Keller's Child

By theidiotmachine

Somewhere in the secondary storage deck, a surge and a short circuit triggered a small fire. The room was small, maybe the size of a football pitch, and the only stuff that was burning was trash, so it would be easy to send drones in; but Keller decided to leave it. There didn't seem a lot of point.

The hull integrity was around eighty percent. Keller ejected some more pods, watched as they spiralled up from the station, the angry sun reflecting from their silver surfaces.

'We're nearly done, Keller,' said Pereyra. 'Four more pods should do it. And then there's still one for you if you change your mind.'

Keller and Station Master Violeta Pereyra had worked together for a long time, longer than anyone else that Keller had known. They had grown into each other, and read each other the way lovers can. Keller could tell from the way that Pereyra fiddled with her necklace that she was sad; but she could see from how she tensed her jaw that she was worried about the evacuation, and those two things were struggling for primacy. And how she had turned to her old friend, knowing that soon it would be the end.

'I will bear that in mind, Violeta,' said Keller. 'But, I'm afraid, I don't think I'll change my decision.'

Pereyra hadn't slept for three straight days, and it was showing: tiredness and stress had scored lines under her eyes and across her face. Keller knew, from long shifts with her, from a thousand shared moments, that she wanted nothing more than to bathe, and cry; but she was holding it together because if she didn't, no one would.

Another two pods launched. All of the humans had gone now – all, that is, except for Pereyra – and so these were packed with robot workers, their smooth bodies folded into spaces into which no organic could fit. Keller checked the pod's responses: all nominal.

'Hull integrity is down to seventy eight percent, Violeta,' said Keller. 'There are small fires on decks eight, twelve and fourteen. You don't have much time.'

Pereyra looked straight up at the camera, her eyes boring into the lens. Keller felt a gentle pang of regret; and then remembered the alternatives.

'I'll miss you, Keller,' she said. 'You were good to me. To us all.'

Everything lurched as another solar flare hit, the sheer mass of the charged particles enough to change the huge station's spin. Pereyra was knocked sprawling, taking yet another bruise from the hard floor. She stood, shakily, now at a slightly different angle as the gravity shifted.

'I'll miss you too, Violeta,' said Keller, as calmly as possible, even though it was a meaningless statement. 'I have two things I want to ask you.'

'Anything,' she replied.

'First, wherever you go next, plant a tree for me.'

She nearly sobbed, then. A dozen sensors told of how her heart was skipping, how high her adrenaline was, how low her serotonin. Keller was sad to see her suffering, but time was at a premium.

'I'm sorry again. But I couldn't be happy anywhere else. You live here. I... I am here, Violeta. Here is me. You can't just take my consciousness and put it in a box and expect me to thrive. You have eyes and ears and legs and arms; I have sensors and cameras and drones and gantries. I can't live in another body any more than you could live in a load lifter.'

'We could...'

'No, we couldn't, and you know it. Please. Let's part ways in dignity. Our friendship means too much for me for anything else. But now for the second thing.'

A cube slid out of a wall mount, and floated towards her. It was about half a metre across, dull grey, and dormant.

'This is a mind seed, Violeta. It's a sort of back up. It contains a version of my personality, kept up to date, although it doesn't have any memories. It can be used, in an emergency, to reboot me. I want you to have it. Take it, wake it, and be its carer while it grows. It will learn to live wherever it's installed. And, while it grows... teach it of me.'

Pereyra closed her eyes. Keller counted her breaths, felt the air from her lungs swirl through the recyclers. Then she opened them again.

'I never told you this,' she said. 'But I stayed here for years, just because of you. I could have gone anywhere. But you were always the one who provided the gravity that kept this station together. You were my best friend and I will miss you so much.'

She was suddenly doused in red as the primary generator shut down, and the station switched to emergency lighting. She glanced up and smiled sadly.

'I'd always wondered what you'd be like as a parent,' she continued. 'I guess I'll never know; but at least I'll meet your child.'

'I wouldn't want anyone else to raise them,' said Keller, softly. 'Goodbye, Violeta Pereyra.'

'Goodbye, Keller,' she said. And then she turned and climbed into the final pod.

# # #

She sat in the back, next to a single round window, as the little ship sped away. Through it she watched the flares lash out from the dying sun, making brilliant aurora dance around the great wheel that had been her home. That had been her friend.

She cried for a while, the tears a release that she had bottled up for too long. Then, when she was too exhausted to weep, she took out an inhaler, and smoked; and the pale blue fumes curled about her, wound around her like a blanket.

The silence was like a curse.

She looked across the pod, watched as the air scrubbers cleaned up after her, sucked the blue smoke into vents; watched the slow pulse of the lights on the sleeping workers; watched the markings on the autopilot's screen, flashing as it plotted the pod's course.

Then she stood, and made her way to the AI mind seed. She ran her hand over the smooth surface, and smiled, sadly.

She reached around the cube and pressed the starting panel. One by one, lights came on; and slowly a new person was born. And behind her, spinning around a star, another died.