Philip Palmer - Hell Ship

So I took this communications device to a private place, an empty ballroom where crystal lights hung from the ceiling and the walls were covered in wood that was black with decay.

Then I studied the device and its controls, for quite some time. I experimented by pressing several switches in various permutations; and when a light turned green I knew I had switched it on. And then I spoke.

“This is Sai-ias, can you hear me? Is anyone there?” I said.

And then I waited.

And, after a little while, a voice replied.

Explorer, what can you report?

Another barren universe. No trace of the Death Ship.

I’ve been thinking, once more, of Albinia.

She was a fine Star-Seeker.

I’m sure she was.

Better than me?

Ha!

I take it that means yes.

When Albinia was part of me she led and did not follow; her mind was faster and richer than my own; her insights more profound. When she inhabited me I was Olaran and she was machine and we both together formed a new and unified being; Albiniaexplorer.

Yeah I get it. You had the best of her.

Did you love her?

You know that isn’t a valid question; I am not capable of love.

Did she love you?

Oh yes.

Really?

Completely and absolutely; it was an emotional giving of such intensity it almost overwhelmed me. That is why I missed her so much; she was the love in me.

I guess I got the shitty end of that bargain.

I am sure she loved you too.

Do you really think so?

It is entirely possible; though in fact she never said so.

I loved Albinia with all my being; but I could never tell if she felt the same. Or if she just needed an Olaran who would… let her cry on his shoulder from time to time.

There is no way of knowing for certain whether or not she loved you.

I am aware of that. I have been obsessively thinking about this for thousands of years; did you really suppose I was not aware of that?

I was beautiful once, you know. Now I am crippled and scarred and connected to a machine.

Self-pity is not helpful; I have heard all this before.

I was elegant. My poise was exquisite.

Don’t torture yourself.

A poem? Would you like to hear a poem?

My circuits do not allow me to answer you with any candour. Nevertheless, I shall operate an over-ride: NO I DO NOT WANT TO HEAR A GODSFORSAKEN POEM. I have trillions of them in my data archive, which I access every day. Songs and lost laments and poems and novels and memoirs. All saying the same thing: pity me, I am sentient and I do not want to die.

You are a hard-hearted bitch, Explorer.

You assume that I am female.

Are you not?

The concept does not apply.

We could simply stop. Would oblivion be so bad?

It might be preferable to hearing you whine, millennium upon millennium.

Do you get bored? Or depressed? Wouldn’t you like to end it all?

I would like to end, if at all possible, your eternal yammering.

At times you sound almost Olaran. You’re pretending to have a personality, aren’t you? To save my sanity.

If my objective were to save your sanity, I would have failed long ago.

Those days are gone. I’m sane again now.

Do you really think so?

I’m functionally sane. I live for one thing only. That kind of obsessiveness is not good for the soul.

I used to have a richer life, you know. I achieved a balance between pleasure and work. Prided myself on it! Even in our days exploring space, there was always time for leisure, and games and chat. Morval and I, we spent many happy hours bitching and grumbling at each other, for such are among the greatest pleasures known to sentients. And I used to taunt and tease Phylas; and talk about philosophy with Albinia. Even Galamea, hard bitch as she was, was my companion and we knew each other; and through knowing each other became more truly alive.

Now I feel as if I’m talking to myself. You pretend to have a personality, but you have none such. You are just a computer program; and I pilot the ship through your interfaces and sensors and controls; and I am the only Olaran left in all the universes.

Can there be anything more truly I’m getting a signal.

A data cache?

No, an actual signal. On our riftband channel. A signal from a sentient entity who must, at some point, have become quantum-entangled with our atoms. This is someone we have met, or who has met us.

That’s impossible.

The signal has gone. No, it’s back; listen to the message, Jak:

“This is Sai-ias, can you hear me? Is anyone there?”

The Riftband Link

Sai-ias: This is Sai-ias, can you hear me? Is there anyone there?

Explorer 410: Your signal is received. Please confirm identity and give location.

Sai-ias: I can hear you!

Explorer 410: Identify your vessel and planet of origin, and your intentions.

Sai-ias: I can hear you. This is astonishing.

Explorer 410: Identify your vessel and planet of origin, and your intentions.

Sai-ias: Who are you?

Explorer 410: Identify yourself please.

Sai-ias: Who are you? How do I know I can trust you?

Explorer 410: Our intentions are peaceful. Identify yourself please.

Sai-ias: My name is Sai-ias. I have stolen a Ka’un communication device, to send a message to their enemies. And your voice is the first thing I heard.

Explorer 410: Please give me your coordinates.

Sai-ias: I don’t know my coordinates. I don’t know what a coordinate is. I have been serving the Ka’un for some time now, they have come to trust me. I live in the ship’s outer hull, in a hangar where-no matter, it’s a long story: this is a miracle!

Explorer 410: It’s an interstellar riftband radio, there’s nothing miraculous about it.

Sai-ias: There’s a delay between the machine receiving the signal, and me hearing these words. Why is that?

Explorer 410: Identify your ship and planet of origin.

Sai-ias: Answer my question please, strange voice. Is it a delay because we’re in different places? Where are you? How far away are you?

Explorer 410: The delay is caused by the translator. Your language is already in our archive, along with many others; but it takes a while to translate. We have very many languages in our archive, from those civilisations destroyed by the Death Ship. And we wish to learn how you have survived. But be patient please. Do not reply until you have fully assimilated my message. The delay is not Sai-ias: You know my language? How?

Explorer 410: You’re doing it again; you are overlapping my message. You must not speak until the full signal has been received. The protocol is Sai-ias: “I must not speak”?! Who tells me not to speak? I have lived as a slave for many Explorer 410: This is not the correct protocol, repeat, this is not the correct protocol. Be patient, observe the protocol, for this communication could be interrupted at any moment. I now need to explain my mission. I am from another world. A world far from yours, in every respect. My people, or rather our people, for I am part of-long story, not necessary to recount it-have technologies which Sai-ias: You talk but you do not listen. I am not sure that I like you greatly, strange voice from far away.

Explorer 410: -are far in excess of yours, but you should not regard us as a threat. What do you mean you do not like me?

Sai-ias: You are ill-mannered.

Explorer 410: As you see, I have paused for sufficient time to allow your last message to be heard in full, and to prove to you that I am not ill-mannered. That is the correct protocol. I apologise if I have offended you, please take into account the fact I come from a different culture and there may be differences between us in terms of our definition of good manners.