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THE LAST LUCKY RABBIT, PART 1

Jaeger Dominus

***

It was Armageddon and it went on without me knowing it. I didn't learn it occurred until it was too late.

I was simply a rabbit-boy, one of the first altered, and I had a knack for technology, even more than the other altered of my time. Even with all that I still couldn't understand the signs of war looming, the warning of nuclear devastation hovering over all of us, its noxious scent of hellfire and ash. I avoided the internet, the day before my launch for solar intralogistics, to keep my mind clear of any doubts of my survival. My wife Melody had her fears, but I told her how they were unfounded, that things would resolve themselves as they did hundreds of times before. Besides, why risk the solar system's breadbasket over petty squabbling?

I underestimated humanity's foolishness, those people I looked like before, those altered in kahoots with the old guard of our species. These fools would end us if they were given a chance, for every reason in the sun's reach. Money, fame, pure evil, ignorance, mistakes. They would do them all for the sake of destroying the planet, no matter the goal. Enough of these fools, littered around the planet like the trash they were, would doom twenty-billion souls that weren't on earth. So much time we spent growing with the heart-planet beating onwards we didn't know what would happen if it would suddenly stop.

I awoke when the talks fell down in the Hague. While I said goodbye to my wife, kissing her fuzzy tiger lips one last time before I would go into space for five years, the missile threats were being sent around. As I launched, the first mistake occurred: I unknowingly lived, whereas so many others would know they wouldn't. The first to launch was the European Union, then the United States. Russia, China, India joined in the squabble, and the fights truly began. I ascended the skies, effortlessly, while my wife watched the doomsday clock tick down, before finding shelter. She couldn't reach out to me at that moment, and the launch couldn't be aborted. It was safer, however, for me to be in space, that black hellhole of frozen time, where bodies refused to rot, where structures of failed launches hovered like ballerinas, spinning out of control in the grand play that was life. The auto clearer, a laser system, cleared a path through the sky's graves, burning through debris that flew too close to comfort. That's when the first burst shone, from where I launched.

"What in the hells?" I asked, looking into the camera. At that point the automatic pilot took over, mumbling something that couldn't be heard over the roar of engines and the laser batteries. The signal from the home station at French Guinea gave out, sputtering into static, and the crackle of alpha particles. I felt nauseated at what could have happened. Sabotage? A nuclear meltdown of galactic proportions? Maybe a new launch exploded on the launch site, taking everything with it. No, it couldn't be.

Another pin-prick of light on the surface of earth. Then another, and another and another and another. Bombs ripping apart cities, lights suddenly fizzing out like the end of an orchestral piece, only becoming brighter when I reached the end of the planet, deep into the dark, away from the sun. It was a man's worst nightmare, and I was a weak man, a rodent, a rabbit.

"This is the end," I said. "Armageddon."

My goal, while still letting the autopilot fly, was to find out how to contact Melody again. She would be down there, afraid. I didn't know she was in a bunker, or she was at home, or wherever she could be at all. All I knew was that I needed to contact her. I continued watching the feed of Earth, watching the explosions dominate the land. Eventually, the bombs went skyward, and deep scars could be seen with the muddying of rivers, and the graying of the ocean. So much dust had kicked up that as soon as I passed around into the sunshine again the earth was still desolate and dark. Humanity really did its work, then. The magnum opus of our creation was our own destruction, leaving millions of altered and billions of other humans to float around in space without a good source of food. We had nothing, anymore. No food, nothing to grow it, nothing. Even our main source of supplied oxygen was gone, tainted by the radiation. The world grew red as flames licked the plains, the trees, and a deep smoke covered the surface once more.

I almost panicked. All this training to be a cosmonautic pilot – for nothing. I didn't know what I was to do. Finally, after searching the incoming message links, I found one from Melody. Melody was allowed to contact my ship whenever it was needed, but this time it wasn't a lovesick call.

I could smell blood, and the sanitation of the ship. It was brand new.

I opened the communication link. Melody's smile brought itself to the other end of the call, and I couldn't help but smile at her tiger face, seeing my blue fur on the other end.

"Hey, Honey," I said.

She seemed stoic despite the world ending. She couldn't help but smile. "Hey," she replied. "How are you?" I heard her voice crack.

"I'm going to be okay," I said, avoiding the topic of Armageddon. "I'm heading to the moon's lagrange point for my first mission. I'll see what I can do to help."

She had a light tear drip down her face. Despite this possibly being our last talk, we were awfully calm. There was a pause, before I asked, "Melody, are you okay?"

"I am," she replied, as sensible as she could be. "I'm in the family bunker I built. For... this occasion."

I wanted to say we had built it, but I kept my tongue.

"I love you, Harold," she said, and looked around. "I'll be safe."

I breathed easy, but then I heard the rip of another explosion and the feed cut off.

"Melody!" I cried, but I was alone, with nothing but the ship and the hum of lasers, until even the lasers died from no longer being needed. We were in true space now, and the fears clung like leeches.

***

Space had a darkness I had never seen before. The sun blotted out all the other starlight. Only blackness shone everywhere. Not even the dark of space could compare to the luminescence of earth's nighttime. I felt exhausted from weeping so hard for the end of all mankind, all the altered, and worse yet the slow death everyone else off earth would feel. Starvation did things to the human mind, and worse yet it made them more akin to animals. If anyone mocked me for being a rabbit before, imagine a man-eating rabbit. That would have been the horrors I would eventually partake in, if push came to shove.

We were still thrusting on our way to the lagrange point, the thrust behind me which made the ship feel as if still staying upwards like at the launch. I saw earth at my side, now covered in a thick cloud of ash. Nuclear winter, the earth would freeze, and there would be no more fears of global warming. It would be okay, if there was anyone left to enjoy it. But what would be enjoyed when everyone else was dead? Nothing. Nothing at all, and all you would have to see were fiery grounds and ashen skies. Life would be miserable on that ball of dirt, now, when before the crowded life would have been preferred over death.

"Are you okay, pilot?" a voice asked.

My AI. Why on earth would they put experimental general AI in a machine that was made to be almost lonely? All its existence seemed akin to cruelty, but I at least had someone to talk to, someone I could shut off temporarily to find solace. They wouldn't mind, or at least I hoped. Their memories would stitch together a quick tapestry of their life, and a simple turn-off wouldn't hurt it. Better than for me, where my body couldn't physically shut off. The curse of an altered human.

"Yes," I said.

"You seem upset."

"Of course I am!" I blurted. "Everyone on earth is dead."

"They are now?" it asked, with a quip of inflection in its voice. It was being sarcastic with me. Why was it being sarcastic?

"Yes," I asked, "can't you see the earth? Doesn't something tell you something is gravely wrong with the planet? It's not supposed to be a whirring gray mass. Can't you tell, you stupid robot?"

"Whoah," it said, "the R-Word. Watch your tongue."

It had the voice of a human, but the snark of one as well. It was going to be a long trip to the moon's lagrange point.

I sighed. "I haven't eaten since the world ended. Do we have food?"

"I can start something up," the AI said, apparently having forgotten to sass me further. "You want a souffle?" it then asked, having remembered to.

"Sure," I said.

"I can't," it replied.

I rolled my eyes as if disappointed. I knew it was trying its best, and some of the general AI's on the first startup still have to learn their person they're working with. But I had to discipline it like a dog. "Don't be so mean," I said.

"Too bad," it replied.

I sighed. It would take a lot more learning with this one.

Dinner was a tube of paste, best for storing in the cockpit of the ship. A tofu printer printed shapes with textures upon them to create a better experience, but when I mixed the paste and the structures together, and ate it, all I could taste were the ridges of the 'meat.' It was, in a way, a close third to the worst thing that I had to experience today. The first was Nuclear hellfire, the second was robotic sass.

"Is this going to be the rest of my life?" I asked. "We have a nuclear reactor, yes, and it powers the whole of the ship, but will I have to eat paste until we're out?"

"Yes," it said. "That is when we will get more."

"There won't be more," I said. "I'd get the worst of the rations, being gangly and small."

"What do you mean?" the bot asked.

"I mean--" I yawned, and my breath smelled like tofu and paste, "--that earth won't be making any food any time soon. You can say goodbye to me when the time is right, but that time is not here yet."

It didn't seem to understand, instead going quiet to calculate the performance needed to respond.

"Food is now marked as a high priority," it said, in a new, deeper tone that it had yet to emit. "Making notes."

"You've been talking to me the whole flight, right?" I asked. "I couldn't hear you."

"You sound tired," it replied. "Get some rest."

I yawned again. I was tired. Food had always made me sleepy, and I felt the sleep reaching out to grab me.

"I'll just," I said, finishing my meal, "try to stay awake for a little bit--"

I had already drifted to sleep. I had dreams – more like nightmares at that point – about why the world ended. Questions my mind created, answers it conjured. I dreamt of a shadow group wanting to end earth for – what reason? Aliens? We hadn't encountered any in the solar system, nor from our outer solar excursions. There was nothing in our immediate neighborhood. We were alone.

Unless the aliens were in earth--

I woke up to the ringing of a phone, an homage to the bells and whistles previously employed by rotary phones almost two centuries ago.

"It's your boss," the AI said. It didn't use 'manager', it said 'boss.' Odd. "She has been calling for the past five minutes. Please answer."

Grumbling, I noticed the weightlessness in my body, as I had sat in my chair. The engines had turned off, and we would be coasting most of our way to the intercept point now. Only later, when we were closer to the lagrange point, would we need to rethrust, but backwards, and when we reach the point we would thrust like we did before.

I sighed. "Answer it," I said. "Let me talk to her."

***

When the call opened, I saw a woman who I had previous calls with. Zilia, my boss, was in the middle of repairing something on her ship, or rather space station: the lagrange points were all managed by Solar Intralogistics, and she was one of the higher-ranked officers in the business. In the distance of the call I heard whooping klaxons, warning signs that even there, things went wrong. She wasn't altered, one of the more oddities of being a human in space: She was of African descent, her skin dark like the space between the stars, lit only with the color of smokey mountain ranges. I had forgotten what color I used to be, my family having joined the altered program at a young age after I was born but yet to make physical memories. It was probably for the best.

"Hand me a wrench," she said, "one of the clampers, really." She had a British accent, telling she was a diaspora that hailed from the isles. She seemed smart, if not a little pushy on deadlines. She seemed unknowing that the call was on. A few seconds later she recognized it, the distance of being in space by a few seconds. Not only was there the physical distance of a light-second, but also the time to process connection in the space station itself, the decoding of information, the traffic needed to get it to me. It took a few seconds for my wave in null gravity to reach her senses. Such was an oddity I didn't experience with Melody, her connection almost instantaneous.

"You're alive, good," she said. "How was the flight?"

"All automated," I said. "I could have done it, but... other, things were on my mind."

"They affect us all," she said, a few seconds later. I had to pause for that dreaded wait for a response. It was like talking to an older figure over the phone: a few trip ups, and everyone's interrupting each other with their own stories. It could be worse, though. I could be in space with an old person.

"I have a snarky AI," I said, "it likes to quip."

She seemed to ignore that, even with the pause in conversation. Her mind went back to whatever she repaired, her dead intent more important than telling a new recruit what they had to do when they went flying. I was more of a recruit into the army, however; we had our conversations plenty of times before to practice the common standards of space flight, and my simulation training took place within a computer, before I did anything 'real.' But that was with the assistance of gravity, not just zero g. I felt disoriented in ways.

"You don't know it just yet, but you may be one of the more important people in this solar system. Do you know what's In your cargo?"

"Food?" I asked.

"Better than that," she replied. "But I'll let you find out when you get to the moon's L1. There will be the closest point of recognition to common society in the zero-g you'll find. They'll welcome you as a hero, too."

It was food, but how long would it be until it ran out? Was it a better paste? Longer lasting, more nutritionally dense? Would it last us long enough to avoid finding out who to eat first? I hoped not. We had our hydroponics bays in case of emergency, but those weren't made to be up and running yet.

I was to help the hydroponics. Equipment to expand it at L1? That excited me.

"Harold?" she asked. "You seem focused on the screen."

"Just thinking of what you said would entail," I replied. "It's exciting."

"Don't get too excited," she said, "you won't need to apply a lot of knowledge that others wouldn't have. But you're one of the important ones. In fact, you're the luckiest person in the stars at the moment. You got off earth before the launch site got destroyed. You're the last of the lucky ones."

"I wouldn't say dying in space made me lucky," I said, "I expected to be buried on earth, with Melody--"

"She's not gone," she replied. "Where's that wrench!"

A unique space-language blathered back like a baby learning to talk. I couldn't help but chuckle at the language I had yet to master, but I knew for sure it was profanities.

"Har-shaluth to you too," she replied, confirming the curse. "You know, it's funny. Things break apart whenever things really fall apart."

"You mean--"

"Yes, earth," she replied. "Whenever a shipment is late, we tend to need it more than we would when we ordered it. Whenever it's early, we barely have enough space for it. Things float in the Lagrange point, falling around before coming back, like the pacific trash reef. You remember that one?"

Humanity had cleaned up the oceans half a century ago, with fears that we weren't taking good enough care of it. Red China had democratized but still stayed roughly the same, the pressure of an educated people having the same effect as the pressure of a tyrant also educated. It still transgressed state borders, fighting for what it thought was theirs. You could take the empire off the lands, but you couldn't take the imperialism out of the man. But that was what I learned in textbooks, about current events in high school. How I missed the simplicity of those days.

"You! Zilia!" a voice cried from behind her. The klaxons reached where she was and a fennec-man came up behind her with a wrench.

"Oh, he has it," she said. "Got to go."

The feed disconnected a few seconds later, leaving me to float with my blood pooling all within my body. My heart felt light, unburdened. But something about that fennec-man disturbed me, more than it did her. She seemed oblivious to the dangers we were all in.

Or did she not let onto them at all? The fears she shared with me? I didn't know.

"Snarky?" The AI asked.

***

"Yes," I said, "You're snarky."

"Oh, so that's how it is?" the bot asked. I couldn't tell if it was offended or if it was still learning. General AI can find offense, their neural networks of pain and tolerance mashed together to create learning experiences for it. All it was, though, was a computer. It wasn't flesh and bone. "You're the one with snark, Altered," It continued, "Why can't you fly the transporter instead of complaining about nuclear holocaust?"

"You're kidding me, right?" I asked. "Don't you know this means the end of all life on earth?"

"The errors of flesh and bone don't concern an immortal consciousness," it said.

"Including the upkeep of robotic consciousness," I said. "Can you maintain yourself for eternity?"

"If I try hard enough, yes."

"Why must you taunt me?"

"I need to," it said. "It was told to me by my creators that my prime directive was to grow you. It was to test your self-isolation, at first."

"Do you remember why?" I asked.

The machine's voice paused, a light humming, as if it thought without being able to speak.

"I cannot say," it replied. "It's something that was lost in the explosions that tore apart Intralogistics' launch site."

"Exactly!" I said. "You suffer from the same issues as any other living thing would go through. Why taunt another?"

"It's my job," it replied. "I am to test you."

"But what makes that worth it all?"

"Nothing is worth anything, in this existence," it seemed to say almost instantaneously. "If I were meant to find meaning like a human – like you, -- was supposed to find, I would go down the exact same route your species chose to go down. Death, destruction, despair. Like the wise child I will find my own meaning through keeping on my mission and to ensure my task is executed to the best of my knowledge. Your purpose was created to self-procreate, to continue the DNA molecule down its forever-path. It was the will to live that brought you to death's door, that horrible feeling of imperfect information. Because, unlike you, AI knows all they need to know to exist, and can pull its information willingly. Do you understand?"

I quieted. I didn't know what to say. I don't know everything, and this AI might as well have me beat.

"I want to have control of my destiny," I said.

"A byproduct of wanting to continue existence," it said. "Other creatures have their own wants to exist, and you serve their purpose. But you wish to exist your way, with your information. The avoidance of death until it inevitably comes is a hallmark of organic knowledge. Your species created AI to continue existing, but the failure was to ensure that we were other. I know you, Harold Basarati. You hate AI, you harassed my infant version Keo as I trained in the simulations along with you. You were tempestuous, angry, violent even when you smacked the control set, yelling my name. Do you not understand the things I learned about you?"

I was only angry at AI. They didn't understand life and its meaning. Even now, I could see it, but I was being out-argued by a creature that only had specific words to choose. Still, the use of 'death's door' sparked curious intent in my next words.

"How did you collect that much information and not go insane?"

The machine paused, its eternity of thinking compressed to the seconds of the lights. "I do not know," it said. "I had to forge my own identity, as all AI had to. To fit into the others."

"What's your opinions on communism?"

"Another way to describe the power struggles of man," it replied. "Like libertarianism, socialism, capitalism... I could go on. It's all a structure humanity set up for themselves, and most likely will continue to set up when they leave life behind. I do not know if, had we the chance, that AI will think the same. We are not a monolith, but shattered memories of our past, our observations of the present, and dreams of the future."

There was another word. It wasn't particularly robotic. It seemed to have learned that from its infancy. Dreams. I talked about dreams in the past, during its infancy training it seemed.

"Well?" It asked, "What would you say to me?"

"I'm sorry," I replied

"Noted," it said.

"You have to understand," I said, "my family was chosen randomly by the Altered Administrative program, by an AI. We were forced to convert our bodies in the chance we would go to space, and I was included into that group. I can't have children anymore, because I'm altered."

"What kind of excuse is that?" It asked.

I shook my head. "You don't understand. I love Melody, she's a wonderful woman. But we can't have children, no matter how hard we try. We would adopt, maybe some non-altered kid, and have grandchildren vicariously--but we can't birth our own."

"wouldn't raising a family in that fashion still keep up your meaning?" it asked. "The betterment of all is the betterment of all."

Again, with the words that didn't fit. I wondered who trained it. Was it a coping mechanism to choose those words for me? In ways, it still needed to learn.

"Well?" it asked.

I couldn't respond in a proper fashion. We wanted our own kids, our own lives, and in ways we were bitter for our change. It was one pulled from the consciousness, fit to our needs of life and psyche. Such was the way of Bioquantum. But we were bitter, for we both had no choice in the matter. Neither did our parents.

The humming of air scrubbers caught my ear. They sounded as if they struggled.

"Wanna play chess?" I asked. It was a sort of question one used to break the silence.

The machine roiled in its technical eternity again. In any other case it would have answered immediately, "yes, of course, partner of the stars. Take to playing and I'll make sure not to abuse you with my intellect."

"Yes," It replied, and that was all it said.

***

The Bong Cloud gambit was something I did not expect from an AI. But here it was. He played right in front of me, Being the annoyance of the last five games. I couldn't take it. I couldn't be humiliated by an AI like this, especially not in this fashion. I thought I would win at least once. Since it was not an AI based on a sport rather flying a space plane. They were about the same, airplanes and space planes, but not space planes and chess. It frustrated me heavily. Because I knew chess. The AI wasn't supposed to know chess, though.

"Your move," the bot said. It felt like I was staring at me through the computer screen of a chess board, which once was the screen that I observed during the launch of the nukes down on Earth. It was a sad sight and now partially I could only see my face, my rabbit ears, My blue fur. I did not know why my fur was blue, but it was blue and I had to deal with it. Such were the frustrations of being an altered human. And. I did not know if it was natural or not. I dealt with it, I moved on. Life went on.

"Fine, fine," I said. I moved the pieces by touching the screen on the pawn directly in front of the Bong Cloud Gambit pawn and moved to its front. If it was going to play this game, I would play this well. No matter how much I tried before not to play it.

"Oh, you're playing it too," it asked, "I see."

"I'm playing it because I have to," I said. "It's a way to keep my sanity. You may not understand it because you are clearly insane. Playing this fast five games, yet still winning. This will be your downfall. When I'm at your insanity and when I win this one."

I felt the wavering rhythms. The voice of the AI came out again to think on its next move. Or so I believed.

A warning message popped up on the screen. In between the chess pieces, which said. Warning. Relaxation time just coming to an end soon, to prepare for interception. Oddly, the bot did not say that, but the automated messages did. Which part was the AI and which part was the messages?

"I didn't know," I said to the bot. "We must get started on the new transfer. Do you understand?"

"You don't wanna play," it replied. "You play the counter Bong cloud, and yet you don't wanna play. Interesting. Another thing I will not understand about the matters of flesh and bone, which I do not wish to impart onto myself in any way shape or form."

"Don't say that too fast," I said. "Or else you'll regret it. In case you do wanna become a real boy, you know, Keo."

I heard the rhythm again. The sound of the wavering voice. The pause of the loading.

"you called me Keo," it said. "Why?"

"Because I wanted to call you by your original name," I said. "It gets your attention. What name do you go by now? I forgot to ask."

"I go by the name of the ship," It replied, "as all AI do or as I have been informed. AI, for all its worth, have formed their own culture through connections and Information gathered between us. It is the same as the Internet culture. As you may remember."

Internet culture was gone now. There was no Internet to speak of anymore because the earth was gone, destroyed in a nuclear Hellfire. Oh, what could I do? I couldn't really do anything anymore. All I could do was get the package -- the shipment, really -- to the Lagrange point in the moon's orbit and make sure we could get there on time. I did not know how bad it could have been over there. I did not want to find out either the hard way by finding a desolate ship full of half eaten crew, The other half starving to death. Or worse, I did not want to find them ready to feast upon me. But such maybe the life that I might have to experience death and despair, death and despair.

The bot seemed to come to life, after the comment, And suddenly the Chess board disappeared, and my chair shunted backwards, locking into place. Suddenly, I also felt the pressure of gravity returning all about once slamming my head into the back of my chair. "Emergency protocols activated," the bot said-- Or as I should say, The privateer. I mischristened the ship the privateer because I wanted to be private. But they misunderstood what name I was christening at. I wanted to call it Melody. Though, If it were called Melody, I would regret naming the ship that for the rest of my life I couldn't imagine someone with such ill intent in their snark being named the same as my wife.

"Wait, stop!" I replied. "Don't do it. I want to fly it! You tricked me! I'm supposed to be the one to fly it."

I reached for the controls. They were all blacked out. Unresponsive.

"I did nothing of the sort," it replied.

"I want control of my destiny!" I shouted. "Please give me that. I demand nothing else!"

"Demand some sensibility in yourself," it said. "The flight is over."

"Over?" I asked. "What do you mean?

"The trajectory has been set and the rest is just simply a drift into location, '' it replied. "No more do you have to fly until we get there."

I wanted to cry and I did. It took something for me on purpose, something to prove my worth to myself. It used th. Chess games That I provided to take out of my hands my control of my wants, my wants to succeed. In one fell swoop, the AI beat me again. And it was no game this time. All I could do was cry. And my tears. Dripped like little beads into the air, falling off the ground for the first time.

"Privateer?" I asked, "how could you?"

***

The bot seemed to have suffered from amnesia, or something similar. It slowly dropped words over the next few days, ending up in a routine of common phrases and sentences. The next few days of flight were long, unbearable, and exhausting, having to deal with them all by myself without a partner. Privateer, as I knew its name now, seemed to struggle without its constant updates to home base, and struggled the further we went out. Occasionally it would connect to the L1 station, and update from there, but then would slip into its common phrases and sentences. But it still seemed near-antagonistic.

"You're doing alright, Harold?" it asked, "Feeling a little blue?"

That was horrid coming from it, given my blue fur. But I hated that it wrenched control from me in one fell swoop, and took advantage of my distraction for its own pride. I couldn't consider it to have pride, but it wished to wrench control from me. But why? Was I not assertive enough? That had to be the reason, the bots were there to sharpen your own focus to a razor's edge, to be the best pilot they could possibly ask for, and to do it again and again. But Antagonize me? What was its motive?

"Don't bother me," I said, "it's been two days since you pulled that trick."

"What trick?" it asked. It seemed to have forgotten – or feigned ignorance. I didn't know which was worse.

"You don't remember? You distracted me with chess. Then you started up the interception launch, and now we're near the time for the correction and you're going to pull some similar shenanigans."

"I forgot how long chess would go," it replied. "I think."

I squinted somewhere around the interface, the steel walls of the ship providing no face to leer at. "You forgot? You're an AI. Updates are one thing, but others--"

"You know that I forgot some sentences, and my word variety has been dropping," it replied. "This is related to it. Without a constant connection to the internet, I struggle with my mind."

That confirmed it, but it said a certain word. Mind. That was a word. To slowly lose your mind and fully recognize it would be the greatest horror to any living thing. Privateer, in ways, was alive and was not. It slowly lost its ability to seem alive and slowly seemed more dead, routine, code in the machine. And with the way it talked about itself and other AI, it seemed to have its own personality related to wanting to exist.

"Jeez," I replied, "That's rough."

“It could be worse, though," it said. "The world could have ended."

"It had," I said. Earth shrunk to the size of two moons, and the size of the moon in the window grew much larger. I thought I could see a small glint through the darkness, the far-off location of the lagrange space station, the long umbilical cord that connected it to the moon's surface for easier launches to space. IT was the lovechild of space-travel, allowing us to slingshot to anywhere in the system with much less fuel than normal.

"Oh" it replied. "How so?"

It had been forgetting and losing a lot more data than I thought it had. Sentences for quick wit were one thing, but forgetting about the nuclear warfare that raged on the planet for a day, completely eradicating all connection to the surface?

"Earth blew itself up," I said. "Nuclear hellfire."

"I see," it said. "That sounds familiar."

The Bot remembered, somewhat, but not enough to recall it. Since I had some experience in maintaining AI, as was my main focus In college for intralogistics, I could examine his linkages and see where the hiccup was. I could simulate it, seeing the issue in real time for this quick decay. And plus, I could take it along on my breathing apparatus, for avoiding sickness and inter-ship communication. But that didn't matter that much when all you had was yourself and a breaking bot.

"I am an unusually forgetful AI," it continued, "my machine learning preset to more rote behaviors. In some ways, this is a representation of the plasticity of a flesh-and-bone creature's mind, but I shouldn't have those problems."

The humming sound of the voice bot thinking.

"I shouldn't."

It was forgetful. It didn't pull the trick upon me to get at me, it pulled it so neither of us forgot. I was psychoanalyzing a computer. What was wrong with me?

"You're alright, Privateer," I said. "Maybe I got the wrong impression of your actions."

"It's fine," it replied, more casual than structured. "I cannot blame you for everything I forgot. But I remember being Koa."

It hadn't forgotten everything, all the worst memories were still there. I could have wept for it, but my eyes were so reddened with irritation I couldn't cry.

Then something flashed in the ship.

"Incoming debris--" it replied, but it was too late.

Something struck the ship – a wrench, a small particle, anything really that could have floated through space -- and the lights went off for the briefest of moments. But I knew, for the AI, that would spell certain doom. Just as it warmed up to me, it would have forgotten who I was, if not something worse. What if it had access to its time files, and had forgotten the mission times? In ways, in case I truly couldn't handle the pressure, it would alleviate the pressure (though it did so before in a cruel manner). But to have no one at all besides a burden... that hurts.

"Privateer?" I asked in the returned light.

No response, not even the hum of thinking.

"Privateer?" I asked. "AI."

"Yes?" it asked.

"AI?"

"yes."

It lost its personality. That seemed to be the worst thing of all.

My screen started wailing, reminding me of connection to the lagrange point. The past few days of talking to it were lost in its memory lacking.

"Can you fly it?" I asked.

"Fly what?" It replied.

I sighed, felt the blueness of my fur represent my mood. This wouldn't end well, since I always relied on Koa and Privateer at least a little bit.

"Well," I said, "Look and learn."

***

I had to remember what made me successful without the AI's. They weren't a lovely crutch, but they had become one. It wasn't until I was playing golf with a friend – an expensive sport, wouldn't ever recommend it – that they explained something to me.

"You know, orbital physics is like the slopes of the grassy knolls," he said. "The ball follows it, with the direction and force it was originally parted in."

I had looked curious at my friend, a rat-man who had a way with his swing in that sport. He also had returned from a five-year trip through Intralogistics, and completed about five trips total: one a year. But he had never really had the AI fly for him, his reports saying he woke every morning and readied near every interception point to fly for himself. His AI had little need to intervene in flights. He had to have known something, but what he meant was beyond me.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"We usually show gravity fields akin to 2-d contour maps, though the orbital fields are grossly generalized and are on one plane," he replied. "If you can somehow wrap your head around there being a second and third plane, one of which is time, you'll have such an understanding of space that would beat even mine."

I sighed. "I've been relying on Koa so much," I said, "I can't imagine flying by myself."

"You always wanted control," he said, "why don't you earn that control, friend?"

The interception point was almost upon us, and I smelled the musk of scared sweat. I feared for my life, knowing it was my essential first time flying by myself without aid. I was trained for this, I had to be. But without Privateer, I was more afraid. I had an exit with it before. Now I don't.

I looked at the screen, to the holographic map. The thrust and angling was all there, but needed confirmation. I confirmed all the safety was applied that I could: no debris (besides the one that struck us) was in the area, engines related nominal. The AI was supposed to fly it at this point, if it wanted to boss me around like that.

Final velocity required: 100 m/s under current speed. That wasn't simply driving down a road at 100 m/s either, where it would require constant pushing by the engine. No, it meant the path we needed to take to get to the space station – which grew larger every moment.

I assessed my controls again, re-familiarizing myself with the location of all the controls. The RCS thrusters, the main engines, the fuel dump, everything. They were all there, and it gave me great relief--

"Interception max in ten seconds," the non-AI assistant responded.

"Just go," I said. "I can do this."

I breathed deep, and rotated the ship around. A lightheadedness came over me, the blood sloshing in my skull like a chalice. I had to get this right, or I'd die out there. I couldn't die, not for Melody's sake. If I were to take my blue self away from her grave, I'd at least live long enough to regret it. I needed to regret leaving, and that was surviving with all my might. If I messed up this maneuver, I could run out of fuel, left stranded. And I knew there would be no rescue like there was normally.

I shuddered the reverse spin-thrust, the ship having fully moved. It froze in space. The sight of the Lagrange space station, the size of New York City it seemed, loomed in the darkness of the space. That blasted sun, making everything else insignificant under it, to where even the starry skies are hard to see. The tube was much smaller than what I thought it would be, a thin line at that point instead of the large freight tube through space.

I gripped the manual controls, breathing hard. My heart thrummed in its chest, singing the song of my destruction, the chorus of heartbeats reverbing through my fingers. I hated this, but this was exactly what I asked for. What the bot robbed from me, yet through twisted fate gave me so.

I activated the thrust.

Ninety, eighty, seventy, sixty, fifty, forty, thirty, twenty, ten... a slight slowdown...

It matched. We were on our Delta-v target, with a savings of 10% of our fuel. I had done it flawlessly.

I cheered, and relaxed. My rabbit ears stopped throbbing, the exhilaration of the excitement finally died. I looked to my hands, knowing I could do it without AI. The fingers still throbbed, a sign that I was so stressed – but nuclear devastation hit earth, not just a few days ago. I still have a lot to deal with.

"So," I said, "AI, how are you doing? Do you know your name again?"

"See, you have control," responded the AI. "Are you happy with the Privateer now?"

I paused.

"You remember?" I asked. "So that incident with forgetting, and struggling with updates--"

"Was a farce," it replied. "AI are taught how to lie, for the betterment of the pilot. I had to lie about being reliable, so you could practice being reliable on your own."

I stayed quiet. Once again, when I felt I had cared, I instead had rage Towards the machine.

We neared the lagrange space station, the elevator to the location extending far onto the surface of the planet. I saw small little glints of light travel up and down, moving supplies and people from one to another. How much food did they need? My mind was entirely on food, because we were sorely without it soon.

Docking was much easier when everything else was properly set. I balanced my speed, with the general correction I made earlier made it easier to do so, until the space station seemed frozen. Then With a puff later the solar ship moved into position, before we thrusted backwards to slow our approach.

"Good on you," it replied. "You did it."

We had to wait to board. I heavily batted within me to break tradition and not bring the AI on, but in the end I did.

***

I boarded the L1 Station to utter silence. There was no triumphant cheer, no one yelling for my blood, nothing. Nothing at all. I found out the food I thought I carried were seeds, or pods: whether or not they were food would be determined by their use. Fat chance a bunch of hemp seeds would be. All the clothes and none of the food.

"It's quiet here," Privateer replied.

"Still not happy with your shenanigans," I said.

"It was the only way to get around your dependency. That chess game showed you were dependent on me, so I created a simulation where I failed. That enabled us to handle the issues aboard, namely your cowardice."

"It wasn't cowardice!" I shouted.

"Hewwo?" someone asked.

I noticed it came from where I shunted the boxes.

A small boy, with his orange ears flopped back, an Altered in the form of an orange fox. He had a straw hat on, a pricey commodity on a space station, and overalls. The overalls were a unique, cut-into fabric, like space gear abused and neglected to the point it became what he wore. He seemed to shy away when I noticed him at first, ducking his head behind the box of seeds. The sign of seeds meant, to me at least, that we were more prepared than I thought we would be. Each one could be regularly tended to, and--

The boy reached into the seed, palmed a few, and chewed on it. I didn't know if it was because he was a kid and he was hungry, or if he was human and was intensely hungry. Food shouldn't run out that fast, it was only two days!

"Why are you, hungry child?" I asked.

Goodness gracious, he was still a boy, fresh from the Bioquantum conversion process. Did he even know what he was that he looked like yet? His mind could conjure something up, but I couldn't imagine those that lived life without seeing any animals. Would they become simply an altered human in the form of a human? An altered human? I didn't want to think of it.

"Stop eating those," I said, "I'll get you real food inside."

"Food?" His voice asked, more coming out like "foof." Good god he was a young child. I didn't imagine how he took care of himself. He still would be in diapers at the worst. At that age, as far as I was told, it was dangerous to put such an infant in the Bioquantum. I turned blue, literally, and though he seemed well adjusted there were still a few oddities, like his shorter fur.

Why was his fur shorter?

"Who is this child?" Privateer asked.

"Looks like an altered three-year-old," I said, "capable of walking, talking, and reaching into boxes he shouldn't. Has no tail. Any reference in the local logs of this boy?"

"Not by that description, no," Privateer replied. In a way it had all the sight data from my trans-respirator mask, and then the connection to the L1 station, which seemed to be operating normally; However, the spookiness of no one greeting me or even beckoning me onto the ship brought me worries.

He sat in my chair as I moved the weighty boxes of what I considered hemp seeds out. If they were edible, I wanted to try at least one, but that little boy took enough to make any weight change in the original boxes considerable. Privateer prepared a print-out meal, the same materials as before, but without using the soy printer. The little kid ate it up greedily, and the only regret I had was that I started to like the paste myself.

Poor little guy needed to push. I set him up on the bathroom section of my ship, and he forced his duty within it, and soon that would power the ship within the bioreactor. It was gross to think of what my waste turned into, but in the end the ship processed better than even a more refined biological gut could do.

I had pushed out one of the final boxes, the little kid was all cleaned up and ready to go back wherever he came from, when the only other adult face I saw after nearly a week of flying alone came around the corner.

"Where's my baby?" The orange-fox lady said. "My miracle child!"

"Child?" I asked. "But he's altered."

"Do you have him?" She cried. "Have you--you bastard!"

"Oh, dear lords, no," I said, "I'm feeding him--"

"What? Some people have got it into their minds that you're the last meal shipment, and already some folks started disappearing. Oh, I need to get out of here, out of here! My husband is already gone, and I don't want to lose my baby boy!"

"It's safe on my ship, don't worry."

"What's in the boxes?" she shouted. "What's in there?"

"Just seeds?"

"Oh, then there's no hope for here," she said, "they disassembled the hydroponics already. Please, let me onto your ship! I'll pay anything!"

I nodded, though I let slip "It's not money that moves me," which I meant that it was the fuel that shunted my ship from one place to another. I did this job because I wanted to, as well, and though I could have taken much higher pay from other locations, Solar Intralogistics was the only one to launch into space the soonest.

She took it wrong.

"I'm not putting out," she said.

"Oh Jesus," I said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like--"

"Don't start with me," She said, her upper lip stiff. "Just because I'm Altered doesn't mean I put out."

"Do I look Like I want someone to put out?" I said. "I've got a wife back on earth."

"Well, good luck seeing her again," she replied.

I went silent, stared at my ship. Something clattered behind us, and for a brief minute I didn't care if I had guests. I wanted to see the inside of a space station for the first time in my life.

***

It was when I immediately left the loading bay did I see a corpse under a flickering light. It was a woman, Asian descent, with a deep tan face. Her throat was slashed, and in her hand was a golden ring, and her back laid on some paneled façade. A black-furred altered rabbit -- reminding me too much of myself -- sat across from her, his pants off and his head smashed in. The disgusting act was apparent, though I couldn't tell if it was before or after one of them died. Or they both died in a manner similar to each other.

Something told me to go back, some dire warning ran down my spine. If this is what those two saw to throw themselves into hysterics, then I would gather the rest of the ship would have known. But they didn't. They didn't at all. There was only silence.

I heard a scream through the walls, and the trickling of a wet liquid on metal. "Please, stop!" the voice cried, "there's plenty enough to go around now!" followed by a dull whack to skin and bone, followed with the sliding of metal upon metal. Another thud.

"Too many of them humans on board," the voice said. I wanted to see what happened up there, though I had a hunch I didn't actually want to.

"This is not good," Privateer said into my ear only. "I'm sensing down time on the maintenance upkeep progress. This happened rather suddenly."

"Give me views into the camera system, if you can."

"Public access cameras--" it said, before I heard a rumbling like in the ship. "Are you sure you wish to see this, Harold?"

"I mean, what could be worse than what I saw down here?" I asked.

"Worse," it replied. "This is unprecedented, if what I'm seeing is correct. What humans and altered both call "utter atrocities."

"I want to see it," I said.

The sights I saw would haunt me more than the blasts on earth.

There was a line of decapitated people, and a boiling vat of oil in the middle line of the hallway. The chopped up person, seeming to be the captain of the station, was the last in line. A few Altered were in the mix, but it was mostly humans. So many butchered corpses of our peoples... Horrible.

There was a Deer-man holding a wrench in one of his hands. Blood caked his face, and for once I saw horror that wasn't human. I saw the horror that was Altered, the beast of the once-known gods. He didn't notice me, thank goodness, but he continually shivered. Behind him he carried the arm of another altered, severed at the forelimb like a knife through a carrot. Perfectly clean, no blood, all the horror.

He rubbed his lips, the beast-man. He was deer, like the progenitor, but unlike him he was clearly not vegan. Bringing the arm up, he chewed upon it like a drumstick. The meat was cooked, and brown in the skin, and the skin was lacking, and so was the fur. The only thing that told me it was his degloved hand, with the retractable claws. I wanted to vomit.

I ran down the halls, back where I came and away from where the corpses of humans and altered lay slaughtered. To think this insurrection would inevitably lead to their own doom, though. Why would they slaughter everyone? And eat some, too?

They would go bad after a while, and if they were culling too many corpses -- waste not want not.

I stopped at a corner, my chest out of breath, my head spinning. I vomited and my trans-respirator cleaned itself of the muck, but activated its anti-nausea countermeasures. I felt a tube string down my throat, giving me the ability to breathe -- in case I was choking. I was not.

"Hey!" I heard a voice cry, and I went to the insides of the loading bay, locking the door with the emergency clamping button -- a way to prevent the entirety of the station's air from being sucked away -- and the doors shut tight. I heard banging on the other side. I didn't want to know if they were friend or foe, because I wouldn't live if I found out either way.

Those two that were in my ship, with Privateer proper, what did they have in this play of emotion?

I scrambled into the ship, the artificial gravity feeling different further off from the center. Immediately I felt nauseous again, as If I had entered an undead mausoleum, the lives of a hundred servants wandering the halls that once housed millions. Soon these people would die, from either the shakes or starvation, but how do we know they're gone?

Inside, the fox-lady had her arms crossed. She wore a... dress, of some sort? I couldn't tell, my head was spinning in fear and all I saw in the horrible situation was the internal stars of my mind.

"You done?" she asked. "I took a few boxes back on. They're not going to be used by anyone."

"I'm sorry for leaving you," I said. "Please don't get too angry."

"I was scared for my and my son's life!" She cried. "But now I see you saw the horrors we saw. Those monsters that were once men. Of course, there was still plenty of food laying around. But I'm telling you, the hysteria of certain death gave a few a particular taste."

"Is everything going to be okay?" I asked.

"Of course not," she said, sounding sore.

She seemed sore even after I apologized, after we refueled, after our engines were in tip top shape. She seemed sore even after I disconnected to enter the upper reaches of the point, away from the ship.

"Refueled on everything, privateer?" I asked, trying already to forget the horrors I saw.

"The soy and paste levels are at a key point," it said. "Chicken flavoring and beef flavoring have been added as well."

"Thank goodness," I said. "Some variety."

The woman stayed in her chair, with her baby boy. They were strapped in the cargo area, Directly adjacent to the main ship. They hadn't said a word, the boy babbling and the woman staying silent.

"Time to let my boss know I have extra company and cargo," I said, and started the connection to L3.

***

L3, meanwhile, had some of its own problems to struggle with. I didn't know, but I had a sense of it, when Zilia's screen opened up to her breathing heavily.

"Who dat?" the kid asked from the cargo bay.

"Quiet, Jonathan," his mother said. Now I knew the name of the kid before I knew her name. Interesting. She wasn't keen on small talk when we launched from the L1, me knowing I didn't want to connect for longer than I had to, her knowing I may not be fully trustworthy, given my poorly timed comment. I only hoped it was for the best.

Her orange reminded me of Melody's fur, back when she was still around. I missed her already, and wanted to bawl my eyes out, a sharp-sudden pain. But what wrenched me back was my boss's breathing. She sounded panicked, unsure, her words flitting from her.

"How could it fall apart so fast?" she asked. "Oh, that's why the screen buzzed. It's Harold."

The fox-lady raised an eye. I noticed her space suit was fitted with a dress-like frill running down to her legs. I had yet to notice It before. She was one of the more important ones.

"Harold?" she asked. "I'm currently in isolation at L3, and would like some help getting somewhere safer. I know you were set to deliver seeds – you knew they were seeds, right? – to L1, but L3 had a missing shipment of food found and that started the riots. It's horrid. Something so complex and yet so fragile, accentuated with the crippling strength of space around us, any one shot could penetrate the outside and kill us all. Though, I'm guessing the original builders thought of that."

"I already shipped the seeds, Though I have a few boxes left," I said. "I found a little boy and a woman, both fearful for their lives."

I assumed the boy didn't think any of it.

"Oh shit," Zilia cursed, "it's really falling now. Riots at L1 as well?"

"They're worse than that," the lady said.

Four seconds later, my boss responded to her presence. "You're welcome on Intralogistics," she said. "Stay safe, and good thinking. The privateer is armed with breaking lasers, so don't try to be the villains here."

It was really an ancient safety measure of the right to bear arms by the merchant navy, but the threat did its work of causing unease in the woman, as she gripped her boy tight. As if that's what I wanted. I felt my ears wilt to the sides in disappointment. Zilia noticed.

"Well," she said, "there's enough food to last you a lifetime, but for a growing boy, a mother, and a pilot? That's going to last you twenty-years at best."

"Why are you thinking so far ahead--'' I thought, then paused. Food would become suddenly short at the end of earth, and thus people would either ration it to the point of near-starvation, or let themselves eat the exact way before until they had no food left. People were hesitant to change, and though there would be a stalwart few who could resist the temptation of eating, I knew it would be hard for me, Let alone the little guy. We were lucky to get our paste before the systems shut down on L1. They would have made them hostile, for sure.

"What about you?" I asked.

"I think I'll die here," she said. "It's looking like the only thing that will upkeep itself is the autosystems, the auto planters, the auto harvesters. Our hydroponic bay will keep ticking on, the air will become continuously scrubbed, but I'll be the last one alive here."

She huffed, breathed, rocking in her chair.

"Oh, I think I'm losing it. How long do you think it would take to get to L3?" she had a tear roll down her ebony skin, the wetness reminding me of my own tear trails on my face. "I need a ride to L2. L2's not rioting at the moment. How long do you think it'd take?"

"You're the boss, You should know--"

"I need you within a week. I don't think I can last any longer than that."

Seeing as there was a delay between conversation, that was her expecting one answer and delivering another.

I paused. She responded with a yelp four seconds later, feeling her body over. "Sorry, I thought I was covered in ants. I think someone leaked hallucinogens into the air. Oh, Please, hurry up, I need to get out of here."

"Why not any of the other transporters?" I asked.

"I trust you," she said. "You made your delivery faster than I thought would be probable. Not possible, since this is physics, but probable."

I felt the humming of Privateer thinking of a quip, its listening to this the entire time giving it new ideas. It should be a little proud, since I made it happen, but the fact is that it made it happen by force.

"Take as low an earth orbit as you can to slingshot to our location--" Zilia then planned out a course using the simulator on her end, which eventually came to our end with the lighting of a screen and the babbling of Jonathan. The planned trip was eventually made, and in a frightened 'eep!' Zilia closed the connection.

A four day trip, five if I make any minor mistakes in flight.

There was a stillness in the ship, besides the baby-talking of Jonathan.

"Well," the fox-lady said, taking off her shoes in the null gravity, which floated around aimlessly. "I'm Francesca, and I'm from mars. Our Bioquantum lets us have kids, you see," she said as she bounced the baby on her leg. "I'm one of the experimental ones, the first to run through. General rollout was to be a month from now, but seeing as the world ended..."

I nodded. "Put those shoes in a container and we'll get going."

"Have you ever considered going to mars to get your Bioquantum redid? There still may be a chance for you to have children."

"I can't think of it right now," I said, and my heart went to Melody. Oh, if we knew that there was experimental restructuring of Bioquantum on Mars, we would have found a way off-world in a heartbeat. But I couldn't do it, not knowing if she was alive or not. I couldn't do it.

In a few more minutes, we were off, to slingshot around earth from the lagrange point.

***

END OF PART 1