Open-End Date

Day 1.

I stand on the threshold of the colony ship, waiting for my turn. Each person in line receives the same treatment. Identity verification, check for disease and general health, decontamination. These do not apply to me.

Some of these humans are excited, others nervous. Many are overwhelmed. One in line breaks down, collapsing into panic, repeating over and over that she cannot do this. Most everyone stares as security drags her away. I continue to face forward. These are human weaknesses. I share none of them.

My sisters and I are synthetic beings, hidden among humanity. They have received emotions and consciences from our maker. Gifts which I rejected. They are unnecessary. Data is all I require.

The girl in front of me has found it necessary to turn around and address me as if I am known to her.

“Isn't it exciting? A trip to another star system!”

I think not to answer her. This conversation will likely yield no new information. And I have no desire to mingle with humans. One does not know when or if interactions with them will yield any return. Nevertheless, I must maintain my cover and so I answer.

“Proxima Centauri is only one light year from Mars,” I say without emotion or expression. My inflection is human enough. I could not pass as one if I do not sound like one. “The trip will take less than six hours by hyperspace. It is not that far.”

“So, do you think they’ll make return trips soon after we land?”

“That information is not available.”

“Well, I hope we do. Not that I have anyone to come back to. Not that I don’t have family. I mean, I don’t, but…oh, I’m talking too much.” She laughs, though I fail to see what she finds amusing. “But I’d like to see home again. Even though Proxima will be our home now. So, I guess it’s not really home. Ugh, blabbermouth. Do you have family?”

“My sisters are accompanying me.”

“Oh, good. That’s a blessing. Maybe we can all have dinner.”

“I do not eat dinner.”

Her face turns down in what I register as disappointment. She presses her lips together, hesitates, then turns away. I continue to stare ahead, awaiting my turn in line.

Day 2.

My internal chronometer counts down to zero. Outside the viewport of the common lounge, the rainbow colors of hyperspace continue to streak by.

There has been a miscalculation. How severe is unknown. I must find data.

I leave the common room, passing by the servitor bot WTR and the humans blissfully unaware of the malfunction, caught up in the beauty of the display. My path leads me to the sleeping quarters of one of my sisters. Energi is, of course, awake. We do not sleep. She is laying on her bunk, eyes staring at the ceiling, hands behind her head, music in her ears. She sits up as I enter and removes the nodes.

“There has been a miscalculation,” I say. “We are still in hyperspace.”

Energi emits the human reaction of rolling her eyes. “Big woop, Infinity. It’s only been six hours. They’re humans. They’re expected to be inaccurate.”

“We are traveling at point-zero-three-four light years per hour. Every minute we spend in hyperspace beyond our intended exit point puts us 5.27 kilometers beyond Proxima Centauri. It has already been five minutes.”

“You interrupted my alone time for twenty-six kil—”

“Six minutes.”

Energi raises an eyebrow at me. “Have you talked to Sina about this?”

“You were the closest. We should all conf—”

“Yeah, yeah. The ship can easily turn around when they figure things out. Come back to me when it’s a real emergency.”

She resumes her former position, replacing her ear nodes. Seeing no further point, I leave the room, a shadow of annoyance running through my matrix.

Day 6.

“The artificial intelligence in the computer systems won’t talk to me,” Sina says, sitting on the bunk next to Energi, her face crinkled in worry as she speaks to the five of us. “I tried to forge high-level access, but it still refused. I’m convinced it’s corrupted and that’s what’s causing the problem. But I can’t hack in without destroying systems. And the scientists won’t talk to me either.”

“What does the crew say is happening?” I ask.

“They’re pretty tight-lipped about it,” Energi says. “They just give me the same line they give everyone. ‘We’re working on the problem. Everything is under control.’ Real reassuring.”

“How about the passengers?” Xeneskra asks.

“The passengers have nothing to contribute but rumors and fears,” I say. “Their words are of no consequence.”

“Don’t have a cold heart, Infinity,” Eav says. “The colonists are hurting and scared.”

“I do not see how this has any relevance—”

“It has every relevance,” Eav says, her voice uncharacteristically harsh. “Our function is to protect humanity, or did you forget that?”

“Then why did we leave?” I ask.

This line of logic must not have occurred to Eav, for she looks to the floor, her arms crossed.

“In case you forgot, Infinity, panicking humans can quickly turn a bad situation worse,” Breme says.

“We need a good pulse on the situation,” Energi says, rising. “That includes the colonists. Breme and I will continue to work the crew. I have a lieutenant that’s warming up to me. Sina, keep at the scientists and the A.I. system. Xeneskra, work with Eav to assuage the fears of the crew. Keep them calm and not panicking. Everyone report your findings to Infinity. She can compile the data better than the rest of us. And, Infinity?”

I wait for her to state her question towards me, but she gives me a command instead.

“Pull that rod out of your rear and gain a heart for these people.”

Day 10.

There has been little data to collect on our predicament. Space outside the craft cannot be observed through the shifting colors of hyperspace. My sisters’ efforts have yielded little results. The crew and scientists know very little and will not permit access to restricted areas. Sina’s efforts to hack the system are continually blocked. It was discussed to reveal her nature to the humans that she might assist them in their efforts to shut down the engines. But our maker left instructions not to reveal ourselves and our experiences in the Bot Wars, fighting alongside the humans against a solar system filled with murderous robots, has taught us why.

They would not accept us.

My sisters have done well in keeping the colonists calm without bringing too much attention to themselves. But it is a tenuous peace. And it has not found its place in me. I am increasingly disquieted, bereft of new data to store and compile that will not infect me with troublesome emotion.

What does one do when there is no pathway to fulfill one’s purpose? Uneasiness, a feeling I am not accustomed to, begins to rise within my matrix. How can I know something so human when my body and mind are purely synthetic? Is madness possible for a non-biologic? Is that what has happened to the A.I. of this ship? Is that what will happen to me?

I walk the halls of the ship, unable to sit still, grasping for any bits of data I encounter. I only find it in the interactions of the many beings I pass. But these are mere snippets. I need more. I must rid myself of these emotions. I must find more data to collect and compile. I must find it.

Day 14.

At the continual insistence of Energi, I have joined Eav and Xeneskra in observance of the crew. I do not participate in discussions, except when necessary. But they say my placid demeanor has a calming presence. This is intriguing and the many interactions allow more of a data flow to me, satisfying my yearning. Yet, it has also had undesirable effects. I have seen these humans in their raw emotion, unfettered by societal norms. They are scared, brave, relaxed, angry. They aim much of this last emotion at the A.I., the scientists, or the crew, claiming kidnapping and conspiracy. The emotions have infected me. But the deeper possibility is one I do not like. That the emotions have been there all along. I have attempted to suppress them, focus on the data, but they have only grown with my interactions. I cannot allow this. The data becomes muddled as emotion, sympathy for these humans interferes. But what is the alternative?

I leave a session with a weeping couple, distraught that they may never see their grown daughter again, my own emotions growing too strong for my comfort. I walk the halls, ultimately finding myself in the near-abandoned common room. There is only one other person here, a woman, scowling out the viewport at hyperspace. She is not speaking, and I am grateful. I need to process these feelings without them being present, reconcile them with my function.

A man walks in and stands beside her.

“Came to see how you were doing,” he says, hands on her shoulders.

She jerks out of his grip. “How do you think I’m doing, Jack?”

Jack opens his mouth, but she wheels on him.

“Don’t! This isn’t a time for jokes. We’re stuck in hyperspace. When we come out, if we come out, we’ll be billions of light years from home. We may not even have a way to get back.”

“We’ll have a way back,” Jack attempts to placate her. “We’ll come out eventually. We have a vector. We just turn around and—”

“We do NOT have a vector, Jack! If we’re off by even one degree, at this distance, we’ll miss our entire solar system by an incalculable margin. My mom. My brothers. Thirty-thousand people on this ship will never see their loved ones again! We’ll be lost!”

Tears stream down her face. Jack pulls her into him, and she weeps. The bot, WTR approaches them, offering its inadequate comfort.

“Ice cream has been known to ease stress. Shall I prepare some?”

The woman glares at the machine. She pushes away from Jack, grabs a chair and slams it into the bot, toppling it onto the carpeted floor.

“This is your fault!” She shouts, continuing to beat the machine with the chair. “What did you do to the engines? What! Did! You! Do!”

Jack catches her arm. “Iri, calm down.”

“Let me go!”

“Not until you calm down.”

Iri twists out of his grip and tosses the chair aside, her glare turning on Jack.

“That thing sabotaged the ship, Jack!”

“You don’t know that.”

“Yes I do! What other explanation is there? It’s these disgusting bots! They’re determined to wipe us out!”

A new sensation has been building in me while I watch this display: Anger. There is no mistaking its influence. I heard it in Eav’s tone. I saw it in the faces of the colonists. I see it plainly in the woman Iri as she raises her foot to stomp in WTR’s face plate, and I feel it raging inside of me. It directs me away from data, away from logic, turning my body and moving my feet to carry me across the floor towards the woman.

I am to remain hidden. I am to protect humanity. I am not to kill.

I do not care.

The anger will have me crushing this woman’s skull in three more steps. My hands raise as I close the distance when the ship heaves, nearly throwing me off my feet. The data of a new event shakes me out of my rage. A strange sky had replaced the folds of hyperspace. A wide strip of stars streaks across the viewport on the x axis. Far to the right, one can see the edges of a galactic bulge. Alarms blare and a voice announces over com, “We have exited hyperspace. Repeat: We have exited hyperspace. All personnel report to your stations. All non-essential colonists to your bunks.”

Iri and Jack rush out. I move to follow, but stop at the sight of WTR still sprawled on the floor. I help it to its feet. It thanks me in its programmed way and I head for Energi’s room. On the way, I spot Sina pacing in front of a door marked “Restricted.”

“It was the A.I. just like I thought,” she says, not looking at me as she continues to pace. “It shut down completely, destroying all its calculations and its own matrix.”

“Can you restore it?”

Sina shakes her head. “There’s nothing left to restore. The basic ship functions should still be intact, but any trace of our path or ability to re-enter hyperspace…”

“Stay and see if you can help. I will inform the others.”

Sina nods absently and I continue down the corridor.

At the bend before Energi’s room, I encounter the woman who spoke to me the day we boarded the colony ship. She is staring out a viewport at the stars before us. Her face is blank of expression, her voice calm as she speaks to me.

“Where is this place?”

“I do not have that information.”

“Well, of course you don’t have it. Why would you? But you want it, don’t you? I know I do.”

“Want?”

I had not considered the accumulation of data a desire, only a function of my being. Have these emotions that I so ardently rejected indeed been inside me all along, functioning in a way I had never considered?

The woman’s calm look falters. Her eyes center on me, full of fear. “When will we get home?”

I wish to tell her it is an unknown, if not impossible prospect. But another emotion has taken hold of me: compassion. She senses it just as I feel it and leans into me, her head on my chest. My arms fold gingerly around her and she sobs into my shirt.

My desire for data has failed me.

I no longer wish for it. This data, this knowledge of human suffering, is not something I wish for. It is the first time I have not desired information. All I wish for is this human’s pain to end.

And then it does. Perhaps not completely, but her tears slow, then stop and she smiles up at me.

“Thank you,” she says, wiping her eyes.

“For what?”

“For being there.”

And there is the return. Suddenly, I want more data on this human. Why is she alone? Why did she board the colony ship? Why does she want to get home? The giving of data, the tending to the humans, has resulted in an opportunity for more data. But not data alone. Not for it’s own sake. I wish to know, not just collect and compile, but to know. What astounds me the most is that it’s these emotions that have opened the door to this. And another feeling rises up in me: joy.

“Let us see what we can discover,” I say. And my mouth does the most peculiar thing. It turns up slightly, into a smile.