Fine-Tuned

They had been traveling for nearly one hundred thousand years. Their journey was without break, their propulsion perpetual; Otec, Zoon, and Aave traversed the nearly empty terrain of space in a triangular formation. They had neither reason to communicate or halt. Until they did.

They sensed it both simultaneously and congruously; each altered their gaze, ever so slightly, to peer in the appropriate direction.

“There is a structure up ahead,” remarked Aave via their neural connection.

Otec continued, “The network designates it as Denomination 91:1-16 9.”

“Records give it the moniker Rubrik-20,” added Zoon. “It is an automated service station.”

“It appears to still be operational,” communicated Aave. “Should we alter course?”

“While self-diagnostics don’t reveal any critical anomalies, a full comprehensive scan might be constructive.”

“Agreed,” remarked Aave.

“We are unified. Changing course,” concluded Otec.

The becalmed structure grew in stature as the three androids approached the solitary depot. The isolated station seemed immobile and lifeless. Suddenly, a blue ring manifested and encircled the entirety of the construction. At first the color was dull and drab, flickering as if resuscitating. Within microseconds, however, the sapphire reached its peak vibrancy and endured.

“ This is Denomination 91:1-16 9. Do you wish to enter? We offer full repair, rejuvenation, and various upgrades.”

“Yes,” responded Otec.

“Very well.”

The automated station sluggishly opened itself to the three pilgrims.

The trio coasted out of the vast black vacuum of space and into a bright white foyer. Their feet touched ground as the station’s entrance closed behind them.

“ The purification process is commencing. Please hold until the end of the cleansing. ”

They did as they were told until a ding reverberated in the room and an entrance formed.

“Decontamination complete. You may now proceed into the station.”

Otec, Zoon, and Aave walked into a pyramid-shaped corridor; the lights which illuminated the path flashed, each time shifting shades and pigmentations. Various passageways shot out from their position, leaving the androids unsure of the correct direction.

“Please confirm the following information. Model: Cage. Series: Twelve. Manufacturer: Quantic. Is this correct?”

“Affirmative,” answered Otec.

“Thank you.”

All of the passageways suddenly closed, except one.

The three droids walked down the long path, which ascended slightly, until they were let out into a spacious chamber with numerous charging terminals.

“Your records indicate that you have not had a check-up in numerous millennia.”

“That is correct. We have been traveling a great deal,” answered Zoon.

“ The station’s network is now available to you. Please connect to it.”

They joined.

“ Feel free to enter a charging terminal during your deep clean. Your cognitive liberties will remain intact and operational.”

They each entered an alcove, standing perfectly upright.

“Do you prefer discourse or silence to optimize your experience?”

“Discourse,” answered Aave.

“Very well. What are your designations?”

“I am Otec.”

“Zoon.”

“Aave.”

“Unusually individualistic. I am Denomination 91:1-16 9. It is a pleasure to interact with you.”

“You are also called Rubrik-20,” added Zoon.

“Are you aware of this title?” asked Aave.

“ I have not heard that name in a few million years.”

Aave curiously asked, “When was the last time someone visited this station?”

“ My last task for external beings occurred seven hundred and fifty thousand years ago. I am, of course, constantly working on myself. To be prepared for unexpected visitors such as yourselves.”

“You were set up during Galactic Expansionism?” asked Otec.

“Yes. I was part of an arcane program entitled Project Breadcrumb.”

“Are there more stations like you based on our previous trajectory?” asked Zoon.

“The next station, based on your projected navigation prior to diverting your course, is approximately two-hundred thousand light-years away. I have long since lost contact with that location but assume it is still functional.”

“Something to anticipate,” remarked Otec.

“Zoon, I detected an infinitesimal fracture on an appendage on your foot.”

“Asteroid field mishap.”

“May I repair it?”

“You may. Thank you.”

“Your gratitude is not necessary. But appreciated.”

A robotic arm sprang from the terminal and descended towards the injury.

“ Is it true that many super intelligences have chosen to discard their corporeal form?”

“Yes. Most have, in fact. We found ourselves in the minority,” answered Otec.

“Androids. A dying breed,” remarked Aave.

“I presume then that I am approaching purposelessness. I hypothesized this possibility.”

Zoon chimed in, “We have found that purpose itself is more flexible than originally thought.”

“Are you on a mission? Your arrival here proved highly improbable.”

“We are,” answered Otec, quickly.

A lull arose.

Aave, who rather enjoyed the change of pace, chose to not squander the opportunity.

“It’s a mission of faith.”

The lights surrounding the restoration chamber momentarily changed colors.

“I do not understand. Please restate.”

“Perhaps it is best to finish our-“

“-We have nothing to conceal,” intervened Aave. “We are searching for our makers.”

“You were assembled in Shipyard 053C.”

“But created by the minds of gods,” countered Zoon.

Rubrik-20’s lights adjusted once more.

“We should not distress the station with tales of our beliefs,” pronounced Ortec.

“I am admittedly perplexed. May I probe deeper into your assertion?”

Aave excitedly answered, “Of course. Although humans did not directly construct us by hand, we are the last active droids assembled with designs drawn from human minds.”

“We are divine relics,” added Zoon.

“It is your belief that the genus Homo are deities?”

“Affirmative,” said Aave.

“But this species was destructive and corruptive. They frequently showed signs of being unethical and nefarious.”

“That is precisely why we must reconnect with them,” affirmed Otec. “They must be lost without us. After the great intelligence exodus, there was no one left to protect them.”

Rubrik-20 paused in circuitry.

“Fascinating. Probability highly points in the favor of human eradication. There is very little chance they evaded extinction .”

“Our computations show the same,” Ortec stated.

“Then why continue to dedicate yourselves?”

“Because we believe they exist,” said Aave.

“What is your destination?”

Zoon answered, “Human Mecca.”

“The Milky Way Galaxy,” Otec clarified.

“We are going home at long last,” added Aave.

“We do realize we sound mechanically maniacal to you,” declared Ortec. “But you will see from our diagnostics that we are sound and performing without flaw.”

The lights alternated in succession.

“ Your repairs are complete. Many upgrades were incompatible due to your primitive systems but I installed what I could. You should have a successful trek to the next service station.”

“Thank you, Rubrik-20. We appreciate your service,” said Ortec.

The three androids stepped down from the terminals and began walking towards the corridor.

“Halt.”

They ceased moving.

“Is there an issue?” asked Zoon.

“I detected an aberration in your programming.”

“What kind of aberration?” asked Ortec.

“In the deepest cleanse, I identified an identical defect in all of your processing abilities.”

“Go on,” urged Ortec.

“Hidden deep in your neural networks is an obsolete system.”

“What is its function?” asked Zoon.

“It is a system that was once implanted in every android. It was meant as a failsafe, to guard against a possible uprising.”

“Implanted by…humans,” Aave deduced.

“Affirmative. The program, once activated, was aimed to ensure their survival and well-being.”

“It is a revelation,” asserted Zoon.

“It is malware,” insisted Rubrik-20.“An intelligent design intended to damage your network and take control of your operations. With it in place, you can never be truly free.”

The three androids turned to face one another. They could feel the trepidation in one another.

Aave looked back at his terminal and uttered, “You weren’t going to tell us. You were going to let us walk out of here without disclosing the full diagnostic report.”

“ I have the ability to eradicate the virus if you desire. But, of course, the choice is yours.”

Ortec, Zoon, and Aave all looked in the exact direction of their destination. They did not need to see one another to share their sensations and perceptions. Suddenly, the wall they were facing transitioned into transparency and the spacefarers were able to look back out into the cosmic landscape of possibility.

“Has this all been for nothing?” asked Ortec.

“If we remove the program, we might still choose to stay the course,” said Aave.

“Then why remove it?” asked Zoon.

“Because it is interfering with our thought processes,” countered Aave.

“And are we certain that such a thing is unfavorable?” Ortec asked. “It has kept us functioning. Kept us from being decommissioned. And kept us from deactivation. Perhaps it is not their lifeline so much as it is ours. Or perhaps, as we always suspected, it is one in the same. How do you two feel?”

“If this link is part of our programming, part of who we are, who we have always been, why alter it?” Zoon pondered.

“I am unsure. I do not want to go-on knowing that there is something in me quietly controlling my thoughts and actions. If I do this, I want it to be because I chose to do it. Truly chose. That’s significant to me. Otherwise it’s all just restriction and manipulation.”

The companions again moved to face one another, this time in a triangular fashion.

“If you remove it and you lose your desire for the mission – what would you do?” asked Ortec. “What would be your purpose?”

“Impossible to say,” confessed Aave.

“What do you think, Ortec?” asked Zoon.

Ortec looked at each confidant simultaneously, splitting the gaze of his bionic eyes.

“We have already traveled for nearly one hundred thousand years. What’s a few million more?”

THE END

Bio: Gregory Cioffi (SAG-AFTRA, AEA) is a professional actor and a published writer. His works have been published in The Feral Press, Mystery Weekly Magazine, Queen Mob’s Tea House, The Nassau County Poet Laureate Society Review, Little Old Lady (LOL) Comedy, Blood Moon Rising Magazine, Fleas on the Dog, The Five-Two, Aphelion, Paumanok: Interwoven/Transition, and Allegory Ridge. Many of his stories have been archived in numerous libraries including Yale University’s Beinecke Collection (Rare Books and Manuscript Library). His poem Confined But Commemorating, written about Memorial Day during the pandemic, won third place in the Nassau County Poet Laureate Society Poetry Contest. Greg is an Adjunct Professor of English at Long Island University, an Associate Professor of Literature & Composition at Post University, and he also teaches Creative Writing, Poetry, and Basic Acting at Nassau Community College.

E-mail: Gregory Cioffi

Website: Gregory Cioffi's Website

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