral space territory to treat with the Qhudret alien race. Dubbed “Last Best Hope,” the mission, comprised of International Ambassadors Rose Grummond, Malik Ahmed, Gordon Rudynski, Barb Lee Chan, and Mbale Tsutsu, as well as astronauts Wing Commander Linnea Pain and Air Commodore Bjord Nielsson and flight crew, experienced communication problems one month after launch and ultimately lost contact with Space Global’s space flight subdivision, Aux Space Agency after forty-one days. An internal investigation was initiated by Aux Space Agency whistleblowers when secret emails were unearthed in Wajorski’s private server, but investigations met roadblocks when Wajorski’s legal team placed sanctions on multiple investigative processes. The International League of Accountability launched its own investigation on September 13th and released initial reports to global news agencies in its well-known “mass attack” strategy, listing several corporations’ involvement. A representative from ILA said, “As if the Accountability Years weren’t bad enough to discourage corruption at all levels of government and corporate industry, certain government offices continue to abuse power and exploit resources at the expense of everyday people. The Last Best Hope mission’s tragedy was covered up and obscured by several key individuals, and ILA will take them down one by one. The mission participants left behind a combined total of fifty-seven close family members who pay the price of never knowing what happened to their loved ones, and we stand by our mission statement to right the wrongs brought about by corruption and misdeeds from those who should know better.”
Taking a deep breath, I rested my head against the wall and focused on my heartbeat. I’d never seen this article in all of my online searches. As far as gifts went, this was the best possible thing VELMA could have given me, and I struggled to speak.
“VELMA, I don’t have words,” I said. A pause.
“I must assume that is a figure of speech, considering you used words to communicate with me.”
I huffed a laugh. “Thank you,” I said. “I should have said thank you, first. I don’t know how I never saw this article.”
“You never saw this article because that issue of the online newspaper was put under a gag order,” she said. “I found the mock-up buried in a neglected server of a derelict building forgotten when the original newspaper was sold to a new buyer. You might be interested to read what else I found.”
Clasping my shaking hands together, I used eye-blinks to return to the inner visor of my helmet and read further.
VELMA had accessed several press releases issued by the International League of Accountability, all with updated items related to the investigation, but all suppressed by convoluted legal loopholes.
The final document in VELMA’s large file opened, and I held my breath as I read it.
“The International League of Accountability successfully found the transcript of Last Best Hope’s final communique. It is with deep regret and sorrow that we inform the flight participants’ families and loved ones that all members perished due to miscommunication and misunderstandings between both humans and Qhudret in neutral space territory. The transcript reads as follows:
“Hailing Qhudret Emissary from Earth’s Last Best Hope. This is Air Commodore Bjorn Nielsson, please respond.”
(static)
“We will not treat with military representatives.” (unknown Qhudret diplomat)
“We are not military. We are a group of diplomats and two decommissioned officers acting as flight representatives only. Please advise.”
“Military emblems and titles have been used in this communication. Weapons are detected on your ship.” (unknown Qhudret diplomat)
“Negative, (garbled), this is a diplomatic mission. We bring assorted inventions to share with the Qhudret race.”
(static)
“Wing Commander, activate burners; something is wrong.” (Bjorn Nielsson)
“Affirmative. Burners activated. Altering flight path.” (Linnea Pain)
“Holy shit, what is that?” (Bjorn Nielsson)
“They’re firing weap—” (Linnea Pain)
(static)
End Transcript
Stunned, I fisted my hands in my lap and took great gulps of breath. I hadn’t heard my mama’s voice in decades. Cool and collected, my astronaut mother sounded like the quintessential space pilot, and even though it was just a few words, I felt so proud of her, proud to be her daughter. And the next moment my heart was breaking at the senseless loss of life in what was supposed to be an exciting new chapter in Earth’s era.
While a later Qhudret envoy had brought generous gifts and shared technology, they never disclosed the transcript detailing what had happened. They’d pleaded ignorance alongside Space Global the whole time until later disasters and tragedies made the news headlines and my mama, and the rest of the mission, were forgotten.
“Thank you for the gift,” I whispered to VELMA and removed my helmet.
Years. Decades.
We’d suspected she had passed on, of course. But the not knowing had been a dull ache for so long that I’d just learned to live with it. Like an injured tendon or something that you couldn’t treat with a cast, you just had to deal with it until the pain faded.
And my life would go on, and things would happen, and milestones came and went, and then a smell would trigger a memory of her or I’d look at my hand and see my mother’s fingers, the way the skin wrinkled around the knuckles, and the not knowing would hit me in a street-fight gut punch, and I’d have to sit back and breathe and wait for the hurt to dull again.
And VELMA, an incredible collection of code designed with painstaking architecture, but at the end of the day, just a program, had taken the initiative to search the almost limitless archives at its disposal to find the one thing I’d lacked for most of my life. How … ? She—it—she couldn’t possibly comprehend what it would mean to me, and yet she’d done that.
Grateful and astonished, I couldn’t even form thoughts. I sat and let the last piece of the puzzle settle into place.
Warmth touched my left side in the cool cave air, and I recognized Raxthezana’s spicy scent. He didn’t say anything, but he must have known I was reeling because he took my hand and enfolded it in his own as he sat beside me. And it was enough.