Semper Ad Meliora

Phosphene is a kind of entoptic phenomenon, which meant seeing things without seeing things. Phosphene is the perception of light without light actually entering the eye. There are several kinds of entoptic phenomena, from seeing shapes to squiggly lines to the little dots of lights everyone knows when they close their eyes. All or most of them had to do with plain backgrounds, single colors with no pattern to them, or darkness, and were caused by the eye itself. All that meant was that the eye didn't like not seeing things. It always had to be entertained.

Dagan opened his eyes to be greeted by a blinding strip of light, blurred so massively that it was nearly all he saw. He squinted and closed his eyes again.

“I saw that,” someone said.

His eyes flew open again and jolted upright on the bed, blinking at the predominantly white and silver shapes around him. He saw that too! He kept blinking until the blur faded into an acceptable fuzziness. Looking around, he consciously wondered where he was, semi-hoping it was a clinic back on Earth and not the Morning Room. It was the Morning Room, obviously, with its white brightness, silver fixtures, and one-sided window showing the long expanse that is the first level of the hypersleep halls that reminded him that he was, in fact, actually in space. But he could still feebly hope that the things swirling in his head weren't true.

And he could see, thank the powers that be!

“How are you feeling, Dag?” Charles Krewson sat in a chair by the wall nearest to the examination bed. He leaned heavily over one side, cheek bunched up from resting on his fist with his elbow perched on the armrest. The other arm resting limp over the opposite and his very long legs were stretched out, crossed at the ankles. He never was one for much decorum.

“Weirdly good, actually,” Dagan mumbled. No headache, no stiffness, none of the tingling. “What happened? Where is everyone?”

“Bernie and the Doc are out in the hall, and Nau told me to wait for you to wake up.” Krewson sat up properly and laced his fingers together across his stomach. Since he was so light, a red mark was left on his face where his knuckles had been. “You blacked—er...I guess you were already blacked out. Bernie told me how the blindness had got you. Looks like you can see now.”

“Yeah...I think I can see now.” Fuzzy was better than nothing. Much better, so he was happily taking it. “I passed out?”

“In the middle of Nau explaining the situation too.” His head starting bobbing up and down. “After a while, he called me down. He's going over everything with Hera, making sure she knows she's gotta listen to us too now.”

Dagan groaned, but tried to disguise it as a grunt of acknowledgment, at the reminder of Hera's existence. Officially CON-Hera, it was unofficially the first mate to the captains. It was the only android that exclusively obeyed the Three Captains and was allowed to pick and choose whether or not to obey to other humans or androids. Rumor had it that Hera took advantage of that privilege often.

Rumor had it that Hera sneered at most who were not in its programming to obey. Rumor had it that Hera was the most inexplicably flippant robot to ever come into existence.

There were other rumors surrounding it, none helping its case. So Dagan had never looked forward to meeting it.

“He still wants me to be Three?” His eyebrows pulled together, hoping that fainting might've made Nau find him unfit.

“We need a third, man. Can't make decisions without three. It's the law. And since you were technically promoted to First Navigator, you're the one.” Easy for Krew to say. He actually trained for it.

“Is Seder dead too?”

Krew shook his head. “We can't wake him though. His pod's completely unresponsive, but functioning.”

Dagan breathed in for a long time, then huffed it all out in a burst. Fine, if he had to be a leader, he could be a leader. It's not like he was the only one in this position.

Dagan Mecca, Charles Krewson, and Sage Nau.

Three men in charge of almost twenty-thousand people.

Three men in charge of the last of the human race, lost in the middle of nowhere in a situation that took that phrase to its fullest meaning.

Nope. As quickly as it has started to seem alright, the idea went sour to him again.

“I need to check on Lia.” Dagan hopped off the bed with that mission now in mind. His legs felt a little bit numb and slightly wobbly, but that was going to go away, he knew--hoped. In less than a second, he was to the door that led to the hall, manually sliding it open by the indented handle instead of tapping the small control panel to the right.

“She's not awake yet.” Krew gladly leapt up and followed. No more sitting on his ass.

“Obviously.” A clipped reply. He turned for the right of the hall, where a metal stairway that lead to the second level was. He shouted for Bernard as he rushed, whose heavy steps could be heard bounding up the third aisle in response.

There were two levels of the hypersleep Halls. Sixteen aisles with six hundred, twenty-five pods on either side. Shiny elliptical half-cylinders for hundreds and hundreds of feet held in place by two thick metal rods each, wires and tubes on all their sides and backs. The wires for each level went between the two, down from the upper and up from the lower.

Which meant that stairway was really only to be used by engineer and janitorial androids, but Dagan wasn't going to walk all the way to a lift.

“Did you even check on her?” He half-turned around for a step to look at Krew.

“No, I didn't,” he answered. “I for—I've been kind of busy. She has to be fine.”

“Mr. Mecca! You should not be up yet! Please return to the Morning Room!” Bernie's voice was urgent as it came near, waving its arms. “Please, sir! You have not been cleared by myself or Doctor Hans! We still must run your tests!”

Dagan stopped walking, waving his arms back at it. “What tests do you really need? The positive and the negative from waking up? Positive: I can move. I can remember. I can walk. I can hear. And I can see now!” He kept moving his arms around and twisting his body from left to right. “Negative: I'm frustrated. I need a change of clothes. I'm hungry.”

Krew stifled a laugh.

“We will provide your things and first meal immediately after your tests, sir!” Bernie watched his movements with an exaggerated expression of worry.

It was taller than Dagan expected, and wider. Bernard was big and burly like a human bear, more than surprising as he could have sworn the robot was no larger than him when his hand was on its shoulder. Dagan was six feet even, averagely tall for his generation, but standing next to it and Krew (who was still one or two inches taller than Bernie) made him feel very small.

“What are the tests?” He almost growled, arms akimbo.

“They cover what you mentioned and simple check-up procedures. It will not be long, sir.”

“Doctor Hans can drag me back by my ear later if she wants to. I'll come back later.”

“It is part of the Morning Protocol, sir. We must follow through to make sure everyone awakes and lives in healthy order.” Well, this damn robot knew the rules. Perhaps MEDI-Bernard should have been in charge of the Sentinels.

“Bernie,” Dagan finally said, calm and stern like he was trying to get a child to truly pay attention. “In this situation, screw protocol for a few minutes. I think a little bit of improvising is allowed because I have things far more important to be looking at instead of sitting through whatever tests you have for me to find out what we already know. I'm awake, I'm alive, and I am in no danger.”

Bernie frowned at him for a long time, cogs turning in its artificial brain. Then it nodded. “Would you at least care for your change of clothes?”

Krewson's jaw went slack, looking back and forth between the two. He grew up all his life with androids just the same as Dagan, yet had never, ever won an argument with one. Why was it so easy for him?

Dagan sighed and still shook his head. “No. I need to check on Alia Pine first. Besides, I haven't had a shower in two hundred years, I'll do that before anything else. After this.”

Bernie's shoulders seemed to slump as it nodded. “Alia Pine is still asleep, sir.”

He scoffed and turned for the engineer's stairway once again. Yes, he knew she was still asleep. She had better been just asleep too. He didn't spend the last of his energy on Earth making sure the girl was able to board Vita Est just to have her in a permanent coma, or worse, thanks to some goddamn malfunctioning machines. If any of the Sentinels were still operating, he was going to tear the thing's cords out as soon as he saw it.

“Doctor Hans will indeed drag you back by your ear later if you do disappear for too long, sir.” Bernie mentioned as it followed him down the level. Krewson laughed from behind him.

“Damn right, she will. Remember when she stopped the press conference in the middle because she hadn't cleared Miser?” If you're not cleared by her, nothing's happening. He kept giggling. He had been there, front row, when the event took place.

Desiree Hans was small woman. She was small and skinny, but her looks were deceptive. When she stormed on stage to scold Miser, he hardly paused his sentence to acknowledge her. After the sentence, he looked at her, and then continued speaking. She stood there for a minute glaring. She started ranting in German and completely ignored the muffled shouts from off the stage, while Nau awkwardly stepped forward to try and pull her away. Miser's resolve visually started to crumble. Then she did just what they said. She grabbed the Brit's ear, twisted, and started walking away. Miser was a solid foot taller than her but he didn't fight. When they were gone, Nau tried to make jokes before continuing the conference.

As Hans saw it, if he hadn't been cleared of sickness, there was no point in him acting like he was. He had to have her signature before considered an official part of the crew. Miser paid the embarrassing price for continuous avoidance of a doctor's visit. Krew thought it was one of the funniest things he'd ever seen.

“I'm not disappearing, though.” Dagan didn't want to push the doctor's limits.

The second level of pods seemed quieter than the first. The low hum was never disturbed until the three of them came pounding through. It was darker, though. All the light here was only what filtered through the crisscross walkways above, the four morning rooms on either side of the hall, and the info-screens by each of the pods.

Lia was one the left side of the eighth aisle. Near enough smack in the middle too. That was a long, hard walk. Dagan was winded before they'd passed a hundred pods, and being surrounded by the dim faces of dead and sleeping men and women didn't help.

The lids of the pods were half an inch of steel, with clear glass windows two feet long and wide as his hand revealing the person inside. Most of them showed a peaceful person inside. Many of them, however, did not. Inside many were contorted and pale faces. Others had heads hung forward. And some, somehow, managed to lean against the window. One particularly gross one looked mummified, eyes open with his dark face mashed against the muddied window and jaw hanging too far open. Next to it was a pod with no light. The screen in front of it showed the picture of a fifteen-year-old girl, flashing ERROR 1054 above her information in giant red letters.

Dagan's heart began pounding.

Bernie was ahead of them by the time they reached Lia's pod, tapping once or twice on the screen. Dagan immediately looked inside. From there, the little girl looked alright. Not dried, not contorted, not mummified.

And Bernie smiled. “She is in perfect stasis.”

Krewson nodded, a look of relief on his face. “See, I told you she's fine.” He looked to the side, further down the aisle, thankful he hadn't completely dropped the ball in not checking her vitals earlier.

“Wake her up,” Dagan said.

Bernie's smile dropped. “We cannot do that right now.”

“Wake her up, Bernard,” Dagan insisted. Krew mumbled something but he didn't really hear. “For all we know, every second left in a pod could be dangerous. I'm not going to leave a child barely old enough for hypersleep to that uncertainty.”

“Dag, come here.” Krew was several pods away, in front of two figures standing at attention, unblinking and unmoving. That, in addition to their well-trimmed features, made it obvious they were androids. One was smiling. When he looked at their shoulders, at their chests, and at their necks, there were no name tags, names, markings, or any sorts of insignia. He didn't recognize them at all.

Reluctantly, Dagan stepped away from Lia's pod, making sure it looked like Bernie was at least considering waking her up. He pointed very sternly at the screen.

“Who are you?” Krew asked the two like he'd expected them to offer up that information already.

“I am Oliver,” the smiling one said. “I am Oliver Jacoby Bicchetto.” An android with a full human name. It was very skinny, and shorter than Dagan by an inch or so, with short dark hair, dark eyes, and sharp angles in its face from its eyebrows to its jaw. It smiled wider, seemingly proud of itself.
His eyebrows furrowed. “And you?” He turned to the other one. The other one just lifted its head, seemingly turning up its long nose at them.

“What is your name?” Dagan asked a little more forcefully, stepping directly in front of it. This one's face was softer, with slender eyebrows and big gray eyes. It was his height. And it still didn't answer. “Are you malfunctioning too?”

That got a reaction as it stopped staring at the distance and focused on him, straight face turning to an insulted frown. “I am not. Sir.” Its voice was tinny and high.

Dagan looked at the screen to its right, hoping for an answer. The name on the screen was Edgar Hartley. When he looked at the one on the other side of it, the name read Laurel Hartley. Ah. That made sense. The robot definitely looked like a Hartley. It had the definitive long and curved nose.

These Hartleys were descendants of the husband-wife team that perfected realistically human AI, from skin to programming. The family was filthy rich because of it. They always had a small army of personal androids in all shapes and sizes, so of course they had one standing at their side. There was a third Hartley on the vessel, and the only one that mattered right now, a level up. Blake Hartley was one of the engineers on board. Poor man will be one of the ones stuck with the task of fixing their problem.

“You're a Hartley. I understand.” He nodded at the android, who nodded back. “Were you standing here the whole time?”

Silence.

Krew asked the same question to Oliver Jacoby Bicchetto.

“We have been here for three days. That is when we woke up,” it said. “We are supposed to stand here until our parents wake.”

“Parents, huh?” Dagan looked at Krew, who shrugged.

“I am going to start the Morning Procedure, Mr. Mecca.” Bernie tapped Dagan's shoulder.

“Good! Thank you, Bernie,” he turned around, fighting an outward sigh of relief. “How long will it take?”

“Three to six hours at minimum, depending on the side effects of hypersleep she experiences.” Bernie went back to the screen, tapping away. The pod started to slowly hiss.

“You can't wait for that, Dag.” Krew knew he needed to remind him. Dagan would've have wanted to stay and make sure everything went smoothly. “Gotta see Hans then we need to head to the bridge.”
Dagan bit on his cheek, tapping fingers on his legs as he thought for a moment. He knew Nau and Krew wanted to deal with the situation about as much as he did, but he really didn't want to. He wanted to wake everyone up and get them ready for Xiwang. He wanted to go to Xiwang. He wanted to step on ground and breathe good air. That's what they were supposed to be doing. He didn't want to be lost and he didn't want to be one of the captains.

“But it won't not wake her up, right?” He looked at the pod's small window. “It's working right?”
Bernie nodded. “Everything seems to be fully operational. She is one of the lucky ones.”

“Alright... Alright...” Dagan spun on a heel, looking at the amiable android. “You, Oliver Jacoby Bicchetto. Can I call you Oliver?”

“I prefer it,” it nodded.

“Do you have a job?”

“I am his son.”

Krewson nodded, silent, then shook his head, suddenly more interested in reading all the—to him—useless information on the pod screens around them.

“His...son...?” Dagan drew the words out, hoping Oliver would offer up more than that.

“His son is what I am. That is my purpose and why I was born.” It pointed at the pod it stood by. In front, the screen said Gerard Bicchetto, a name Dagan didn't recognize, and had the picture of a man that looked like he pushed the upper age limit of allowed passengers, mid-forties. It seemed that Oliver was an exact clone, minus the scarring all over his face. Both cheeks had white scars, as well as his left jaw, his neck, and his left cheekbone into what looked like past the hairline. That man definitely had a history. “Mother and father wanted me in place of a biological—”

“Okay, nevermind.” Dagan waved his hand, almost in the android's face, to get it to stop. He was still looking at the picture of Gerard. “I want to hear this—I really do—but not now. Is there anything you're supposed to be doing besides wait for...your father...to wake up?”

Oliver paused for a second, eyes drifting to the left before it shook its head. “There is not.”

“Do you like kids?”

“I am a kid.”

“Hah!” Krew let out, then covered his mouth. He had the image of what should have been a twenty-something running around like a giddy child in the kids area of a theme park.

“That wasn't the question,” Dagan said.

“Yes,” Oliver nodded.

“Good! Alright, listen, Bernie is going to wake up a girl named Alia. I want you to stay with and watch over her until I'm back or Mr. Bicchetto needs you.” Mr. Bicchetto wasn't going to wake up for a long time. “Just stay with her and be...be a buddy and make sure she doesn't freak out, please?”

Oliver nodded and smiled again. “I can do that! I will do my best, sir!”