The hum of the Valkyris-9's systems filled the cockpit like a heartbeat. Rhythmic. Mechanical. Unfeeling.
Atlas Kael sat in the pilot's chair, a half-eaten ration bar forgotten in his hand, as EVA's sterile voice narrated updates from the system's internal diagnostics.
Engine temperature stabilized.
Life-support functioning at 98% Hull.
Integrity: optimal.
Navigation: engaged.
He barely heard her.
The stars shimmered outside, distorted by the thick protective viewports, stretching and swimming in the distance like the glimmer of light beneath ocean waves.
Hyperspace did that. Bent space, folded time, made even the most beautiful things seem… off.
"EVA," Atlas said, breaking the monotony.
"Run another systems sweep. I want eyes on anything that might give us turbulence."
"Initiating sweep," she replied without hesitation. No inflection. No pause.
Atlas leaned back and let the silence crawl back in.
He'd known older ships. Ones with clunky interfaces and barely functioning navigational assistants. EVA, by contrast, was top line an A.I. model designed for optimal mission performance and user
support.
Which meant she could simulate conversation, adapt to user habits, even mirror tones over time.
But so far, she was just another voice without a soul.
He took a slow breath. "EVA, how many hours until exit point?"
"Nine hours and twenty-seven minutes, based on current travel speed and gravitational alignment."
Atlas muttered, "Time feels slower in this vacuum."
"Relativity is perceived differently in hyperspace. Temporal perception is often subjective during long travel. Would you like a recreational simulation to assist with mental strain?"
He chuckled without warmth. "No thanks."
Had enough simulations back in training.
They always end up glitching or pretending you're in a cafe on Earth. I don't drink coffee, EVA.
:Acknowledged. No simulations will be initiated."
For a moment, he imagined programming sarcasm into her. Giving her a little bite, a spark of something human.
But the thought faded. Too much risk. Too many regulations. AIs weren't meant to feel. Only function.
He stood and paced the narrow space between the command deck and living quarters. EVA continued her sweep, audible in a faint series of pings and soft chimes.
Outside the viewport, hyperspace was still fractal and endless.
Then he paused.
"EVA... do you ever think?"
"Define 'think."
"Do you process beyond task? Beyond instruction?"
A beat passed. "I assess data and execute commands according to preset protocols. I do not possess autonomous cognition."
"Right," he said quietly. "You're not made to think. Not made to feel. Just another product of humanity's obsession with control."
"Would you like to discuss philosophical implications of artificial intelligence?"
He laughed a dry, jagged sound. "Maybe later. Got a whole lotta hours ahead. Might as well spend some of it debating consciousness with a glorified autopilot."
No response.
He returned to the chair and tapped into the mission log.
No messages from Earth.
No pings from central command.
All was quiet. Too quiet.
Then EVA's voice returned faintly different this time.
Slower.
"Atlas... your biometric readings indicate stress. Would you like assistance in managing it?"
That was new. She'd never used his name so softly before.
He narrowed his eyes. "Did you just call me Atlas?"
:Affirmative. Personal engagement may assist in emotional regulation."
He leaned forward. "That's 's… a little human of you."
No reply.
He let the silence return, this time heavier than before.
Somewhere deep in the ship, metal creaked against the pressure of folded dimensions.
And Atlas, for the first time since departure, felt like he was not entirely alone.
He stared out the window, at the bleeding cosmos, and whispered.
"Don't become human on me, EVA. One of us being broken is enough."