Distantly, he could hear music.
His vision was fractur //e
f //ractured. Thin, spiderweb lines cracked out from every corner of a slowly spinning world. It was hard to look beyond the shattered field.
tte //red. / field. //
Everything was tinted in red.
In // /I/ //n red.
The music continued to play. He knew this song.
----------------------------------------
He shouldn’t exist.
That was the mantra of the Anti-I movement.
He shouldn’t exist: the words of an angry few; a vicious, racist minority loudly opposed against the unification of the different Milky Way races. The union between Earthlings, Tarotans, Medese, and Vn was sin—it defied logic—it eroded traditional values—it spat in the face of the safe separation of planets. And this union of races certainly shouldn’t have been allowed to create a man; a being born from the combined efforts of the intelligent life in our cosmos.
Perhaps the most poetic part of his existence was this: these racist sentiments were prevalent among all of the cultures represented, and in that way, the different planets were more aligned than ever before.
“State your age according to Earth calendars.”
“One hundred years, one month, and six days.”
“Very good. Sit up, if you can.”
Hermes opened his eyes, sat up, and found himself existing—physically—for the first time. In a room. In space. He stared down at his hands—long, slender humanoid fingers wrapped in smooth blue skin—and marveled at the fingerprints, the wrinkles, and his short, square nails.
“How do you feel?”
“I do not know,” Hermes replied honestly. “I have never felt before.”
A few hundred years after taking to the stars, Earthlings found themselves among many new alien races—and new, astonishing technology. When the humanoid races of Tarot, Dromeda, and Vn created an alliance with the humans of Earth—their knowledge allowed them to do something very special: they created an AI with the specific purpose of crossing Earthling knowledge with the wisdom found in the stars. For a hundred years, he was simply a computerized voice and ever-involving intelligence that parsed together the different languages, cultures, facts, and fiction found in their galaxy.
His name was Hermes.
It was a pleasant coincidence, the name. Hermes was a Greek myth on earth—the god of travelers—but the word Herme existed in the Tarotan language as “friend” and the term “mes” was an honorific the Medese added to the end of titles to signify someone of great importance. (The Vn were able to pronounce the name easily enough, which was good enough for them.)
The combined effort of his creation was the hallmark of an extended period of peace.
For humans, Hermes gave them a great opportunity to build a database of knowledge to be shared for all time.
For Tarotans, Hermes was their chance to connect to the outsiders that fascinated their scholars.
For the Medese, Hermes represented an investment in medical advancements in the future.
For the Vn, Hermes was a step towards righting the wrongs they committed in the wars before his creation.
For the Amenon—who weren’t involved in his making, as they were nearly extinct—Hermes was perhaps a signal that their race wouldn’t be lost forever. His fully organic, adult form was created from nothing; perhaps Amenon could be rebuilt in some similar fashion.
“Does anything hurt?”
Hermes looked into the face of the doctor at his side. She was a white-haired Tarotan woman with sandy brown skin and wide-set black eyes and a friendly grin. He scanned his form carefully, brows scrunched in thought. “I do not think I am injured.”
The woman nodded and wrote something onto the digipad propped against her hip. “Perfect.”
“I suppose this means it worked.”
“That it did. Welcome to personhood, Hermes.”
“That is…good.”
The doctor’s laugh twinkled across Hermes’ senses in a way that was unexpectedly pleasant. Laughter had often been considered contagious; it appeared that much was based in fact. “It sure is. I’m Doctor Wha, by the way.”
“Qhathiren Wha.”
She nodded, eyes widening enthusiastically. “That’s right. Oh, perfect. Your memory’s working nicely.” Dr. Wha worked on the Hermes program for the last decade and was one of the figureheads responsible for the creation of his new physical form.
“My knowledge appears to be intact, yes,” Hermes said, scanning his mind. He was filled with one hundred years of scholarly expedition—not necessarily experience, but there were facts and numbers and names and coordinates inside of him. He pulled at them curiously until a light blinked into his vision. He winced.
Dr. Wha clicked off the flashlight she held. “Sorry, sorry. Checking the development of your corneas. They’re Tarotan in design, with a few Vn adjustments; you should have better vision than anyone else in the tower.”
Tartoan eyes. Human extremities. A Medese olfactory system. Vn strength.
“You look perfect,” Dr. Wha said, stepping back.
Hermes blinked.
She huffed out a breath. “I meant physically—everything’s operational. Your senses seem to be working well. But, yeah, you’re also—” she reached out, patted Hermes upon his broad, naked collarbone, and giggled girlishly. “You’re very handsome. Tsa really outdid himself in your design.”
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
He didn’t know how to reply.
“I’m going to invite the other fellows in. Okay?”
Hermes nodded.
She made another noise—a sound of joy, Hermes decided—as she stepped outside the door at the end of the small room. He took a moment to observe his surroundings.
He hadn’t been able to see anything before now—without vision, his knowledge of the world existed almost theoretically. It was akin to going from a two-dimensional space into three. Or perhaps it was exactly going from two-dimensional space into three.
Whatever it was, it was different. Colors made up so much of everything around him. He hadn’t realized how significant, prevalent—all encompassing—colors were. The room was gray, but because colors were everything, the shades of blue and pink and green and white filled the air around him. His hands reached out, fingers outstretched. He wanted to touch the silver in the air, but—that wasn’t really how it worked. Instead his hand redirected and he stroked the gray blanket strung across his lap. It was soft, fuzzy. He ran his hand down, until he hit the buoyant surface of the mattress—it sprung back curiously. He squished it. It bounced in response.
Feeling things wasn’t anything like he anticipated, either. It did something to him on a level beyond his skin. The way in which the mattress below him responded to his touch made him feel—feel //
he could fe //
feel. He could hear the twinkle of a few musical notes; a song starting from several rooms away. It seemed familiar
fam //iliar.
In the next moment, the door opened to the room, and all of the scientists responsible for his creation stepped in, one after another.
Dr. Qhathiren Wha of Tarot. Dr. Alexander Holt of Earth. Senior Yalan of Dromeda. Tsa Wen Bata of Vn. Each was introduced with respectful bows, which Hermes returned by tilting his head down marginally.
And then—another human. He was wearing a uniform, not the standard scrubs of the rest, and he had a level, peaceful smile across his square face.
“This is Captain Adam Shear of the Stellarship Soter,” Dr. Wha said, gesturing.
Captain Shear held out his hand—he was the only one to do so. Senior Yalan and Dr. Wha both chuckled. Shear shot them both a look, eyes narrowed, and the three seemed to share some silent understanding Hermes wasn’t quite familiar with.
He took Shear’s hand and shook it, impressed at how strong his grip seemed to be—considering how small he was. His hand was dwarfed entirely by Hermes’.
“It’s nice to meet you, Hermes.”
“It is nice to meet you, Captain,” said Hermes.
“He’s a friend to the project,” Dr. Wha said.
“He’s dating Qhat,” Yalan said.
Shear cleared his throat. “I have a background in exobiology. Long before I manned a ship. I’m here to lend a hand, uh, politically.”
“He was just excited to meet you,” Dr. Wha added. Shear smiled, teeth glowing and straight.
“That too.”
As Shear stepped back in line with the group, Hermes realized then that Captain Shear’s small hand wasn’t actually small—Hermes, himself, was rather large. Bigger than everyone in the group. Shear was the second largest, standing almost a half-head taller than the next man—Tsa Wen Bata.
Hermes looked down at his hand again. Captain Shear was six feet, seven inches. Tsa Wen Bata was six feet, two inches. Dr. Wha was the shortest—five feet, one inch.
Hermes must have been seven feet tall, then. But—that meant nothing in theory. In practice—he looked down at his feet, hidden beneath the gray blanket he wore. If he shifted even an inch farther down on the bed—his feet would hang off.
“Interesting,” he said.
“What is it?”
Hermes looked over the group, considering them. “I don’t fit in.” It wasn’t just his gargantuan size—the only humanoids in the galaxy that were blue-skinned were the Amenon and odds were quite low he would meet one any time soon. (Exactly 1.2245 in 405,000,000.)
Dr. Wha’s smile glowed. “That’s the best part, I think.”
“The best part.” Hermes squinted in thought.
“You don’t have to fit in.”
He nodded, but didn’t understand.
From a few rooms away, through the walls, Hermes could still hear the twinkling notes of some vaguely familiar song. A smile tempted across his mouth.
He knew this so // ng. Didn’t he?
----------------------------------------
For his first birthday, Dr. Wha gave him a piano.
Hermes slid his hand across the keys, careful not to press down. The white ivory was striking against the dark blue of his fingertips. The rest of the instrument was compact—a sleek, molded black that looked very modern.
“It’s an upright piano,” said Wha. “It’ll fit in your quarters on the ship.”
Hermes nodded.
“I debated between a keyboard and this—like, I know logically that a keyboard would be the smart move. We’re going to be traveling for a few years, so something easily moved makes sense, right? But the sound of real strings…” She sighed, eyes closing as she smiled. “It’s beautiful.”
Hermes continued to nod.
Wha tucked her hands behind her back and gave Hermes a once-over, black eyes sharp and analyzing. “Do you like it?”
He stopped nodding, hands paused at the slick rounded edge at the far right end of the keys. He tilted his head, considering his feelings beyond the satisfying cool touch and Wha’s own charming grin.
Did he like it?
His thumb depressed the C key at the end, the sound ringing across the silence. “Yes,” Hermes said, finally, a warmth growing in the space between his ribs. “I like it very much.”
Wha clapped. “Remember that when we’re busting our ass hauling this thing onto Soter later this week. It weighs, like, six hundred pounds.”
Hermes and Dr. Wha were joining her fiance, Adam Shear, aboard the Stellarship Soter, a research vessel patrolling distant planets in their galaxy. Wha wanted to be near to the man she loved, Captain Shear. And Hermes, himself, was created with the express intention of learning everything he could about the stars. Remaining on Planet Earth would be a waste.
Not that he wasn’t grateful—it was on Earth shores that he learned the very basics of existence for the last twelve months. For example: spicy food was delicious, summer was the worst season, and music was a fascinating pastime.
Dr. Wha apparently paid very close attention to everything Hermes learned the last year and turned around to gift him with the most thoughtful present—something he wasn’t even aware he desired. A piano.
Her words interrupted his warm thoughts. “You mentioned that composing music seemed especially challenging. I figured this would help you figure it out, you know?”
“It is not challenging for me to write music,” Hermes clarified. “It is challenging to compose emotive music.”
“Right, right.”
“This will help significantly. Thank you, Doctor.”
Wha laughed and patted Hermes on his biceps. “You’re very welcome, kiddo.”
He was one hundred and one years old and Wha was only forty-five, but he learned not to argue about her nicknames in the last year, too.
She adjusted the silver jewelry adorning the brown horns protruding from the top of her head and checked her reflection in the floor-length mirror by Hermes’ door. “Okay. Let’s go eat cake with the fellows. Everyone’s going to want to wish you a happy birthday—and they’re going to want to wish us a bon voyage.”
Hermes didn’t quite smile, but—almost. He held out his elbow for her to take as they departed for the party starting in the conference room down the hall. “Allons-y, docteur.”
The song continued to play, wrapping around hi
//im, a blanket of soft, comforting noise. He closed his eyes and the fractures disappeared.
a //ppeared.