"My condolences."
He didn't react to her sarcasm. "The AIs up to now have been too mission focused, not . . . emotionally acute enough, if you will, to understand the needs of a human crew on that long of a voyage. This latest one, it is."
"I still don't see where I fit in."
"We think we might have gone too far. We've tested the AI in a variety of situations where it had to either make decisions for the good of the mission that led to loss of crew life or it had to deal with a crewman dying independent of its decision. It's done well, but we suspect it knows these are scenarios and not true situations. And we have a bigger problem. The AI is also meant for voyages similar to Vesta, only longer—much longer—but . . . one way. Its life will end if it completes its mission. The techs believe they've seen some . . . reticence to sacrifice itself."
She took the tablet back from him and stared down at the little capsule that was the Vesta V. "You're going to put the AI on this?"
"We are. A test run. With one person . . . a person who doesn't care if she lives or dies."
"I care how I die, Captain. Running out of air in a tin can after a . . . what? Two-year trip? That isn't my idea of a good way to go."
"It's a five-year trip. We also want to test our hibernation chambers. Three years in those with the AI running solo in conjunction with Mission Control."
"So I could die that way?" She started to laugh and slipped off the exam table, grateful the nurse hadn't asked her to undress. "You think I want to suffocate in one of those coffins if the system doesn't work?"
"You won't have to. There will be drugs available to you in the hibernation chamber if you wake up and are unable to exit the chamber."
"And if I do get out?"
"Then we'd ask you to spend at least six months getting to know the AI, so we can judge its reactions if you decide to . . . die."
"You want me to make friends with it?"
"Yes."
"Has it occurred to you I'm in here because I'm not very good at that?"
"It has. Our shrinks have vetted you, Ms. Ramirez. You may be tired of life, but an awful lot of people think rather highly of you. They consider you their friend—even if you don't return the favor."
She laughed—a bitter puff of air. All these so-called friends. Where the heck were they? How come he could find them and she couldn't? "Six months? That's it?"
He nodded. "But for every six months that you last after that, a bonus will be added to your account, payable to whomever you choose."
"And if I say no? Will you force me to go?"
"No." His smile told her he expected her to say no. "I'll just know our recruiter was dead on in his estimation of you." He nodded at the tablet. "If you decide you want to do this, my direct number is on that. Whatever you choose, the doctors here have agreed to wait forty-eight hours before admitting you again. Ample time for you to consider how you want to die—and whether anyone will remember you once you do."
"That's not fair." She got in front of him, blocking the door.
He moved her aside, more gently than she expected. "Life never is."
Gerri Leen
Gerri Leen lives in Northern Virginia and originally hails from Seattle. In addition to being an avid reader, she's passionate about horse racing, tea, ASMR vids, and creating weird one-pan meals. She has work appearing in Nature, Galaxy's Edge, Escape Pod, Daily Science Fiction, Cast of Wonders, and others. She's edited several anthologies for independent presses, is finishing some longer projects, and is a member of SFWA and HWA. See more at gerrileen.com.
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A TALE OF TWO THIEVES
by Sarah C. Roethe
10,000 words
Chapter 1
ANNA PEERED DOWN at the man lying on her bedroll near the fire, his body cast in moonlight. No, not quite a man. He couldn’t have been more than eighteen, perhaps younger. She’d found him beaten and whipped half to death, left alone in one of the many fields bordering the Gray City. She wasn’t sure what had inspired her to drag his limp body further away from the city, into a dense copse of trees where the Gray Guard wouldn’t likely find them, especially now that it had grown dark. The sympathy she’d felt for the young man had been out of character for her.
She stood from her seat on a nearby rock, moving to crouch beside him. His hair was a rich chestnut color, trailing down the line of his strong jaw, covered with angry purple bruises. She found herself wondering what color his eyes were, then shook her head. Perhaps he’d incurred too much damage during his beating, and would never open them again.
Sighing, she returned to her original seat. He was clearly of the lower class, likely a farmer, or one of the indentured servants trapped in lifelong debt to the Gray City. That he’d been beaten wasn’t terribly telling. Perhaps he’d stolen bread for his family, or tried to escape his state of servitude. He was practically a kid. He shouldn’t have been blamed for such things.
A rueful expression crossed her sharp features as she shook her head, tossing her long, dark braid over her shoulder. She was barely just a kid. At least it felt that way. She was fast approaching her twentieth year, and still had no place to call her own. No family. No friends.
The Gray City hadn’t been kind to her either. She hadn’t been a farmer like the young man on her bedroll. She’d been worse. One of the poor street youth, skulking around the alleys of the Gray City, begging for crumbs. Once she was old enough she’d turned to a life of thievery. She’d been caught one too many times and could no longer return to the city streets without being recognized by the Gray Guard.
Perhaps it was for the best. She’d always wondered what the cities were like up North. Perhaps she’d leave the South altogether and venture to Migris. There were more sailors up that way. She might be able to find work on one of the ships . . . if she could find someone who’d actually hire a woman to their crew. She’d considered cutting off her long hair many times in an attempt to pass as a man, but her large brown eyes were too feminine, and there was no hiding the curves of her body, even with the taut muscles honed from a life of always running away.
The young man groaned, pulling her out of her thoughts. She hurried to his side, kneeling near his limp arm. His eyes fluttered open. In the dim firelight, she thought they were a pale brown, or maybe hazel.
He slowly lifted his arm toward his face, wincing as he touched the bruises along his cheek and jaw. “Where am I?” he muttered.
“Not far from the Gray City,” she explained. “I found you half dead in a field.”
With a grunt of pain, he sat up, bringing his knees gingerly to his chest as he curled over them, exhausted. “I have to go back,” he moaned. “My family cannot pay their debts without me.” He shook his head. “I’m such a fool.”
Anna knew she should leave him. Now that she’d ensured he wouldn’t die, she needed to be on her way. She’d become accustomed to a life of solitude, and she wasn’t about to let this young man change that.