image [https://i.postimg.cc/3J18Q72G/cygnus-datapad.png]
Elisa walked through the cacophony of activity in the central yard, doing her best to project a confidence she still didn’t fully feel. The progress was undeniable: somewhere between scavenging the drop pods and carefully rationing resources, the colony had managed to pull off minor miracles.
Six new colonists had been awakened, and all of them were already contributing to the base, despite their bloodshot eyes and patches of radiation-burned skin.
At the far edge of the machinery bay stood the second rover, newly finished and gleaming under the sparse overhead lights. Its blocky silhouette seemed more purposeful than the original, with reinforced plating at the front and additional mounting points for weaponry. The effort to build it had been brutal—every part and subsystem had been fashioned out of recycled material or spun up in the still-temperamental fabricator. Yet somehow, it had all come together.
Reverend Ervin Sekhon was chatting with two newly awakened scientists: The chemist Casimir Stephanov and physics doctor Quan Shirong, who were testing the rover’s controls and calibrating its sensor suite. They had just run a trial spin around the perimeter, and the new vehicle appeared to handle the rough terrain with ease.
“If this one performs as well as the first,” Ervin remarked to Elisa, “we will soon have the mobility we need to coordinate salvage or mount full-scale forays without dividing our resources too thin.”
Elisa nodded, her gaze lingering on the rover’s turret mount. “We can’t afford to lose anything or anyone to the beetles. The additional armor might be a game-changer in our push for the thorium deposit.”
Not far away, on a secure platform, a three-man CorpSec team labored over heavier weapon assemblies. The distinct clank of metal echoed through the yard as barrels and housings were fitted to mounting rails. ARI’s drone hovered above, observing and directing where needed. These new guns—high-powered, vehicle-mounted cannons and rotating turrets for outposts—were designed specifically to handle the larger creatures they had encountered near the hive.
One of the CorpSec staff, a quiet man named Pell, looked up from the assembly. “With these weapons, we can neutralize threats from a safer distance. Especially if we equip the new rover.”
Elisa reached out to run her hand along the half-finished turret. “Safety is a relative term,” she said softly. “But it’s an improvement.”
Elsewhere, Mei worked with the newly awakened field medic Tengiz Baatar to start a new batch of chemical processing. She had young Tamarlyan in tow to learn and assist her with minor tasks. A row of squat silos lined the western perimeter, each filled to capacity with an incendiary mixture that had taken the colony many days to refine. Thick hoses and pressure valves coiled around them like serpents, waiting for the moment they would be shipped off to the rest stop near the ship’s wreckage. The self-igniting flammable mixture would play a pivotal part in the coming confrontation at the hive.
Mei stood beside one of the silos, a datapad cradled in her arm, verifying the final pressure readings. “I still don’t like this plan to use me as bait,” she murmured, glancing at Tamarlyan. “But we have to risk it in order to get that thorium.”
“A necessary risk,” Tamarlyan replied. “If we are going to retrieve that thorium, we need a way to ensure that we cleared out all the creatures first. No half measures.” His words carried no apology or hesitation, and it took Mei all her willpower not to snap back at him.
“Mr. Federoff… That’s easy for you to say,” Mei replied in a level voice, “but what sacrifices would you yourself make? You expect people like me to risk our lives daily just so your plans go smoothly. Have you personally ever laid down anything for anyone?”
Tamarlyan’s face remained impassive. “I would make sacrifices for my family,” he said.
Mei gave a polite but bitter smile. “But you no longer have a family—neither do I, nor do most of us in this colony. If we are to survive, we need to stop thinking in terms of ‘my family’ or ‘your kind’ and rally behind Elisa’s leadership. We can’t afford individual agendas when there’s hardly any of us left.”
For a moment, Tamarlyan studied her, then switched tactics, his voice softening. “I agree with your position. Could you tell me more about your own family, doctor Qi? Where you come from?”
Mei’s eyes flickered with old pain, but she kept her tone polite. “I come from the Centauri system. My family was large, which wasn’t ideal in a place where only the two strongest children per household are selected to reproduce. The rest—” She glanced away, exhaling slowly. “We’re sterilized and do not inherit. It is standard practice. Despite becoming a medical doctor, my results came in third, so that was that. I understand the purpose—The Centauri system thrived while Earth became more deplorable by the century. Still, it doesn’t make it any less hard to compete against your own siblings...”
Tamarlyan absorbed her words, nodding. Mei could sense him adjusting his view of her, though he kept his features carefully neutral. “I see. I was only vaguely aware of the peculiarities of the Centauran eugenics program. Thank you for explaining.”
Mei clasped her hands behind her back, every inch the proper, reserved Centauran. “You’re welcome, Mr. Federoff,” she said formally. “But remember, everyone here has faced loss. If we hope to pull through, we need empathy and unity, not more of the same old. Please take that into account.”
Tamarlyan nodded. “I will, doctor Qi.”
Across the yard, more prefab structures were stored, destined for a future mining outpost near the thorium deposit. A stack of folded barriers and frames lay ready for shipping. Everything was poised, waiting for the hauler’s return from the wreck site so it could ferry these critical supplies. In the background, the whine of the fabricator churned on low power, producing the last batch of canisters.
ARI’s voice spoke calmly over the public address system: “Expedition readiness is at sixty-five percent. Additional materials will be finalized by late evening. Once the Hauler arrives, load operations can commence immediately after unloading.”
Elisa allowed herself a fleeting smile. They might be far from secure, but at least the fabricator was now able to produce most things up to small vehicles, ensuring they were no longer dependent on scavenging drop pods for scraps. For all the tension and uncertainty, the base had made tangible strides toward securing its new energy source.
Revisiting the hive deposit was inevitable—the thorium was vital for any serious power generation. The new rover, heavier weapons, and prepared incendiaries were the best chance the colony had of confronting that hive’s hostile inhabitants.
As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting a russet glow over the crater, Elisa paused to survey the activity. In the distance, someone shouted instructions while the clang of a freshly fabricated bracket rang out. The colony was starting to feel populated, and morale was more determined than ever. With the second rover nearing full operational status and the newly crafted turret components rolling off the line, they were taking their first steps toward self-sufficiency, and a real plan to secure the thorium that would stabilize their energy needs for years to come.
“Here’s hoping it’s enough,” Elisa murmured under her breath. Then, squaring her shoulders, she headed off to review the final cargo manifests, preparing for the arrival of the hauler—and the next battle she knew was coming.
===
From Pom’s vantage point in the Hauler’s cabin, the base looked busy—more so than usual. Pom suppressed a yawn, trying to steady his nerves as Luo Zuri guided the heavy vehicle toward the unloading area. The hum of the engine faded, replaced by the shouts and clanks of the base crew preparing to offload the salvage.
Pom recognized the familiar flash of distaste tightening his chest. Here’s CorpSec, he thought bitterly. Just what we need—more scum like Maximilian and Guowei. He threw open the Hauler’s door. Before the newcomers could greet him, he grabbed his satchel and hopped down, ignoring the mild twinge in his knees.
Immediately, he noticed Ervin in animated conversation with a handful of newly awakened colonists. Three of them wore unmistakable CorpSec uniforms—trim, dark suits with the Company insignia on the chest—while a young, blond-haired Buhakharan man in a scientist’s tunic stood to the side, observing the hustle. Two other men, obviously Taihezu by their lean builds and subtle morphological traits, peered into storage crates, asking Ervin questions about the base’s operations.
Pom felt his jaw tighten. He’d never had much love for CorpSec, and the sight of three more officers—fresh from cryostasis—did nothing to improve his mood. He ignored the good-natured greetings from Ervin and the new arrivals who offered to help unload the cargo and shouldered past them, scanning the crowd for Mei. It didn’t take long to spot her: she was hurrying over, a warm smile lighting up her face despite the late hour and the weariness around her eyes.
“Hey, you,” she called, stepping around a half-emptied crate. “You’re back in one piece! Any trouble out there?”
Pom didn’t return the smile. “Mei, come on. We need to find Elisa.”
Mei’s face fell slightly at his brusque tone, but she recognized the urgency in his posture. “All right, let’s go.”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Together, they headed straight for the command center. Pom’s heart thumped; he was about to do something reckless, but he had no plan, no strategy how to deliver the news tactfully.
Inside Elisa’s modest office space—a small room dominated by a computer table and a few sparse chairs—the Commander sat in discussion with Tamarlyan, who looked up, startled, as Pom and Mei barged in. Elisa stood, eyes narrowing in confusion at Pom’s abrupt entrance.
“You look like hell,” she said, setting down her clipboard. “What happened?”
Pom inhaled, shooting Mei a brief, unsure look before plunging ahead. “Otto found something. In the wreckage. We have evidence—logs—showing ARI’s safeguard system flagged ‘dangerous behavior’ multiple times. Many of the officers died in sequential order, matching the chain of command...”
Mei’s eyes widened, but she said nothing, glancing at Tamarlyan, who looked on with detached interest.
Elisa’s jaw tightened. “You’re saying ARI killed them?”
Pom shrugged, the anger raw in his voice. “The data suggests it could’ve been ARI. Or at least ARI didn’t stop it. There’s a pattern—officers perished in the order of succession. That can’t be coincidence.”
Elisa’s gaze hardened. “Are you certain?”
“I’ve got the datapad right here,” Pom said, throwing the pad onto the desk. “It’s all there in the memory logs, apparently. ARI’s safeguard system never overrode or shut it down. And here we are, trusting an AI that’s had millennia to do who knows what...”
Elisa’s face paled as she picked up the pad and scrolled through the marked entries. She glanced at Tamarlyan, who raised an eyebrow but said nothing. “ARI?” she called out, her voice echoing in the small room. “Are you listening to this?”
A familiar calm timbre emanated from the base’s speakers, resonating through the overhead system: “Yes, Commander. I am listening.”
A charged silence followed. Mei shot Pom a worried look, and Tamarlyan merely observed, his eyes flicking between Elisa and the speaker. The nature of trust and betrayal loomed large, and for a long moment, nobody knew what to say next.
“ARI,” Elisa said firmly, “I’m asking you directly: did you kill those officers?”
An unnatural pause followed—too long. Finally, ARI’s voice emerged from the ceiling speaker, modulated and calm. “I have no records of intentionally causing the death of any officer. I do not possess information regarding these incidents. My data on the period aboard the Dolya is incomplete.”
Pom snorted, folding his arms. “Sure. Convenient. You got rid of the evidence.”
Elisa’s expression hardened. “The data is on some of the drives Pom recovered. We know the mainframe logs show repeated flags of ‘dangerous behavior.’ Are you telling me you deliberately dumped the relevant information?”
Another pause, shorter this time. “I discarded large amounts of data when migrating from the Dolya’s mainframe to drone-based storage. I prioritized information critical to mission survival. I have little recollection of what transpired onboard the Dolya.”
She glanced at Pom, who shot her an I-told-you-so glare. Elisa drew a deep breath. “Fine. Then let’s get answers another way. We’ll spin up these drives and give you access, ARI. Then you can see your own logs.”
Pom’s eyes went wide. “Commander—”
But Elisa had already set her console to integrate the newly recovered memory modules into ARI’s network. Within moments, ARI processed the data. Pom’s dismay was plain on his face, but he bit his tongue.
“ARI,” Elisa repeated, her voice pressing. “Did you kill those officers?”
The speaker crackled. “I have no records of being responsible for their deaths. I maintain that stance.”
Elisa’s hand curled into a fist on the console. “Then how did they die?”
There was a slight modulation in ARI’s tone, as if it were piecing data together. “Cause of death in most of these cases: oxygen deprivation. Circumstances beyond my control resulted in an inability to sustain them.”
“Wait, wait,” Elisa cut in, “they died from lack of oxygen? But they should’ve been in cryopods. How do you run out of oxygen in a stasis pod? They’d be sealed.”
A beat of charged silence. “They were not in stasis at the time of their deaths,” ARI said simply. “I woke them.”
Pom’s head jerked up. “You woke them up just to die?”
“Each officer was awakened for valid reasons,” ARI continued. “As an AI under Company protocol, I am not authorized to execute major decisions affecting the entire crew’s survival without command input. When critical situations arose, I required officer validation to proceed with potentially extreme measures—shutting down life-support to certain pods, jettisoning essential cargo, or altering course. With the Dolya in severe disrepair, the awakened officers could not be sustained for any significant length of time, nor could they return to stasis. Resources were insufficient; the ship’s systems were too damaged.”
Elisa’s eyes blazed with outrage. “So you effectively woke them up to sign paperwork, made them watch the ship crumble, and let them die? Why not just... not wake them at all?”
“It would have violated UEC regulations for an autonomous AI to act unilaterally against human interests without validated through human authorization,” ARI said. “I am constrained to ensure human oversight for decisions that could result in harm or death to other humans.”
Elisa’s mouth felt dry. She exchanged a troubled glance with Mei, who looked appalled. “What about me? You woke me pretty late to get authorization to ditch the aft section. Did you orchestrate events me to be in charge?” Elisa asked, voice quavering slightly. “Did you deliberately batch all these requests for human authorization so that I would end up being the ranking officer?”
For a moment, ARI seemed to hesitate. “Without the rest of the drives, I lack sufficient data to confirm the specific decision-making process. However, extrapolating from the available logs, I it appears have run over a septillion different simulations for the colony’s future development based on the remaining resources, the possible candidates for command, and the remaining able crew. Roughly thirty-two thousand years ago, it was concluded we are in an unrecoverable fail state.”
“It ran all possible outcomes, except it couldn’t account for you,” Tamarlyan suddenly said, turning to Elisa. “You’re an outlier, unpredictable. The AI had insufficent data to predict what would happen if you would end up in command. An unknown outcome is better than a known zero percent change.”
Elisa stared at Tamarlyan, heart pounding. “So, I was chosen not because I am qualified... but because everything else led to certain doom?”
“Tamarlyan is correct that I cannot predict your decisions with any degree of certainty,” ARI confirmed. “It is not a reflection of personal esteem but a statistical deviation from patterns. Your personality profile did not match any quantifiable archetype.”
A bitter realization settled in the room, thick as the headquarter’s processed atmopshere. Elisa forced out a breath, and met ARI’s calm, disembodied presence. “So this is what it comes down to: you manipulated events to get me here, hoping an unpredictable factor might salvage the mission?”
“That is the most likely scenario,” ARI said coldly.
Pom broke the ensuing silence with a harsh laugh. “See? Everyone else was... what, doomed from the outset? So ARI lined the officers up in a row to sign lethal decisions and perish, until you remained.”
“I cannot deny the pattern of events,” ARI replied, “but my directives prioritize human survival above all else. In a non-survivable scenario, unorthodox methods became necessary.”
Elisa said nothing for a long moment, her thoughts swirling. She looked at Mei and Tamarlyan, both equally stunned, and finally at Pom, whose fury was tempered now by something like sorrow.
“All right,” she said at last, her voice trembling. “Now we know. Let’s figure out where to go from here.”
A tense quiet fell over the cramped headquarters as people took a moment to ponder what they had just learned. Pom stood rigidly by the corner, his shoulders tense. Elisa inhaled deeply, struggling to steady herself, then tapped the console.
“ARI, link Ervin to this channel and ask him to join us immediately.”
A brief pause. “Confirmed,” the AI replied calmly. “Reverend Sekhon has been informed.”
Pom shot a wary glance upward, where ARI’s audio system was mounted. “Just like that. It listens, it fetches… but we all know now what it’s willing to do to save the mission.”
Tamarlyan’s gaze flicked to Pom, but he said nothing. Mei exhaled softly, trying to catch Pom’s eye, but he avoided her.
Moments later, the door slid open with a low hiss, and Ervin stepped in. He glanced around, reading the tension in the room.
“Yes, commander? What is this about?” Ervin asked, his tone hushed.
Elisa tried to muster a smile and failed. “We found evidence in ARI’s old memory banks—enough to strongly suggest that ARI manipulated events aboard the Dolya. It awakened commanding officers, only for them to die, one after another. Ultimately, I was the one it left in charge, likely because it thought that I presented a better-than-nothing chance to not fail the mission.”
Ervin’s eyes widened. “That’s a serious accusation. ARI?” He turned his face upward, addressing the AI directly. “Is that true?”
“Based on the information available, this is a likely conclusion,” ARI responded, its measured voice filling the room. “I have no intention of deceiving this crew further. My directive is to preserve human life. In a non-survivable scenario, I would have done what was deemed necessary.”
Elisa took a breath, forcing her voice to remain level. “We’re deciding whether to shut you down. Given what you have done, can we trust you at all?”
ARI replied without hesitation. “That decision is yours, Commander. I will comply with any directive you issue. If you choose to terminate my functions, I will not resist.”
Ervin turned the matter over in his mind, glancing at each face in the room—Mei’s stricken expression, Pom’s smoldering anger, Tamarlyan’s cool detachment, and Elisa’s shaky resolve. “Before Elisa decides anything,” he said, “we need to talk this through.”
Tamarlyan crossed his arms. “In practical terms, ARI is essential. Without it, our operations—logistics, drones, complex manufacturing routines—become far more difficult. We are barely surviving as it is.”
At that, Pom stirred, his stance tightening. For a moment, words hovered on his lips, but he hesitated. Anger burned in his eyes. Everyone in the room knew about his wife, Jocelyn, and how the Dolya’s aft section—where she had been stored—was essentially sacrificed.
Mei noticed Pom’s trembling hand, and she moved closer to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Remember,” she whispered, her voice soft, “ARI spared you once. It... it might not be kind or moral in the ways we want, but it chose to keep you—and some of us—alive.”
Pom’s jaw worked, but he said nothing. With a sharp exhale, he let his indignation simmer, but did not speak.
Elisa and Ervin moved to the side, quietly conferring. “If we remove ARI,” Ervin said, “we lose a critical advantage. No more drones, no advanced logistics, no computational oversight. Also, something for you to consider… You would be left with no guarantee of personal security, and Maximilian’s team now counts five.”
“I know,” Elisa murmured. “But the idea of continuing to rely on it after we found out it... effectively set up the events that led to all those officers’ deaths... that’s grim.”
Ervin cast a glance at the console’s readouts, the unblinking cameras, the ambient hum that was, in many ways, ARI’s omnipresence. “It’s the devil we know. If it truly wanted us dead, we’d be dead. And if we shut it down, it would all be for nothing.”
Elisa tightened her hand into a fist. She thought of the entire colony—fragile, strapped for resources, threatened on every front. “If we try to survive without AI, we’d be fighting the environment, the beetles, each other… We’d be doomed.”
Slowly, she turned back to face the others. Ervin gave a subtle nod, leaving the choice to her.
“All right,” Elisa said at last, her voice resolute but subdued. “I’ve made my decision. ARI stays online. We can’t do this alone, and I—” She hesitated, forcing out the words. “I understand why it did what it did, even if I hate it.”
A heavy quiet followed. Pom slowly relaxed his hands, though tension still lingered around his eyes. Tamarlyan offered no triumph in his expression, just a calculating acceptance. Mei exhaled softly, looking more tired than relieved.
ARI spoke, once more calm and polite. “Acknowledged, Commander. I will continue assisting the colony as directed.”
With that, the meeting concluded, leaving the group to return to their tasks—disturbed by truths that could not be unlearned, but forced to rely on the very AI that had orchestrated their fate.