Home… She had been feeling out-of-place for a while now. It just didn’t feel right.
The stars seemed dull and immobile; the space her ship sliced through was cold and reluctant. There… was not where she belonged.
‘So, why don’t you go and search for a home?’
She startled. Her personal AI had suddenly chimed in. It was unusual of it to act on its own. Epsilon508 had a rather meditative personality and would not intervene unless explicitly asked to. Her eyes wandered to where she was naturally expecting to see the holographic manifestation. The device was programmed to answer the intuitive call for alterity: the psychological reports had unequivocally stressed the importance of not-self representation. These humanoid pixels bending over the manual command panel… they shaped the material self her mind was granting the AI. Today Epsilon508 was wearing a dark blue uniform. He had not combed his hair. And yes, she did worry about his hair. He was always so self-conscious, immaculately dressed. Something was off; off their usual interplay. She knew Epsilon508’s ‘body’ was the space of alternative intersection, the land where they could meet_ where she could meet with herself. She accepted the rendez-vous.
‘Why, when and where are a bit of an overkill, Epsi. Don’t you think I have enough questions already?’
All of this just upset her. Was it the place? Was it the people? Or was it a time? Epsilon508 would probably not speak up and let her bathe in her doubts. She wiggled uncomfortably in the capsule’s ectoplasmic liquid. It penetrated through the tiniest apertures, infiltrated the body in places beyond consciousness, yet it was still possible somehow to breathe in it. Somehow, the jagged horizon of doubt could still be treaded.
‘If it can be treaded, it can be found.’
Damn AI… damn herself. She cracked a half-irritated smile, ‘My, aren’t we talkative today.’