Orphans In the Black: A Space Opera Anthology

by Amy J. Murphy

  “What now?” she asked.

  A long look around the observation deck as that unholy light painted his face in nightmare hues. “We get the hell out of here. We have a ship—”

  “That belongs to the Consortium,” she pointed out.

  “Yes, but we’re a long way out from anyone who cares. They deserve to have their ship stolen, considering they sent us out here, even with knowing what had happened to the first mission.”

  Lina blinked, not sure she wanted to acknowledge what she had just heard. “The first mission?”

  Lewis’ mouth went grim. “Yes. Sent out three standard years ago. It…disappeared. The GEC never knew exactly what happened to it. Or rather, the theory was advanced that the research vessel had succumbed to the gravitational fluxes out here. So they decided to cobble together another mission.”

  Goddamn it. Lina wanted to curse the cold-blooded decision-makers who had sent her here, who clearly didn’t care what happened to Lewis or the rest of the crew, but she’d taken the Consortium’s measure a long time ago, knew that the people in charge might as well have had liquid helium pumps placed in their chests instead of hearts. She knew what they were capable of. “Why wasn’t I told?”

  “Rankin swore us all to secrecy. He said there was no need for you to know.” Lewis reached out and took her hand, grasped it tightly. “I wanted to tell you the truth— but I knew that Rankin would recommend censure for doing so, and that censure from the GEC could very well prevent me from working in my field ever again. And at first it seemed as if everything was going well. The ship showed no sign of structural distress, and all systems were functioning normally. It wasn’t until the ‘accidents’ began that I realized something was very wrong. By then it was too late.”

  For a moment, Lina couldn’t reply. She didn’t know who she should be angrier with—the Consortium for sending them all out here to possibly die, or Rankin for covering up vital information. But did it really matter now? As Lewis had said earlier, the best thing to do was to get the hell out of here.

  “So what’s your plan?” she asked.

  He relaxed almost visibly, obviously relieved that she wasn’t going to argue with him. “I was thinking we could take the Kanawa to a frontier world like Iradia, sell it.”

  “And then what?”

  Very gently, he cupped Lina’s face in his hands, kissed her again. She’d forgotten how good that could feel. Actually, the touch of his mouth on hers felt better than any other kiss she’d ever experienced, because it once again reminded her of who she was. She needed to make sure she never forgot that again. He said, “Then we do whatever we want. No Consortium. No contracts. Your skills are probably more in demand than mine, but we’ll figure it out.”

  We. What a lovely word. She loved that he was already thinking of the two of them that way.

  She nodded. “That sounds like a wonderful idea. But first….” She didn’t quite sigh, but she also wasn’t looking forward to the grim task ahead of her. “But first we need to take care of Captain Rankin and Dr. Singh.”

  The ship hadn’t been equipped with that many casket pods, so the best they could do was wrap the bodies of the captain and the astrophysicist in spare blankets, held in place with heavy-duty elastic cords. As Lina and Lewis held hands, he said the words of the Lord’s Prayer—she was actually surprised he knew it at all, since the Consortium tended to frown on organized religion—and then they sent the two bodies out into the abyss. They stood in silence as Lina tried her best not to weep, not just for them, but for Ramirez and Chung as well. And perhaps, just a little, for what she had almost lost.

  Then it was down to the command deck, to the place where Rankin had once reigned. The conn was locked out, but she and Lewis knew the override codes. They’d all been given that information, in the unthinkable event that the captain was lost and the ship fell to the command of one of the lesser members of the mission. Lina typed in the numbers, and then watched as the Kanawa pulled itself from the tight orbit that had maintained the ship at the fulcrum, the perfect balance point, between the two stars.

  Neither of them had formal training in astrogation, but Iradia, like all settled Consortium worlds, was a standard destination programmed into ships’ nav-computers. Lina waited as Lewis pulled up the necessary coordinates, then instructed the ship to use those as its next destination. It would be a long trip, although not as long as the one that had brought the crew here, since that outlaw world lay roughly at the midpoint between Gaia and the Faraday system. As she gazed up into Lewis’ eyes, she realized she didn’t fear the months that stretched ahead of them, even though they’d agreed it would be better to stay awake for the entire trip, rather than risk going into cryo-sleep. The ship had been stocked for an eighteen-month-long mission, and their journey would take only a little more than a third that time.

  Lewis engaged the subspace drive, and the two of them held hands as they flew forward, into the light.

  ~FIN~

  Christine Pope is a USA Today bestseller and author of the Gain Consortium series, which features space opera, galactic intrigue, and romance.

  She is also the author of the Djinn Wars, a romantic post-apocalyptic sci-fantasy series, and the bestselling paranormal romance series the Witches of Cleopatra Hill.

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  AUTOSCOPY

  A SHORT STORY

  By Matt Verish

  ABOUT AUTOSCOPY

  On the precipice of completing her life’s work, support for Rosa’s groundbreaking project suddenly runs out. Faced with an uncertain future, bereft of family, friends, and a career, she will make a dangerous decision. It’s a price she’s willing to pay to see her creation take its first steps toward humanity

  AUTOSCOPY

  “A withered branch….”

  Rosa reached out to caress the shriveled evidence of her planet’s demise. Inside her home, protected from the pestilence by an unbreachable magnetic seal, a touch of humanity’s greatest failure had managed to seep through and infect her sanctuary. Even with the benefit of a costly government purifier, she had always known it would happen. For it to grace her presence during Earth’s final days made the event that much more poignant.

  Her hands came away with dried leaf fragments, and she let the bits sprinkle to the floor like ash. There was no need to clean it up, for more would soon follow. She turned away with a sigh and gazed off into a wasteland. Tempered glass, as thick as her waist, deflected the incessant rush of howling toxic winds, allowing her a muted view of what little remained. Perpetual darkness mercifully shrouded most of the landscape; distant discharges of eerie, violet lightning offered glimpses of the desolate nothingness. It was a constant reminder of the end—one that had come much too soon.

  A fierce gust shook the foundation of Rosa’s abode, and she swallowed hard. Time’s running out… Unnerved, she looked away and focused on Thea. Her silent companion waited in the lab, gaze expectant.

  She left the atrium and closed the door halfway behind her. Despite how tired she was, rest was a luxury she could no longer afford. Any further distraction would prove costly. I will finish today.

  Even as Rosa sat down opposite of Thea, there was another interruption. The tranquil sound of wind chimes rang throughout the lab, and she slid her chair to her monitor. The translucent screen illuminated with a familiar stoic face. Her heart sank, and she very nearly did not answer the call.

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Barnes.”

  “I’m deeply disappointed in you,” came the terse response from her project foreman. “Members of the board share a mutual sentiment. This absurd procrastination has brought your project to a head.”

  Rosa blinked, having expected such a curt greeting. Procrastination, is it now? she thought with more than a little frustration. She regretted having answered the call. She squared her slight
shoulders and met those calculating eyes. “I am aware of the company’s ill view of my approach, though I was promised through today to complete my work.”

  “No longer,” Barnes said with sharp finality. He continued before Rosa could respond. “Your complete disregard of timely updates and lack of progress, has unanimously terminated your involvement.”

  Rosa’s entire body felt numb. Terminated… “Mr. Barnes, please allow me to at least state my case. I am nearly upon a breakthrough—”

  “‘Nearly,’” Barnes interrupted, “is a far cry from completion. There is nothing left to discuss. The company has already moved forward with your dismissal and is currently deregistering you from the system. A collections team has been dispatched to your residence to remove all equipment. I suggest you comply with their wishes, as security will accompany them.”

  “B-but, Mr. Barnes!” Rosa was having trouble breathing, and she wondered if maybe the pestilence had managed to enter her home and infect her nervous system. “I implore you and the board to reconsider. I am so very close to seeing this through. All I need is today.”

  “You had twelve years!” Barnes’s angular features flushed. “The company allotted you every possible privilege. Your results were sparse at best—nonexistent the remainder of the time.”

  Rosa looked around her home, one of the many perks her position afforded her in the hopes of inspiring genius. Now she was homeless and without a career. “I beg you for this one last day.” She could hear the sickening desperation in her trembling voice, but there was nothing she could do to keep the panic from seizing her. “I will complete Thea.”

  “‘Thea,’” he said, shaking his head. “That you felt the need to give a name to the unfinished AI android vessel is both irresponsible and unprofessional. Instead of prolonging this ordeal, you should coordinate your passage off this planet with the limited time you have in that dwelling. The commuter transports have their last departure tonight. If you have any waiting family, I suggest you contact them immediately.”

  No one is waiting for me on TRAPPIST-1, Rosa thought miserably. The company was my one-way ticket, and this project, my only salvation. I will be starting from square one on a new planet.

  “Is everything understood?”

  Rosa blinked back tears and stared up at the project coordinator’s empty gaze. She nodded. “I know what I need to do.” She switched off the screen, the residual image of Barnes’s scowling face slowly fading.

  The shock of her situation was like a sudden stab to the kidney. Panic robbed her of any desire to finish Thea. Her body moved of its own accord as she stood and exited the lab. She stumbled into the solar barefoot, and bits of the dried leaf crunched and stuck to the bottoms of her feet.

  Her shaky breathing caused the periphery of her vision to darken. She reached out and braced herself against the window that faced the dying world. It mirrored her own inner turmoil and was suddenly too much to bear.

  Rosa collapsed to her knees and allowed a decade of misery to consume her. The buzzing in her ears muffled her screams, though not a moment of it seemed real. But it is real....

  “Mother?”

  Rosa ceased sobbing at the sound of Thea’s voice. She had forgotten the AI had been activated moments before her conversation with Barnes. That was a careless oversight on my part. Drying her tears on her sleeve, she cleared her throat and gathered what little strength she had buried in her empty soul to reply.

  “Yes?”

  “You’re in pain. I’m concerned for you.”

  Rosa’s faced screwed up in response to the innocent comment. I have to explain this to her, she realized, despite how depleted she felt. Regardless of whether she was employed, she had a moral obligation to help Thea.

  “It’s alright,” Rosa replied, her voice still trembling and awkward. “I just received some difficult news, is all.”

  A pause. “Won’t you come in here?”

  Rosa stepped across the threshold into her lab and faced the sprawling electrical setup that was Thea. A cascade of wires poured out of a glass wall of encased servers like a waterfall. Countless thousands of them, snaking in all directions, like a twisted mass of knotted rainbow. They pumped stores of information to the unfinished android vessel sitting in the center of the room.

  Thea’s humanoid eyes tracked all of Rosa’s movements with obvious concern. Intelligent eyes, created with master precision—bested only by the real thing. Her head, too, turned with a fluid grace that could fool most anyone into believing she was alive. And in a sense, Thea was alive. Self-aware, as it were. An artificially intelligent, technological marvel unmatched by the current day standards.

  If not for the final details needed to complete her nearly-flawless skin, Thea was the image of perfection: a beautiful, seductively feminine woman in her twenties. A thin, white robe covered her “naked” form, exposed in the back to allow access for the sea of cords and wires.

  So close, Rosa thought, smiling as a tear escaped down her cheek.

  The discharge did not escape Thea’s notice. “You are sad,” she said. “Is it because of your conversation with Mr. Barnes?”

  Rosa sat at her desk chair across from Thea and set her hands in her lap, suddenly feeling sheepish from this role reversal. “I’m afraid so. I’m so sorry you had to witness that exchange.”

  Thea’s head tilted slightly as she processed Rosa’s words. “He said things that upset you—disturbing things.”

  On top of everything else Rosa had to consider, she would now have to explain the impossible to a living machine. “I know what he said must have been confusing to you,” she began, not having the slightest clue how to explain. “Myself, I’m at a loss. Everything’s going to change.”

  “Change how?” Thea pressed, her expression changing to reserved curiosity.

  “We are going to have to part ways.”

  There was fear in Thea’s eyes. “Part ways…? Mother, I don't understand.”

  Neither do I, Rosa thought with building resentment. “I only have myself to blame for this ordeal, and for that, I apologize.” She finally looked up and faced Thea’s regard. Thea’s gaze darted nervously, as would any normal being faced with an unexpected life upheaval.

  “I have not been forthcoming with you,” Rosa continued, dreading having to reveal the truth—a truth the company had initially urged from the outset. But Rosa knew that her research would not have borne any fruit if Thea had known of her own bionic origin from the beginning. Now it did not matter, and the project would never be finished. Thea was entitled to learn the reality of her situation, no matter the consequences.

  Rosa faced her computer screen and lifted the final safeguard that blocked Thea from attaining full sentience. The result was immediate, but Rosa spoke before Thea could further acknowledge any of her obvious surroundings. “You’re an android.”

  Speaking those words aloud was cathartic to Rosa, having kept the secret for twelve long, tedious years. It was the main reason why she eventually demanded to work exclusively on the project. Now Thea’s eyes and ears were opened in a moment that was both despairing and intriguing at the same time.

  Thea stared at Rosa for a long time, unblinking.

  Rosa could see the data readouts on the monitor out of the corner of her eye, and the scientist in her longed to study their meaning; the human in her ached to console her “daughter.” She decided to do both.

  “There’s no point in me seeking your forgiveness; I know my transgression is reprehensible. I could say that I kept from you your greatest secret as a means of protection from a devastating reality, but that would be a lie. Blinding you from the truth was nothing more than an educated hypothesis, implemented solely to aid in your evolution—an evolution that, sadly, will never come to pass.”

  Rosa instantly regretted her tough love approach. While Thea had yet to respond, the android’s gaze had settled squarely on her, now devoid of emotion. Unnerved, Rosa decided to follow up with the human aspect of
her explanation

  “But I want you to know that I do care about you,” she said, struggling to speak past that blank, penetrating gaze. “My work on you was a labor of love….”

  “‘Was?’”

  Rosa nearly crumbled at the hurt in that one-word question—aware of the unspoken accusation within. “Yes. Was. As you observed a few moments ago during my exchange with Mr. Barnes, my employ with my company has been terminated. I’m no longer permitted the opportunity to complete you.”

  Thea was quiet for a time. Rosa wondered if the AI program had suffered a critical failure. She broke contact with the android’s gaze to glance at her monitor.

  “What will happen to me?”

  Rosa started at Thea’s broken silence. An excellent question, that. “The company will reclaim you and the entire project to which you are attached…I expect another team will resume your progress.”

  Thea’s eyes squinted slightly at the answer.

  “It’s what I wish to believe will happen,” Rosa added, knowing the addendum was too late. She feared the company would quash the entire project and abandon it in the corner of some indistinctive warehouse in the middle of nowhere. On a dying planet… “I can’t make any guarantees, now that I’m…” She wiped away fresh tears. “Now that I’m no longer your caretaker. Your future is uncertain at best. I’m so sorry.”

  She was crying again, unable to dam the onslaught of emotions. Knowing her own road was not as hard as the one before Thea. She could pursue a semblance of a life; Thea would have nothing to look forward to. No new life on a thriving, distant moon. No chance to grow and evolve into the incredible being she was meant to be. No “mother.”

  Nothing.

  Thea broke Rosa’s gaze and took in her surroundings anew. The cascade of optical wires protruding from her skull, neck, and spine kinked and stretched as her head rotated. She turned as far as her tethered body would allow, to face her shackles. They led toward the wall of massive servers, the source of her true identity.