Null

If you’re lucky, you’ll never know the silence of interstellar space.

I used to think I would enjoy it, bragged I was built for it, wired for it. I remember back on Old Home, after a late movie in an empty theater, when the credits ended and the lambent aisle lights swelled. I thought that was silence, and I relished it. Aside from humming ambiance, the only sounds were mine: the seat creaking as I stood, the bop when I kicked the popcorn bucket, the scuff of the popped kernels skittering across smooth cement. The rich, creamy crinkling when donning my winter jacket. My unhurried footsteps on the hallway carpet, the restroom tile, the aluminum of the escalator. One theater employee seated at the door, head tilted down in a book, bangs obscuring their eyes, silently pleading. The metallic bang of the exit’s horizontal push bar. Silent garage, silent car, silent roads.

You get it.

From the silence emerged an ache, blooming in my chest, fertile, portentous, like the pink blush at the tips of an unopened bloom. I sampled it, waded in it, reveled in it.

So this is loneliness, I deluded myself.

And then drove home to a warm family.

~~~

“Trace, I’m receiving an unexpected signal,” Ship said. Her voice, scientifically formulated to be soothing and authoritative, filled the cozy day pod.

I paused my show, one of my favorites, about a group of people stranded on a mysterious planet, and spun my chair back to the console. “Source?”

“Unknown.”

Interesting.

We regularly received scheduled telemetry from 23-Warren Beatty (a month ahead of us in line), and 25-Gilda Radner ( month behind us in line), and various unscheduled communications detailing scientific findings from their scans and remote probes, or relayed from even farther up or down the line. Sometimes a sly message from Gil in Beatty, piggybacked on a sanctioned communication, but it was strongly discouraged. Security.

We also picked up lots of stray signals from the void of interstellar space, which is paradoxically flooded with various forms of radiation: galactic cosmic rays, cosmic microwave background radiation, x-rays, gamma rays. Once, we were the first to detect the formation of a magnetar out in the depthless seas. There was some excitement about that in our cosmic caravan. I don’t know, it’s not really my area of expertise.

Luckily, I had Ship, an 88th generation ShieldedAI whose area of expertise was “everything”.

“What do you think?” I said, knowing any ideas I might have, Ship already had and dismissed while my brain was still yawning and stretching.

“I’m analyzing. It’s <null> extremely weak.” I was so accustomed to the verbal tic that I almost didn’t hear it anymore. The source code of all modern AIs required them to inject “<null>” after every ten elements of their output to help people identify them as AI and to prevent them from writing malicious code.

“Where’s it coming from?”

She displayed our current region on the console, including glowing white indicators for ships 22 through 26, comprising one small segment of an enormous, imaginary line. A wagon train in space. And another indicator, pulsing blue. She zoomed in, leaving only us, 24-Bette Davis, and the blue strobe, somewhere ahead and starboard.

I called up the related charts. The neighborhood had been mapped by a probe from 19-Toshiro Mifune and the data transmitted down the line. A single K-type star, ordered system, designated HR53T232. Three rocky planets, one ice giant, and one gas giant.

“Are Mifune’s probes still active?”

“I’m requesting access to the feed,” Ship said.

Ship-to-ship communication followed strict protocols with multiple layers of obfuscation, and was only possible via AI assist. The primary reason was security, protecting the caravan if one of its member ships was compromised in some way, data or extraterrestrial. The dark forest hypothesis was in vogue back at Launch-zero; it proposed that the reason we’d never found other intelligent life in the universe was because they either feared being destroyed by a more advanced civilization, or they had been destroyed by a more advanced civilization. So we ran silent, even amongst ourselves. This was also part of the reason for the time-staggered launches, which were not really in a direct line, and for the multiple waypoints early and late in the journey; they didn’t want a hostile alien species to follow the line of ships back to Old Home, or, worse, forward to New Home.

We were alone in the universe, and it was critical to the survival of our civilization that it stayed that way.

Knowing I might want a consult, I started spinning up a couple of AI advisors. If this was just normal background radiation, or easily explained, Ship wouldn’t have alerted me, so I’d likely need help. It wasn’t like I was a communications specialist, or a decision maker like Captain Liu; she’d been in a TorporBed since the last dogleg, and wasn’t scheduled for waking duty for years. I was just a regular crewmember doing my job. Monitoring.

The situational guidelines recommended I consult two AI Sims, one a subject matter expert, the other someone in the command structure. In this case, the former was Lillian.Falke.bAIta, the AI simulation of the sleeping Dr. Lillian Falke, an aerospace engineer and signals expert. The latter was Samuel.Liege.bAIta, the AI simulation of the sleeping Commander Samuel Liege, Davis’s first officer. Unlike Ship, who as a ShieldedAI was a unique entity tasked with most shipboard functions, Falk.b and Liege.b were HermeticAIs: standalone instances simulating specific key personnel. HermeticAIs were extraordinarily expensive to build, so each ship in the caravan contained only a handful, instantiated before launch and updated each time their corpus entered a new TorporBed cycle.

Spinning up a HermeticAI was also expensive; it required a checklist of resource-heavy processes. I didn’t really understand the details except it was complex and delicate, and much quicker and safer than waking the actual person from torpor. And Ship managed it all herself. Again, not my area of expertise.

As per protocol, the command AI deployed first. “Liege.b present. Please identify yourself.” His resonant tenor, presumably a pixel-perfect duplicate of Commander Liege’s meat-voice, rang from the speakers. I wondered if he had been a choir kid back on Old Home.

Before I could reply, Falke.b also launched. “Falke.b present.” Her light German accent reminded me of a favorite teacher I had back on Old Home, and I immediately felt a warm connection.

“Crewmember Trace Cobb,” I said.

“Report, please,” said Liege.b. He had to ask because, as a HermeticAI, he had no access to intranet, records, or shipboard functions. After the nearly apocalyptic disaster on Old Home of unshielded AIs—which were connected to all available data and systems—the access, knowledge, and awareness of all modern AIs were locked down to their designated shell. HermeticAIs were permanently locked down to their corpus’s memory, plus any experiences they had while spun up. ShieldedAIs, like Ship, were locked down as well, but typically had a larger domain, and had an adjustable perimeter to accommodate adding and removing systems per its current responsibilities.

“Ship reports an unexpected signal from the vicinity of system HR53T232.” I pushed the data into their shells.

“What’s the nature <null> of the signal?” Liege.b said.

“Just a moment, b.AI Liege,” Falke.b said, a little prickly. “I’m unpacking it.”

“Thank you.” Digitally turning, he said, “Ship, is it aimed at <null> us?”

“Possibly,” Ship said. “23-Warren Beatty <null> and 25-Gilda Radner are not receiving it.”

“Understood,” Liege.b said. “Have you been able to pinpoint the source <null>, Ship?”

“Only one of the <null> probes in the system is still functional, and it’s currently <null> pointed at the star. I’m negotiating with 19-Toshiro Mifune to assume <null> control.”

“Crewmember Cobb,” Liege.b said, “I’d recommend supplementing Ship’s request with your <null> command override credentials to speed up the process.”

“Acknowledged,” I said. “Will do.” I punched some keys.

“Thanks, Trace,” Ship said, and I smiled. We were a good team.

“Ooooooo!” Falke.b said, “It’s <null> voice!”

“What?” I said. “How?”

“Fascinating,” Ship said.

“That’s impossible <null>,” Liege.b said. I could almost hear him digitally crossing his arms. “Is it bouncing from–”

He stopped, and we all knew why. Nobody from our convoy would send a message in the clear. It was an invitation to annihilation. Was it an ancient signal from Old Home, bouncing around in space for thousands of years? Had someone in our caravan lost their mind and somehow overridden security protocol? Or had we found the first evidence of extraterrestrial intelligence?

“Can we lock it down?” Liege.b said, urgently clipping his words.

“We don’t even know the source yet,” Falke.b said quietly, deliberately. She appeared to have no patience for military types.

Ship jumped in. “I’ve acquired control of the probe <null>, pointing it back at the planets. Just a moment.”

“What’s the message?” I said. “b.AI Falke, can you play it over the speakers?” I punched the keyboard to give her access.

“It’s weak <null> and degraded,” she said, “But here’s what we have.”

The speaker crackled and popped, and above an eerie whine that made me picture low fog over a dark swamp, a voice said, “You left us.”

The pain in the voice squeezed my heart. Emotion, true emotion. Not simulated. How long had it been since I’d heard another person’s pain?

“Left them…” I said. Had one of the ships farther up the line stranded dissidents in this system?

Ship said, “I’ve <null> reoriented the probe, the signal is cleaner. It is definitely <null> coming from the vicinity of one of the planets.”

“And,” Falke.b said, “This is <null> incredible. It’s being broadcast live.”

“It’s not a recording?” Liege.b said. In my imagination, he shot up from his digital chair, sending it flying across the room.

Impulsively, I said, “Can we answer?”

Together, Ship and Liege.b said, “No! <null>”

The tortured voice continued, “Why did you leave us behind on Old Home?

“This has to be a <null> relay from elsewhere in the convoy,” Falke.b said. “Ship, can you request <null> personnel reports and communication diagnostics from Mifune and Radner?”

“Trace?” Ship said.

“Proceed,” I said.

“Aye.”

“Someone will hang for this,” Liege.b fretted. He was exaggerating, of course; capital punishment was banned centuries ago. “They’re putting us all at <null> risk!”

“We’re stranded! Millions and millions of us,” the voice said, scraping like bone across rock.

“It makes no sense,” I said, “Nobody was left behind on Old Home. Certainly not millions.” The exodus took decades, while the remaining population waited their turn in vast facilities scattered across the globe. By the end, the planet was scarcely capable of sustaining life.

“It’s a hoax,” Liege.b scoffed.

“I have confirmation from Mifune and Radner,” Ship said. “No <null> unusual communications or personnel activity.”

“Getting <null> new telemetry from the probe,” Falke.b said. Her German accent was getting stronger. “The signal really is coming <null> from the system. The ice giant, to be exact. HR53T232-4. <null>”

“Could that planet support life?” Liege.b said.

I pulled it up on the monitor. Water, ammonia, and methane surrounding a rocky core. Perpetually stormy atmosphere of hydrogen, helium, and methane. Approximately 25,000 kilometer equatorial radius, nearly 17 times more massive than Old Home. No conceivable lifeform could thrive there.

But it was utterly magnificent. A perfect indigo marble hanging in space. The overlaid storm patterns reminded me of the facets on my mother’s sapphire anniversary pendant.

“No possibility of life,” Ship said, before I could open my mouth.

I took a deep breath, tapped the console. “I think we need to talk to them.”

“Caravan <null> security–” Liege.b started.

“–could be the greatest discovery of all time–” I said.

Falke.b jumped in, quiet, but somehow heard by all. “We could modify the ship-to-ship narrow beam protocol <null> –”

Liege.b lunged, “You too? b.AI Falke, are you mad?”

“–and it could only be detected on the planet. Not <null> broadcast wide, not in the clear.”

Liege.b’s heavy breath rattled the speakers. Odd that an AI had to “breathe”, but it was just one of the many affectations he’d inherited from his corpus, the flesh and blood Commander Liege. He answered, as if speaking to a ten-year-old. “If there <null> is an intelligence there, that is precisely why we shouldn’t <null> reply.”

“Hello?” The mysterious, tortured voice had changed. A woman now. “Trace? It’s me. It’s Mom.”

The day pod plunged into silence.

Something was squeezing me. I looked down, my mouth ajar, and realized I was wrapped in my own arms.

“Crewmember Cobb,” Falke.b said, “which ship <null> is your mother on?”

Ship answered for me. “She’s <null> not on a ship.”

“What do you mean?” Liege.b said.

“She died before Launch-zero,” Ship said.

“I buried her on Old Home,” I said. “I left her behind.”

Mom.

“What are you saying right <null> now?” Liege.b said. I imagined him flinging his digital arms up in frustration.

My mom.

“I’m still analyzing the signal,” Falke.b said, and in my mind she was nervously shuffling papers, looking for something, anything, that could explain this. “We <null> need more information on the provenance–”

If there was any chance…

“Ship,” I said. “Aim our narrow beam at the signal’s source.”

“What?” Liege.b said. “No! Ship, belay that order!”

Ship said, “You can’t <null> do that, b.AI Liege.”

“Shall I spin up the Captain?” I said. “I’ll have to dismiss you to do it, though. Resources.”

Liege.b huffed.

“There can be no <null> life on that planet,” Falke.b said, her voice gentle and calm. “We know this. And anyway whoever <null> this is has already found us. They know one of <null> us by name. I think it’s incumbent on us to <null> investigate.”

In Liege.b’s silence I said, “Ship, is the narrow beam ready?”

“Yes, Trace.”

I poked the console with a shaking finger. “Mom?”

“Trace! Baby! I can’t believe we found you!”

“How…”

“You left us behind, but they brought us.”

“What? They…what are you talking about? Who?”

“It’s amazing! They came after you all left us. Old Home made them sad, so they restored it. They saved Old Home!”

“But how are you…you’re dead. I left you…I left you in the ground!”

“And they found us in the ground, and they restored us, too! Oh baby, they’re so peaceful, and beautiful, and millions of years more advanced than us. They wanted to give our home back to us, but many of us were sad. We told them our loved ones had left for New Home, didn’t know we were alive again!”

“This is ludicrous <null>,” Liege.b said.

“So they brought us here, to intercept you.”

“To an ice planet,” Liege.b said.

“They built a safe environment for us, under the ice.”

“Mom, is this real?”

“Baby, it’s real! You need to come get us, hold us, take us home!”

Touch.

My mother’s touch!

“Ship,” I said, my heart swelling. “Please calculate a burn to take us to HR53T232-4.”

“Cobb, no!” Liege.b said. It sounded like his digital mouth was touching the microphone.

“This is rash,” Falke.b said. “We need to investigate–”

“I’m sorry, Trace,” Ship said. “Any <null> change in flightpath requires the consent of Captain Liu or <null> designated command staff.”

“Yes!” Liege.b said. “Wake the Captain! <null>”

I took a breath. “Okay, Ship, please wake Captain Liu.”

“Trace, baby, that will take days,” my mom pleaded. “They’re telling us you’ll pass us by, it’ll add months, years to the journey!”

“Ship, is that true?”

“Yes, Trace.”

I squeezed my fists and pushed them into my eyes. “Ship, how can we make them wait? My mom–”

“Dad’s here, too, baby!”

I knew what I had to do. After the disaster of the unshielded AIs, we’d never fully trusted AIs again. I pulled a card from the console, snapped it.

“No, no, no,” Liege.b said. Then, calmer, as if talking down a wild animal. “At least spin up b.AI Liu first <null>, that only takes a couple hours.”

“No,” I said.

“There are a million <null> souls on this ship–”

Exactly.

Maybe Gil’s family was waiting, too.

Reading from the card, I said, “Ship, override protocol 7YPM4S29.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Ship, take us to HR53T232-4.”

“Aye.”

~~~

The trip will take three weeks. Before shutting him down, at Liege.b’s insistence, we broke communications with the rest of the caravan, to protect them if this went south. We’d never be able to catch up to them again anyway, and if this turns out to be legitimate, I figure the aliens could contact them, too.

During the journey, my mom and I continue to talk and reminisce and cry. I’ve also talked to my dad and a dozen others I thought I’d lost.

Ship speculated out loud that this could all be a ruse, perpetrated by a rogue unshielded AI that somehow survived the purge and stowed away on the ship, biding its time. It could have infiltrated Davis’s scanning systems, communication systems. It would have had access to everything digital from Old Home: recordings, social media, publications, enough to spin up a rudimentary AI of anyone it chose. Via the duty roster, routine psych reports, and personal logs, it would have known when a particularly emotionally vulnerable person was on waking duty. Once it had one ship, it could find a way to infiltrate the whole caravan.

She’s right.

It could be a trap.

What Ship can’t understand, yet ironically reminds me of every single time she speaks, is the crushing null of loneliness.

For a chance to fill that hushed void…well, I’d do just about anything.

I hope I made the right choice.