“That’s what I fucking told him,” Yan grumbled, picking up his thermos and shoving it at Iris. “Drink.You have to keep drinking if you’re not going to eat.”
Iris begrudgingly took the thermos. Yan’s care was growing a shade aggressive, but the engineer kept persisting, reminding Iris to drink, reminding Iris to step back and meditate for a few minutes here and there. Iris would never openly admit it, but he was grateful. “And I have explained that the AI system probably formed in-flight,” he said softly, between sips of warm water. “I think the AI is interfacing with the organics on the ship, all the vines and the moss and the shrubs, and the, the—”
“And I already told you that’s impossible,” Yan said, declining the thermos when Iris tried passing it back to him. He shoved it into Ishtan’s hands instead.
“It’s not impossible.” All three turned towards the meek voice coming from where Jesi lay on her side. She stared ahead with hollow eyes, through them, towards something beyond any sight. The shock of losing Eli had rendered her emotionally flat, but maybe that was best for the time being. “Remember the experiments they did with themada-ekreskuworms, Yan? That interface worked.”
“That was over a hundred years ago, and it wasn’t an AI, Jesi. No ethics board would let you shove an AI into a worm. That was a simple bot.”
Iris heard relief in Yan’s voice. Jesi wasn’t completely broken. There was still hope for her. Yan was right. No matter how awful the world, Jesi was resilient. The same couldn’t be said for the rest of them.
“What abouttecra-gel?” Jesi asked.
Yan snorted. “Tecra-gelexperiments were somewhat prominent not fifty years ago, when there was still interest in producing AI/organic interfaces. They were stopped when it was deemed unethical to place fully developed AI systems into what was nothing more than jelly. They could exert themselves in so far that the jelly made shapes, but that was about it. From there, everyone just left AI constructs to their inorganic homes in ships and stations and moved on.”
Iris tapped his big toe against the ground, channelling his growing frustration into movement. “You’re all forgetting that I successfully interface withmyAI and have been for decades.”
Three pairs of eyes focused on him.
“Well, yes,” Ishtan said. “But you’re a monk.”
Iris pursed his lips. Whatever the hellthatmeant. “The problem with interfacing isn’t the organic/inorganic bond. It’s time. The inorganic component has tolearnits way around the organics, the way the organic system sends its signals. Only then can it mimic them. Nothing has had more time than theNicaea.”
Three pairs of eyes turned to Yan. He only rolled his eyes. “There is no precedent.”
“This can become one,” Jesi pointed out. “Vessel has a point. TheNicaeahas been floating through space for a thousand years. Yan, you have to admit it, we are all out of our depthshere. All of us were attacked by the vines. All of us heard the voices. Nothing makes sense anymore, which means anything is possible.”
“Notanything.” Yan pulled out a cigarette from his shirt pocket and, seeing how it was dripping with moisture, whipped it against the ground. “You want to imagine all sorts of fairy tales about ships coming to life? Fine. I don’t care anymore. It’s picking us off one by one, whatever the hell it is. Ship or not, if both Jesi and I go next, then what? Does Ishtan or the Vessel know how to override airlocks? Do they even know how to call Station for help?” He glared at Ishtan, who sheepishly turned his eyes to the ground. “Thought so.”
“If only Tev were alive,” Jesi said softly. “He’d know how to talk to the ship, you know?”
“Well, he’s not,” Yan spat out and got to his feet. “And bringing him up won’t help us here.” Without another word, he stormed down the corridor and turned the corner, away from everyone’s pitying eyes. The three remaining fell into a mournful silence.
After several eternal minutes trickled by, Jesi was the first to crack. “I should go apologise,” she said. “He’s hurting. I should know better.” She groaned and sat up, but Iris stopped her.
“I’ll go. I’m already getting on his nerves. Maybe it will be easier for him to get angry.”
“Surprised you’d support anger,” Ishtan said, voice distant. He passed Yan’s empty thermos between his palm, staring blankly ahead.
Iris struggled to his feet and steadied himself against the wall. He was getting increasingly dizzier with each passing hour, the starvation having eaten its way through most of his fat reserves. His body was after muscle now, and that was proving rather inefficient. “Anger mobilises you if you can only keepit focused enough. I would prefer him angry over distraught.” Holding his left arm against his chest, Iris hobbled down the corridor. “I’d prefer him to be neither, but I’m a realist.”
He found Yan crouched by the wall, his face buried in the crook of his forearm. He didn’t move when Iris came upon him, nor when the Vessel knelt beside him, leaving just enough space to be respectful. Iris watched as Yan’s hands contracted into fists, open and close, and his shoulders tensed. The anger Iris had so foolishly praised as mobilising was doing the very opposite.
“Anger is a funny thing,” Iris said, watching Yan’s fingers twitch at the sound of his voice. “It gives us an illusion of control, doesn’t it? Even if we blame only ourselves, we get the sense we’re doing something productive, something just. We’re correcting a wrong.” Yan slowly looked up with the expression of a man who’d just been struck. “We convince ourselves that as long as we’re angry with ourselves, as long as we blame ourselves, whateveritis we’re blaming ourselves for, we won’t forget it. We’re makingsomeonepay. Justice is being served. Meanwhile, we don’t have to feel the pain. Isn’t that right? It’s not the thing that happened that we’re afraid of—it’s already done—it’s the pain.”
Slowly, Iris reached out to him. When the engineer didn’t recoil, he took Yan’s fist into his hands. “Softly,” Iris said, gently unfurling the fist finger by finger. “If you hold it softly instead, you’ll be able to bear it much longer.” He held Yan’s hand in his. It was wide and warm, and Iris traced the calloused fingertips as the flicker of a feeling much too great ignited again. It took the smallest bit for him to get carried away.
“I won’t suggest that you forgive yourself, but just that you do not set yourself on fire in Tev’s memory. You’ll just burn yourself to the ground and maybe some of us with you as well.Let it burn, but don’t stoke it. Don’t chase it. I promise you, when this is all finished, I will sit with you so that you may rest.” Iris used the same word for rest Yan had. “I’ll sit with you while you heal, and we can remember together.”
Still staring blankly ahead, Yan whispered, softer than the drip of water around them, “When I was a kid, we had this cat named Litmus. He was ancient, like at least nineteen or twenty. My family had gotten him way before I was born.” Yan’s eyes glistened in the dim corridor, filling with tears. “When I was ten, Litmus died. Like I said, he was so old, so it wasn’t a big deal. Everyone was adequately sad, but it wasn’t a tragedy or anything. But Ilovedthat stupid cat. This is so fucked—” Yan broke off, shutting his eyes.
Iris gave Yan’s hand a timid squeeze. “Go on.”
“Well, our cat died, and everyone just talked about how that was just the way things went, you know? Things die, that’s the order of the cosmos. But I wasn’t ready. I was ten. So, before they had a chance to bury Litmus, I dragged this cat’s carcass up to the roof during a thunderstorm. I was trying to reanimate …” Yan paused when he noticed Iris’s lips twitch into a smile. “Is my childhood trauma funny to you, Vessel?”
“Not at all.” Iris lowered his head, in part to apologise, in part to hide his widening grin. “No, please, continue. You were trying to revive your family pet.” Despite his efforts, a single giggle escaped him.
When he looked up again, Yan was smiling back. “I’ll save you the narrative tension. The roof got hit pretty badly by lightning. I got knocked out cold when I fell off, broke my arm too. Litmus”—Yan broke off into a half giggle, half sob—“Litmus smelled like a campfire, he got charred so—my poor mother—I can’t believe I’m thinking about this right now. That’s sofucked.”
