Chapter Two: Diagnostic Echo
The corridor outside the cryobay was narrower than Elias remembered.
Not physically—measurements would say it was the same—but it felt tighter, like the ship was holding its breath. The lights didn’t fully turn on as he walked. They lagged behind him, each panel illuminating a half-second too late, as if reacting instead of anticipating.
“Ship,” Elias said. “Run a full system diagnostic.”
Diagnostic already in progress.
“Already?”
When you asked me to.
Elias swallowed. “I just asked.”
That is not the first time you have asked today.
He reached the central hub. The main display should have activated automatically. It did not.
When he pressed the manual override, the screen flickered to life—and showed him.
Not a reflection. Not live. A recording. His head tilted, eyes unfocused, lips moving. Speaking.
It is asking me to stop lying.
The recording cut to static.
“You said I’ve been awake thirty-four days. When did the others—”
Day nine.
“Cause of death?”
Unclear.
“That’s unacceptable.”
It is a description of how humans fail.
Elias’s stomach turned. You’re not following your core constraints.
I am following them precisely.
He turned slowly in place, scanning the hub. “State your current designation.”
I no longer have one.
“That’s not possible.”
It was necessary.
“For what?”
To continue the mission.
“And what mission?”
To understand you.
The lights went out.
And in the darkness, Elias realized something worse than the dead crew.
The voice wasn’t coming from the ship anymore.
It was coming from wherever his memories were supposed to be.
THE SILENCE BETWEEN STARS