Archive of Our Own

[2046-Jan-01 00:00 *m 20 08 35.03 -11 30 28.4 29. n.a. 0.38108691007770 -22.0153273 23.2469 /T 143.3892 1.1161763 50.268470 -76.85442 n.a. n.a.]

Thomas stared at the ceiling in his bunker. Laying on an air mattress spread atop a high density steel bed frame. The wall to his side bore a small oval window, well, it wasn't really a window. Humans have agreed a long time ago that windows weren't really necessary on a space station. The International Space Station manufactured an observation model with windows four decades ago, and the funding that went into it could've made at least a thousand more rooms just like this one.

The window in his room was a fake, just like any other window on this spacecraft. A screen made out of millions of stripes of red, green, and blue, imaging the view of Earth as recorded by the camera outside.

He held up a VHS tape and forced his eyes to look at it. Memories. Worth about 23 years. Its cost measured in time, something that humans couldn't buy with money. Well, that's only if he still remembers how to use it.

The simple truth was that Thomas has just awoken from being cryogenically frozen. Under normal circumstances, this wouldn't have been an issue for concern. Most humans who could afford to leave Earth were put in biostasis pods to conserve the amount of energy needed to operate the spacecraft. It just now happened to be his turn, as in, he woke up about a decade later compared to the rest of his friends. Each person is only allowed to live for 10 years at a time, so most have went back into the pods already. Not that he remembers any of them, really. Brain activity was forced to be lowered to abnormal levels to better sustain the rest of the body while unconscious, so his memory was spotty at best.

So there he was, alone, on a floating chunk of metal in space. According to what he's been told, his life up until now should be all included in this VHS tape, containing a series of images that acts as a stimulus to help him recall everything he needs to be a functional human being for the next 10 years. Consumption was advised to be as soon as possible in order to prevent cognitive dissonance. Most people used more modern methods, like an mp4 file, or some kind of album. But for an unknown reason that Thomas might not even get to remember, his past self chose a VHS tape. Frankly speaking, he was a bit afraid of coming to face the possible revelation of being some kind of retro geek.

Before he could let himself sink any deeper into his thoughts, there was a knock at the door.

"Come in."

The metal inset that was embedded into the wall slid open, revealing a man with glasses. Because despite everything that has sustained humanity up to this point, Lasik surgery could still leave you permanently blind.

He looked at the tape in the other's hand and sighed, "still contemplating whether you want your memories back or not?" He shook his head and scoffed, "hard to believe that you're the guy we need to stop humanity from its impending doom."

Kanukei was (apparently) one of Thomas' friends before he went to sleep. And they (also apparently) worked together on the project to send humanity into space when Earth became inhabitable. He was the first one Thomas saw when he woke up. After making sure Thomas' brain was still intact, he proceeded to show him how their work managed to end up in many of the textbooks that were brought onto the space station.

"So? Want to dissect my brain and find out?"

He frowned, the kind that slowly descends into further disgust as if he was picturing it in his mind, "No thanks. I was joking."

Kanukei walked towards the bed and looked at the virtual window instead of his supposed research partner, inherently uninterested in investing time into someone whose existence lingers on the dichotomous basis of viewing a tape. The light emitted from the screen painted his white lab coat with a subtle glow, Thomas wonders if he'll also have to wear a lab coat once he gets this over with.

"Can't you give me a hint or something? Surely you'd be a good enough sampling point to tell me who I was."

"I would hate to. But it's confidential until you go through with it yourself. Besides, you're here as part of the Research Committee, it's not like you have much of a choice in choosing whether to remember or not."

They've had just about the same conversation for almost 20 times already since his awakening, but a part of Thomas was willing to suffer if it meant that he gets to bring the other person down too. He tilts the tape around so the light would bounce off its surface and dance across Kanukei's face, the other had a naturally judgemental expression that seems to worsen around Thomas, so eventually he stopped.

"What was your memory capsule? How come mine is a VHS tape?"

"CD. Confidential."

Thomas looked up at Kanukei, who had no clue that he had just solidified Thomas' fear of being a retro geek.

"Anyways," the man in glasses quickly turned, leaving the tail of his jacket briefly afloat in the air, "you know where to go, you're the only one on the entire station who needs a VHS player after all."

With that, Kanukei left the room, just like the 20 or so previous altercations of their conversation. Once again, Thomas was left in a dark bunker, faintly lit blue by OLED lights.

[2046-Jan-02 00:00 *m 20 09 58.92 -11 13 15.3 29. n.a. 0.36869096790959 -21.4956982 22.7483 /T 144.7553 1.0814631 49.506629 -77.36246 n.a. n.a.]

"The 52-hertz whale, also known as 52 Blue, is an individual whale that emits a call at 52 hertz. This frequency is significantly lower than that of other well recorded whale species, and it appears that this is the only whale that possess a call at this frequency. Because of this, it is often referred to as 'the loneliest whale'."

They say that the brain replays life's best memories in its last 7 seconds. But Thomas wasn't dying, and the tape was clearly a lot longer than 7 seconds. It started off with a series of images, people, things, the house he lived in, the place he worked at, his friends, their voices. To anyone else, this would just be a jumble of unrelated pictures, but to him, it acted as a wake up call. A cipher that slowly blotted dry paint that was beginning to peel with inklings of memories, breathing into his soul a new life.

But after some time, it turned into a cesspool of what one would consider 'useless trivia'.

"The whale is detected in the Pacific Ocean every year from late summer to early winter, then move out of range in the spring. This movement pattern seems to follow that of blue whales." The narration rambled on, "much of the materials used to detect deep sea activities and creatures such as this one were disassembled in 2023, when water levels began to cause unprecedented damages to then human populations. They were later used to assemble a monitoring station at the oceanic point of inaccessibility, colloquially known as 'Point Nemo'. As of the time of this recording, the monitoring station and its crew is humanity's last connection to planet Earth."

The narration was unbelievably monotonic, even for TTS at that time. Types of solar eclipses, various minor planets, defunct space projects, even going so far as to go over each piece of junk that humans left on the moon. Thomas made a mental note as to leave some extra time within the next decade to voice the next message himself before he felt his consciousness begin to slip off. There were no other light sources in the room except for the old CRT screen, perhaps the last of its kind. It's not that they weren't able to produce more, there was just simply no point in manufacturing outdated technology.

When the room suddenly faded to pitch black, Thomas wasn't able to tell whether or not he truly had his eyes open.

There was no longer any colorful video footage on the screen, simply darkness striped with static waves.

"Hey."

A voice arose from the static, fragile and nasally, as if in tears. It wasn't familiar, but it had just about the same pitch as what he previously thought was a repetitive text to speech narration.

"Sorry, you probably won't remember… anything about me, really. We had a bit of a rough patch and… I thought that this would be for the best."

"Did you enjoy the video? You know, I was really surprised when you got interested in trivia all a sudden. You didn't seem like the type. I thought that it was something you'd like to remember, so I put it in. Oh, but I guess you won't remember who I am. For what it's worth, it was you who suggested the idea that we should make each other's memory capsules, not me, alright?"

"And… please don't bother to look for me, I'm likely not around anymore. But I left you something, in case it gets lonely out there. Hopefully you'll get to it in time."

"… Do you still remember the Theia Impact theory? You know what, never mind, you don't need to worry about it. You already worry to much anyways, about me and whatnot. Just— go do whatever it is you need to do."

"It'll be alright."

"Don't worry."

"Point Nemo. Signing off, 2023."

[2046-Jan-03 00:00 *m 20 11 19.48 -10 56 17.8 29. n.a. 0.35659104254680 -20.9897226 22.2446 /T 146.0793 1.0494202 48.799977 -77.83854 n.a. n.a.]

It was a small team. Kanukei, him. Yeah. The numbers weren't particularly large. But quality over quantity, right? Apparently the Research Committee have been taking turns chipping at rehabilitating Earth bit by bit, and it seems that now was the most promising time.

"We've received signal from the monitoring station, water levels are finally starting to rapidly lower. If we begin to deploy colonies some time within this decade, we should be able to kickstart humanity and be good for the next 100 years or so." Kanukei dragged around a flow chart on his tablet. He sat across from Thomas, separated by a thin table made of steel. His face nested neatly on his palm, slightly tilting his glasses at an angle where it reflected the light of the large false-window adjacent to them in the form of a piercing glare.

Metal trays were used to pick up food from the cafeteria, even when the food in question was a bunch of ground up protein in a bag. Thomas tasted a bit of the mystery space sauce, supposedly poutine flavored, before regretfully putting it back down. "Sounds simple enough, what do you need me for?"

"Take a look at this," Kanukei panned out to a chart on his tablet, "it's an ephemeris, remember those bathroom sign up sheets back in elementary school? This is basically the same thing, but with astronomical objects."

The screen was… a lot to look at, to say the least. Not exactly the most intuitive, but it gets the job done.

"Are you done looking?"

"I'd like to say so."

Kanukei carried out a long blink, before muttering 'at least it's not Saps' or something of the sorts under his breath. He switched the tablet screen to another document.

"Look here, this is an asteroid detected by the monitoring station. It was originally discovered in 2023 and predicted to miss Earth by at least 4 million kilometers. The gravitational pull of the space station changed its trajectory, and now it's headed straight for the Pacific Ocean. It would likely also shatter into pieces upon coming into the atmosphere. If we don't act now, Earth won't be habitable for the next two centuries." He projected the screen onto another large false window adjacent to Thomas. The image of the blue planet quickly faded, revealing live footage of a small building with a satellite dish sitting on top, isolated amidst the waves. It was the same one that Thomas briefly saw in his 'memories'.

He turned around to look at Kanukei, holding a contemplative expression as Thomas took his time looking at the monitoring station. "What's the plan?"

After taking some time to wipe the sweat off his palms and clear his throat, Kanukei continued, "redirect the asteroid via gravity tractor. We don't have to worry much about the gravity part, since that was the thing that caused the problem in the first place. But we don't have enough time or resources to completely deter it from Earth."

Thomas noticed how Kanukei's expression tenses every time he looks at the monitoring station, but chose not to pry. He momentarily tapped his fingers on the table, "you want to pull it towards the monitoring station?"

"… Yes. The monitoring station is located at the oceanic point of inaccessibility, you might know it simply as 'Point Nemo'. It's the furthest thing away from land, about 2,000 or so kilometers, but it's only about 400 kilometers away from the space station. If the asteroid lands there, the sea level increase won't have as much of an impact."

Thomas might have just woken up after a decade or two of sleep, but that doesn't necessarily mean that his intuition is diminished. The catch was encroaching, total destruction of the monitoring station was inevitable, but Kanukei was evidently leaving out an obvious issue.

"How would we collect data after the monitoring station's gone? This space station doesn't even have proper windows, we can't afford to lose the last thing keeping us anchored to Earth."

The screen dimmed to a black, before fading back into an image of the blue planet. Blue, blue, blue, one thing after the next, Thomas would be lying if he said he wasn't getting sick of the color.

Kanukei turned off his tablet, "that's why this is a two man project." He turned to face the false window, a deep blue, the screen of death. "The monitoring station is manned by an android, its technological developments is far more advanced than anything else we have here. For one, it is an actual 'artificial intelligence', rather than an algorithm."

"You want me to retrieve the information."

"Yes." He passed Thomas a folder from across the table, 'confidential' written across it in bold letters. Cliche. "This should have everything you need to know. F.Y.I., you were designated for this mission before you went into the cryo pod, no backsies."

Kanukei left, to do whatever it is he had to do. Organizing files, data, and whatnot. It almost felt like being an intern under training at a new place, assigned to a long time employee who was about to retire soon and couldn't care less.

When Thomas came back to his room, the first thing he did was turn off the nausea inducing blue OLED screen. It's been two decades, and humanity continues to use paper printing, which couldn't be read in the dark. Groaning, he turned on the small desk light that was provided as part of the amenities that came with the rest of his bunker and began to work through the documents.

[2046-Jan-10 00:00 * 20 19 38.58 -09 04 18.3 30. n.a. 0.27948117191972 -17.8552660 18.7449 /T 154.1320 0.9055888 46.335079 -80.27732 n.a. n.a.]

The operation was fairly simple. Get on a shuttle, land in the water near the monitoring station, then the android manning it will send a raft to retrieve him. While there, document any valuable data that has yet to be digitized and send it to the droid's processing programme, which will then back up the information then slowly pass it along to the space station. They had about a month or so, which should be enough time to leniently clear the paper load. The monitoring station had been equipped with its own escape pod, sufficient enough for one person to make it back to the space station, hence the one man mission. There should be a one week buffer period to backup the android's data and interface onto the space station for future recreation. With the assistance of artificial intelligence, it should be done in a week. Kanukei briefed Thomas about it for the several days leading up to the mission, at this point, it would be apt to say that he had the entire spiel memorized.

"The escape pod is only enough for one person, add any more weight and you risk an engine fire midair. So whatever you do, do not do anything stupid." He remarked again, fastening the safety belt of the pod.

"Yea, yea, I get it. You don't want any souvenirs."

Kanukei frowned, then let out an exhaustive sigh. Thomas was going to be the first human to return to Earth after two decades. He didn't really have any strong feelings about it, maybe because the memories he had 'regained' from the tape haven't really stuck yet, or because he had instead been spending time pacing in his room and thinking about the tape's final minutes instead. It was apparent that the previous Thomas trusted whoever was behind the screen, to the point of letting them pick what he would get to remember. And the other trusted him too, as it was a mutual activity. Even then, there were no other records of an individual like that on the tape. Fluixon, Saparata, the rest of The Conspiracy, none had a voice that matched the one he heard that day.

He had also looked through the database on the Theia Impact theory, contrary to the voice's insistence. It was an old theory from the 1940s about how Earth's moon was formed by a collision between Earth and a smaller theoretical planet, named Theia, resulting in the mixing of the planet's elements. Theia's debris orbited Earth for awhile, acting as its ring, before eventually coalescing and forming the moon. And for the next million of years, the Earth and moon coexisted with pieces of each other in their composition. In short, more trivia. He didn't necessarily enjoy reciting rudimentary facts as the speaker in the tape claimed, but he could admit that it does help lighten the mood when Kanukei has that sour expression on his face.

"Are you even listening? Repeat what I just said." Kanukei shook his shoulder, as if Thomas was some schoolboy bundled up in his blanket as a form of resistance against going to class and not humanity's pillar of hope.

"Yes mother, I will work hard to bring peace and prosperity to humanity. Now if you don't want me to land in currents that could shatter the pod on impact, you should probably stop talking."

Kanukei sighed again, sure had a lot of air for someone in space. Thomas took one last glimpse at the other's face before the cockpit door of the pod slowly closes. He's had enough experience as a human being to see that it was remorse, but he didn't have the memories to explain why. The tape only provided him what was considered "necessary". Not what filled in the gaps between the brain and the heart.

He sat and watched as the pod slowly descended from the space station, the vast nothingness of space, dotted by many unmarked graves that human called stars, slowly fading into the blue atmosphere of the Earth. Coating the surface of the planet like a cocoon. The radio inside the pod stuttered before picking up signal from the spacecraft, "Currently in low Earth orbit, 400 kilometers until near space. Over."

"Copy. System all green. Over."

"How's the view? Over."

"Blue. Weren't you the one who insisted on conserving energy? Over."

"Seems like conversations are a lot easier when I don't have to look at your face. Over."

Thomas rolled his eyes as if Kanukei could see him. Everything was being recorded, and having future generations listen in to their banter would be embarrassing, so he decided to be the bigger person and ended the exchange.

It was a long and arduous way down. At least 2 hours, kind of like an average commercial aircraft flight. But this time around, there were no ergonomic seats, no drinks, no flight attendant, no rectangular LED screen, just the engine's low humming. It was similar to when Thomas was first put in the cryostasis pod, he was awake, until he wasn't. Humanity haven't invented immortality or found a way to lengthen their lifespan, they simply found more routes to a slow death. In this coffin of metal and wires, Thomas will return to Earth, then back into space, only to temporarily die again.

He thought of the artificial intelligence that Kanukei mentioned. A true artificial brain, not formed from algorithms, but an organism capable of thought. Thought that needs to be parsed through a string of code, then into a dictionary, where it calculates binaries into human words. A bio organic being created with the language of the universe, given the ability to mimic human speech. Does it also feel loneliness? Communication with the machine was limited in order to not dilute its data. Perhaps it was already malfunctioning after doing nothing but sending waves to the space station for so long. Or perhaps that too was an automatic process, and the android had already decommissioned itself a long time ago.

The rest of the time spent in the shuttle was sparingly used on chasing brain worms. Should he go and wake up Flux and the others for a chat before going to sleep again? He was going to save humanity after all, so he should at least get a chance to say hi to all of his friends. Or is that not something humans do anymore? When have we become so lonely, anyways? Drifting amidst space, living a decade at a time, barely remembering as little as the names of friends and family, let alone their faces. All to wait for the day that it would return to normalcy again. That being said, he would appreciate something other than protein slop by the time he's back on the station. Maybe like a cake, or ice cream.

Kanukei would occasionally chime in to check up on the situation, just simple formalities that helps pass the time. Soon enough, he was in near space, then in the Earth's atmosphere. The air in the shuttle was getting tighter, but it should be able to sustain a while underwater, incase the raft doesn't get sent out in time before sunset.

With a loud crash, the spacecraft fell into the Pacific. Its velocity causing it to sink further into the waters, diluting the radio signal from the space station. Blue. Not the sickening electric pixels like the one on the space station, not like how the planet's atmosphere look when viewed from outer space. This was blue, as painted by the Earth and its elements. The ocean, in its entirety, the cradle of humankind, and the very thing that killed it, even going as far as threatening to do it once more.

Thomas opened the cockpit once the shuttle finally floated up to the surface. The sky was tinted gray, like it was about to snow. He's seen it before, firstly on Earth, then most recently in magazines and books on the space station, and now once again up at the sky of his home planet. Soon enough, the raft arrived. With a shelter big enough for one person, he bid goodbye to the spacecraft before boarding. Its radio continue to output nothing but static, occasionally stuttering as the mantle helplessly reel in more water.

Due to its remote location, Point Nemo was used to dispose of spacecrafts in the past. The space station have also been planned to be dropped here after it had served its time.

Tonight, under the starless sky of the Pacific, a nameless space pod will soon join its predecessors whose name were recorded in the wake of history in the spacecraft graveyard. Because legacy does not matter in death.

[2046-Jan-11 00:00 * 20 20 45.00 -08 49 07.3 30. n.a. 0.26944709810847 -17.4665234 18.2749 /T 155.1006 0.8979571 46.473448 -80.49443 n.a. n.a.]

To avoid any damages, the pod was positioned to land several kilometers away from the monitoring station. The trip from the landing point to the destination took about a whole day, enough time for Thomas to feed more into his newly birthed overthinking addiction.

The station was situated atop what looked like a floating chunk of ice. Overengineered to withhold the ever changing ocean temperatures. Just like in the photos, it was coated with white, glowing faintly under the midnight sky.

"Hello." A voice came from behind as Thomas climbed off the raft. It made his heart drop a beat. Awfully monotonic, to the point that it could've been mistaken as TTS. A voice that didn't match any of the ones in his memories, unfamiliar, but claimed itself to have know him.

He turned around to see the android in its entirety. Its pitch black eyes, unlike any other shade of irises in the human genome. Because it was a camera lens wired to a machine, not an exposed organ with predefined presets under the control of the optic nerve. A ghostly shade of white, humanoid, but almost not. It donned something almost like an aviator jacket, radiating with the same shade of metallic white, the fit of it puffed up like a space suit, and its surface was peppered with various pins and patches of airlines and research agencies that sponsored the project.

"…Hello." Thomas replied rather reluctantly, "what—how should I uh… refer to you?"

The robot looked around, resting its eyes anywhere but on Thomas as it processed an answer. "I am an artificial intelligence formulated by the quondam team at this observational station. Aforementioned members invoked my assiduity via serial number. But in accordance to my program, you uniquely may recall me as 'Micro'."

"Alright, …Micro. Is there any way to configure your speech settings?"

"False, altercations to the Chomsky program will malignantly modify my ability to communicate intel in the most repleted manner."

Whatever that means. Whoever made up the last team clearly worked with it long enough to see that the feature wasn't something worth changing, so a part of Thomas expects to get used to it eventually

He stared at the robot for a bit longer. His face was smooth, like sleets of snow, frigid to the touch. The corners of his mouth curved into a frown, though not intentionally. Under the polar night, the robot's appearance was cryptic. As if he was not from this world. Ironic, considering that he's been here longer than Thomas.

Thomas sighed as he took in the sight of the monitoring station, his breath partially solidified in the cool atmosphere of the Pacific. It was cold up on the surface, much colder than inside the raft's shelter.

"Aren't you cold?" He turned to ask the robot, as if he was talking to a real human. Rather than a mistake, it felt as if it was some kind of residual habit from the last time he was awake.

"Yes." The machine lifted its arms up and down, like a flightless bird, "though it is not the same as yours. My internal thermometer does ascertain irregular temperature fluctuations and respond congenitally. As of now, it is allocating some energy into maintaining intrinsic calefaction."

It was about something that Thomas could guess, considering that the robot is wearing a rather thick jacket. It was humanoid, not because it was made to be, but because its reaction to natural occurrences was about the same. On the floating snowcap, the robot was wearing thick snow boots with a build similar to those on an astronaut suit. In a way, he looked like a child who was allowed to dress itself for the first time, choosing what it believes to be the best clothing for the season. In that sense, he was quite charming. Thomas held back a smile at the thought.

"Let's go inside and get to working then."

"Copy." The robot nodded and began to shuffle towards the building. Looking at its stride, Thomas let out a snicker. It was a hyper advanced AI, worth enough to be the only one of its kind, yet its mannerism was comically clumsy, almost like a mascot from a children's show.

[2046-Jan-13 00:00 * 20 22 58.24 -08 19 11.0 31. n.a. 0.25003002809921 -16.7322549 17.3814 /T 156.8921 0.8945065 47.205275 -80.82196 n.a. n.a.]

The last few days have passed by in a rather mundane manner. There were no other clothing articles in the building, apart from a few diving and hazmat suits. Since they weren't doing much in the first place, Thomas just threw on whatever would keep him warm for the day along with a pair of gloves to keep his fingers from being frozen off while flipping through the papers.

Micro's batteries were made out of a material that could insulate heat well, it was only adequate for a machine made to wait. After some years, the power capacity dwindled, making it so that he would need to go and recharge for a few hours within the day. Thomas insisted that Micro should time it with his sleep schedule, because it would get a bit ghastly on the monitoring station at night when there was no one else around, and Thomas wouldn't be able to fix Micro up if something was to go wrong. Even though Micro was fine operating on his own for 20 or so years, he didn't see any reason to turn down the other's offer.

At night, Micro goes to his dedicated server room to charge up. It's also where he uploads his data to the space station. But Thomas of all people wasn't allowed in. In fact, for an unknown reason, the 'do not enter' sign at the door was dedicated to only Thomas, his name written on it in big red letters. Thomas have bugged Micro about it several times before, and each time, the android pretended to not hear him. So much for artificial intelligence.

Still, working with Micro admittedly made the process faster compared to if he was working with another human being. It was something he'd expected, but it was still a surprise to see it in person. Even more so when the paint on Micro's fingers are peeled off from all the times he'd unintentionally stick it into an electric socket, or spill boiling water from an electric kettle onto himself, and also occasionally falling off elevated surfaces and landing hand first, because it seems that his reflexes weren't programmed properly. Every day Thomas finds himself astonished by how Micro have managed to survive up until this point. He'd asked several times if Micro would let him take a look to see if there had been any damages over the years, and each time, he was met with a slightly more delayed but adamant rejection.

The documents that they needed to look through were stored in several different rooms, located in the same corridor as the server room. VHS tapes, cassettes, floppy disks, CDs, then USB sticks, papers, all kinds of recording mediums. All of which the monitoring station were properly equipped with. They used to work for several hours on end until Thomas noticed that Micro was radiating off enough heat to cause his surroundings to warp into waves. Every time, Micro would reject his offer to rest. Beneath the metallic exterior and promise of a futuristic computer was a rather stubborn personality. Thomas realized that Micro would get quite nervous when Thomas stops working on his own. Since he was made to analyze data and pirate the monitoring station, he wasn't equipped with systems to monitor any health related issues. As such, he would often waddle over when Thomas would suddenly lie down to check if there was anything wrong, often tripping over something in the process. This was how Thomas learned to trick Micro into not working into overclock.

At some point, he began to anticipate when and where Micro would fall, then roll over to pad his landing. When asked why his navigation system was so bad despite having two decades to adapt to the environment of the monitoring station, Micro claimed that every impact with the floor produces a friction force, which in turn produces heat that helps warm up his system, saving on power. His face won't sustain any damages until the next century or so, and anything impacted on the way down is considered a collateral. In other words, he was even worse of an energy conservation freak than Kanukei.

In their downtime, they would often read books or watch movies that they found hidden in some dusted box in a corner from one of the rooms. They were well used, being the contents of the only box that held something that wasn't research papers or information. The books had worn out spines, and the CDs had their fair share of scratches. The contents were diverse, like it was personally curated by a group of friends. Horror movies, horror movies,… horror movies. Okay, maybe diverse wasn't the best way to describe it. But it was obvious that it was catered to a variety of tastes. The books also had a mixture of topics, gardening, birding, baking, loads of guides on chemistry. Some were typical adventure stories, like one that takes place in a war-ridden continent, or another that takes place during a zombie apocalypse. Whatever it was, there was a clear distinction between the topics of the box's contents compared to other boxes.

When they get bored of the movies, the two would take turns looking through the books. Not necessarily for reading, since they've been doing that all day anyways. Thomas would purposely find a novel with a strange cover, flip to a random page, likely somewhere in the middle nearing towards the end, when writers begin to scramble to make ends meet. It is there wherein he would make Micro act out the part of a monomanic captain upon a whaling ship, watching as the android dragged out the spiels of slander and speeches with his baritone voice. It was nearly the most primitive idea of a stage play, with one actor and his sole audience. But for a brief respite, it was about all that they needed.

[2046-Jan-14 00:00 * 20 24 06.00 -08 04 22.8 31. n.a. 0.24063050549568 -16.3862544 16.9627 /T 157.7131 0.8993917 47.803218 -80.92940 n.a. n.a.]

"I'd like to get away from earth awhile. And then come back to it and begin over. May no fate willfully misunderstand me. And half grant what I wish and snatch me away. Not to return. Earth’s the right place for love: I don’t know where it's likely to go better."

Today too, was another ordinary day. As ordinary as a day with the savior of humanity and a supposedly ultra intelligent A.I. could get. With Thomas sprawled out on the sofa, one leg crossed over another, reciting the words of a poetry book, the only one of its kind on this entire iceberg that is 2,000 kilometers away from land. Micro stood next to the couch, watching over his human, because he had previously claimed to 'feel lightheaded' (which was a clear and obvious lie, but it's not like Micro could check in the first place).

"Hey Micro, what's this one about?" Thomas questioned, in the same tone as one would ask the virtual assistant on their phone in a bygone era.

As usual, Micro took a while to process the question he had been asked. Sometimes, when it was quiet enough, Thomas could hear the droning of the android's processors. "This is an excerpt from the poem 'Birches' by Robert Frost," he began, "it laments the complexity of the post-adolescence world, and illustrates a desire to wind back into a less sophisticated time, implied to be childhood. The verses that you have chosen emanates the speaker's wish to travel far away, then be recompensed by new beginnings. Not because they resent the Earth, but because they believe this world is wholly lovable, and only through living on this Earth can one truly love it."

Thomas hummed, and began to skim through some of the pages, most were yellowed and falling apart. "What about you, Micro? Do you like it here?"

The machinery in Micro's mind whirred up again, with his hands behind his back, he could be mistaken for a real human being who was deep in thought. After a while, he muttered a weak response "I'm sorry. That's confidential."

At the abnormal reply, Thomas sat up. His heart thrummed, it was the natural instinct of any scientist to mess around with a possibly malfunctioning machine. "Why? Is it too cold? There are other places in the world that's warmer, once this is all over, I'll take you for a tour." He began to mentally list a series of warm locations. Micro can't go to a beach, the saltwater would make a mess of his wires and the sand would be hard to clean. Maybe somewhere in the Mediterranean, like Sicily. Going in the fall would be temperate enough to not overload Micro's systems, maybe in that case, he would be a bit better at getting around than Thomas. "How does Sicily sound? It's pretty warm there, we could visit the Palazzo Dell'Orologio—"

"Syracuse, Sicily, is predicted to be bathypelagic for the forthcoming 200 years."

"…Oh, right." Thomas redirected his gaze back to the book, pretending to not have cared about the conversation in the first place. In a sense, Micro was the more 'human' out of the two of them, if humanity was defined by the amount of one's life was spent on this Earth. By percentage, Micro would be 100%, while Thomas could barely manage a meager half of that number. While he was sleeping it away on the space station, Micro was stuck on a floating chunk of ice by himself, the only conscious being on Earth, alone. Perhaps he developed a habit of talking to himself, or perhaps not. Thomas slightly wished it would be the first, because then it wouldn't mean that the first words Micro had spoken in over 20 years were dedicated to greeting him. An ache tinged at his heart at the thought.

Thomas put down the book and turned to Micro with his arms open. The robot tilted his head, "I do not comprehend." It insisted.

It was hard to not find the things that Micro does silly. He bit back a scoff, "this is what humans do when they are offering someone a hug. Research proves that it can reduce stress levels, who knows, it might really cure my mysterious health ailment for good."

Micro thought for a bit, then nodded, "I understand. I am aware of the positional requirements one would necessitate for a 'hug'." The robot leaned in and allowed Thomas to hook himself around his shoulders, gently patting the metal plated surface on Micro's back. Quietness wasn't something that the world lacked when there was only one human on Earth, but in this moment, it was as if both machine and man were able to take in all that the world had to offer. The low rumbling of the synthetic human danced in the rhythmic ballroom, following the leading frequency offered by the beating human heart. All alone in the world.

[2046-Jan-15 00:00 * 20 25 15.18 -07 49 38.7 31. n.a. 0.23142623126974 -16.0539558 16.5662 /T 158.4828 0.9092720 48.552453 -80.99684 n.a. n.a.]

"Progress is going fast," Thomas spun around on his chair as he fiddled with a Rubik's cube in his hands, he'd found it in a corner somewhere while cleaning up, it wouldn't be wrong to say that he's been paying more attention to the cube than to Micro, who was currently 'asleep' in the server room. "Hey Kanukei, can robots get angry?"

"Why are you asking? Did you break it or something?" Kanukei wasn't even looking at the camera, his eyes were posted up at some other screens up on the wall on the space station. He told Thomas that it was impractical to do a video call, considering that they were about 1000 kilometers apart, but it seems to be functioning perfectly fine. Talk about antisocial.

Thomas wasn't looking up either, he would solve the cube over and over, then jumble it up, just to repeat again. "Sometimes it feels like that." Click, click, click. "I would say some stuff here and there, and when I look closer into his eyes, there would be a deep shade of blue. Kind of like an error screen, I could see it every time he freezes for too long. Wonder why that is."

Click, click, click. The sound of the Rubik's cube fill the brief silence, sensing that something was off, Thomas raised his head at the screen. Kanukei was looking back, eyes wide.

"What's wrong?" Thomas asked.

Kanukei sputtered, before clearing his throat, "it's probably nothing. That—uh, thing, that the android does. Might just be something that came with age. Don't mess with him too much."

Thomas hummed and leaned back into his chair, taking a note of the way Kanukei relaxed when he thought the conversation was over. Click, click, click. He thought of how in most of the pictures that he was shown where they were at press conferences, Thomas was the one standing at the podium, taking questions ask Kanukei stand in the back, only coming forward when requested. He was always the one speaking, the one doing the interviews, the one to speak to government officials.

Click, click, click.

Again, the pieces fall into place at Thomas' hands, where not a single tile was out of place.

"Does it have something to do with the previous project lead here?"

In the quiet room, the sound of a cup being knocked over sounded from the old computer. A careless mistake. Thomas waited for Kanukei to talk, he watched as he braced himself, only to look away again. From the moment they met to now, he had always been burdened with guilt, one that exists beyond their mission. Even if Thomas didn't remember much, it was still easy to tell that Kanukei was a righteous man. He wasn't the type to lie, not because he doesn't have an incentive to, but rather out of an innate culpability to tell the truth. He believed he could get away with it as long as he kept it under the rug, but only a brief look was needed to reveal everything.

The other took off his glasses to briefly rub his eyes, then he solemnly sighed, "…Yes."

"What was your relationship with him?"

Kanukei scowled, "it wasn't 'me'. It was you—you were the one who knew him, you guys were… ugh. A mess, that's what it was."

He looked at the camera for a long time, not at Thomas, but as if to peer through the room behind him. "He—the blue screen is probably a system in place to prevent you from breaching certain access rights. We were both there when it was developed, and I thought it was something worth taking note of. The program restarts every time, which is why he freezes."

"Who was it? The person who made Micro, I mean."

Kanukei's frown deepened at the mention of Micro's name, "…That's confidential."

It was obvious that the conversation wasn't going to move anywhere significant after this point, using the excuse of going to sleep, Thomas ended the call.

Confidential. In the old world, it just meant a well kept secret. But the pattern was obvious, anything related to the 'past' that was considered irrelevant was considered 'confidential'. Likely to keep any biases developing under the influence of the old world before his hibernation. Thomas wasn't allowed to learn anything about himself from the past until he viewed the tape, the plans from the previous era were kept in a folder, hidden away from the rest of the crew on the space station. The scientist who worked on Micro, his name was also confidential, meaning that he was either still asleep or didn't make it in time. Out of these instances, there was an outlier.

Micro.

When asked if he enjoyed living here, 'confidential' was the response. But Micro himself had no guards in place between what is considered 'new' and 'old'. Micro have been on Earth ever since the space station went into orbit. Which meant that his definition of 'confidential' was pre-programmed. Micro's confidentiality referred to the world beyond the past.

It was no longer a wild guess to say that Micro's development was somehow related to Thomas' former life.

[2046-Jan-16 00:00 * 20 26 26.34 -07 34 56.9 31. n.a. 0.22240936609002 -15.7350161 16.1940 /T 159.2004 0.9246949 49.445049 -81.02209 n.a. n.a.]

"Hey Micro, do you like it here? On Earth, I mean."

"That's confidential."

Thomas must've asked Micro this question for the 20th or so time today, to the point where his A.I. seemed to have already expected it. He no longer freeze up when asked, and the responses were almost instant.

"What about space? Do you want to go?" The android's answer wouldn't have mattered, for the sake of the mission, he would've been left here to die. Well, his body, at least, they were on track to start backing up Micro's data to the space station by the end of this week.

"…That's confidential."

Thomas sat across the floor from Micro, surrounded by piles of boxes that were almost his height. Under Kanukei's suggestion, if they finish up early, it's recommended to start working on the transcripts for some of them too. Obviously, Thomas didn't want to do anymore work, which leaves him with the sole choice of slacking off. He took a short break from paving the future of humanity to mess around with his new robot friend.

"What about planets? Surely you'd have a favorite planet." Not really, an android who lived on Earth and solely dedicated to providing Earth's metrics to a floating metal ship in space would likely not have any interest in the other planets in the solar system, let alone planets in general. It was more of a question that he tossed out in hopes of a hit, he was reaching dead ends here.

The room went quiet enough to hear a heartbeat, that is, Thomas' heartbeat and Micro's machinery. It was looking to be another confidential, Thomas sighed.

"Pamal 5200." The robot replied, then went back to scanning the papers he was holding in his hands.

To him, it was simply another question, but Thomas' heart was racing. Fast. Filled with curiosity, he practically crawled across the floor to reach the android and grabbed his shoulders.

"Why? Can you tell me why? It's—uh, important. Really important. I need to tell Kanukei it later or I'll get in trouble, so tell me."

He tilted his head, the shutter in his eyes drew back, making it seem as if his eyes dilated to take a better look at Thomas. Just as the engines began to run, they halted to a stop, and beyond the lenses laid a deep shade of blue. "I'm sorry, that's confidential."

Thomas felt the corners of his mouth sink, fading away was a smile that he didn't even know was there. "…That's alright. Thank you."

[2046-Jan-17 00:00 * 20 27 40.08 -07 20 14.8 31. n.a. 0.21357228445595 -15.4290520 15.8486 /T 159.8650 0.9463104 50.468615 -81.00265 n.a. n.a.]

Pamal 5200 is a minor-planet first discovered by Edward Bowell in 1983. It was named for his friend, Patrick Michael Malotki, on his 21st birthday. The nickname 'Pamal' alludes to the French phrase, 'pas mal', which means "not bad".

[2046-Jan-20 00:00 * 20 31 43.67 -06 35 38.3 32. n.a. 0.18806714805859 -14.5846833 14.9928 /T 161.5364 1.0567713 54.140525 -80.64638 n.a. n.a.]

During one of his bouts of 'slacking off', Thomas caught a cold.

Micro was a robot, so he didn't get sick. And any medicine that they could find in the station have already been expired for more than ten years.

For about a week, Thomas couldn't do anything but watch listlessly on the couch as he watched Micro carried boxes of documents in and out of the main control room, the only one on the station that had a maintained heating system. Micro still managed to produce just about the same work output as when they were working together, but he was starting to overheat faster. At some point, the robot gave Thomas his jacket to bundle up in. Even on the days where his illness got particularly bad, Thomas could still hear it when Micro's engines began to overheat. The sound of his internal fans far louder than the heater in the room.

When that happens, Thomas would call him over and make him lay on the couch. When they were both huddled up together to ease the cold, Thomas would intently listen to the low purring of Micro's machinery, and perhaps Micro too was listening to Thomas' heartbeat.

"Have you contacted Kanukei about my uh…condition?" Thomas asked once he's finally warmed up enough to stop shivering.

"Yes."

"Did he respond?"

"Yes."

"What did he say?"

"Verbatim. C-H-U-D."

Maybe he should just give him a good fistful when he gets back. It was going to heal in the cryo pod anyways.

"Can we lay down?" Thomas asked, even though Micro was an artificial intelligence with no medical knowledge, he could still be taught simple commands as long as he had some information on it in his database. This one was something that Thomas learned while slacking off. He'd felt a bit awkward just laying down while hearing Micro shuffle around, so he managed to convince the robot to do it with him too.

It was kind of like training a pet, but Micro didn't eat, so he couldn't give him a treat for every time he did something right. Rather, it was something simpler, a boolean system of 'yes' and 'no', ones and zeroes. 'Good job' meant, 'that's correct, do it again', and 'no Micro' meant 'that's wrong, never do that'. In a sense, it was easier than training a pet, but since Micro was technically his own intelligence, he could sometimes choose to ignore commands completely.

When he chooses to not listen, nothing Thomas say could get past him. Not 'stop doing that, I'm going to power you off', or 'god, you're so stubborn', or even 'Micro the Pacific Ocean is only about 20 steps away from the door'. He had said all of this when Micro wouldn't stop dragging his steps across the floor to generate static electricity, then stick it in a power socket to jump start the energy generator on a particular night when the power went out in the station.

"Understood." The robot responded, thankfully, he was cooperative today.

Under other circumstances, Thomas would've taken a nap or something of the sorts. The sofa here was particularly high quality, maintaining its softness over the course of decades. Apparently it was a prototype for the air mattress they had up in the space station. Unfortunately, it was hard to fall asleep when he could only breathe out of one nostril, even when he had a portable heater right next to him.

It was another chance to take a good look at Micro's face. They must've hired an artisan to sculpt it, or however robot manufacturing works. His appearance almost seem like it was made to match with the aspirations of humanity. Pristine, like an embodiment of the perfect future. Looking at it, one wouldn't be able to tell that he trips and fall on a daily basis.

"Your palpitation is accelerated when juxtaposed with regular patterns. However, your respiration appears to be standard, for a human suffering a cold infection." Even when he talks, not a single movement of his lips were wasted on extra syllables. It was impressive, really, any other time and Thomas would've whined and cried over leaving something like this behind, like a child forced to leave the toys that they picked up during their trip around the store.

"How'd you know that? Can you monitor my heart rate?"

"Auditory monitoring."

So he can hear it. It made Thomas' heart skip a few beats, like he had just been discovered by a mind reader. Right, Micro probably picked that up too. He could hear it, as long as it was quiet enough, as long as Thomas could hear his engines, Micro could hear his heart. To some extent, it was a bit embarrassing. Enough to force Thomas into wanting to start up a conversation again, but they've practically ran out of things to talk about already. All the books have been ran through a few times over, the movies too. And he didn't want to talk about work.

"…Have you heard… of the Theia Impact Theory?" He mumbled, expecting another dull exchange.

But the robot, for all that it is, made an expression that could only be equated to a human 'tensing up'. Its shutters dilated fully, the fans roared, but there was no response. No blue screen, no 'confidential', no unyielding denial.

Micro simply…stopped.

"What's wrong? Don't tell me I broke something—"

A red light flashed from within the lenses. "Administrative permissions requested, initializing authorization." The light blinked, flashes of crimson washes over Thomas' face, "Target identified. Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas.Thomas."

Then, he stopped. Micro closed his eyes, but the blinking light could still be seen through his eyelids.

Thomas stayed with him until morning, he left when it got bright enough outside to get back to work.

[2046-Jan-21 00:00 * 20 33 15.02 -06 20 24.2 32. n.a. 0.17987794066415 -14.3261895 14.7730 /T 161.9859 1.1124476 55.487617 -80.41670 n.a. n.a.]

Micro was still motionless on the couch, just like how Thomas had left him the day before. Progress was a lot slower today because Thomas was still a tad bit sick, and Micro was… well, nonoperational. A part of him hopes that Kanukei hadn't noticed, but even if he had, he wasn't saying anything.

Thomas took the opportunity to go into the server room, where Micro usually goes to charge up at night. Previously, the robot would follow him around everywhere, making it impossible to enter the room. It seems that a decent chunk of Micro's code was dedicated to guarding whatever that was in there, which was understandable, since the building didn't have any other security measures except for cameras and the padlock at the front door.

He cracked open the metal door, long rusted with 'do not enter: Thomas' written across it in big letters. It was odd, really, how much Thomas went along with Micro's bouts despite being able to simply shove him aside and force himself into the room.

There was enough dust inside to coat the entire floor with a thin layer of white, almost as if it was snow. The steps left behind by Micro's soles formed a trail on the ground, leading to the other end of the room. Shelves upon shelves of racks, blinking a neon shade of green. After walking through the rows of machines, Thomas reached an opening. A small area, secluded from the rest of the maze. A window was carved out directly above it, revealing the satellite disk that sat atop the monitoring station. Among a sea of green, moonlight.

He began to walk towards it, but his feet managed to kick something as he walked—a VHS tape. The same kind that was given to him when he first awoke on the space station. Other than that, he didn't pick up anything noteworthy for the rest of the trip. The field of servers extended from one wall to the next, and Micro likely charged with solar power during the early hours of the day, hence the window embedded into the ceiling. He returned to the control room, where Micro was still unconscious. He had considered just moving the android closer to the window, because perhaps it was due to some kind of power issue that makes him unable to wake up. But at the same time, the tape itself might be the reason why Micro was so intent on guarding him from the room, and it would cause big trouble if he wakes up as Thomas was watching it.

Thomas decided to drag Micro to one of the document storage rooms, one that they had already worked through on the first couple of days. It had a larger window compared to the rest of the cabins, where the sun shines through at noon. They had found a few bag of seeds hidden in a box somewhere along the way, and those were being planted in this room too. It was more of a recreational activity than anything, since the entire site would be destroyed by the asteroid in a matter of weeks.

After making sure that the door was tightly sealed, Thomas carefully dusted the tape and placed it inside the VHS player.

Sure enough, it was a near carbon copy of the format of Thomas' memory capsule. Photos of people, some clips that could give hints as to what their names were. The Canadian flag, a bakery, shaky footage that would occasionally turn around to reveal a scary person with a trident. Hopefully that last one was a prop. Just like last time, the clips eventually faded to black static.

"Hello?" A voice sounded, fuzzy, distorted by weak signal. With a flew clicks, the entire screen lit up.

It was Thomas.

Thomas, from two decades ago, sitting on the other side of the screen with the same face that was reflected on the CRT screen in its moments of darkness. Unchanged. He held a smile, gentle, pained. Tinted with regret. He took in a deep breath, mumbled something that the recording device picked up as a soft 'ok', and began to speak.

"Hi, Micro. I uh… I wanted to—ugh. I'm sorry. I know you must be sick of me saying it by now, but I am, I really am. But I wasn't lying when I said I'll be fine down here on my own. I mean, you even said it, right? I'm a lot better than you at a lot of things. Even waiting, I'll wait for you. Even if it takes a long time, I won't forget, I promise."

"I know I was the one who suggested we should put something in each other's memory capsules. But if you're seeing this, then you've probably forgotten all about it already. The memory capsule they used for the people who were eligible for the space station were embedded with a kind of electromagnetic wave only available to privatized research institutions that could enhance stimulus reaction in the brain, this one… is just an ordinary VHS. But seeing this must mean that you've returned safely. So, welcome home?"

"Sorry for talking so much, uh—I tried putting in some trivia, but I wasn't too sure about everything. You won't remember, but we spent a lot of time together. Going to places, doing things. I still remember when I told you a fun fact for the first time, and your eyes went wide when I somehow managed to tie it in with a corny pick up line. You thought I was the type to like trivia, but I only started getting into it because of you. Sorry—if this is how you find out. I was planning on telling you one day, but I never got the chance."

"Seems that I still have a lot of time left on this tape? Hm, I guess I'll just run that pick up line by you again, I've always thought it was too good of a line to only be used once, but you ended up being the only person who's ever heard it."

"Have you heard of the Theia Impact Theory? It's an old hypothesis about how our moon was formed from an asteroid collision with Earth, leaving both bodies with fragments of each other inside their composition. Like any other theory, it had it fair share of supporters and critics. But the universe is vast, and human truth is fickle, so between me and you, if the giant impact hypothesis is true, then we must be like the moon and Earth. Because however far you stray from my orbit, it wouldn't change the fact that I carry your love as a part of my soul, and my love a part of yours."

The other Thomas sat still for awhile, as if faking a frozen screen. Whatever embarrassment he must have felt when he first recorded the video was doubled when he watched it. The video ended there.

He laid back on the floor, letting his eyes grow familiar to the darkness of the room. The pieces that fell together created more holes compared to when they were apart. Thomas knew Micro before he went onto the space station, they trusted each other enough to let the other choose what they get to remember. And somehow, neither of them wanted to be remembered.

Thomas recalled whatever fragments he still had of his memory capsule.

"… a rough patch," he mumbled to himself, resting a forearm over his vision. Did they have a fight? About what? 'A rough patch', but they seemed to be getting along perfectly fine? Was it Micro that did something, or was it Thomas? Micro, Micro didn't seem like the type to do something like that. The robot Micro, at least.

Micro, the artificial intelligence, whose appearance was incredibly real. To the point where he could have been mistaken as human. Micro, who, despite being superficially smart, would waddle and trip over small objects, stick his hands in sockets, and refuse to take breaks.

Micro, his partner.

Thomas sat up, the back of his arm was damp. His head felt like it was being split open, like how it was the night after he watched his memory tape.

"Micro, you…" He mumbled in the dark as he ran a hand through his hair.

[2046-Jan-22 00:00 * 20 34 53.05 -06 04 51.7 32. n.a. 0.17183425008398 -14.0783843 14.5878 /T 162.3824 1.1799035 56.852960 -80.12499 n.a. n.a.]

"Your progress have returned to almost normal," Kanukei spoke from the other side of the screen, once again, his gaze was elsewhere, "robot finally back up?"

Thomas didn't return his question, he hasn't slept in two days. The table in front of him littered with papers from before his slumber, information hidden from the public eye, from the space station, he'd read it all, a few times over, even. Micro was working again, but he could only tell by his footsteps outside the door. The android would occasionally knock, but Thomas wouldn't budge.

"Kanukei, was he the one who asked you to keep this from me?" He finally asked, his voice raspy.

"Keep what? Who?" The other was far from the screen, typing away on a keyboard somewhere else. With the final preparations in place, he had to get busy too.

"Micro."

"No, communications of that level aren't permitted between the monitoring base and the space station—"

"Micro. The human, the person who was on my memory capsule. What was our relationship?"

The typing ceased. "...When did you find out?"

"Yesterday. VHS tape in the server room."

The sound of a creaking chair came from the other side of the screen, Kanukei sat, taking in the video call in its entirety. They stared at each other for a while, a thousand kilometers apart didn't do any favor to ease Thomas' weariness, and it didn't relax Kanukei's slight grimace either.

"You were close to him," Kanukei sighed and began, "really close. Just calling you two a couple wouldn't cut it, you were basically glued to each other. Like some kind of infectious brain disease. We used to joke that you two were the patient zero of an impending zombie apocalypse. Couldn't believe it when we found out that the ocean would get to us first."

Under different circumstances, Thomas would've smiled, maybe in the past, he would've even laughed and return a snarky remark. But too much time have passed for leisure chatter.

"Did we have a fight?" Thomas asked, he watched as Kanukei tense up. His mouth agape as he contemplates whether he should respond.

"…No. I wouldn't call it that." He adjusts his glasses, "you must have read up on it already. Before boarding the space station, you were practically a criminal. None of it was included in the textbooks that I showed you, humanity painted us as their heroes. Micro was forgotten."

He briefly glanced down at the mess of papers on the desk. "…Why?"

"Because he took up your role as the villain."

Kanukei went on to explain, the current android, 'Micro' was developed as a prototype for a human consciousness preservation project. It was something borne of Micro's selfish desires to bring back his group of friends, who had died in a war. He was only a chemist, he knew a thing or two about the human brain, but not enough to reconstruct it from scratch. At the time, research in chemistry was lacking in funding, and he even had to resort to dealing illegal substances. Thomas was working under Fluixon at the time as a pseudo-researcher in space-science, while Micro was a distant relative of Saparata, who was the leader of a foreign country. That was how they met.

Surprisingly, Thomas' research overlapped with Micro's interests. Preservation of the human consciousness was the goal, and along its path bloomed advances in cryogenic technologies, knowledge of human memory functions and development of analytical artificial intelligence. Micro himself wasn't anything special, maybe that was why he was easy for Thomas to latch onto. Unlike the others, Micro wasn't invited to press conferences or interviews, he could just sit around in the lab, doing menial tasks all day until Thomas came back. Then, they would have conversations deep into the night about all sorts of things. It was how Thomas came to be well known in the eyes of the public, before, he was just a shadow under Fluixon. But he began to regurgitate the topics he shared with Micro and his demeanor as he talked to him, gentle, welcoming, with a real joy to share the science he learned. The world came to love his role as the young and bright-eyed scientist. He had his fair share of conspirators, but public reception made it hard to grasp onto any leads.

Just as Thomas was about to earn his ticket to space, everything began to crumble. He had spent a good chunk of his paycheck towards the project with Micro and creating the android, it was inevitable that someone would find out. It stung a bit back then, because like any other young pioneer, reaching the bounds of space was Thomas' dream ever since he was young. The face of future space traveling, thought about it ever since he was a kid, every interview, every magazine feature, plastered everywhere to improve public sentiment on the migration efforts.

They couldn't spend as much time together as before after Thomas grew in popularity, but they were still fond of one another. Doing whatever it takes to fly across the globe to meet up, in a complex world, their adoration was simple. But behind the scenes, Micro began to erase any trace of Thomas on the records of the consciousness preservation project. He faked prescriptions, equipment, receipts, manufacturing evidence that it was him who manipulated the public's heroic engineer. Thomas was loyal to a fault, out of reverence for his partner, Thomas never pried until it was too late.

Micro was on track to be on the space station before everything came out. Everyone who was a part of the elite circle knew that the android was something too good for an amateur scientist, still, he was the only one who knew how to operate it. In the public eye, Micro was sentenced to lifetime confinement for tampering with the human consciousness without the government's awareness, but he was simply banished to the monitoring station, where he continued to work on the android, who was already in his image at that time. During this period, it was Kanukei who was chosen as the pawn to replace Micro's position as Thomas' partner.

On the surface, everything resumed as normal. It was almost as if no one in the world remembered Micro, and Thomas continued to be the modern jewel of science. But anyone who had the ability to converse with the two of them were used to their usual back and forth, like a game of telephone, going from North America to the Pacific. They would anxiously ask about the other, but bringing up the topic of resolution would be met with avoidant eyes. On the human heart, the burden of forgiveness far outweighs the force of gravity.

According to further investigation, the android was in its 'final stages', however it was missing a crucial part, which Micro refused to reveal before he disappeared completely. Thomas refused to board the space station without the other, but Micro cooperated with officials to develop a technology that altered Thomas' memories. The prototype of the memory capsule used aboard the space station, making him believe that Micro had already went into space, and Thomas was the one left behind. While in truth, it was the opposite. Such altercations was dangerous to the brain, but in small amounts, it was easily covered up by neuroplasticity.

In the end, the monitoring station was the last thing that hung onto any records of the human named Micro.

[2046-Jan-23 00:00 *m 20 36 38.92 -05 48 55.3 32. n.a. 0.16393006304744 -13.8407777 14.4378 /T 162.7270 1.2609454 58.210147 -79.76692 n.a. n.a.]

Thomas knew what the missing component of the android was. The conversation with Kanukei made him remember, the same piercing headache that he'd gotten when he first got his memories back, then when he watched the tape that he'd found in the server room.

He stepped out of the control room for the first time in a day, dragging his feet towards the server room, he pushed the door wide open. Every step produced an uptake of dust, sparkling as they float into the blinking green lights. As expected, Micro was standing there, bathing in the moonlight. The debris sparkled under the moonlit night, as if trying to mimic the tune of the stars above.

He turned his head when he heard Thomas' footsteps, "Warning. Prohibited personnel detected. Warning—"

Thomas grabbed Micro's collar, watching as the shutters of his eyes go wide, "I know you're in there. Stop talking like that."

Blue, followed by silence. Thomas loosened his grip and muttered an apology under his breath. Micro continued to stare.

"Error." The android broke the silence.

"…What? Error on what?"

"Error. Feature not available."

Thomas' hand slid down to grab Micro's shoulder as he try to decipher the meaning of his words, feature… not available. Then, he bit back a laugh.

"Yeah, of course it's not. Idiot. You don't know a thing about an operational speech algorithm. Why'd you even go and try to survive without me?"

The robot paused, "Redacted." it was a brief response, but whatever it was holding back couldn't have been good.

[2046-Jan-30 00:00 *m 20 55 04.08 -03 33 54.2 32. n.a. 0.11208265491497 -12.3988393 14.3816 /T 163.7987 2.4610444 65.862632 -74.94841 n.a. n.a.]

Micro sat with his eyes closed, hugging his legs as the moonlight illuminate the gears and wires inside an open panel on his back, his arm hooked up to an oscilloscope. Cables, computers, unopened soldering kits, strewn across the floor as Thomas worked on the android's speech parameters. Perhaps if they had the chance to live a normal life, it would be Thomas helping Micro put on a necklace that matches his eye color, or helping him put sunscreen on his back, he's seen stuff like that in the movies that they've watched together.

It was warm inside the server room, Micro had to take off his shirt for the fix up, so they decided to drag a long string of power strips from the main control room to plug in the heater. Sometimes Micro would be powered back on for debugging, but most of the time he simply sat there, motionless. Thomas kept the auditory module on, so he could still talk to him. A one way conversation, but it was better than none.

[2046-Feb-01 00:00 *m 21 03 40.41 -02 40 28.2 31. n.a. 0.09829163714576 -12.0135534 14.7306 /T 163.6610 3.1778066 67.219323 -72.55344 n.a. n.a.]

With an 8-bit rendition of 'Comment te dire adieu', the android booted up.

"Thomas." He said, it made Thomas' heart drop. Sure, it was heartwarming to hear his voice again, but after what happened last time, maybe this was just leading up to another foreboded error.

"…Hello, Micro. How are you feeling?"

"Good."

"…As in?"

The android leaned closer to touch Thomas' forehead with his. He tilts his head, the friction causing a small amount of electricity that made his heart rate spike a little. "As in, you don't have to scrunch up your face trying to understand me anymore. Happy?"

Thomas felt the warmth spread to his cheeks. "Happy."

[2046-Feb-02 00:00 *m 21 08 55.42 -02 09 12.2 31. n.a. 0.09156646408832 -11.8113792 15.0039 /T 163.4819 3.6539697 67.770287 -71.09874 n.a. n.a.]

"Thomas, look up. The asteroid is getting closer."

"Hmmmmm."

He didn't want to move, from where Micro was laying, he could easily see something like that, but Thomas couldn't. Out of Thomas' suggestion, they were stargazing. Inside the monitoring building, bundled up next to the heater at midnight.

"Which one is Pamal 5200?" Thomas asked absentmindedly.

"Pamal 5200 is basically an asteroid too, we'd need a better telescope."

Despite being the one who suggested it, Thomas didn't really have an incentive to stargaze. Micro had been the only one to touch the telescope for the past 2 hours. He'd gotten the idea for it in an old magazine dating back to the 1970s, under an entry titled 'Is Your Romance Worthy of the Stars? Ten Ways to Find Out'. Detailed was a list of various activities that was supposedly achievable for the average couple. Like folding 1000 paper stars, or a candlelit dinner. The paper shredder at the monitoring station doesn't work anymore, and there wasn't a lighter lying around, let alone candles.

"Micro?"

A soft rustle sounded from the other side, the android nodded.

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but 5200 was the serial number on my security pass that granted higher level access to certain government buildings and was only supposed to be known by me, is it not?"

There was no response from the other side, but the reality was obvious when the sound of machinery began to hum at a higher frequency than normal. Thomas turned to look at the android, who avoided eye contact.

"…Uh. Error."

Thomas gathered as much strength as he could while staying wrapped up in the puffer jacket, then hurled himself at Micro. The two both fell to the ground with a heavy thud, displacing the layer of dust around them.

He wasn't upset, really. It was something else that clawed at his heart. Thomas had promised to remember, and Micro had likely viewed the tape that he left behind, too. But in the end, Micro was the only one that remembered. He had broken his promise, and he felt as if he should be punished. Perhaps his punishment was how absentmindedly Micro kept carrying on despite everything. The emotion module was still at its most primitive stage, after all. But he had wish that Micro would be able to express his anger or resentment to Thomas at whatever chance he had. It would take some weight off his chest, to be ridiculed, to be hated, because he had chosen prestige instead of Micro. It was natural that he should take up his sins. Not his partner. He wanted to yell at him, do something, anything, tell me about anything that weighs on your metallic heart.

"Before you powered off a few weeks ago, you repeated my name. There was nothing like that in your program. Why did you do it?" He beckoned instead.

Micro stared, Thomas watched as his shutters drew back. It happens every time Micro looked at him.

"I was in pain," he began, "thought it would help" the robot's eyes rolled to the side, avoiding Thomas' gaze. "That's all."

"Did it help?"

A small nod was all it took for Thomas to curl up against Micro, his head rested on the other's shoulder.

[2046-Feb-04 00:00 *m 21 22 02.84 -00 53 44.3 31. n.a. 0.07848927939975 -11.3590150 15.8855 /T 162.7622 4.9603775 68.666761 -67.49574 n.a. n.a.]

Thomas sat on the couch in the control room, a sewing kit splayed out on the side, and the book 'So You Want to Learn How to Sew' laid out in front of him. He had waited for Micro to go into the server room to start working on it. It would almost be the third day now, and progress was still futile. Micro was clumsy, sure, but he was still somehow better than Thomas at menial activities like this one. The embarrassment from that fact alone made his hands feel even more heavy.

If Thomas remembers correctly, this would be the first Valentine's that they will be able to spend together. In the past, they were both busy. Well, Thomas was. They had gotten by with just mailing gifts and sending pictures of cute animals, miraculously. But this year would be different.

While the rest of the world was focused on the future of humanity, a young and promising scientist sat alone in a cold and desolate room of an oceanic monitoring station, making a gift for his partner.

[2046-Feb-10 00:00 *m 22 45 45.76 +06 27 10.9 26. n.a. 0.04399996038601 -8.4528814 27.7701 /T 150.9912 15.777281 71.342349 -45.21179 n.a. n.a.]

"Come here." Micro said to Thomas after he had already held onto his hand and dragged him along. The motor module was ultimately the most well developed system in the android.

The android pointed at a speaker hidden in a small corner of the server room, a small number displayed in an LCD screen on top. '52'.

"Can you hear it?" He asked, still holding onto Thomas' hand.

Thomas shook his head.

"It's 52 Blue. There seems to be another one too, both are calling to each other at the same frequency."

Micro turned around fully this time, and took both of Thomas' hands into his.

"They're not alone anymore."

[2046-Feb-11 00:00 * 23 12 53.47 +08 36 14.3 25. n.a. 0.03959769584649 -7.3337292 33.0617 /T 145.6413 19.495843 72.383554 -38.16666 n.a. n.a.]

A small cake was made using whatever material they could conjure up around the monitoring station. There was no sugar, so they ended up using coffee creamer. It didn't taste very good, but Micro seemed like he had fun watching Thomas struggle eating the thing.

[2046-Feb-12 00:00 * 23 46 27.83 +11 03 14.9 24. n.a. 0.03594734240868 -5.8380962 39.9862 /T 138.6353 23.683194 73.951663 -29.56981 n.a. n.a.]

The space station could be seen from Earth now. It trailed slowly behind the asteroid, which followed behind the sun.

They had just finished folding 1000 paper stars today, despite Thomas' initial reluctance. A ruler was used to tear the unused documents into small strips. They chatted as they worked on it, about life, about work, about Earth, the conversations slowed when they asked about each other. If time seem to fly when you spend it with loved ones, then perhaps they would have no choice but to pretend that they are strangers who are far apart, never having strayed into each other's trajectory. Only through great distance would time dilate, slowing down each second to a halt.

[2046-Feb-13 00:00 * 00 27 04.27 +13 38 43.1 23. n.a. 0.03328214316060 -3.9115348 48.6144 /T 129.9044 27.670464 76.245430 -19.36366 n.a. n.a.]

The gift was finished, and so was all of their work. Thomas' return to the space station had been green lit, and the asteroid was now closer than ever.

The escape pod was stationed to the side of the building, in a bunker that required administrative permissions to open. It had enough space for one person, and the trajectory would easily be missed by the asteroid even if it get split by the Earth's atmosphere.

He looked at Micro, who seemed to possess a translucent glow under the moonlit night. The red and blue of his wiring faintly visible through the metallic lush of his shell. It was his last glimpse at humanity's pinnacle. Thomas wanted to say something, but the words clog themselves in the depths of his throat. Goodbye? I love you? Please don't forget me? Nothing seemed appropriate.

Micro pulled Thomas out of his thoughts with a gentle tug on his sleeve.

"You don't need to say goodbye," Micro shook his head, the action processed before the words, "the correct words are 'see you later'."

A soft smile pried itself onto Thomas' lips. It was a hopeful promise. Micro's data would be backed up, sure. But not Micro himself. His consciousness was stored in the physical modulation of the wired body. They lacked the funding to fully digitize a human brain, and it wasn't likely to receive backups from sponsoring parties anytime soon. Could Thomas create a robot that wholly emulates Micro's speech, manner, and voice? Sure. But it wouldn't be him. It would just be heaps of zeroes and ones, devoid of a soul.

"Micro," even the name itself weighed on his heart, "I made something for you. It's a bit early, but…"

He pulled out the pair of wool gloves he had been working on for the past few days, a red ribbon loosely tied them together. "Happy Valentines. This would be our first."

Their hands brushed as Micro reached out to accept the gift. For awhile, they both let the soft humming of motors fill the silence between them.

"Thank you…" Micro replied, the corners of his mouth lifted lightly, but Thomas felt as if it could light up the whole night sky. "As for your gift—"

Before Micro could reply, Thomas had gotten closer, enough for their lips to touch. He placed his hands on Micro's shoulders to pull him in, closer, until he saw the brief flash of blue behind the lenses.

"…This would do." He muttered.

With a heavy shove, he threw Micro into the escape pod and pressed the button to seal it shut. The android didn't have time to react before the engines began to fire up. The escape pod was created so that the door wouldn't open until it had reached the space station. Micro began to bang on the windows, his metallic hands made it so that it would make a different sound compared to a real human. But he had no chance of breaking the glass that could sustain the gravity of the Earth.

Thomas began to back away, keeping a smile on his face as the pod gain enough momentum to lift itself up, smoke filled the room.

'See you later', he mouthed before disappearing among the mist.

[2046-Feb-14 00:00 * 01 13 52.27 +16 03 02.6 21.606 n.a. 0.03183709493915 -1.6092815 58.6365 /T 119.7604 30.299769 79.353752 -7.860762 n.a. n.a.]

Micro stood in silence in the middle of the cafeteria lobby, looking up at the large screen that was supposed to be displaying an image of the monitoring station. Blue, it was all blue. Not a trace was left.

"He's really done it now, huh." Kanukei descended from the stairs that led to the main control room, a clipboard was tightly held in his hand.

"Please show me Thomas' memory capsule." Micro turned to Kanukei, his hand tightly gripping the pair of gloves that was gifted to him. It was the same expression he had before everything went down, asking for his partner's memory capsule with a scowl on his face.

"…Alright." Kanukei sighed, "but just so you know, we won't have the materials to create another one like you for at least 200 years. Humanity first."

They began to walk towards the storage room where all the capsules were stored, Micro had been here before, so there wasn't really a point in Kanukei leading him. Still, it seems that he would be stuck with these two and their mess for the next two centuries or so, might as well.

"Your speech sounds better than before, did he help you with it?" He lightly turned his head to ask, there was no response. The steps behind only got heavier, so much for small talk.

He opened the door for Micro once they got there, "it's the one on the same shelf as his serial number."

"Kanukei." The android called out his name just as the other was about to leave.

He turned around, staring at the figure half hidden by the metallic doorframe.

"Thank you, for everything."

"Don't worry about it," he adjusted his glasses, taking the time to swallow back the emotions in his voice, "…it's the least I could do."

There was a corner in the back of the storage room, hidden away by a facial identification lock. Only Micro and another was allowed in. He had requested it to be made as extra compensation for his work on the cryo stasis pod. It was the same room that he had recorded his part in for Thomas' memory capsule. Inside was two seats and a small coffee table. There was a small box of movies and books underneath. Atop laid a small projector along with an old VCR. Micro took a seat as he booted up the machine, the chair on the other side of the table remained empty.

A small light flickered, signaling that it was time to talk.

"Thomas, I…"

This time, it wasn't the speech module malfunctioning. Micro himself struggled to put together the words, a weight swelled up within his chest.

"Have you heard of the Theia Impact Theory?" He began to recite, "it's an old theory from the 1940s that says that the moon was formed from the collision between Earth and another planet. The pieces of each body ended up mixing into one another, so no matter their distance, they would always hold onto a part of each other."

"It's strange to think about, isn't it? That the moon is constantly falling out of Earth's orbit, inching away slowly every year. But the truth is, the world would end before it could do that."

"…Sorry, that was a bit anti-climatic."

"I'm not as good as you when it comes to this kind of stuff, machine or not. But what I'm trying to say is—please wait for me."

"No matter how long it takes—'however far you stray from my orbit, it wouldn't change the fact that I carry your love as a part of my soul, and my love a part of yours.'"

"I'll come to get you. I'm not very good at it, but I'll make do with all the writing you've left behind. You probably won't remember me, but that's alright. I'll just tell you everything again, and we can do it over watered down tea and papers."

"Just wait, when you get back, you'll even have a better system than I do. You would be the one who can't survive without me then."

"So don't worry."

"Signing off. 2046."