Chapter 11
Wyl
Sadly, Aura and I don’t get much chance to try that again while we’re at the station.
Despite having her falsify the crew and cargo manifests and ship’s logs on Jupiter’s Joy to perfection, fabricating an elaborate alibi for my sole ownership of the vessel and her “Ssylin” presence there, the GA investigators auditing the ship keep pulling me from our quarters for unnecessary questions.
“Who were you traveling with?” Check the first manifest.
“Why did they leave ship?” Read the logs.
“What supplies do you have on board?” That’ll be on the other manifest.
Not that I don’t know the answers, but it’s terribly annoying to have to repeatedly tell the GA inquisitor what he already knows.
The calls to report to the station’s security office are both frequent and random. I can’t plan for when they’ll next request my presence, so there’s no way to safely schedule time alone with Aura.
We also have to take greater care with how she’s dressed when these summonses happen. After a few close calls, we realize that Aura has to wear the Ssylin cloak over her all-weather suit constantly to avoid detection while at the same time avoiding overheating.
Cockblocked by the Galactic Authority.
It’s almost like they know, but that’s impossible. We were too careful; we took every possible precaution. Besides, if the GA knew about Aura, I’m sure they’d be chomping at the bit to arrest us both as publicly as possible and then execute us with equal fanfare.
Something’s not quite right, but I can’t figure out what.
I wonder if Hank ratted us out. That still wouldn’t make it all add up, but it might explain some of the extra scrutiny. Maybe he didn’t mention Aura specifically but still fessed up that I found something illegal on that ship.
Why did I trust him? I should’ve hidden Aura back under the cloak until Hank had moved on to a different part of the ship.
Maybe smuggled her onto our salvage ship in secret, only activating her when I was alone in my quarters.
I could’ve taken the scanner from Hank and smashed his head in with it. I—
No. I can’t think like that. Aura wouldn’t want me to think like that.
I chuckle wryly to myself at the thought that I’m now setting my moral compass by what an artificial life form might consider appropriate.
Just then, Aura walks into the room from her bedroom in our suite, shoulders hunched and head hung down. She heaves an artificial sigh and plops down in a chair at the dining table, looking every bit like a petulant teenager who’s been grounded for misbehaving.
A petulant Ssylin teenager, I suppose, in that getup.
“You are laughing at my misfortune.”
“No, just a funny thought that ran through my head.” Although, how do I explain said funny thought without making it sound like I’m laughing at her?
I have to choose my words carefully. “Do you realize that you have become my go-to for right and wrong? Not a decision comes before me that I don’t wonder how you’d handle it or whether or not you’d approve of my choice. ”
“And this is … humorous?”
Didn’t choose my words carefully enough. “No, not so much humorous as, say, ironic. I’m using artificial intelligence as my baseline for the moral high ground.”
She tilts her head, and I imagine she’s frowning beneath the hood’s film. “Why is that ironic?”
“Well, you were programmed by an organic being, right?”
“Presumably.”
That’s … a chilling thought. Androids aren’t supposed to be able to self-replicate—there are several laws against it, and modern android programming has failsafes preventing it—so who else but an organic would have programmed her?
“Uh … yeah. Right. Presumably. Anyway, in theory, I should be using your engineer as a moral guide, but I’m not; it’s you.
I don’t give a fuck who your engineer is or was or whatever.
They may have built and programmed you, but you’re the one who executes that programming.
It’s like … like if instead of following the word of a god or other higher power, I’m choosing to follow the example of their prophet. Does that make sense?”
“I am a prophet?”
I bite back a sigh of frustration. “In this scenario, yes. You’re the prophet, and your engineer, maker, creator, whatever you want to call them, is the god.”
Aura shakes her head. “I do not care for this analogy. Gods do not err. My creator erred. He built an outdated, banned model and added illicit software. That is not the act of a god; that is the act of a coward.”
Ouch. Harsh words about her engineer, but it’s the implications they have for her own self-esteem that worry me.
“Don’t talk like that, Aura. You’re not a mistake.
Mistakes don’t have purpose to them; your design is nothing but purposeful.
” Sitting next to her, I take her gloved hand in mine.
I wish I could hold her hand directly, skin to skin, but the Ssylin disguise prevents that.
“And they programmed kindness in you. Kindness is never an error.”
“Then why does it seem like one?”
“Because, sadly, life doesn’t always treat kind people with kindness.
” I search my mind for something to salvage this conversation.
The last thing I want is for Aura to hurt herself because she feels like she’s a mistake.
It was hard enough talking her out of finding someone to decommission her. “You know what I think, Aura?”
“What is that, Wyl?”
“I think you’re more than just a prophet. You’re a miracle.”
Her hooded head turns away from me as she scoffs.
“I’m telling you the truth!” Frantic for some way to show her that I’m serious, I scan the room for something I can use to prove my point.
Unfortunately, the room is sparsely decorated, leaving me nothing to work with.
How do you explain the miracle of someone’s existence to them when their whole sense of being is devised of numbers and science and personality algorithms?
Miracles are difficult enough to explain to organic beings.
Maybe that’s the answer, though …
“Aura, what’s your definition of a miracle? Not the textbook or database definition, but what would it take for you personally to consider something a miracle?”
This might have stumped her. She pauses for several minutes for “processing.”
“I think,” she finally says, “it would be something wondrous—some grand act or creation—that is beyond known explanation, understanding, or comprehension.”
I nod in agreement. “That’s actually a very good definition, and one that fits well.”
“Fits what?”
“You.” As I start listing her miraculous qualities, I tick each one off on a finger. “You’re wondrous. No, don’t argue. You are. You’re a grand creation whose origin is inexplicable, incomprehensible, and beyond all known understanding.”
“That is an unfair misinterpretation of how I came to be.”
Smiling at the void of her hood film, I shake my head.
“Nope. You can’t explain how you came to be alone on Jupiter’s Joy, you can’t name or identify your maker, and nobody who knows you exist—which would be the two of us for now—understands how you possess not only a banned structural design but also emotional programming more sophisticated than anything in existence today. ”
The hood lowers as Aura dips her head. “You have miscalculated. Hank knows I exist—your former captain. I suspect he is the reason for our troubles with the inspection.”
“Nice attempt at dodging the subject at hand, but Hank is just another person who doesn’t know where you came from.
He doesn’t have any more of a clue as to your origins than either of us do.
” I rub her shoulder, then pull her in for a hug.
“Look, I haven’t forgotten Hank. I’m sure you’re right about his involvement in the extended inspection; that already occurred to me, too.
We can’t undo it if he did blab, so there’s no point in worrying over it.
We just have to keep up appearances until the ship is cleared to depart. ”
“If the ship is cleared.”
“Hey, it’ll be okay. They can’t keep us here forever. Ssylins are a protected species. They can’t even arrest you without risking backlash from the government of Ssyl III.”
Aura pulls away from my embrace and stands several yards away, wrapping her sleeved arms around herself.
“That threat is only effective so long as the ruse is not discovered. As soon as someone finds that I am impersonating a Ssylin, that charge will be added to my already substantial list of crimes.”
“What are you—”
She points at the station’s news monitor, which I have been trying my best to ignore. “It’s right in the headline: Space Madness, or Crime Against Nature?”
With that she storms out, and I stand slack jawed as the reporter details Hank’s hysterical report to GA officials when he arrived at the station.
“Though the whistle-blower wished to remain anonymous, we here at Declan VI News have learned that his name is Henry Galgin, a human salvager currently being detained for questioning by the Galactic Authority.
Captain Galgin claims that a former crew member discovered an XR-17 model android on an abandoned spaceship.
Galgin also states that his crew member refused to dispose of the XR-17 despite a direct order.
“Investigators are looking into the situation, but given the extremely unlikely possibility that any XR-17 models survived the Purge, Galgin is currently being quarantined and tested for space madness. There has been no official confirmation that an intact XR-17 droid exists as of this recording.”
My blood runs cold as my last meal threatens to resurface.
They know.
Hank told them, and they’re just gathering evidence. It’s only a matter of time before we’re found out, before they subject Aura to a fate worse than death.
I have to get us out of here. Tonight.