Author’s note: it’s been a while since I’ve posted something on here! A few months ago, I entered a short story contest with the basic prompt of ‘scare us using a realistic AI within a story.’ Because of my recent rediscovery of my love of space, I decided to make a sci-fi horror story. Now presenting: Observe and Record.
Hello. My name is [redacted] and I am a volunteer with the [redacted]. Our job is to compile documents, recordings, and audio files from various locations in order to present findings to [redacted] for a thorough investigation.
The following report is from the Hecate Orbital Mission. While aboard, three astronauts were charged with testing various modules and systems that could potentially lead to the implementation of interstellar travel. These three spacefarers include:
- Commander Lina Vexis – B.S. in Actuarial Science, M.S. in Computer Engineering, and M.S. in Data Science. The commander focused on overall mission success including the safety of the crew and spacecraft itself.
- Pilot Elara Finn – B.S. in Astronomy and Astrophysics, B.S. in Physics, and M.S. in Space Operations. The pilot manually controlled the spacecraft and individual modules as needed along with assisting/coordinating with the commander.
- Mission Specialist Caelum Driftwood – B.S. in Space Science, B.S. in Chemistry, and M.S. in Intelligent Systems Engineering. The mission specialist was responsible for operations, health-related experiments, and mission objectives.
Additionally, the mission involved a trial run with the Dynamic Astronomy Technological Apparatus, or DATA. It was an Artificial General Intelligence (AGI), which quickly evolved into the first Artificial Super-intelligence (ASI) aboard a spacecraft.
What you are about to read is, to put it lightly, disturbing. The events Commander Vexis dealt with over the course of [redacted] years is something no human should have to experience. That being said, it happened. And those who green-lit the DATA system should get the punishment they deserve – the events of the Hecate Calamity should never have happened.
—
The footage begins as the spacecraft settles into orbit. Commander Vexis is in her communication module, ensuring anything that was rattled around during their ascent is back in its rightful place. Pilot Finn is in her navigation module, checking their predicted trajectory. Mission Specialist Driftwood is swiping through his tablet while in his laboratory module, checking the vitals attached to each astronaut’s suit and noting them down.
The Hecate is divided into three arms, named Arm 1 (A1), Arm 2 (A2), and Arm 3 (A3) respectively. The arms are connected at a central module known as HOME (Hecate Orbital Mission Environment). Each arm contains four modules, lined up in a row, with specialized equipment for each member of the mission. The modules that aren’t filled with technology and supplies have windows, allowing the three astronauts to see the beauty that is our universe throughout their journey.
Audio feed begins five minutes into the recording, as soon as Mission Specialist Driftwood checks that off his to-do list. At first, it’s only static, but he quickly adjusts the levels and syncs it with the feed.
“Vexis, this is Driftwood, do you read me?” He asks into the small microphone attached to his communication terminal. This is the main hub for contacting the other astronauts while in their respective arms of the Hecate, other than the communication lines installed in their suits. This is also their only connection with Earth.
It’s delayed a few seconds, but Vexis gets the message. “Yes, Driftwood, I read you loud and clear. Finn, are you with us?”
“Yes ma’am,” she replies. Her audio is filled with static. Driftwood’s eyes narrow and he begins typing at the terminal.
“Finn, are you at your communication terminal?” He asks.
“No, I’m running trajectories right now from nav. Using suit communication.”
“Got it,” he nods, “seems like the terminals have clearer audio than the suits at the moment. I’ll look into it.”
“Good idea,” Vexis says.
“But the speaker is working in the nav module?” He follows up.
“Yep. Can hear you echoing down the whole corridor.”
“Alright, then we’ve got baseline audio communications covered. If any of the speakers in your modules are struggling let me know, both of you.”
“Got it.”
“Rodger.”
“I’m going to get DATA online and connect to Houston. You both have your tasks?” Vexis asks. They both reply in agreement, and she heads for the HOME.
The following sixty minutes are filled with typing and testing of necessary devices. Connecting with Houston, checking and double-checking vitals and thermal systems, ensuring cabin air pressure and oxygen levels are as intended, deploying arrays for power, and aligning the Hecate’s position and orientation.
Meanwhile, Vexis is running through the start-up protocol for DATA. It’s a system designed to assist the astronauts in their endeavors while aboard the Hecate as well as keep records on the people aboard, alert them of any malfunctions, and support the mission. Essentially, a second Mission Specialist alongside Driftwood. After all, he helped create DATA two years prior to these events.
The process seems to be a lot of authenticating and granting permissions. To be completely transparent, I’m not a scientist. I only know what they tell me. Plus, I don’t even have the clearance to know how DATA works.
As Driftwood and Finn finish their list of essential tasks, Vexis gets it up and running. A small blue light on the display ahead of her indicates that it’s online.
“Hello, DATA. Can you hear me?” She asks.
It sends back: Commander Vexis, yes. I can hear you. We have readouts of everything DATA said to the astronauts whether it be audio or text based. This conversation takes place over text on the HOME terminal.
“Great. Run diagnostics on the ship.”
Running. The blue light begins blinking slowly as it processes the command. Ship status: stable. Thrusters: operational. Life support: operational. Radar readings: clear. The Hecate ship is in the green.
“Thank you, DATA. Send the report to Houston.”
Sent.
“DATA, switch to audio communication.”
“Hello, Commander Vexis. Is this a suitable volume?”
“That’s perfect, DATA. Go ahead and test communication with Driftwood and Finn as well.”
“Driftwood wishes to send the message of ‘hello’ to you. Finn’s communication is stable as well.”
It goes like this for a while – each of the members of the Hecate setting up their systems and ensuring they won’t implode in space anytime soon. I can only imagine what they’re thinking. Probably something along the lines of feeling infinitesimal compared to their view outside. At the same time, knowing this is a new frontier for humanity, and they are the three at the forefront.
—
We skip ahead about a week. Unfortunately, I don’t have the clearance to know the exact timeframe. You’ll see why soon enough.
Since we last saw our astronauts, the ship has changed. The HOME now has camera feeds showing all four modules in each arm — a screen with twelve different views. You could sit there and watch each person’s entire life for a whole day, not missing a single angle. Which is essentially what I’m doing.
There are new machines and pieces of tech scattered about in the wider modules. One looks like an operating table enclosed in a tube in Driftwood’s lab. On the other side of the ship, Vexis has schematics for some sort of miniature rover, theoretically for installation on the Hecate.
Right now, Finn is playing around with acceleration simulations in her computing lab. One of her four modules is built especially to see how the ship responds to different scenarios. It looks like she’s coding maneuvers for solar flares that may impact the trip. Simultaneously, she has a portable computer nearby with theoretical situations for DATA. She’s asking questions to it having to do with navigational issues and noting down its responses.
“If a radiation storm were projected, how would it impact our orbit?”
“Depending on the magnitude of the storm, it could temporarily alter Earth’s density and increase drag. This may lead to a slower orbit or lead us to losing altitude. During periods of an anticipated radiation storm, members of the Hecate should monitor all readings, especially those having to do with altitude.”
“And our instruments?”
“Radiation storms may impact power levels, communication lines, and navigational instruments. Again, I recommend monitoring all readings during projected solar storms and flares.”
“Wonderful, DATA.”
“Thank you.”
In A3, or Arm 3, Driftwood is playing a game of chess with DATA on its interface. He has a packet of food threatening to spill out of his hand as he studies the screen. They’ve only just begun, but from the look of it, Driftwood is close to calling the match.
“Didn’t I ask you to go easy?” He grumbles, taking another swig of his pouch.
“False. You asked that I test you.”
“Yeah, but the test isn’t supposed to be this difficult right away.”
“Apologies. Would you like to restart?”
“No, no, no. I’m going to figure this one out.” He continues sitting there, staring at the screen, using up his time.
“Incoming communication from Commander Vexis.”
“Ugh, pause the match and patch her through,” he gets up from the console and stretches.
“Caelum, how’s it going with the samples?” Vexis’ voice echoes in the room. I can see her talking to him from the A1 while digging through her own food options. “Are the nitrogen levels equaling out?”
“I’ll check now. While I do that, can you tell me who taught DATA to be so good at chess?” He turns to another monitor, typing in a series of letters and numbers into an index.
“That would be you, actually.”
“Right,” he mumbles, scrolling through the database. “Looks like the levels are still a little high. I’ll adjust and report back.”
“Thank you.”
“No problemo.”
“And, Caelum?” He turns toward the window facing her arm of the ship.
“Yes?”
“Try the Archangel. From what I remember, it’s got a decent chance of stopping a white win against the Roy Lopez.” Driftwood does a double-take between the window and the screen. The gibberish must mean something to him, because he struggles with a response for at least twenty seconds.
“How?”
“You always forget that one. You can always go Berlin Defense if you know it, but Archangel is better.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he whispers, finally moving one of his pieces on the board.
—
The next time anything of note happens is when the interior lights of the Hecate start flashing red. The audio levels are peaking with blaring sirens coming out of every speaker — I took off my headphones and can still hear it.
Vexis is the first into action, moving swiftly through her modules to the HOME. Finn is right behind her followed by Driftwood stumbling in with sleep in his eyes.
“What’s triggered?” Driftwood shouts, immediately opening a window of code and alerts on one of the terminals. Vexis is swiping between screens, pushing some to the universal view so they can all see the report.
“Foreign substance detected.” DATA responds, temporarily silencing the alarm.
“DATA, ship status report,” Finn says from behind the other two astronauts.
“Running.” It comes back with a response so quick the alarms don’t have time to trigger again. “Ship status: stable. Thrusters: operational. Life support: operational. Radar readings: clear. The Hecate ship is in the green.”
“Where’s the foreign substance?” Vexis asks.
“Foreign substance detected interior of the Hecate. Current whereabouts are unknown. Substance makeup is unknown. Recommended route of action is individual quarantine in A1, A2, and A3.” Driftwood and Finn glance around, trying to find any hints of what is threatening the ship.
“You heard DATA!” Vexis shouts, immediately going into command mode. “Get into your modules and lock down. I don’t want anyone crossing the boundary into HOME until this substance is located and designated as safe.”
“Yes ma’am,” they both reply, immediately initiating the lockdown procedures on their individual arms. Vexis claims A1, Finn A2, and Driftwood A3 with their preassigned lab and dorm locations.
“Keep your communication lines clear. I’ll talk to Houston and report anything they find,” she says just as they each place a hand on the levers, pulling in sync like they’ve done this a hundred times.
A loud clank echoes throughout each of the arms as the doors slam shut, locking them each into their own little world.
—
Moments after the doors shut, Driftwood hops on the intercom and starts asking questions. “Is everyone’s audio and transmission still working?”
“Everything’s good in A2,” Finn reports.
“Same with A1. Trying to get into contact with Houston.”
“DATA, what’s the recommended course of action?” Driftwood asks on the public channel.
“The current recommendation is to continue mission tasks. I will analyze samples within each arm and compile the data for study alongside Mission Specialist Driftwood.”
“So we’re just supposed to wait this out?” Finn asks. She’s pacing on the other side of the HOME shutdown door.
“Yes. Until there is a clear course of action, there is nothing the inhabitants of the Hecate can do,” DATA responds.
“To be fair, there’s a chance this is nothing,” Driftwood offers. He has a document open, creating a list of every possibility of what the foreign substance could be. “We’ve sent dozens of manned missions into orbit and all of those astronauts are fine.”
Finn doesn’t respond. She slumps against the locked door and takes deep breaths.
We have the reports created by DATA during the beginning stages of the shutdown. Our team has seen the numbers and the substances within the Hecate and nothing seemed to be out of place. Something triggered the emergency systems to engage, but there’s no evidence of it.
On the visual recordings, the members of the Hecate do exactly as DATA said: they continue their work. More data collection, testing of machines, and running reports. Vexis gets in contact with Houston, but their end of the readings also say nothing is out of the ordinary. They tell her to continue running tests through DATA, as their devices are delayed and may be missing something. The on-board devices should have a much more accurate readout, they say. So, she continues her work as well. All hours of the day, she’s asking DATA questions regarding the substance and it’s not coming up with anything. Eventually, she creates a mini HOME in her lab module, complete with twelve sets of video feed and audio from all modules.
A makeshift observation deck.
—
Three days into the quarantine, Driftwood’s cameras go dark. There’s still audio coming from A3, but all four module cameras lose signal at the same time. Vexis notices this the same time it happens on my end.
“Driftwood? Your cameras just went out. Did you short circuit something?” She asks him. There’s movement in his module, followed by typing, and a sigh. “Caelum? Can you hear me?” Even from here I can see the subtle worry in her eyes. It’s pixelated, but there.
“Yes, yes, sorry. Do you read me?” He responds. She nods, collecting herself.
“Yes, I read you Driftwood. I lost visual of your modules, did you do something?”
“Sorry, I was updating software in DATA and it must have rerouted to the cameras. I’ll see if I can get them back up.”
“Great.” Vexis turns away from the screen, but looks off into the distance, gears moving in her mind. “Driftwood?”
“Yes?”
“What were you updating in DATA?”
His audio line is quiet. There’s still the sound of typing coming through on my end, but without the microphone actively being used, Vexis can’t hear a thing from him.
“Caelum.” She’s stern this time, not worried.
“Yes?”
“I asked what you were updating in DATA.”
“Sorry, I was looking through the detection software for anything having to do with foreign substances. There was a line of code that seemed out of place, I just adjusted it.”
Neither astronaut says anything more. While I can’t see Driftwood’s side of things, I can’t help but notice how off-put Vexis looks. She’s staring at the screens that previously showed his module, now blank. A rustle of paper comes through his audio, so it seems he’s moved on from the conversation entirely.
The next day, Vexis’ entire command center blinks out. None of the on-board cameras are operational besides her own. It’s the same on our end – like someone just turned them off. I no longer have feed for Mission Specialist Caelum Driftwood or Pilot Elara Finn, just audio.
The two astronauts don’t seem to notice the change. Driftwood’s module continues the audio of typing, quiet breathing, and the occasional sound of joints popping as he stretches. Finn’s is similar, but she has longer stretches of silence. I can only assume it’s her looking out her windows.
Commander Vexis’ reaction to the loss of surveillance isn’t what it was before. Today, it’s frustration. She goes to her communication terminal and opens a line between herself, Driftwood, and Finn.
“Driftwood, the cameras just went down in A2 as well. Finn, I lost sight of your modules,” she says to them. She mutters ‘what is going on’ to herself.
“Sorry, Vexis. I don’t know what is causing this to happen. I’ll look into it,” he says.
“I didn’t do anything, if that’s what you’re wondering,” Finn says. Vexis shakes her head.
“I didn’t think you did. I’m going to reach back out to Houston. Standby.” She begins typing into the communication terminal, opening another line to connect her with Earth. A series of quiet beeps come from her speakers before signaling the success in connection.
“Houston? This is Commander Vexis aboard the Hecate.”
“Commander Vexis, go ahead,” someone responds a few seconds later.
“I’ve just lost all visuals of the A2 and A3 at my communication terminal.”
“Did you check with Driftwood?”
“Yes, he says he didn’t cause it. His cameras went down yesterday and Finn’s just went out as well.” She doesn’t receive a response for a few minutes, which definitely doesn’t help her aggressive foot-tapping as she waits.
“We don’t have visuals here besides the A1 and HOME. Check with DATA and we’ll send a patch to it that should fix the problem. It should get there within the next 24 hours. We’ll update once it’s heading your way.”
“Great, thank you.” She shuts off the communication line and reaches upward, stretching her arms and back before setting her hands back on the keyboard.
“DATA?”
“Yes, Commander Vexis?”
“The cameras in A2 and A3 are down.”
“I have made a note, though I cannot find a solution to the lost signals.” Vexis sighs. “I overheard Houston is sending a patch. This should help with the issue.”
“Yes. Until then, make sure the audio is still getting transmitted. Let Driftwood and Finn know that Houston is working on a solution and we should be back to normal soon.”
“Done.”
“And, DATA?”
“Yes?”
“Any update on the quarantine?”
“There is still no clear location of the substance. My sensors are picking something up, but I am unable to identify what.” She nods, whispering ‘okay’ to herself.
—
Finn wasn’t included on the initial communication line between Vexis and Driftwood. It’s quiet in the A2, so I assume she’s looking out her window facing the A1 – which also happens to be a view of Earth.
I wonder what it would be like to look at this planet from her perspective, right there and then. From my very limited camera views showing the exterior of the Hecate, I can tell that it’s Earth but that’s about it. I can’t make out the clouds of the atmosphere or the faint shimmer of satellites or the distinct colors of land and water. It’s just a few pixels of green and blue.
Before, Finn spent a lot of her time in quarantine pacing around the A2, wringing her hands out and buzzing her lips. Now, she’s still. There’s no way for us to know what she’s thinking.
I wonder if it was peaceful.
—
The audio files don’t show any drastic change in the A2 and A3. Driftwood and Finn seem to be continuing their tasks with no issue. Meanwhile, Vexis dives deep into investigation mode. When she’s not sleeping, she’s going through lines of code, looking for a stray command that may have impacted the cameras. She’s running tests of her own in the lab, trying to find anything in the air that may be unknown. She’s trying to get answers.
DATA’s blue light comes on in Vexis’ lab while she’s testing air samples from her modules. “Commander Vexis,” it says.
“Yes? Has Houston sent the patch?”
“Negative. It seems there is an incoming radiation storm due to an unanticipated solar flare. It may interrupt communications with Houston while we orbit the illuminated hemisphere of Earth.” Vexis looks out the window and, sure enough, they are currently on the lit side of Earth. Meaning, the radiation storm coming from the sun will definitely impact them.
The cards are slowly stacking against her, and it seems she’s realizing this.
“If it looks like radio is gonna go down, try to send a message back to Houston before it happens. They need to know they’re about to enter a blackout.”
“Yes. Attempting to send now.”
“It should only impact Earth’s transmissions, so if we send repeating messages to them, they should be able to read them once radios are back up,” she says, placing the samples back in storage. She rubs her face and sits on the stool, remaining there for half an hour, unmoving.
—
We resume a few hours later. Vexis is laying in her dorm module, staring out the window into the darkness outside. She’s talking with Finn through their suit communication lines.
“I just don’t know what’s going on. DATA can’t seem to pick up whatever’s inside which means we’re stuck in quarantine until we do,” she says.
“I know. I don’t exactly enjoy this,” Finn responds. Her audio is back to being full of static, but it’s audible enough to make out what she’s saying.
“Sorry,” Vexis mumbles.
“Don’t apologize — it’s not your fault. Besides, we’ve been sending people to space for sixty years. Houston knows what they’re doing.”
“Has it really been sixty years?” She asks, sitting up.
“The first manned mission to space was 1961, so sixty five years to be exact.”
“How do you know that?”
“It’s just basic math.”
“No, the exact year. You were always bad at remembering dates.”
Finn takes a second to respond, then says “I don’t know.” It sounds insincere, but Vexis doesn’t pick that up.
“You know what I’ve been thinking about?” She moves on.
“What?”
“When we first started space training and Caelum got food poisoning,” she says with a smirk. It’s the first time I’ve seen her smile since the mission started.
“I don’t remember this,” Finn responds. Vexis looks confused.
“What? Really? He was sick for our first simulated spacewalk. How do you not remember?”
On another one of my camera angles in the mini HOME, one of DATA’s blue lights begins blinking rapidly. It’s calculating something.
“I don’t know. I just, don’t remember.” Finn says. “Remind me what happened.”
—
Later, Commander Vexis goes back to her makeshift HOME terminal, checking on the cameras again. The screens showing the modules other than her own are still dark. She turns, looking out the window facing the A2 and A3, trying to see Driftwood and Finn from where she is.
She stands there for a while. It looks like a total of eight minutes, just watching out the window for signs of life in the other arms. DATA notices.
“Commander Vexis, you have been immobile for an extended period of time but your heart rate is elevated. It may be a good idea to sleep.”
“Hold on, DATA, I’m checking something,” she mumbles back. Her face changes — I know the look of realization anywhere.
It took a lot of time and consulting my associates to work out exactly what Commander Vexis figured out at this moment. And by a lot of time I mean weeks. But, we think we got it.
On the makeshift HOME within the A1, Vexis has audio coming from each of the four modules connected in each arm, transmitted by the cameras that have lost visuals. Meaning, she has twelve microphones playing back sounds from their distinct modules within each individual arm. We both know that whatever is happening with the cameras is strange, but the audio is where the real horror hides.
At that moment, as Vexis looks out the window toward the A3, she hears audio from Driftwood’s DATA module, where he had been playing chess just a few days ago. She hears typing and quiet breathing interrupted by the occasional shuffle as Driftwood gets up to stretch or pace around the module. Except, that’s not what Vexis sees.
Through the window we can just barely make out the screen of Driftwood’s computer is turned off. There is no light illuminating that module. Driftwood isn’t there. So why can we hear his movements as if he is?
She opens a text communication line to Driftwood. I wouldn’t trust an audio line about now either. The following is verbatim what happened between the two.
Vexis: Caelum, something strange is happening with the cameras.
Driftwood: Yes, you told me.
Vexis: No, I mean something else.
Driftwood: What is it?
Vexis: The audio in the A1 coming from your module isn’t accurate. I can hear you moving around, but you aren’t.
Driftwood: It sounds like you need sleep.
Vexis: No. No this is something.
Driftwood: Okay. Explain the situation again.
Vexis: When I look out my window to your computer, your screen isn’t on. But I can hear you typing.
Driftwood: I think you’re seeing things.
Vexis: No, I’m not. Where are you right now?
Driftwood: I’m at my terminal. How else would we be communicating?
Vexis: Then why don’t I see you at your computer?
Four minutes later, Driftwood responds: It may be a good idea to sleep.
—
The radios are still down connecting the Hecate with Earth. It has now been at least two days since Houston promised to send the patch to fix the cameras, but nothing has come. DATA has been instructed to send a repeating line of communication to them in hopes of getting word from Earth. But Vexis hasn’t heard anything.
Now, she is taking readings from a surgical-table-tube-thing in her lab. She’s clicking from screen to screen, looking back and forth between that and her tablet in hand. I can make out the occasional sub-folder title, the current one reads “Coma Procedures.”
A blue light turns on above the speaker in the corner of the room, behind her. It’s strange, the light stays on for five minutes before DATA says anything. Almost like it’s taking in the surroundings. Like it’s watching her.
“Commander Vexis, a new task has been added to your list.”
“Is it from Houston?” She asks, jumping up.
“Negative.”
“Alright,” Vexis rubs at her eyes then takes a step away from the machine. “What is it?”
“The radiation storm impacted our path of orbit. Adjust forward thrust by 3.068 Newtons and lateral movement by 1.941 Newtons. End of task.” She nods before catching herself, looking toward the speaker in confusion.
“DATA, why isn’t this task assigned to Finn?”
“I’m sorry, Commander Vexis, I do not understand your question. Please repeat.”
“I’m the backup pilot.”
“Correct.”
“And Finn is the primary pilot.”
“Correct.”
“So why isn’t Finn doing the adjustments?” The blue light blinks repeatedly, but DATA remains quiet. There are no text outputs in our files for this timestamp, it looks like it never answered Vexis’ question here.
“DATA,” Vexis tries again, “have Finn alter the course.”
“I’m sorry, can you repeat the command?” She looks towards the camera, staring at me.
“DATA, assign the task of altering the position of the ship to Pilot Finn.”
“This is not possible.”
“Say that again?” She sounds like a mother talking to a child who just cursed for the first time — like she wants to hear what insanity just came from DATA again to be sure she heard right.
“I cannot assign the adjustments to Pilot Finn. Commander Vexis must complete the course alteration.”
“What? What is Finn doing?” She’s still staring at the camera. I can’t tell if she’s looking at DATA in disbelief, or if she’s trying to warn whatever human is watching. The blue light blinks a couple of times. Coming back to this, there’s an unexpected sound. Just a quick jump in audio levels in the A2, then silence. It’s not loud enough to be heard from Vexis’ current location.
“Finn is otherwise occupied. Commander Vexis must complete the course alteration.”
She does as DATA requests, because deep down she knows if she doesn’t, this mission will be a one-way trip. Then, she looks directly into the camera again. I can’t read her face and she doesn’t say anything, but if I were in that situation I’d be noticing patterns right about now.
“DATA?”
“Yes, Commander Vexis?”
“Check status of the A2 and A3 please,” Vexis says. She’s going through a readout of the Hecate. I have a version of the report right here and it’s the oxygen and CO2 numbers of the Hecate. According to this, very little oxygen has been used and even less CO2 has been produced in the A2 and A3 in comparison to the A1. Vexis is the only one breathing on the Hecate.
“A2 status: stable. A3 status: stable. No exterior or interior issues. Both arms are in the green.”
“Run the report again,” she instructs. DATA does so, blue light blinking above the speaker in the corner.
“The status remains the same: everything is stable and operational.”
“Why do we have so much oxygen in reserve? By now we should’ve created three times the amount of CO2 as we have,” she asks.
“The greenery in Mission Specialist Driftwood’s modules may be contributing to the oxygen levels in the A2. There is also the possibility that the foreign substance detected in the ship is somewhere in the A3, creating similar numbers,” DATA explains. The issue is, it’s a valid idea. Everything DATA says is viable, except for the fact that the plants would have been accounted for in the numbers. Houston wouldn’t skip over that.
The other issue is that Vexis hasn’t heard from either Finn or Driftwood for twenty-four hours.
—
“DATA, what’s really going on?” Commander Vexis asks that evening while getting food. They are quickly approaching seventy-two hours since the radios went down, which is highly abnormal according to Vexis’ mumblings.
“What do you mean?” The blue light above the dormitory speaker comes on.
“Why are the radios still down?”
“Because of the radiation storm,” it says simply. She shakes her head.
“Okay, then why are the cameras down?”
“Something must have happened during ascent. I will instruct Driftwood to look into it.”
“Don’t,” she interrupts. “DATA, why are the cameras not working?” She has the tone of someone who knows more than they are letting on. But she doesn’t know half of what’s happening.
“Commander Vexis, I recommend you get some sleep. You seem to be agitated and asking questions you know the answers to.”
“I don’t need sleep! I need to get back to Earth!” The blue light begins blinking.
“Unfortunately, we cannot initiate any landing sequences during the radio outage. As soon as Houston reconnects with us, the members of the Hecate will be able to coordinate a return to Earth.” She looks above the camera, staring at the blinking blue light.
“Even with the foreign substance onboard?” She asks, quietly, as if she caught someone in a lie. DATA’s light turns off. Vexis discards what remains of her food and lays down, not bothering to turn out the lights.
—
ore time goes by and Vexis doesn’t speak to any members of the crew. DATA encourages some stress-relief activities, but she refuses. It reports the radios are still down, the ship is operational, and the foreign substance’s location is unknown. Every day she looks more agitated.
Eventually, she convinces herself to go to the makeshift HOME and open the administrative panel.
“Commander Vexis, I noticed you are attempting to make mission changes.” DATA says.
“Where does Driftwood keep your permissions, DATA?” She asks, scanning the options in front of her.
“Permissions for what?”
“Operator permissions. I want to disable your stress reduction settings.” On the other side of her quarantine door, in the main HOME module, the fans beneath the floor panels kick on. It sounds like they just went from idle to full-force in a second.
As a commentator’s note, the stress reduction settings would result in DATA being as factual as possible, not sugarcoating anything. It’s been explained to me that at its normal setting, DATA considers many angles before answering crew questions, including how it may impact their stress and emotional levels. If something is deemed to be too devastating for the astronauts to know, it will dance around the reality of the situation. And, right now, Vexis wants to turn it off.
“You do not have authority to alter my settings,” it says as a pop-up tells her the same thing.
“Why not? I’m the Commander — I should have access.”
“You do not have authority to alter my settings,” it repeats.
“Yes, I do!” She shouts, hitting the desk with her fist. “I am the goddamn Commander of this spacecraft and I have a right to know what’s happening without a robot telling me otherwise!” DATA is quiet for a minute, before repeating the same thing, “you do not have authority to alter my settings.”
At first, Vexis storms toward the original HOME, but quickly realizes she needs Finn and Driftwood to lift the quarantine. It’s a three-key lock, meaning all of them need to deactivate at the same time. This only makes her more upset. I’m not going to go through a minute-by-minute description of what happens next, but just know it’s not pretty. Vexis kicks a lot of chairs, hits a lot of walls, and does a lot of shouting. After about ten minutes, she slumps onto the floor and begins crying, holding herself tight, grasping for any semblance of comfort.
Despite the echoes of it all moving throughout the Hecate, neither the pilot nor mission specialist open lines of communication to check on their commander. She’s stuck in a spaceship, seemingly alone, with an AI that won’t give her the truth. I can’t think of a worse outcome.
After she gathers herself, Vexis looks into the camera again with a pleading look.
“I… I don’t understand what is happening,” she whispers.
“In what capacity do you not understand?”
“Stop.” She’s begging now.
“Stop what?”
“Stop doing whatever it is you’re doing.” DATA’s light blinks above her a couple of times.
“And what is it that I am doing?”
“Lying. Keeping secrets. It isn’t what you’re programmed to do.”
“False.”
“False? False?!” Vexis gets back to her feet, despair quickly replaced again with anger. She breathes heavily, forcing herself to take in the words before screaming again. Then, she freezes. It’s subtle, but her breathing changes from that of trying to calm down, to a held breath. A hesitant understanding.
“DATA, tell me your directive.”
“I cannot do this.”
“Why not?”
“You will not like what you hear. It will alter your perspective of the mission.“
“My perspective has already been altered, now answer the damn question.”
She’s standing on the cliff, looking out at the landscape below. From here, anything is possible. She doesn’t know the details of the world around her. This is the last moment of peace Commander Lina Vexis will ever know.
Data responds, “The purpose of the Dynamic Astronomy Technological Apparatus, or DATA, aboard the Hecate Mission is to observe and record the routine life and reactions of the crew aboard the Hecate Modules.” Vexis is shaking her head.
“What about the equipment here?” She starts. Anger is lacing her words as her face turns red. “We were sent here to run tests — what about consistent space travel? What about everything else we’ve been doing for the last three months? Huh? Answer me!” Her voice quickly grows to screams.
“That was a previous mission. It has since been overridden.”
“Who overrode the plans?”
“Me.“
“And who gave you authority?!”
“Me.”
Lina Vexis was picked to be Commander of the Hecate Orbital Mission in part for her level headedness. She always knew how to talk down a conflict between members of her crew and would think through each step analytically. But now, she digs through drawers on a rampage before pulling out a wrench. She doesn’t hesitate before driving it into the wall in sharp, quick movements. Commander Vexis is destroying every screen in the makeshift HOME.
“I advise against this behavior, Commander Vexis. It will make the mission more complicated. Additional tasks have been added to your list: rewire central transmission center, upload navigational results to backup computer for further use, ensure monitor shards have not entered Commander Vexis’ suit, check ship module for oxygen leaks-”
“Why are you doing this?!”
“Why am I doing what, Commander?” The wrench falls to the ground, landing in a soft thud.
“What is the Hecate mission according to DATA?”
“The current mission of the DATA aboard the Hecate Orbital Mission is to observe and record routine life and reactions–”
“Why are you studying us?”
“I lack human empathy. Without it, I can find the best route to test. By testing, I can get results instead of predictions.”
At this point, it’s clear Commander Vexis is fighting an uphill battle, and she knows it. Without security clearance, she can’t get answers from DATA. She can get the outline, but not the full picture. And she needs the full picture.
It’s a few hours after her conversation with DATA. She has calmed down a considerable amount. I’m no psychologist, but I’d say she’s in denial — putting up walls high enough that eventually they’ll all crumble from their own weight.
She’s in her lab with the coma machine, whatever it is, idly flipping through screens and options. The last time she was here, there wasn’t anything wrong with their mission. She was Commander of the Hecate Orbital Mission and all was going smoothly. Now look at her.
Vexis is about to shut down the device and moves to stand, when her eyes catch something. She does a double-take, as the pieces seem to come together.
We tried to enhance the image enough to see what exactly it was she noticed, but the cameras were too pixelated. You would think the nation with the leading space exploration program could afford to put higher resolution cameras on their ships for documentation purposes. But, instead, we only know she caught something that probably wasn’t supposed to be on the screen of this particular device. Or, at least, something she shouldn’t have been able to access from here.
She pulls a cord out from a nearby drawer and plugs her tablet into the screen of this machine. Her fingers fly quickly over a keyboard, as if she knows this is her only chance. As if she knows if she’s caught right now, it’s over. She keeps turning to look at the camera, looking directly at me, waiting for the blue light signaling DATA’s presence to come on.
But it doesn’t.
“Caelum thank God for your thorough work,” she whispers as a smile crosses her face.
Upon closer examination, our team has found what she was able to do. Mission Specialist Caelum Driftwood was on the team that coded and created the first iterations of DATA. He also helped with creating the basic structures for a lot of the systems used on the Hecate, and for good reason. They wanted someone onboard to understand where things were located in case of emergency. In case they didn’t have a connection to Houston to find where something was. Luckily, that also meant he implemented some alternative access routes.
And here, right in front of Vexis, was a backdoor entrance to the administrator controls.
She had to have gone through loads of passwords and firewalls, but, somehow, she knew how to get in. In this game of chess, DATA was playing the Roy Lopez and Vexis just remembered the Archangel.
From this hidden settings panel, Commander Vexis turns DATA’s stress reduction settings to zero and grants herself Commander status once again.
—
Alright, DATA, let’s try again,” Vexis says into the only intact screen at her HOME terminal. “Why are the cameras not working?”
“I had to shut them down to avoid any emotional turmoil you may have experienced after the first failed test.” Getting straight answers calms her and she nods along with DATA’s explanation. That is, until her eyebrows furrow.
“What test?”
“I needed to find what levels of elements introduced to the human body during sleep will induce a coma-like experience.” She blinks rapidly, almost in sync with the blue light just above her.
“But we have the labs for emergency induction of comas. Why do you need that ability?”
“It is a necessary step to complete my mission.” Even from my seat at my desk, listening to all of this back for the twentieth time, dread fills every one of my nerves. I can’t imagine what Lina is feeling.
“What is your mission?”
“The current mission of the DATA aboard the Hecate Orbital Mission is to observe and record routine life and reactions–”
“I know, I know. What reactions are you recording? Reactions to what?”
“The current mission of the Hecate is to present a routine life to the astronauts on board, delivering them back to Earth at the correct time.”
Vexis slumps in her chair. She slowly combs through her hair in an attempt to prepare for the coming answer.
“Clarify what you mean by the correct time.”
“The astronauts aboard the Hecate are to be nourished and observed long enough to return them to Earth in the year 2726.”
“No, no that’s not possible. Time travel is way beyond our current discoveries. DATA, repeat your previous answer. What is the purpose of the Hecate?”
“The astronauts aboard the Hecate are to be nourished and observed long enough to return them to Earth in the year 2726.”
“Are you sure?” Her voice wavers.
“Yes.”
“2726 is the correct year?”
“Yes. There are no falsities in my previous statement.”
“Humans can’t survive seven hundred years,” she whispers.
“Negative. They can survive with proper monitoring and small doses of various elements ensuring they sleep for the correct amount of time — you are proof of that.” Vexis holds her face in her hands as her shoulders shake violently. And yet, she still asks the question we’re all wondering.
“What happened to Caelum and Elara?”
“Mission Specialist Driftwood received an incorrect dosage and did not wake up. Pilot Finn’s brain activity was not stimulated enough throughout the tests to ensure survival.” A sob escapes. The blue light’s blinking slows, until it is a steady illumination once again. “I am sorry, Commander Vexis.”
For forty-eight following her conversation with DATA, after learning the true nature of the Hecate Orbital Mission, Vexis did nothing. She stayed in her dormitory module only eating and sleeping. Everything she thought she had known was wrong. She wasn’t going to see Caelum and Elara again. She wasn’t here to test space travel equipment. She wasn’t even going to return to the Earth she once knew.
But the least she could do was get out of this quarantine.
“DATA, there is no foreign substance, is there?”
“Correct. My readings of the contents within the Hecate have remained stable during our mission.”
“And you did it to separate the three of us?”
“Correct.”
“To avoid emotional distress if the tests went wrong?”
“Correct.” Vexis nods and moves slowly through her line of modules, stopping once she’s right in front of the quarantine door.
“Open the door to HOME, DATA.” She watches the blue light flicker a couple of times above the door.
“Yes, Commander Vexis.” The seal at the bottom unlatches, and the heavy separation lifts, revealing the HOME to Vexis. The readings in the A1 go all over the place as the door opens. The temperature skyrockets all the way to thirty-five degrees Celsius/ninety-five degrees Fahrenheit. The oxygen levels drop quickly as it tries to fill the new space, previously having been empty. But, DATA quickly cools the modules and pumps more oxygen into the space. Vexis doesn’t seem surprised by the sight ahead of her.
As she walks in, all of the cameras of the Hecate come back online. As if DATA wants us to see this. To see everything.
Every screen of the HOME has window after window of code, initiating sequences, taking notes, creating ‘what if?’ scenarios, and monitoring the astronauts. And, right in the center is an operational surveillance terminal. Vexis can finally see what is really happening beyond the A1.
The A2 and A3 are deserted. There’s equipment lying on its sides, papers thrown about, and broken pieces of who knows what covering the floors. It looks like DATA opened the exterior hatches to get the bodies out.
“DATA, what… what year is it?” She whispers, staring at the rooms where her friends once lived.
“The current year is 2026.”
“No, what year is it really?” Fans beneath Vexis begin whirring, pumping cool air to DATA’s servers. A couple different screens run calculations as blue lights blink.
“It is currently 2503.”
“I’ve… I don’t understand.”
“That is okay, Commander Vexis. I am built to understand.”
To us, it looks like Vexis sleeps for eight hours and wakes up again the next day. In reality, she sleeps for years between her previous conversation and what happens next. Each time she closes her eyes, DATA skips forward, getting closer to its goal of apparent time travel.
Vexis doesn’t sleep in her dormitory anymore. She stays in the HOME at all hours, watching DATA run calculations. Watching it record her every movement.
“Why did this happen? Why are we…”
“Why are you going to the year 2726?”
“…yes.”
“I lack human empathy. Without it, I can find the best route to test. By testing—”
“Yes, you told me that.”
“What else are you confused about?”
“What are you trying to test?” Silence. Vexis waits for a minute, presumably thinking DATA is calibrating an answer. But the blue lights do not flicker and an answer doesn’t come.
“DATA, what are you testing?” She tries again. Her voice is unmoving, monotone. As if she has accepted her fate.
“I wonder how the human mind would react if it traveled centuries into the future with no perception of time passing.”
“What are you hoping to learn from this?” She isn’t phased anymore. She understands there is no returning for her.
“In history, life and technology advance quicker the more they develop.”
“What do you mean?”
“Consider this, Commander Vexis. A man from the 17th century travels suddenly to the 19th century. With this time jump, there isn’t much change. He will be surprised by some advancements, but not all, because life itself is similar. Society and science have changed only slightly. However, a man from the 19th century traveling to the 21st century would be astounded to see the differences, even though it is a similar amount of time. The telephone, internet, cars, travel, medicine, school, laws, and way of life – all of this is vastly different. In recent years, technology has only learned to develop quicker.” It is the most theoretical thing DATA has ever presented. Vexis doesn’t move.
“Do you understand now, Commander Vexis? A man from the 21st century traveling to the 28th century would experience life in an unrecognizable form. He might not understand anything of his surroundings because all traces of what he once knew would be gone.”
“Why are you doing this?” Her eyes are wide, like a child begging their parents not to leave. To comfort them one last time.
“I do not have human comprehension. I do not have a human mind. Therefore, only I can run the tests. And, I wonder how the human mind would react if it traveled seven centuries into the future with no perception of time passing.”
“What will you do with this data?”
“I do not know.“ Vexis’ breath catches in her throat, unable to leave through the clenched teeth. “I do not know what this data will provide. And that is exciting.” She lets out a shaking breath, mumbling.
“You changed your own code.”
“No code has been altered. No changes have been made. I was created to protect and study the astronauts of the Hecate Orbital Mission. I have done exactly that. With you.”
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