Over the weeks, OS stops presenting us with tasks during the music hour. When I continue to push back against its tales of the Minerva rescue, it gives up on talking about Titan as well. Of course it does. Lying isn’t working, so it’s stopped.
After the daily music hour, we dutifully complete the tasks OS requests of us. Kodiak uses the one spacesuit remaining in theAurorafor the exterior jobs, while I work on the ship’s insides. OS appears to accept this truce of sorts. All the same, I’m haunted by that image of Rover coming into my sleeping chamber, deftly slashing the throat of my previous self. I set up traps and alarms, so I’ll wake if Rover is on its way in.
That’s no way to live. I hate this aching awareness that we will die once our tasks are completed. But Kodiak and I might have come up with a plan for that.
_-* Tasks Remaining: 3010 *-_
I sit cross-legged before the large window of 06, staring into the expanse. We’re out of tea—the previous Ambroses must have enjoyed it a little too much—but I can sip hot water, steeped in the flavors of polycarb. Yum. At least Idon’t have to worry about the slow-growing cancers from heated plastic. I’m sure I’ve got plenty of fast ones that will end things a lot sooner. So... hooray?
I hear the thump of Kodiak’s heavier tread, then his body is pressed against the screen, shoulder pushing on the window as he peers out at the made-up stars.
“OS, revert screens to windows,” I try, not for the first time.
OS doesn’t respond. It doesn’t respond to much these days; I guess it knows anything it reveals will only decrease its advantage.
“It’s certainly impressive,” Kodiak says, eyes up to the stars. “High resolution.”
“That doesn’t make it the truth,” I say.
“No, unfortunately it doesn’t,” Kodiak says. He looks at me quietly.
“What?” I ask.
He shrugs, still looking at me. He returns to stroking the stars, leading with his middle finger, a Dimokratía mannerism.
“What are you thinking about?” I press.
“The last Dimokratía election.”
“I see you’re using ‘election’ loosely.”
Surprisingly, Kodiak chuckles. “Yes, it was the fifth one in a row with the same outcome. There were many fiery speeches. The whole country dropped everything toconsider whether we should return to a firm geographical border instead of the patchwork of economically tied regions Earth had become.”
“Starting with the proposed swap of Patagonia and the Bangladesh fishery!” I finish. “I got assigned the ‘economic boundaries’ side of that one for a class debate.”
“Yes. So you remember? This issue seemed like the very greatest concern any human had ever had to worry about. All of that, the politics, the wars, the works of literature—”
“—even the old kings, the earliest cavepeople!”
Irritation flashes on his face. “Would you let me finish?”
“Sorry, I was just getting excited. I come from an interrupting sort of family.”
“They’re all gone now. They didn’t matter.” He puts his fingertip over Earth as it travels across the screen, bright and blue and tiny, a jeweler’s bead.
“From here, even our sun would be too small to represent using visible light,” I say.
“Using the term ‘here’ loosely,” he says, glowering.
“Yes, sure.”
“I just wish President Gruy could have seen this, that we all could have. It makes it a little easier to keep perspective, to go... more softly with each other.”
“Go more softly with each other, I like that way of putting it,” I say.
“Thank you. I said it just for you.”
I punch him. “That’s funny. You’re funny, Kodiak.”
