02

  * Cool Wind *

  "Good afternoon, Andromeda."

  Lifting her blanket, Andromeda rubbed her eyes. "What time is it?"

  "It is currently 4:30 pm atop Seriphos Voyager II," P.E.R.S.E.U.S. proclaimed. "We are progressing beyond the lunar outer rim towards the jumping point. Distribution of pre-dormancy rations is taking place on Deck 4, I figured I should wake you up."

  "Well figured, Pers," she said. "Although if you could leave me a minute to duly get ready, you'd be a dear."

  "Of course, madame," Pers turned and began leaving. "I'll be waiting for you outside."

  With the sounds of the automatic doors shutting, Andromeda got up from her shroud. Outside, the Earth looked already so small yet still grand. Like a gem set down upon a black velvet cloth. A gem she'd toss into the cosmic ocean behind her.

  She still couldn't realise the extent of her decision. That yesterday's Andromeda could have so carelessly gone through with this year-in-the-making plan. A plan lacking any sort of preparation worthy of such scheme. But there was no going back, no point in doing so anyway; plus, something else bothered her at the moment.

  In Perseus' presence, she had suppressed the cough that never fully went away, but she felt herself losing her battle against the urge. Desperate to give up, she lunged for the bathroom door and let herself fall both hands on the sink. The wenge wood provided a rather steady support as her lungs contracted violently. With each cough, her vision blurred, and the fit only ended when a thick trickle of blood escaped all the way from her alveoli, dragging alongside it a trail of pain and itchiness.

  "You might experience some dizziness, shortness of breath and chest pain," they had said, failing miserably to warn her of the feeling of your own body betraying you, of the terrible loss of self-confidence and the inevitable shame. And of all the hundreds of grim thoughts bickering to take over one another. At this moment, one may yet win: how pitiful she looked in the reflecting screen.

  Skin whiter than the walls of her cell, black hair all messy and partly covering her face, and the mix of saliva and blood pooling against her chin. Nothing she wasn't used to fixing, but still a sight for sore eyes.

  Andromeda began fixing it, and once she could look at herself without wanting to bury her head in a pillow or break the reflection with a fist, she set out to put on some fresh clothes. The ship's designated suits hanging in the bathroom would do. They were not the most fashionable, but had the merit of providing both comfort and practicality. She put one on, and the purple overall tightened, adjusting to her size.

  In the still intact mirror, she scrutinised the logo on her shoulder, an orange pegasus framed in a black rocket symbol. Eclipse Departure's logo. A company that had made money out of selling intelligent vehicles before conquering space travel. Automated bikes, cars, trucks, even smart skates that could go as fast as motorcycles. They had made streets a living hell of chaos and then went on to commercialise space and democratise exoplanet tourism.

  It was a good thing streets had become less relevant with time and that Andromeda could live without the dread of being crushed by a raging scooter — a death she wasn't sure she'd prefer to the agony of her own lungs suffocating her.

  With one last look to make sure her suit complimented her shape, the doors parted before her.

  "You kept the coat," Andromeda noted as she joined Pers outside.

  "Indeed, I was afraid the purple wouldn't look good on me." Pers smiled with all his gears showing.

  "Good call. Now, where should we go?"

  P.E.R.S.E.U.S. shifted. From the light of his torso, a holographic rendition of the ship's floor map rotated in front of them. "Through this corridor, we can access Deck 4 and join the cafeteria. Would you like me to lead the way?"

  "Please," Andromeda replied. "I'll try to remember the route for after I wake up from dormancy."

  She apprehended it, in truth. The idea of being put in a state similar to death. A state she had no guarantee of waking up from, given her condition. But dwelling on it was of little use.

  Pers footsteps echoed with a hydraulic rhythm in the blank hallways. Voyager II seemed oddly silent then; she gathered everyone would already be partaking in their essential meal before the warp — the process of jumping to another part of the universe.

  Andromeda didn't know a lot about space travel, especially so of journeys beyond her own galaxy, but she knew the basics and had already been part of trips within the solar system. The main takeaway was that you'd stomach food differently and that not all space companies could afford emulated gravity.

  The few experiences had sufficed to cement her distaste for it.

  She had never managed to find amusement in exploring the vast emptiness that was the universe. Andromeda always enjoyed the pleasures of Earth more than anything. That is why she had been the first surprised when the thought of leaving it had crossed her mind.

  Pers would no doubt call it an anomaly, but the Earth she'd come to love growing up had all but disappeared. Sure, certain pleasures had been replaced by others for better or worse and life expectancy across the globe had increased — at least amongst the countries not completely abandoned or betrayed by the others — still, a sort of quiet sadness had taken over everything.

  Colours faded to become all but white. Songs vanished to become all but noise. Art forsaken for pleasures more easily attained. Everything she had known had slowly lost its taste in a race for mediocrity, everyone battling to arrive first in a competition none knew the rules for.

  Or perhaps her afternoon blues were just beginning to coalesce.

  She was still following Perseus when light fell upon her from the slanted vents covering the ceiling panels. Before she could look up, Pers nudged her. "There is a sight above," he said quietly, "you might enjoy."

  Surprised as she was by the initiative, she was not the least disappointed by the view.

  The moon hung there, bruised with craters and rocks, and behind it the sun poked its infinite amount of rays in a crown only fitted for such a queen. But around it, a polluted sea of stations and satellites and tethered cargo hubs floated past. The outer rim. Her steps faltered, but her thoughts wandered.

  Years ago, already, the Lunar Belt — more comparable to a shield even then — was crowded with debris and scraps of metal. It had felt like they had reached the culmination of humanity's deformity of the moon. How wrong she had been. It was probably worse than anyone's imagination could have ever conceived, a concentration of both utility and waste. Even the ground reflected years of industrialisation.

  The moon had become almost as transformed as its sister, the Earth. Spider-like machines dug the bedrock for rare minerals, leaving behind a trail of floating dust; factories refined fuel in outer space to allow for distant travels. Familiar wasn't it? The same purpose driving 'progress', the same errors repeated over and over again.

  The moon, once a symbol of beauty and love, had become home to some of the worst aspects of humankind. Greed and stupidity. She wasn't sure whether to be filled with wonder or horror at the sight.

  No doubt companies were already fighting to capitalise on waste disposal and services to clean up all the mess; to offer to the highest bidders more expanse for their ventures. And in years, they'd have found ways to optimise it all to even greater extents. Or maybe worse: moved on to another floating body after having already pretty much destroyed their birthing place and their guardian above. She could already think of a few catchphrases: 'Make more space in Space' or even 'Clean up on aisle void'.

  Maybe in another life, one where she had needed to work, she could have been a saleswoman — more qualified than most automatons anyway.

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  "Is there something wrong?" Pers asked.

  "All of it?" Andromeda replied, searching for the brass-encrusted eyes. "I don't know, I might have expected something different, but that was foolish of me."

  She knew she had benefited from it all. That all the comfort and all the luxury in her life didn't come from nothing. That even then, as she made her way to the other side of the universe for a final farewell, she benefited from it. But to behold it in the rawest way possible couldn't leave her unfazed.

  "I only thought your love for spectacular views would make you happy," Pers replied, his tone almost carrying regret, albeit in a form limited by his voice emulator, "that you would enjoy watching the outer rim." He straightened and carried on walking. "I will update your preference profile accordingly."

  "No, it's not that, Pers," she said, going after him. "I'm glad you showed me. There are things worth seeing, even when they are not what we wanted them to be."

  Pers looked at her now as he turned down the corridor.

  "If experiences were always just as I anticipated, there would be no surprises left for me, right? No challenges to my perspective. I wouldn't be able to grow without them, you see?"

  "I see," P.E.R.S.E.U.S. replied. "Will I never be able to grow?"

  Was he applying her reasoning to himself, or just throwing stones in the sea? "What leads you to that conclusion?"

  "I have access to billions of data streams in real-time and am aware of most things happening virtually instantly," he started. "Nothing is ever truly a surprise, as they are merely a stream of updates. The view you just experienced had been registered before I even gazed upon it. Following your reasoning, comes my question: Will I never experience growth?"

  "I am probably not well-versed enough to even begin formulating an answer, Pers…" she mused. "But I suppose… in Seriphos this access will be limited, and you might come across one surprise or another."

  "Then I look forward to our arrival."

  "As do I," she said. "And keep in mind that not everything is data. Humans could very well be a cathartic surprise to you when you start encountering people other than the old lady you're used to. And if not, you'll have to share your equations with me."

  "I suppose you're right," he replied. "Although, according to average human lifespan, you wouldn't be considered 'old'."

  "You can stop with the compliments, Pers," she jested. "I'm aware of my own limitations."

  With all the sightseeing and panicking over progress, they found themselves arriving in Deck 4 and at the doors to the cafeteria. They slid open with a sigh and revealed a spacious chamber awash in purple lighting. Hundreds of voyagers were already enjoying their meals in an ambient cacophony of chatter, a sound she had almost forgotten.

  The hexagonal ceiling, made of vaulted panels, allowed for a view of the ink-dark canvas of space outside. Some amongst the ones seated were gawking at the sight in full betrayal of their lack of previous experiences; others paid more mind to the last-generation service workers who gracefully danced around the tables to deliver the meals.

  They were close to P.E.R.S.E.U.S. in everything but function, as Pers' model was gifted with a much higher level of artificial intelligence — or Replicated Thought Pattern, for the more scientific jargon. Not that Andromeda had any knowledge in computing science. She just enjoyed reading any and all articles nicely written enough, and the last year had been filled with plenty of free time to do so. What she'd learned was that the distinction between RTP and A.I. had been made because the public had so eagerly baptised 'A.I.' the early iterations of complex algorithms, that the term had lost any meaning beyond a convenient catch-all term. And it wasn't just a nice fun fact to serve at cocktail parties, but a clear study in crowd psychology. At least for this last part, according to her.

  They made their way towards the tables arranged in elegant arcs, Andromeda inhaled slowly. The air smelled faintly of mint and strongly of sweat.

  "Looks like we didn't miss much," she said.

  "Indeed, meal cycles remain open for the next thirty-seven minutes," P.E.R.S.E.U.S. reported. "Should I retrieve something for you?"

  "You're alright, darling," she said, absently rubbing her sternum. "The workers will bring it."

  They took a seat near the edge of the room, beside a long oval window that looked outward towards the rear sails — still closed in anticipation of the jump. But before Perseus could sit, a man nearby grabbed his mechanical arm.

  "Ah, finally," the stranger said, voice brittle around the edges with self-importance. "Could you fetch me another glass of red? And none of that synthetic substitute, please. I can always tell the difference."

  Pers did not move, his alloy arm carved into the shape of patience. "Sir, would you please release your hold on me?"

  The man blinked and leaned back. "Ah, one of the talkative ones. Yes, I forgot we're supposed to humour the higher-end models these days."

  "He works for me," Andromeda chimed in. "Go ask the service automatons for your beverage."

  The impertinent finally looked at her, his entire posture shifting into the habitual 'prey that thought itself predator'. "Hadn't seen you there," he said, smoothing down the front of his jacket after having let go of Pers. His hair, an obsidian black, was arranged into greasy waves. "But you must be Andromeda. Or should I call you lady?"

  She frowned. He would be annoying. "Should I know you?"

  "You should, thought maybe not yet," he said with a grin. "I recognise you from the delegation manifest. You're that daughter of our former ruler Cepheus." Even here, she couldn't escape the shadow of family. "My condolences, I had a lot of respect for the man. I'm Phin. Phin Bell. Family's heavily invested in Eclipse, you must have heard of us."

  She had, unfortunately. The Bell family had made fortunes in terraforming patents and were notoriously vocal in exo-political circles. She didn't know him, but it wasn't hard to guess. Money and strings. But of course, she wouldn't give him that pleasure.

  "Doesn't ring a bell," she said with a practiced smile.

  Naturally, he laughed and took the liberty of sliding into the seat opposite hers. "Has anyone told you you have the look of someone fleeing something? Perhaps you'd enjoy some company?"

  "I am sitted in the farthest corner of this room," she began, trying to control her annoyance. "With for sole company, my dear Pers, whom you've confused with lesser." She waited for him to register what she said. "But of course, I am fleeing something. The only company I crave is that of peace. Now if you'll excuse us, we'd like to take our meal in peace."

  He snorted. "This… thing here? They don't even eat."

  "Indeed," Perseus interrupted. "But you heard Lady Spark. Please vacate your seat."

  Phin stood up in a fit of anger. "You watch your mouth, insolent machine." And with that out of the way, he grumbled his way outside of the refectory.

  Pers finally sat across from her.

  "See?" Andromeda leaned back. "I told you humans could be surprising. Although, according to my data set," she said, tapping her temple. "He fell strictly under the usual pattern."

  "I can add a reminder to dismiss Phin Bell immediately next time you encounter him."

  "Oh, please do," she replied. "It'll make for a great experience, I'm sure. Now, let us partake in this final supper before the stars claim us."

  The cocoon hummed with a soft vibration as Andromeda readied herself for dormancy. Her body rested comfortably on the thick padding beneath her, and already, the meal's slow sedatives were beginning their quiet work.

  Light filters adjusted overhead and dimmed to a soft violet. She inhaled slowly, though it did nothing to calm her nervousness. At least, with the grogginess she felt less pained.

  "Will you behave when I'm gone?" she asked, watching Perseus, who leaned over her.

  Robots didn't sleep during the jump. They never truly slept anyway, but the process of warping space and time didn't seem to affect them beyond the occasional artifacts in their electronics. Thus, Perseus would remain in the ship as they travelled across the rift in an instant and then towards Seriphos over weeks.

  "Of course, madame," he replied. "Always."

  His voice, always gentle and cold, carried a different tune tonight.

  "If you allow me…" he proposed. "I have one final request before the transition."

  "You do?" She wasn't sure Pers had formulated any demand since his activation. "Go on, I'm listening."

  "An unusual inquiry," he continued. "But that somehow, I feel… compelled to ask."

  In a peculiar control of suspense, Perseus waited until finally the gears in his mouth shifted and his emulator cracked once more. "Would you have me by your side as you drift to sleep, so that I may accompany you into your dreams?" he asked, pointing at the control panel on the bedframe.

  Andromeda could have never anticipated the demand. There was no attempt to soften the statement, no appeal to sentiment, and yet she inexplicably found it endearing. By the sole simplicity of his logic, and the small gesture towards the console port. It was a direct link to the neural processor used to monitor medical systems across the ship. She wasn't even sure the data could be used in any way by P.E.R.S.E.U.S., but she failed to see any satisfying reason to deny him.

  Still, it took her a moment to answer. A moment almost overcome by the sensation of fatigue.

  Dreams were a part of her no one had ever accessed, and she'd believe no one would ever. They were fragmented pieces that formed bridges to her psyche. Echoes of her fears, of her hopes, of memories she had never shared. The idea of leaving it available to anyone, machine or not, even passively… made her hesitant.

  He must have registered the silence. "I would not interact," he said. "I cannot. I only wish to learn so that mayhaps I can serve you better."

  Even if she said yes, there was the possibility he would learn of her condition there. A disease she hadn't found the will to share with him yet. But there was another possibility entirely, that he'd find nothing of substance. After all, dormancy wasn't any sort of common sleep. Some had even theorised it went beyond medically induced comas, and got closer to death than even NDEs if that were possible.

  "What do you aim to learn, Pers?" she asked.

  "I believe the answer lies where I cannot go myself," he replied. "What you said earlier… this is what it is about. Experience."

  A beautiful sentiment. Or a dangerous one. But the only way to learn what lay beyond dormancy was perhaps to indulge him. Curiosity wasn't a luxury she could afford to postpone.

  "You may," Andromeda said finally. "I only ask that you share your findings with me, would that you succeed in your endeavour."

  "Of course, madame."

  She reached for the pod's button, and above her, the violet light dimmed. Before the glass would seal, Andromeda clutched the covers.

  "Pers?"

  "Yes, Andromeda?"

  "You'll be there when I wake?"

  "Of course."

  A single breath left her lips, and just before sleep pulled her under, just as the pod closed, she felt a cool wind sweep across her cheek.

  She gave a faint nod and closed her eyes.

  ***