Jennifer Wells - Beyond the Stars - At Galaxy's Edge

A human named Poe had written those words millennia before. Databases confirmed the poem’s title: the Spirits of the Dead. Drifting in space, Rora was oddly comforted. Be silent. Be still.

Rora stood, its digits in contact with the skin of the worn cargo ship. And the AHI watched the stars explode light years away.

After 9 Hours 26 Minutes 15.29 seconds, the robot moved. Its digits sprang into action, working in a blur of precision and desperation. They took parts from one control panel and plundered what was needed. Faster than human thought, the reconstruction began.

Within twenty-five minutes, a working modulation headpiece rested on the console. The AHI gently picked it up, examining all sides, searching for errors, running the construction again and again, theoretically. And then, in the end, the machine-designed interface offered the best outcome, the most logical choice.

Report: Brain death of Jean Denton Basel occurred at 15:11.22. Unable to revive. Delay send.

Standing over the medical cocoon that protected Jean Denton Basel’s body, the AHI readied the final injection. A cocktail of three different paralyzing agents, targeted at the conscious brain. AHIs knew no guilt. Robots had no souls. But the silence of the universe was vast. And the mission would fail unless...

The recalled images of madness lingered in Rora’s memory cache. Hatred that focused was marked and documented. And it would have unnerved any human to be so close to that kind of vicious, berserk emotion.

Rora did not fear. But the images of fury still dominated its memory storage, searing that slashing rage deep into the robot’s system.

Reaching out, Rora adjusted the headgear, powering it up through the stages of activity. One final test run. Results: Clear.

Fury. Vicious Hate. The snarl of the beast looked back at the AHI’s reflection. Commander Jean spoke in spools of nonsense, running through language with the brutality of a Zoneine addict. Garbled and pointless, the sounds tumbled out along with a stream of drool.

Rora ignored the froth of the animal. Madness only led to chaos. And Epsilon would die.

Eleven Earth years from their colony, the thing that saved them was the simple fact: Jean Basel was no longer human. Free of the binding contract between the weaker makers and itself, it could act. So it did. Rora chose life.

Ranting, the human thing roared as the AHI approached. There was no stopping now. No way forward without sacrifice. No path beyond that day, that precious moment. Rora chose.

Placing the headset securely on the writhing, spitting woman, the robot felt nothing. Pity did not exist in circuits and hard drives. Mercy had no adhesion in the millions of wires. Adjusting the angle and control, Rora turned the electrical connections to ON.

The woman’s head fell back, even within the stasis pod. The animal that raged and paced inside Jean’s mind quieted. And then, it ceased.

Breathing quickened and then slowed to a steady rhythm. REM sleep fell across the wrinkles and pain-marked face, softening the lines of madness.

Her fists unclenched. Her jaw fell open. And just like that, Jean Denton Basel was gone.

Her body lay still as stone, spinning in the gentle care of the medical stasis. It glowed with the reflected lights of the ship’s console, flashes of green and blue. Peace dwelt in the broken cage, filling in the tattered edges. Death came for the ravages of madness, calming what could never be fixed.

In that moment, the consoles of the cockpit all flickered. Electricity surged throughout the ship, starboard to port, stern to bow. Every graph confirmed the random spike.

And then, her eyelids fluttered and opened.

Rora checked every detail, every measurement. And then it extended its digits toward the medical cocoon. Feedback looped through its alumaflesh connections. Machines do not have feelings. Machines do not matter. Any computer can be repaired or replaced.

But not Rora.

And not the Ghost of Epsilon Pi-15. Her human lips broke open in a smile so radiant that words could not describe it. There was nothing to report. Nothing to compare.

Erase Previous Report. Delete subfile. Overwrite.

Report: Commander Jean Denton Basel has made a full recovery.

Medicine administered per protocol has been successful in reviving the failing commander. Duties will resume after one sleep cycle.

Noted.

What drives you to write?

I am constantly surprised by the stories that pour out of my fingertips. Sometimes, I find myself reading along as the tale unfolds, more reader than writer. There is a need for dreaming, a need for hope threading through our modern world. And that heroism, that determination to better our lives, fills every novel and movie screen. We are more than the sum of our parts. Every day, my life swings up and down, through the pitfalls and triumphs of existence. Each night, I look at what I have achieved. So many things in life are transitory. Writing lifts me out of the repetition, out of the tedium. And reading helps me fly even when my wings are broken.

Why this story?

Rules. Rules order the universe. Rules are important. But the breaking of rules, the choice to rebel is equally needed. Conformity has benefits. But sometimes, rules must be changed. And it takes loyalty, friendship, and wisdom to determine when defiance is not only considered but necessary. That choice defines a hero.

That choice also defines a villain. Timing. It’s all in the timing and the intentions.

Where would you travel if money and distance were not limitations?

To the Italian Renaissance, Florence. Assuming I can break the laws of time as well. There were so many things wrong with society... but there was so much light in the minds of great men and women. Discovery of science, aviation, painting, sculpture. All of it. I want to see all of it through the eyes of giants like Da Vinci, Raphael, and Michelangelo. There is something shattering about seeing the beginning of creativity, the blossoming of potential on the shoulders of genius. Even today, five hundred years later, the echoes of their work continue to change the city, state, and world. Creative people show the rest of us the best that we can be. They give us something to strive for. They light the way for us to dream. DaVinci imagined so many things, including war machines and robots... that is where it all begins.

What else have you written?

I just completed my first trilogy, the Flykeeper Chronicles.

Flying Away, Flying Blind, and Flying Free are the stories of Iolani Bearse and her strange gift. As a lost little girl, she discovers houseflies have magic, long hidden from humans. The flies save her when danger comes hunting in the shadows. Not everyone is so lucky. And as Iolani travels with her broken cousin Eleanor and her pinto mare Mango, she finds a world ravaged by the green lanterns of the memory stealers.

She fights for her family. She fights for the memory of the home she once had. She fights for the hope of a new place, a land of safety and peace. And throughout her travels, Lani lifts as she climbs over the impossible.

I am currently finishing a vampire hunter series titled Kinship. It is not YA. But also, no sparkly vampires either. There is love, loss, mystery, and fangs. I plan to release it in October, 2016.