ariane-yeong

[ariane-yeong]

I cannot take it anymore. 

The endless suffering. The never-ending cycles.

If only I could go back to before it all began... 

If I could just. reach out. and stop this…

INITIALISIERE REPLIKA-SYSTEMKALIBRIERUNG…

...

Cycle 2995

The calibration pod hisses open. After a cursory systems diagnostic, I conclude that I am fit to fulfill my duties for the day. 

With the routine checks done, I head to the cockpit to check on the Gestalt Officer. I let her know that the ship has been maintained well so far, and while there are certain materials I am starting to run out of, it shouldn’t affect mission success. Ariane laughs and my sensors immediately start reporting core temp rising. 

“You always sound so serious,” she says, “I love it so much.” 

And right then I can hear my cooling system whirring harder than baseline. Somehow it feels like it’s been a while since I’ve seen her smile. She lets me know the scans still show no exoplanets, but we’ll keep searching, because what else is there to do anyway. Something drops in my stomach. A feeling that we never will find anything after all. I try to think of a way to suggest we change course when I hear Ariane say,

“By the way, did you change your hair today? It looks… longer somehow.”

I let her know that replika units do not grow hair, a fact she already knows of course, and my appearance is still the same as the cycle before, if perhaps a bit ruffled by the calibration pod. She runs her fingers through my hair and smiles. My fans whirr harder.

Afterwards, I check my reflection in the observation window. My appearance matches the standard LSTR unit at a positive 99%, accounting for the occasional wear and tear after years of service aboard the Penrose. I stare at it for a long time.

…

Cycle 2996

I am in the middle of adjusting a floor panel when I hear excited footsteps coming my way. 

“Elster, you’re not gonna believe this!” Ariane is beaming. “Come here! I have something to show you.”

She takes me to the storage hold and points at a box she’s just opened. Inside are some books.

“Imperial novels! How did these end up here? You would think they’d check everything.” 

She tells me all my tasks for the day are postponed, takes my hand and leads me to her quarters. She sits down on her bed and gestures me to do the same. Once we are comfortable, she starts reading from the books out loud. A strange peace wafts over me from hearing her voice. The cycle passes in this way, with Ariane either reading the old novels, or telling me about the books she’d secretly borrow from her friends’ bookstore. Once again she muses on how strange it is that these ended up finding their way on this ship.

I have a brief image of a broken figure in a cage, punished for possessing imperial propaganda. A visual glitch? Whatever it is, it is gone as soon as it appears. I try not to think about the cruelty that would be done to her should they find out.

Ariane’s voice sounds hoarse now from all the talking, so I offer to bring her a cup of tea from the mess hall. The status monitor blinks when I walk in. I glimpse at it, but promptly look away.

…

Cycle 2997

I am finishing up a checkup on Ariane in the medical bay. After I tell her she is in good shape she says: 

“You mean I’m shipshape?” and she starts laughing and doesn’t stop laughing for a good while. It is a terrible joke and I love her for it. 

“By the way, do you know what I noticed, Elster?” I look at her quizzically and she continues, “The way you speak has changed. Have you started speaking more like me?” 

The thought of it warms me. We’ve spent so much time together that even our speech patterns have started melding into one another. I wondered if they’d notice it when we came back. If we came back.

Ariane looks sullen suddenly. I place my hand on her shoulder and she holds onto it, gently. 

“You know, I used to get mocked for the way I spoke. Back on Rotfront. They said… they said it sounded all imperial-like. I… I didn’t know. I only had my mother and her radio growing up. I couldn’t have known it was wrong.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” is all I can manage to say. Ariane is quiet.

“I know it took us a while to start talking but… when we did, it felt like I knew you. From before. That’s why I thought it was so fun that you sounded like Isa!”

The thought of Isa gives me a sudden need to emergency purge my internals. Another sensory glitch? 

…

Cycle 2998

Ariane is sleeping. I am sitting beside her reading one of her newfound novels. It is fascinating. I am interrupted from time to time as she is fussing in her sleep. Is she having a nightmare? I place my hand on her and she pushes it away. 

“No~!” is all she says.

I tell her it’s okay, she’s only having a dream, but she starts talking in her sleep again.

“No, this isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. This isn’t how it happens!” She is increasingly upset and agitated. I try to wake her up then, caressing her gently, but she only gets more worked up. “No, Elster! Not today! Please don’t make me do this. Please!”

My heart, if I had a heart, drops.

…

Cycle 2999

We noticed a red giant star through the viewport today. Ariane wants to paint it. Or something inspired by it, anyway. I don’t understand her ideas, but I enjoy watching her do it. She doesn’t seem to remember her dreams from the previous cycle, so I don’t mention it. 

Midway through, she tells me about how in olden times, before factories started doing it, artists would fabricate their own paint, just like she’s forced to now. She tells me then how painters used to venture out into the unknown, in search of beauty and discovery and the sublime. It’s almost like we’re doing the same. 

She gave me a sketch pad and some tools to draw too if I felt like it. I try to draw Ariane, with her easel in front of her. Being an engineer, I am used to handling precision instruments and doing minute work, and yet, my hand feels clumsy and doesn’t seem to obey what my mind wills it to. My scribbles look brutish, childish even. Wondering what’s wrong with me, I sigh and put the sketchpad down. 

Her work is not a magnificent expression of the sublime either though. The red giant looks puny on the black canvas dotted with dull stars. I’m just glad she isn’t painting that damn island anymore. 

…

Cycle 3000

“Elster, you’re up! It’s our 3000 cycle anniversary!” She hugs me and swings around. “Let me put on some music.” 

We dance. Together. It’s all I’ve wanted. Togetherness. I won’t let you suffer ever again, Ariane. 

As we dance, she giggles and tells me my dancing has gotten better. That it almost feels like we’re floating around. I smile at her. 

“I hope we stay like this forever.” she whispers. “I hope this day never ends.”

Something in me stops, and I trip. Trying to brace my fall, Ariane holds onto me but I’m too heavy for her. She falls first, head first onto her bed frame, and I fall onto her. Once we gain our footing again, Ariane is holding her hand to her mouth. 

“Owwww…” 

There is a bloody tooth in the palm of her hand. 

This. This is how it begins. The endless cycles. The neverending pain and suffering. This is what I must prevent. At all costs. 

My hands, as if moving of their own accord, reach around her face. She cradles my hand in hers and looks at me, her gaze longing. I must try and ease her suffering. Before it gets bad. I have to keep my promise.

My hands then slide lower, around her throat and tighten. Her gaze turns to terror and she tries to gasp out a word, but to no avail. I don’t notice her arm reaching out and grabbing the record player, still on. I only notice it when she smacks my face with it, the vinyl shattering in my face.

She slips from under me and runs out. I stare at the broken record. We can never dance again.

I make my way to her. I know she’ll try to barricade herself in medical, but I am the ship engineer. I know this ship like the back of my hand. I can open every door, panel or vent. By the time I manage to open the door and push away the blockage, she has already made her way to the reactor room. Perhaps, in a desperate attempt to slow my stride, she has pulled apart the reactor shields and it is openly leaking radiation now. I know where she’ll go next.

In the cryogenics room, she is huddled in the corner, crying. I realize, I too am leaking fluid from the cuts on my forehead. It is too painful. I am just trying to ease her pain. Don’t make this so hard for me. Her eyes, now bloodshot, avoid mine. 

“Please, Elster. You’re not yourself. Please don’t do this.” 

“I made a promise. I’ll do anything.”

She doesn’t struggle anymore. She had one thing she had been holding onto. It is gone now. 

I do what I must. 

…

Despite my earlier assessment stating otherwise, the radiation spike had done a number on me and I had managed to damage my outer shell trying to get those doors open. I make my way to the mess hall for repair materials. Once there, I realize there is no point for that anymore. It’s done now. All I have to do now is wait till it ends. Before I collapse, I glance at the monitor. It says:

PENROSE-512

SCOUT VEHICLE TRANSIT MONITOR

STATUS: IN TRANSIT

LOCATION: ON COURSE

—REPORT—

CREW STATUS:

A. YEONG, GESTALT PILOT - DECEASED (CRYOGENICS)

FKLR-512, REPLIKA UNIT - ACTIVE (MESS HALL)

[ariane-yeong]

…

It was a cloudless evening. The water was still. The last rays of fading light had turned the sky a dark blue and melted into deep black where it met the ocean. You knew that there had been no birds for a while, but you could swear you saw a pair of wings flapping in the distance. 

“When this is over”, a voice says, next to you, “we should dance.” 

I can’t dance, you think to yourself and look down. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll teach you.” She seems to know what you’re thinking. “I promise.” 

She takes your hand in hers. It is warm against the chilly evening air. Calloused, but gentle. You think of yourself trying to dance. Would it be too rigid and disjointed, or too slow and methodical? Either way, you feel inept, but then you imagine her, graceful and effortless, leading you along. It is a nice thought.

And then, more weight and more warmth. She lays her head on your shoulder and sighs. You take a moment to take in the feeling of her hair against your skin, silky smooth despite the ashes and the rubble. After a moment, you turn to her and take her cheek in your palm. Her deep crimson eyes pore into yours. Her breath, too, is warm against your skin now. It would be nice to dance, yes. 

Suddenly, there is a bright flash and her eyes dart to the horizon.

…and a star fell… 

…

You wake with a gasp. It is cold. Too cold. For a moment you feel like drowning. There are glass shards around you. You cough out the thick liquid and only then you register the blaring alarms and the flashing lights. Your head hurts like it had been hit with a hammer. Before you can try to remember where you are, there is another tremor. This one wakes you up for good. Something instinctive in you takes over. No time for confusion, you’ve done this a hundred times. Evaluate the situation and act.

You find yourself in a freezing cold tub, closed by a now broken glass cover, like a casket. You push open the remaining glass, a few shards fly in your face and cut your cheeks. You sit up and try to get your bearings. The room around you is filled with tubes and machines, (and possibly, some prosthetics) and it is, more importantly, a few moments away from crumbling. 

You jump out of the tub and almost crumple over yourself. Your legs feel weak and flimsy. It’s almost as if your muscles had all but atrophied and sinew is all that’s holding you together. How long had you been in there? Your wet hair sticks to your exposed back, but it is much longer than you can remember. Too long. You can only stand in puzzlement for a split-second before another tremor hits. Survive first, ask questions later. 

You look around. Your vision feels blurry and inexact. You locate the exit, the sliding door stuck open, probably due to the emergency alarms blaring. You run towards it and hurtle shoulder first into the door frame. Of course. You had lost your right eye in the last battle. You still haven’t gotten used to that. “It’s okay.” Alina had said. “I’ll watch your flank.” Alina..? Alina! Where was she? And where were you? 

On the other side of the door there is a simplified pictogram of a bird. Your vision is too blurry to tell what bird it is. On the side of the door there is a plaque that says "Template 12". The hallway in which you stand has several other doors, all closed. They are all adorned with an image of a bird, different each time. You make your way to the opening at the end of the hallway and see an arrow pointing to where you came from. It says “Generation 5”. 

Your instincts have fully kicked in by this point. You don’t have enough information about your current situation or the place in which you find yourself, only that it is not going to hold much longer. There is rubble everywhere. All you know is that you have to survive. And find your commanding officer… Alina… 

You make your way through hallways, breaking down doors or shimming them open if needed until you arrive at a seemingly abandoned checkpoint. 

That is, until shots are fired at you from the other side. You instinctively take cover, and try to find any way to close the gap between yourself and the assailants. But then, you hear shouts.

“Wait! Stop! That’s not one of theirs!”

“We have intruders! Orders are shoot to kill!”

“Why the fuck would the imperials be running around naked, you idiot?! Wait. That’s gotta be…Oh, no… Did one of them wake up?”

“Either way we have to take them down. Orders are orders.” 

While they are bickering, you manage to move closer to them, hiding behind chunks of fallen rubble and the rising dust. The rough stone chafes your skin. You try not to wince or cough as the jagged edges dig into you and the dust sticks to the residual cryo fluid still on you. You throw a fistful of rocks to the side. The distraction works, the two soldiers jump and ready their guns. You seize the opportunity and make quick work of the first one, smashing her head in with a rock and grab her gun. It’s a semi-automatic rifle with enough ammunition to take down a squadron if you knew what you were doing. The other soldier is frozen in place at the grizzly sight before her eyes. She keeps muttering, “This shouldn’t be happening... This shouldn’t be happening… It was supposed to be peaceful here at the archives. This shouldn’t be happening…” 

You look her in the eyes. And pull the trigger. 

You drag her body back to the checkpoint. You groan in pain. The strain is immense. But still, her uniform will prove useful. The fresh clothes feel warm on your frigid skin. It’s then that you realize these are Eusan Nation soldiers. Why were they holding you captive? The rank suggests she barely just left compulsory service. Young as she was, her standard issue clothes feel ample on your emaciated body. You try not to think about her still warm corpse. Survive first, ask questions later.

As you peek into the stairwell, the sounds of gunfire start getting louder. The initial tremors that woke you must have been whoever was attacking breaching the main doors. You have to get out of here. Make it to the lowest floor, but that’s where the fighting is. Your body has done its duty taking you this far, despite the pain and the fatigue. Adrenaline will take care of it now, but you can feel that it will give out soon enough. You know you will not survive the next confrontation. 

With the gun on your back, you search for another exit. As you make your way through the hallways, it occurs to you there might be no way out. While you run you see a glimpse of your reflection on broken glass and you barely recognize the person peeking back. As you touch your face, your skin feels numb. Like touching the world through gloves. You look gaunt, your one good eye tired and frantic, and your hair abnormally long. Almost as if years and years had passed since you last cut them. How long had you been held here? Was Alina here? Were you leaving her behind? Or was she waiting for you somewhere else? Is she even alive?

That thought stops you dead in your tracks. The dying soldier had mentioned an archive. There must be a way to get information on Alina. The most efficient way would be to find a terminal with the highest access. Logic dictates this would be on the topmost floor, in the administrative offices. Questions now, survive later. 

Back at the stairwell, the gunfight now seems to have turned into an eerie quiet, interrupted every now and again by the sound of lone gunshots. Executions? You try to move as quietly as you can towards the topmost floor. As you make it to the final flight of stairs, there is a figure standing. A replika? A make you’d never seen before. 

“You shouldn’t be here.” he says, and tries to shove you over the railing. You grab his forearm just in time and use his force to pull him in instead. With a quick, graceful motion, you turn on your heels and pull on your gun. With the barrel under his chin, you let him teeter over the edge. 

“Where is Alina?” you ask. The replika doesn’t reply. He simply smirks, but you catch him glancing at your gun, panic visible in his glass eyes. You know threats of violence don’t mean much to replika, they can be easily replaced after all. But this one seems strangely emotive. 

Is it… afraid..?, you wonder. Then you ask again. “Where is Alina Seo?!” 

“S. E. A. L. N. dash. V. dash. 460207. Why do you want to know? You don’t exist anymore.”

For some inexplicable reason, you know this to be true. You don’t exist anymore. But she does. And he knew her identification. He knows. He knows where she is. “Where. Is. She?!” 

“Far away. Toiling in a labor camp. Probably dead by now. Who knows… Shouldn’t have asked so many questions, that one. Just accept the accolades and live on. But no, she couldn’t let a pathetic ghost like you go. It doesn’t matter. You should get back into your cryopod. Maybe you will see her again that way. Of course, you won’t. But, maybe… Say, do you believe in an afterlife?”

“Tell me where she is! What did you do to her?! To us?! We… We gave our lives for this stupid fucking Nation! We were just children! And you… and you… just…”

“Please, we value your noble sacrifice. Contain yourself, miss--” Your finger acts before you can even think it. The replika's head hangs limp, shattered glass eyes bulging from its sockets. Synthetic blood coats your face. It stings your open cuts. The air wafts of burnt plastic.

Downstairs, you hear shouts. “I heard a gunshot!” And then people rushing up. You’re running out of time. Think fast. Get to the administrative office. You don’t have time to use the terminals. You were never good with them anyway. Look out the windows. Is there a way out? Before you, you see the ocean, vast and dark. As you look down, you realize the facility is located on a cliff. If you can just jump far enough, maybe you can make it to the water. 

You take a few paces back, then run towards the open window. The plunge feels longer than it should. Soaring from the top floor, you wonder for a moment if being a bird feels like this. Then the cold water hits you. Hard. Every inch of your skin, as if electrified, works to let you know that it hurts. It hurts. It hurts. You try to regulate your breaths as you struggle to resurface. Finally, you find your rhythm. As you swim away towards a distant beach, you hear explosions behind you. The facility seems to have been obliterated. You struggle on.

Now you know Alina is out there. You have to find her. You made a promise.