Aur Child

Calliope, steward of Yellow Reserve, joined her partners when Apollo requested an assembly in the white room.

“I’ve decoded a second status message from Odyssey,” Apollo announced to Freyja and Calliope who both appeared instantly.

Since the initial message eleven days earlier, Calliope had waited anxiously as her surrogate navigated the crew of exosouls south towards their first objective in Gjoa. A second signal in less than a fortnight meant good time; she had brought them safely almost halfway around the world and delivered them to their secondary mission of investigating the accessibility of other Aur boules. Still, the waiting had worn on her. The council was impatient. They expected Calliope to deliver only good news. This was her mission, but what could she do here other than wait?

To bide her time, Calliope had built her relationship with Tieri-Na. A useful distraction, but it was still work. “Get close to her,” were Freyja’s instructions, “because she clearly doesn’t trust me.” No surprise there, Calliope had thought.

Freyja was counting on Calliope. It had been risky to turn a fresh Tellurian body around in just a few days and press it into service. They didn’t have time to collect data, physiological or psychological. They didn’t even have the new Tellurian’s history well documented.

“We’ll sneak by on history,” Apollo had argued, building his case, “Few will know a forest dweller like her where the crew is going.”

“She’s very healthy,” he had added. “Her body’s ready to be worked.”

“And her mind?” Freyja had asked. “What of that?”

“We’ll find out, won’t we?” Apollo had said.

That was before Digambar’s exoport. The audits Apollo had conducted based on the poor initial statistics showed that there were several flaws in the accelerated transfer.

“Perhaps we rushed it a bit,” he had said.

“We?” Freyja raised her eyebrows.

Apollo shrugged it off. “She’s just there as a mechanic. Would’ve been fine if we had pumped in Digambar’s soul thirty percent slower,”

Calliope fumed. Typical Apollo. There had been time to do just that.

“Now,” Freyja said, turning to Calliope, “it’s on you to keep the engineer stable.”

Indeed, the onus was on Calliope - or more accurately, her surrogate, practically unreachable on the other side of the planet - to manage a Guest’s exosoul in a body that was very likely rejecting its presence more and more each day.

“That’s fine,” Calliope quipped, “I’m sure I’ve got it all under control.”

Freyja folded her fingers together. “If we get a signal that Digambar is in trouble, we’ll transmit whatever data we can get from your interactions with the Tellurian.”

“All that data in a radio transmission? No matter how encrypted,” Apollo said out loud, “that wouldn’t be prudent.”

Freyja let out a short burst of laughter.

“Did you hear that, Calliope?” She cackled. “Apollo’s offering us advice on prudence.” To Apollo she began, “Truthfully …” but she seemed to collect herself before saying anything more.

Returning to Calliope she said, “We’ll just have to trust you, Calliope.”

Trust. That was what Calliope needed now. Ostensibly, she had spent time with Tieri to build the relationship. To study her soul. To collect data. But it had taken a surprising turn. Try as she might, Calliope couldn’t entirely ignore how much that relationship had come to mean. There had been too many conversations, too many moments when Freyja’s basic instructions to “befriend them by empathizing for their worldview” had made Calliope take pause. To learn now that the crew was well, that her surrogate had safely delivered the team to their next stage in the mission, that the prospect of them returning home was closer, was all uplifting. And aside from the safety of her sons, nothing touched her more than knowing that Tieri’s body was not in danger.

“So,” Freyja looked at Apollo. “A new message? Well done, Calliope,” Freyja smiled at her fellow steward. “What is the status of our merry little crew, Apollo?”

The three stewards stood together, decked in clouded robes like the gods they thought themselves to be. Apollo assumed a stoic face, expressing his nonchalance towards the welfare of any humans. Freyja charged the air with a hard stare of authority. Calliope assumed her default exposition, glowing in her natural beauty like a candle.

Around them in the white room there was nothing but the ineffectual surroundings of a blank volume. The space was achromatic, a snowy translucency that reflected all light and offered no relief. Glints of reflections like glossy alabaster flashed between them while blanched spirals of frosted current paled the depths behind them.

“It shows the secondary mission status as unsuccessful,” Apollo answered.

“That’s a shame;” Calliope frowned, but she didn’t look surprised. “We knew it would be difficult to locate the Aur boules in Gjoa.”

“It doesn’t say they weren’t located. They may just be hard to reach. We won’t know for sure until we get the full report upon their return,” Apollo responded.

“Just, ’unsuccessful?” Freyja asked.

“What do you mean?” replied Apollo.

“Nothing more?”

“No. The protocol we confirmed was to limit transmission content to the bare minimum.”

“Was it really necessary to be so brief?”

“Shortwave is out there for anyone to receive,” Apollo said, in a more aggressive tone, “Who knows how many compounds like ours are out there listening?”

No one spoke. Apollo continued,

“Our encryptions can always be broken despite all the precautions.”

The two women remained quiet. Noting the silence, Apollo pushed on. “Keep transmissions to blips, that’s what we agreed. Even those give away an instant fix and, perhaps most important, that we are there at all.”

“Yes, yes,” Freyja crossed her arms. “But wouldn’t it have been helpful to learn something more than just ‘successful’ or ‘unsuccessful’?”

“Maybe you should have raised these concerns during planning.”

Calliope observed Freyja roll her lips around her teeth and into her mouth.

“Calliope,” Freyja said after a moment’s pause, “would you have liked to get more information than this?”

“I must admit, I was preoccupied developing my surrogate for coxswain.”

“Indeed, it is a matter of focusing on one’s responsibilities.”

Apollo was losing his patience. “The encryption is solid. That’s what matters. Other than that, limiting communications was the priority.”

“We should re-evaluate response protocol for the next mission,” Calliope interrupted.

“No, you’re right, Calliope,” Freyja said, “We must make do with what little we’ve got for now. Or was there anything more, Apollo?”

“Log: 10,379 nautical miles. Average speed: 40 knots. Crew Health: Good. Primary mission status: In progress.”

The three of them were quiet for a moment. Then, Freyja said, “They’ve made good time. Didn’t keep us waiting much.”

Calliope nodded, and then, “I wonder what it means, ‘Good’ and not ‘Excellent’?”

Apollo shrugged his shoulders, “Excellent is described as all crew in top health. Maybe one of those bodies is still seasick.”

Freyja seemed to agree, “That’s likely,” she said.

“Do you think it might be the newest one, Tieri-Na?” Calliope asked, but she immediately regretted saying anything. Whatever the reason, it was all speculation, but mentioning Tieri’s name was bound to reveal her interest. She winced, hoping that neither of the other two noticed, but it was too late.

“Now, now.” Freyja grinned sardonically. “Is someone showing her cards?”

Calliope turned away from the others.

“It’s a wonder those beastly corpses stay together at all.” Apollo scoffed, ignoring the previous comments. “Pumping souls in and out and running them around the world. We waste so much effort on these fanciful stop-gaps when the real solution lies in discipline.”

“We must remain patient, Apollo,” replied Freyja. “Humor them a bit more before turning the screws tighter. Otherwise, they’ll accuse us of not exhausting all options before taking away their toys.”

“And what about the Tellurian bodies put at risk?” Calliope blurted. She was surprised at herself after she said it.

Apollo was first to comment.

“Put at risk? Tellurian bodies?” he said. “Don’t tell me you’re turning as soft as they are, Calliope?”

“I only mean to say that it seems unethical simply to play out a strategy.”

“Unethical? Now there’s something to be raised during planning.” Apollo seemed to be walking away.

“The debate to cull their copies or hunt for Aur boules is not ours,” Freyja said. “If humans want to put their bodies in harm’s way, what do you care?”

“That’s just my point,” continued Calliope. “They’re not their bodies. The Guests keep their own bodies safe in stasis. The risk assessment goes swimmingly when a Tellurian body is wagered in lieu of one’s own.”

Apollo threw his hands up into the air. “What has gotten into you? I’d say you’ve been gallivanting with that forest nymph too much. Tellurian bodies are from Earth. They’re just going back to the place they came from. Besides, are you going to hike up to a wind tower and yank out an Aur boule yourself, love?”

Her mouth was open. “No,” Calliope said sheepishly. How could she argue? An artificial intelligence entity was helpless in the physical world without human assistance. Robots and machines had their uses, but all were saddled by limitations. They barely functioned reliably around Yellow Reserve. If there were to be missions like this, they must be carried out in human bodies, and Tellurian bodies were the only ones most Guests would be willing to send out.

But that wasn’t the main reason for her decision to back down. She knew she had already said too much. Sure, she had said ‘Tellurians’ and ‘humans’, but …

Calliope looked away; her cheeks flushed. She did care for Tieri. Her eyes searched about for a quiet fold into which she might slink off unnoticed.

Of course, Guest Dharmavaram was not a risk-taker. She had performed admirably on previous missions, even if she was a sucker for sensations. But, still, anything could happen out there. Captain Talle’s guarantee to the mission was that his Aur boule – the only one on board – power the ship. Any fatal errors would require all his doublings to be placed in archives, a thing tantamount to death in the virtual world. Be still, she reassured herself. In all likelihood, Tieri’s body would be back at Yellow Reserve in less than a fortnight.

Still, something nagged at Calliope. She desired like never before to be honest with Tieri. To tell her everything. To promise to protect her, both her soul and her body. She desired to be free to do so. Yet, she was obligated to keep so many secrets. She didn’t quite know what to do with these thoughts. “Try to accept them,” is what Freyja had told her many times before when blips in their processing confounded interactions with unfamiliar aberrations that could only be called emotions, although the stewards despised the weakness implicit in that word. But those events were different. She knew they had faced something much less serious than what now confronted her.

“Calliope, dear,” Freyja said, “Are you ok?”

Calliope juggled her head and looked up to meet Freyja’s quizzical stare.

“I’m fine.”

“Look, I understand these concerns. They’re valid and should be considered more thoroughly. But let us focus on a successful completion of the current mission for now. If they bring in new Aur boules, we might have a tougher hill to climb, but we can still raise these points with the council. Perhaps they will entertain taking less risks with Tellurian bodies in future.”

Oddly conciliatory words coming from Freyja. Calliope wasn’t quite sure how to gauge their meaning. Perhaps Freyja still wanted to learn more from Tieri. Whatever it was, it was a relief to end the discussion.

“Thank you, Freyja. That’s all I ask.”