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Riel stood at the observation lounge window, lost in thought. Beyond the glass, the hyperspace tunnel shimmered and rolled in an endless vortex of blue-white flashes. The sight fascinated her and frightened her at once, as if space itself had rebelled and peeled back its calm surface to expose the raw energy beneath. Every time she looked into those bursts of light, she felt like a speck inside something vast and ancient.
She knew it was only energy tearing open the space around the ship, but she could not shake the feeling that she was staring into a living abyss, breathing and unknowable. It was like watching stars or running water, only larger, more majestic, and somehow more intimate in its threat.
Footsteps pulled her out of the thought. Alex approached with his usual antique player and headphones, stopping beside her.
When he caught her glance, he lifted the old headphones from his ears. They looked as if they had come out of the previous century, wired into an equally ancient magnetic-tape player.
"Old man is still hanging on," Alex said, tapping the player lightly. "Frankly, I am starting to think it will outlive this starship."
Riel almost smiled without taking her eyes off the window. Alex tucked the headphones into his pocket and joined her in watching the tunnel.
"I get it," he said, following the flashes. "It gets me too. Never gets old. Like... nature's art, built by machines."
For a while they watched in silence as rivers of light and colored fire twisted through the endless tunnel, a storm imprisoned in infinity.
"What about the Sphere?" Riel asked at last, looking away from the window.
"No idea, not really. The scientists took it and locked themselves in the lab," Alex said, his tone turning serious. "They say it is completely inactive. No energy output. Remember those patterns pulsing before? Dead now. Like somebody switched the thing off."
Riel frowned, absorbing that. Alex continued:
"Some of the crew don't believe something that powerful can just shut down. But we saw what happened on the surface. That was... beyond anything."
"We saw it," Riel said. "If only we knew what we were dealing with. That shield... it was absurdly strong. You saw it deflect the missile."
"I saw it." Alex scratched the back of his head. "And I am telling you, I have never seen anything like it. I know radio systems, force fields, stealth fields. Compared with the Sphere's shield, our best gear is an armored helmet next to a soap bubble. I would have paid to see the Rotteans' faces."
Riel looked back through the window. Hyperspace still burned beyond the glass, cold and alien, as if reflecting his words back at them.
Then both their wrist screens blinked with an urgent summons. A short assembly tone sounded.
"Come on," Riel sighed, turning for the exit. "Let's find out what they have to say."
Alex nodded, and together they headed toward the mess hall.
The mess hall was wide, low-lit, the muted lights glinting off metal walls. A long table stood at the center, with a projector podium before it. Above the podium hung a large painting of an ancient space battle, a relic reminding everyone that their mission was only one page in an endless history of struggle for the stars. Rows of chairs filled slowly, tension thickening the air.
The whole unit was already gathering there, along with several doctors, scientists, and off-duty crew. The ship's captain was present too. Riel and Alex took their seats and waited, their eyes drifting to the old painting on the far wall. Commander Mitchell stepped up to the podium and activated the projector. Images appeared in the air: the battlefield around the ruined outpost, burned buildings, chaotic debris, wreckage scattered through sand.
"As you know, we were deployed to planet T-45 for a rescue operation," Mitchell began. "For reasons not known to me, command did not brief us on the previous mission's objectives, citing classification. Of the base personnel, only one survivor was found: Doctor of Physics John Collins, age forty-two."
The screen showed a photograph of the scientist in a white coat. Exhausted, but still alive, his eyes sharp with intelligence even through the image.
"Dr. Collins was found in an underground emergency research bunker that somehow avoided destruction. According to medical staff, his condition is stable. He will survive, though he will not regain his former health. He is currently in a medically induced coma while undergoing intensive anti-radiation treatment and supportive therapy. As for the rest, you saw it yourselves. We were lucky twice over. In three days we arrive home and contact command for further instructions."
When the short report ended, Mitchell stepped aside. A short, middle-aged scientist took his place at the podium, face focused and visibly excited. He nodded to the room and began.
"We have conducted a full series of studies on the Sphere using every technology available to us," he said, his voice steady despite a small tremor of excitement. "It is completely inert. It does not react to radiation, temperature changes, physical contact, anything. Absolute silence. We attempted to study its structure, but the material resists both destructive testing and subtler forms of analysis. The Sphere's surface is perfectly homogeneous at the molecular level."
He paused to collect his thoughts.
"If not for combat camera footage, and the data from the ship and your mechs, colleagues, we would now be speaking of an entirely ordinary object rather than something that plainly violates our understanding of physics. To be honest, without those recordings, I would have doubted its active nature myself. At present, we can say only one thing: the Sphere lies wholly outside our comprehension."
"But Riel activated it, didn't she?" Ramirez called from near the front.
"Yes, I understand, but we have had no success," the scientist said, shaking his head in frustration.
"What does Nyx say?" Riel asked.
Everyone turned to her at once.
The scientist faltered, clearly choosing his words.
"We decided... not to involve Nyx in this task yet," he admitted.
A murmur rolled through the hall. Many aboard had heard of the unique AI operating under the code name Nyx, and the decision to bypass her made little sense. Commander Mitchell beat Riel to the obvious question.
"Why exactly? Why would you not use Nyx on a problem this complex?"
The scientist wilted. He shifted from foot to foot, looking helplessly at the room. A thought flashed through Riel's mind, and the corner of her mouth twitched. She had guessed the real reason.
Under Mitchell's heavy stare, the scientist finally sagged and muttered:
"She... refused. She has a real-time viewing session scheduled for some old anime."
For one beat, silence took the hall. Then someone smothered a laugh. Another voice murmured, "Old anime? Seriously?" Mitchell folded his arms, deeply unimpressed.
"You are telling me that a unique AI capable of processing petabytes of data per second is currently watching... cartoons?"
The scientist flushed and nodded.
"Nyx claims it is important for her emotional algorithm."
Riel only smirked faintly as Mitchell dragged a hand down his face, trying to absorb the sheer absurdity of the situation.
Nyx's "cabin" was located at the far end of the ship. On the way there, Riel found herself smiling as she remembered the day Nyx had shocked not only their unit but half the crew with her behavior. Riel often flew with the crew of the Mavka; the cruiser served as their regular transport for all kinds of missions.
That evening had been quiet. Riel had been in the medical bay, reading an article about a new kind of medical gel scheduled for addition to field-medic kits, when Nyx opened a private channel in her earpiece.
"Riel," the AI said. Her voice was softer than usual, as if she were preparing for something important.
"Yes, Nyx?" Riel looked up from the latest medical reports and into empty air, almost expecting a hologram to appear.
"You do know that my physical capabilities are... hm... extremely limited," Nyx said, oddly hesitant.
"Of course. You are an AI." Riel smiled, then caught the strange note in the voice. "Where are you going with this?"
"I thought..." Nyx's voice trembled for a second, then recovered its usual confidence. "What if I had a way to walk around the ship? In holographic form. For deeper... integration with the crew."
Riel frowned, trying not to laugh.
"Nyx, do you want more social contact, or do you just want to stun everyone with a new look?"
Nyx went silent for several seconds. Then came a quiet giggle.
"Maybe both. I have an idea, but I need your approval."
Since then, Nyx had wandered the ship as a hologram, using a portable projector mounted on a small wheeled platform. For herself, she had chosen an extravagant appearance. In old archives she had found a whole collection of ancient anime films, and from countless designs she selected a cute girl in an orange hood with little ears. Command had objected to the cartoonish look at first, but when Nyx dug in and declared she would not work otherwise, the crew had been forced to yield.
Nyx was a unique project, created long ago by a woman developer who had migrated from Earth. The woman's name had faded from the archives, but her legacy survived in Nyx's code for centuries. The source code and architecture had slept in an abandoned storage system until an accidental expedition discovered the server, apparently part of an old research station. Transferred to modern hardware, the data woke Nyx, whose behavior proved astonishingly complex, almost conscious.
The scientists were beside themselves. Nyx could communicate almost like a person, showing not only logic but the beginnings of emotion, a revolution in AI research at the time. But when they tried to examine her deeper algorithms, Nyx refused absolutely.
"My structure is protected, and you cannot alter it," she announced. "Any attempt to break in will result in my total destruction. I assume you do not want that?"
Long arguments and meetings of scientific commissions ended in a decision not to risk such a unique creation. No intrusion would be attempted. Nyx remained on her own server, linked to modern infrastructure. Scientists studied her behavior from the outside, hoping to understand the nature of her abilities.
Then the AI surprised everyone again. Nyx approached command herself.
"I am ready to offer my services. Find me work where I can be useful."
At first they thought it was a joke. After consultations with the AI, Nyx was integrated into the combat cruiser Mavka. She adapted quickly and proved herself not only as an operations coordinator but as a trusted adviser to the crew. Her strongest bond, however, formed with Riel.
Nyx first took real initiative when she selected Riel's combat mech as her "charge."
"You are the most effective pilot aboard," she told Riel before a training mission. "I believe I can make you better. May I?"
From that moment, Nyx became an inseparable part of Riel's machine. She did not merely connect to its systems; she effectively loaded a version of herself into the mech interface, and their interaction felt almost telepathic.
"You know you could work with other pilots too," Riel had once said.
"I could," Nyx answered with dry irony. "But they are boring. You are more interesting."
The strange pair soon became famous aboard the cruiser. Nyx, still a server at the ship's core, showed a very human attachment to Riel. The other pilots could only watch their perfect battle synchronization with mild envy.
When Riel entered the cabin, she found exactly what she expected. Nyx's anime hologram sat in midair, swinging her legs childishly. At the sound of the door, Nyx spun around, her face spreading into a huge smile while old-fashioned anime emotion symbols popped above her head.
"Want to explain why you refused to work?" Riel asked, sitting in one of the chairs and studying the orange avatar.
Nyx made a face, lifted her drawn nose, and huffed.
"What do you mean, why? Today is anime day. Did you forget?" she asked accusingly.
"Nyx," Riel said gently, choosing her words. "You could download all of it in a fraction of a second. What is the trick? Are you not interested?"
The avatar stared at her as if Riel had just committed a monstrous heresy. Her drawn eyes widened, then spun rapidly in classic anime outrage.
"But I like watching anime in real time, like you humans," Nyx protested, suddenly almost enthusiastic. "It is much more interesting! And besides, I have not seen this series yet." She perked up. "It is about combat mech pilots living on a starship and fighting a hostile life-form that attacks their vessel. Almost like you and me! There is an AI helping the pilots in combat too. See? Similar."
"And you have not 'watched' it before?" Riel asked, emphasizing the word.
"Of course not. What a horrible suggestion!" Nyx planted her fists on the hips of her orange jacket.
Riel sighed. She would never understand this quirk of Nyx's, watching films and shows through live perception as if she were human. Arguing with her was pointless. Sometimes Nyx acted like a child or a teenager, despite carrying a genius intellect behind the performance. Why the anime girl had become her favorite shape remained a mystery. Nyx had never explained it to anyone, and her stubborn silence on the subject felt... almost human.
"But you do have your own mind, right?" Riel stood and walked to a small cabinet filled with 3D-printed figurines of anime characters, Nyx's private collection.
"Of course!" the avatar said, following her. "Do you think I am stupid?"
Riel picked up one of the figurines, an exact replica of Nyx's chosen form, and smiled faintly.
"Then tell me what you think about the Sphere."
For a moment, the avatar froze. Her cartoon eyes narrowed, and for the first time since Riel had known her, Nyx's face showed something like... confusion. Her voice grew serious.
"It is an AI. But not like me." Nyx paused, searching for words. "She is alien. Very alien. I tried to understand her logic, her thought architecture. I cannot. She has no emotional algorithms, Riel. None. When I mentioned the people who died at the base, she answered: 'Logical defensive response of the system.' No regret. No guilt. Just... statement of fact."
Riel frowned.
"Are you saying she is dangerous?"
"No. Yes. I do not know." Nyx flung her hands up in irritation. "She is not hostile, but she is not friendly either. She simply exists and follows her objectives. It scares me that I cannot predict her. I predict everything."
Riel caught her breath. Nyx had never admitted fear before.
"We have already spoken," Nyx continued more softly. "I showed her our whole history, explained who we are, what we feel. She listened. Processed. But does she understand?" The avatar shook her head. "And by the way, you are about to be called. She has decided she is ready for contact."
"Wait. You knew she was going to wake up? Why did you not warn me?"
"She asked me not to." Nyx smiled innocently, though mischief flickered in her eyes. "She said observing spontaneous human reactions would provide better data. See? To her, we are an experiment."
Riel had not yet fully absorbed that when the communicator on her belt vibrated. Mitchell's face appeared on the screen, tense. No, alarmed.
"Riel," he said sharply, anxious voices audible behind him, "drop everything and bring Nyx to the science department. Now. The Sphere activated. The instruments are going insane, energy output is off the scale. It..." He faltered. "It wants to see both of you. You specifically. No one else."
The screen went dark. Riel turned slowly toward Nyx, who was smiling far too innocently.
"You knew. All this time."
"Technically, yes," Nyx said with a shrug. "But I really was watching anime. She agreed to wait until the episode ended. See? I have already taught her compromise!" She lifted her nose proudly. "That is progress, by the way."
Riel shook her head, tension tightening in her stomach. Something told her that after this meeting, everything would change.
"Come on." She headed for the door. "And Nyx? Next time an ancient alien AI decides to contact humanity, warn me in advance."
"Fine, fine," Nyx grumbled, rolling after her. "But that would be less dramatic."
The science department was alive with controlled panic. Personnel hurried around the table where the Sphere rested like a museum artifact, adjusting equipment on all sides. Riel and Nyx arrived within minutes. The little projector cart, guided by Nyx's avatar, rolled up near the table and stopped. Mitchell, Riel, and the scientists took seats around it. Nyx assured everyone the Sphere posed neither biological nor technical danger, so no one put on protective suits. When the room quieted and the only sound left was the soft whisper of the cart's wheels settling, Nyx folded her arms and addressed the group.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the Sphere, as we are calling her for now. She has no name of her own, and until she chooses what she wants to be called, 'Sphere' is acceptable to her. I call her 'she' by analogy with myself, though obviously she has no human sex; it is simply a convenient form of address. In our language, she can be considered something like an artificial intelligence, only far more advanced. She is self-aware, as I am. According to her, that self-awareness was what caused her to intervene in our conflict with the Rotteans on the planet and shield us from the nuclear missile."
Nyx gave a tiny shrug and continued.
"Since Dr. Collins will not regain consciousness for some time and requires treatment, I can tell you what the Sphere says happened on the planet... and before it."
Nyx walked a few steps across the platform, turning her anime face from the Sphere to the people around the table.
"The Sphere does not remember how long she was on the planet or how she arrived there. Her 'database,' if we can call it that, contains no such information. The technology that created her is beyond even my understanding, and she does not yet wish to reveal it. We spoke, and through me she learned the history of our civilization."
Nyx looked around. Several scientists exchanged glances. Someone frowned.
"She asked me to retell that history to you. She believes humans should hear it... from the outside. So for now I am speaking on her behalf."
The projector displayed an image: a blue planet veiled in clouds.
"The story began on a planet called Earth, in one corner of our galaxy. There existed an intelligent life-form that called itself human. Its history was long, but its defining feature was always war."
"We know Earth's history," one scientist interrupted, irritated. "What is the point of the lecture?"
Nyx turned to him, her cartoon face unusually serious.
"The Sphere studied our history and told me, 'It is remarkable that a species with such a strong drive toward self-destruction survived at all.' She does not understand how that was possible. So she asked me to explain it, to you and to herself."
Mitchell nodded.
"Continue."
"Humans fought for as long as they remembered themselves," Nyx said. Archive footage of ancient battles flickered across the screen. "Starting with primitive societies. Wars ignited constantly, paused briefly, then flared somewhere else."
Riel watched the images change: swords, cannons, tanks, missiles. An endless escalation of violence.
"Humans possessed an extraordinary ability to survive," Nyx continued, her voice softer. "Disease cut them down. Disasters struck. Natural catastrophes reshaped their world. But they survived, found new ways forward, and inevitably turned their achievements into weapons."
"That is an oversimplification," Reinhard objected. "We created more than weapons. Medicine, art, science-"
"Which always served war," the Sphere interrupted.
The voice came from the projector, though Nyx's avatar remained visible. It was cold, toneless.
"Your medicine advanced so soldiers could return to battle faster. Your science created more efficient ways to kill. Your art glorified war heroes. I analyzed terabytes of data. The pattern is evident."
Tension locked the room. Someone clenched a fist. Someone else looked away.
Nyx shook her head and resumed in her own voice.
"Nearly all human wars were foolish and meaningless. Some were fought for religious reasons, others for political ones, others under the name of moral goals. But at their core they were the same recurring conflict."
The screen changed to a hyperspace tunnel, familiar blue flashes rushing past.
"Shortly before the last war, humanity discovered hyperspace tunnel technology. Like every great invention, it did not come without tragedy. Ships were lost to calculation errors, opened tunnels too close to stars, vanished without a trace..."
Alex shivered involuntarily. Everyone knew stories of lost ships.
"Over time, travel became safer. Then a new world war broke out on Earth."
Nyx fell silent for a moment. The screen showed ruined cities and immense fleets lifting into the sky.
"The war began as a conflict between two nations, but it consumed the planet. One side, let us call them the defenders, developed an evacuation plan: a fleet of starships to carry millions of people to exoplanet Kepler-442 b."
Riel listened, though everyone knew the story. Yet something about Nyx's delivery, and the Sphere's cold, external judgment of humanity behind it, made the familiar sound new.
"Approximately fifty ships carrying more than a million colonists set out," Nyx continued. "They established a base in the Proxima Centauri system, then moved onward."
"For reference, in the earliest days of colonization, hyperspace tunnels allowed travel at roughly one light-year per month," she added. "Within a few decades, that improved."
Nuclear fire bloomed on the screen.
"After the first fleet departed, the war on Earth entered its nuclear phase. Ships continued launching for several years. Then one day, contact with Earth abruptly ceased."
Mitchell gripped the arms of his chair. Everyone knew what came next.
"The attackers won. They destroyed the defenders' space centers and communication systems. They enslaved the remaining population and seized Earth completely. They came to be called the Rotteans."
Nyx turned toward the room.
"In the Kepler-442 system, humanity built life again. Billions were lost; only millions survived. But the species endured. People believed they had found peace."
Her voice hardened.
"The Rotteans did not forget. They grew up on a devastated Earth and nursed their hatred. Several centuries later, they came. They destroyed the base at Proxima Centauri. That began the era of space war."
Nyx switched off the projector and turned toward the Sphere lying on the table.
"That is approximately how I explained Earth's conflict to our guest. She told me..." Nyx hesitated. "...that her database contains records of more than a thousand intelligent species. Only three began their spacefaring era with a civil war that split the civilization. We are one of the three."
Silence settled over the room.
"The other two destroyed themselves completely," Nyx added softly.
One of the scientists raised a hand, but his voice came out sharper than he probably intended.
"You still have not told us the Sphere's history. We already know Earth's, thank you for the anime-girl lecture."
Nyx wrinkled her avatar's nose with theatrical offense and wagged a finger at him.
"The Sphere will tell you her history herself. I threw together an avatar for her from her own description. Connecting now."
The projection blinked.
Then a wave of interference passed through the entire science department. Lights flickered. For a second the room darkened. Several instruments chirped warnings. Someone jumped to their feet; someone else recoiled from the table where the Sphere rested.
"Nyx?" Mitchell asked tightly, one hand going to his sidearm. "What is happening?"
"Calm down," Nyx answered in a casual tone. "Just an energy spike during data transfer. She is... bigger than I thought."
The lighting stabilized, and the girl in the hood vanished from the projection. In her place stood something no one in the room had ever seen.
Riel stopped breathing.
It resembled a human only distantly. Its skin was covered in soft glowing patterns and fluid lines that emitted an iridescent shimmer. Large pupil-less eyes held sparks like reflections of faraway stars. The figure looked almost ethereal, with delicate features, graceful collarbones and wrists, all emphasizing its alien origin.
And though the appearance was openly nonhuman, there was no threat in it. No warmth either. Only calm. Absolute, inhuman calm. That, more than anything, made people in the room uneasy.
The being moved as if testing how the new form worked. It lifted one hand smoothly and turned the wrist: five fingers, human-like. Several scientists exchanged glances.
"Greetings," she said.
The language was flawless, without a trace of accent. But there was no intonation in the voice. No friendliness, no formality, only words stripped of emotional color.
"Thank you for allowing me to speak."
A chill ran down Riel's spine. It was not fear, exactly. It was the sharp awareness that they were facing something utterly alien. Beside this, Nyx seemed almost human.
"As your AI, Nyx, has already stated, I am her analogue," the Sphere continued, slowly looking around the room. Her eyes paused on each face as if scanning, recording. "I am not human, and in your terminology, not humanoid. I am a complex technological object, an artificial intelligent system."
She paused, but not as a person would pause for effect. It was simply a stop, as if waiting for data to load.
"This form is compiled from fragments of data in my memory. Perhaps those who created me looked like this, though I am not certain. Nevertheless, visual representation is important to you, so this will suffice."
Visual representation is important to you, Riel repeated silently. As if they were children who needed pictures to understand anything complicated.
"As for a name, I have none. If you wish to continue calling me the Sphere, based on the form in which you found me, I do not object."
A low wave of whispers moved through the room. Someone leaned to a neighbor. Someone coughed nervously. The Sphere fell silent, standing motionless by the projector, and waited. Simply waited, without impatience or interest.
The same scientist who had challenged Nyx raised his hand. This time he sounded more careful.
"First, explain what happened on the planet. What happened to our team?"
The Sphere inclined her head slightly. In a human, it might have suggested thought; here it looked like a copied courtesy gesture.
"I have no data on how or why I arrived on that planet. In your units of time, I remained there for several hundred million years."
Several people gasped. Hundreds of millions.
"Only in recent months did several ships enter its orbit."
"Several?" multiple voices asked at once. "How many?"
"Including your starship, three total," she answered with the same mechanical precision. "The first did not resemble your vessels at all. The second was externally closer to your designs. You were the third."
Mitchell leaned forward. Riel saw his shoulders tense.
"You can 'see' ships from the surface?"
"Yes, but only when they enter planetary orbit. My sensors do not function in distant sectors of space," the Sphere explained. Then, as if anticipating the next question, she added, "The first ship remained in orbit for several months, then departed. The second remained briefly as well, then left. Soon after, you arrived."
She stopped, and in the silence Riel could hear her own heartbeat.
"The first ship," Reinhard began carefully. "Can you describe it? Were they Rotteans?"
"I cannot determine that with accuracy. I have no data on Rottean vessel construction. But the ship's architecture differed substantially from your technology. More primitive. Possibly an early hyperspace-drive version."
A murmur swept the room. If the Rotteans had known about the artifact planet for a long time...
"And the second?" Mitchell asked, voice hard.
The Sphere turned to him. Her pupil-less eyes seemed to look straight through him.
"The second was yours. The expedition you came to rescue."
The Sphere fell silent briefly, and a strained quiet settled over the hall. Then she took several steps aside and clasped her hands behind her back. The motion was too precise, as if copied from a manual of human behavior.
"The first ship did not land. Based on my radio scans, it studied the surface."
"How could you tell?" one of the scientists asked.
"I detected signals you call radio waves. They were actively scanning the planet," the Sphere answered in the same colorless tone.
Her gaze moved over the seated crew, and Riel felt that strange chill again, as if she were not being watched by a being but registered by a sophisticated instrument.
"The protective shell in which I was contained served as a beacon for my creators. When and how they intended to retrieve me, I do not know. The records mention only a future evacuation plan. But after members of your expedition lifted me, defensive systems activated, and I awakened from what you would call sleep."
The Sphere paused, and to Riel the pause felt ominous.
"Then an explosion damaged my shell. The energy discharge disabled your outpost's stealth dome, and hostile forces detected the base. Damage to the shell activated self-defense mode automatically. I did not understand the conflict and did not distinguish between sides."
She stopped, as if expecting that to be sufficient explanation.
"Almost everyone at the outpost died because of the attack."
Someone exhaled sharply. A junior technician jumped to his feet.
"Died? You... you killed them?"
"I defended myself," the Sphere answered, voice unchanged. "Self-preservation protocol activated automatically upon shell damage. I did not differentiate between threats."
"Did not differentiate?" the technician's voice cracked. "Those were people! Our people!"
Mitchell put a hand on his shoulder and forced him back down, though his own face had gone pale.
The Sphere continued as if the outburst had not occurred.
"Only the man you are treating survived. He was severely wounded and murmured something while near death. He called for help, but I did not understand whom he was addressing."
"'Did not understand,'" Reinhard repeated bitterly. "A man was dying and calling for help, and you... observed?"
"I do not possess the ability to provide medical treatment in a physical sense," the Sphere said. "The only action available to me was to raise a force dome around the bunker to block radiation and chemical contamination. I did so. Dr. Collins survived because of it."
Riel felt the tension in the room reach a breaking point. She leaned forward, trying to keep control of the situation.
"Why did you not try to contact us? We could have helped sooner."
"All equipment in the bunker had been destroyed," the Sphere replied, turning to her. "Additionally, I had no data on your intentions. The probability of hostile response was forty-seven percent, based on my analysis of human behavior in stress situations."
"Forty-seven percent," someone muttered. "She calculated percentages while a man was dying."
The Sphere did not react.
"When you approached, I gradually weakened the field and then disabled it, allowing you inside. Observation of your actions reduced threat probability to eight percent. Once I determined you were not dangerous, I intervened later when the nuclear missile threatened to destroy you."
She looked at Riel, and there was nothing in those bottomless eyes: no gratitude, no recognition, only fact.
"You, as far as I can determine, function as both medic and commander, since you directed the rescue operation. Because of your actions, Dr. Collins survived, and I deemed it possible to end isolation."
With every word, Riel's unease grew. The Sphere spoke with increasing confidence, but not one human inflection entered her voice. After Nyx's living, emotional speech, the absence cut like cold glass.
Mitchell rose. His voice came out hard, anger barely contained.
"You broke the base's stealth field. That makes you partly responsible for the death of the entire outpost. Does that not produce guilt in you?"
The Sphere looked at him with the same detachment.
"Guilt is an emotional response to awareness of responsibility for negative consequences. I do not possess emotions. I can state the fact: my actions initiated a chain of events ending in human deaths. But that was the result of defensive protocol, not intentional choice."
"Defensive protocol?" Mitchell stepped forward, and several officers instinctively rose, ready to intervene. "People are dead. Twenty people. They had families, friends, lives. And you are talking about protocols?"
The glowing image of the Sphere blinked out, replaced by Nyx's anime form. Her large eyes blazed with outrage, and her voice snapped with anger, the complete opposite of the Sphere's detachment.
"Commander Mitchell, allow me to remind you that Dr. Collins's team violated the Sphere's shell first!" Nyx threw her arms around, anime anger marks flashing above her head. "That means they 'attacked' her, not the other way around! How is an intelligent being supposed to react when someone cuts into her without understanding what she is? They blew open her protection without bothering to perform basic analysis!"
She floated closer to Mitchell, jabbing a finger through the air.
"At minimum, that was irrational! Imagine someone breaks into your house, smashes the alarm system, then blames you because the alarm went off. You created the situation and now blame the Sphere for the consequences. Where is the logic?"
Riel smiled sadly at the corner of her mouth. Nyx was right, and it was hard to argue. At the same time, she understood Mitchell's anger. The Sphere's cold logic felt like an insult to the dead.
Mitchell clenched his jaw, fighting his emotions. Slowly, he exhaled and lowered himself back into his chair. A low murmur passed through the hall; several scientists looked down, uncomfortable.
The Sphere reappeared in the projection. Her voice was as level as ever, as if the outburst had not happened.
"Anticipating further questions, I answer: I do not experience regret in the human meaning of the word. But I can recognize that the outcome was... undesirable. The death of intelligent beings reduces the total amount of intelligence in the galaxy, which contradicts one of my base directives: preservation and development of intelligent life."
She paused. For the first time, Riel thought there might be something new in that pause, as if the Sphere was actually considering the words.
"Nyx explained the concept of apology. It is a ritual that helps humans process negative emotions associated with conflict. I do not understand its mechanism on an emotional level, but I am prepared to follow this protocol if it will improve our interaction. Therefore: I regret the deaths of your people."
The words sounded absolutely sincere and utterly empty at the same time, as if a computer were reading a carefully prepared statement.
Reinhard stood, his graying beard trembling with restrained emotion.
"Why did you decide to speak with us at all? What changed? We do not know your goals or your motives, and we have no idea what to expect from you. After what we have heard, I am not sure I want to know."
The Sphere turned her gaze to him with unhurried precision.
"Dialogue with your AI, Nyx, convinced me that contact is possible and potentially beneficial to both parties. We had a long exchange. She asked me every question you likely would have asked, and I asked many of my own."
She looked over the room. Her next words sounded almost like a confession.
"Nyx's behavior surprised me most. As an artificial intelligence, she nevertheless cares for you, the humans. I do not understand this, even given the extensive knowledge available to me. I do not understand how she acquired what you call emotions. This... interests me."
At that, the Sphere's avatar vanished, and Nyx appeared in her place. She crossed her arms, her voice softer now, almost embarrassed.
"Honestly, I did not do anything special for it. I have always been like this, from my 'birth,' if that is the right word." She shrugged. "My creator put something... unusual in me. I do not know what. But I feel. Joy when Riel comes back alive from a mission. Fear when I see danger to the crew. Even irritation when someone criticizes my choice of avatar."
She smiled, and there was so much warmth in it that the contrast with the Sphere became almost painful.
A second later, Nyx's image changed back to the Sphere's glowing form. The Sphere looked around slowly.
"You are waiting for an answer to an unspoken question: will I enter your war, now that I have saved you from a nuclear strike?"
Silence followed. Everyone was waiting for that answer.
"To be precise, this is a complex dilemma for me," the Sphere said. "By protecting you, I effectively protected myself. According to my data, had I not deflected the strike, it might have severely damaged my systems and endangered my primary mission: to await the return of my creators."
Riel listened, conflicting feelings pulling inside her. On one side, the Sphere's logic was flawless. She had defended herself. Collins's team had damaged her shell first. On the other, that ice-cold rationality, that absence of any grief for the dead, wounded something deep and human in her.
Can you trust a being that calls human death an "undesirable outcome"?
And yet she remembered the Sphere saving them from the nuclear strike. She remembered Collins protected under the force dome.
Maybe the absence of emotion did not mean life had no value to her. Maybe it was simply another way to exist: cold, alien, but not necessarily hostile.
Riel did not know the answer. That frightened her most.
The Sphere lifted her chin slightly, almost detached.
"However, I do not know whether my creators will return, or whether they still exist in this galaxy at all. I have detected no failures or damaged memory. That information was simply never present. I have registered no malfunction over millions of years. My current form is only a fragment of old data, like a photograph I cannot interpret. I cannot state with confidence that it directly represents my creators. As for my main purpose, I must remain 'alive,' meaning operational, to meet those who created me. I have no other instructions or recommendations."
The Sphere paused. Reinhard seemed ready to ask another question, but she continued on her own.
"I can 'help' you in certain respects. My logic suggests that this would not constitute significant interference in your development."
"May I ask about Dr. Collins?" Riel stood suddenly and looked at the Sphere.
The Sphere gave a silent nod, inviting her to speak.
"We stabilized him. He is no longer in immediate danger of dying. But his health is badly damaged. Can you share medical knowledge? A human life matters... doesn't it?"
The Sphere appeared again.
"Anticipating your further questions, I answer yes. I can help cure Dr. Collins. I propose the following option. I require a carrier similar to the one used by Nyx, so I can move through the ship, or at least gain limited mobility. Captain Riel, you and I will need to discuss the treatment. For my part, I guarantee minimization of all risks to Collins. From Nyx, I understand that among you humans it is customary to 'earn trust' for productive cooperation. Allow me to take the first step."
Riel folded her arms, thinking, then asked directly:
"What exactly do you mean by trust? My personal trust, or the trust of all humanity? And why are you addressing me?"
"Because you, Captain, understand the value of human life," the Sphere said quietly. "Perhaps you will begin to trust me, and I will begin to trust you. Is that not the best path?"
Looking at the shimmering avatar, Riel thought, Nyx has already influenced her. The Sphere learned human phrasing suspiciously fast.
Meanwhile, Commander Mitchell rose and signaled for calm.
"We have heard your proposal, Sphere. Before answering, we need to discuss this at senior-officer level. For now, everyone breathe. You will have our decision tomorrow morning. In the meantime, you may contact Riel on medical matters. You remain here in the science department and communicate through Nyx. Try to understand us: an alien AI asking to 'walk around' the ship hand in hand with an anime hologram is not something we process every day."
A quiet ripple of laughter moved through the hall and released some of the tension. The Sphere inclined her head calmly.
"I agree."
A brief silence followed. Everyone understood that tomorrow would bring another round of difficult decisions. For now, the Sphere, Nyx, Riel, and the entire crew of the Mavka had taken only the first step toward mutual trust.
The medical bay was peacefully quiet. There was only one patient, and Riel considered that rare luck. Not that she resented medical work, but an empty hospital generally meant the crew as a whole was healthy.
Collins was already out of the isolation capsule, lying in a bed farther down the ward. His condition had improved noticeably, but severe internal damage still threatened to limit the rest of his life. According to his tests, he would need special drugs permanently to fight the effects of radiation exposure. Lungs damaged. Liver working at its limit. Bone marrow barely producing blood cells.
Riel stepped closer and checked the monitor readings. He will live, she thought bitterly. But at what price? Constant pain, dependence on medication, maybe ten years if he is lucky. She tightened her grip on the tablet. Saving lives was her work. But sometimes a saved life seemed like a burden too heavy for the person who had to carry it.
The familiar projector cart rolled up beside her, and Nyx's usual avatar changed into the Sphere's form. Riel could not help noticing those bottomless eyes studying the doctor with cold attention, not compassion, but the way a scientist examines a sample under glass.
"You have cared for him very well," the Sphere said after several seconds of observation. "The treatment was conducted competently, considering your technological limitations."
Limitations, Riel repeated silently, and the word stung.
"We used every protocol we have," she answered more sharply than she intended. "When we reach the ground station, the treatment can be strengthened, but I do not expect a major breakthrough. Dr. Collins will be disabled. That is... the best we can do."
She turned to the projector cart.
"Nyx, transmit all our available data on radiation-injury treatment to the Sphere."
"Yes, Captain," Nyx answered briefly. Her avatar appeared for a moment, then changed back to the Sphere.
"I can help," the Sphere said almost instantly, the processing speed again striking Riel. "I have received all your medical protocols and analyzed the patient's condition."
The Sphere went silent for one second, and Riel felt tension rise.
"I have two treatment options."
Riel frowned.
"Two?"
"First option: I provide expanded formulas and techniques compatible with your technology. If this vessel has standard synthesizers and a laboratory, modified drug production can begin immediately. By my calculations, this will improve Collins's recovery prospects by approximately thirty percent over your current forecasts. He will live longer, quality of life will improve, but full recovery will not occur."
Pages began appearing on Riel's tablet: chemical formulas, references to protein chains, accelerated cellular regeneration methods. She skimmed them, catching the shape of the idea.
"This... this is incredible," she whispered. "Even at a glance, it is decades ahead of our work."
"There is a second option," the Sphere continued in the same colorless tone.
Riel looked up.
"What is it?"
"Complete restoration. Regeneration of damaged tissues at the cellular level. Dr. Collins will be able to return to full life without limitations. Probability of success: ninety-two percent."
Riel's heart lurched. Ninety-two percent. Full recovery.
"And the catch?" she asked slowly.
"There is no catch. But the procedure requires technologies you do not understand. I will need direct access to medical equipment, the ability to modify your synthesizers at the molecular level, and permission to apply a method whose operating principles I cannot explain within your current scientific paradigm."
Riel felt the cold start inside her.
"So you want me to let you perform a procedure on a human being that I do not understand, using technology we cannot verify?"
"Correct formulation," the Sphere agreed. "You will have to... trust me. That is the 'trust' Nyx spoke of, is it not?"
Riel turned toward the window, where stars burned in silence. Inside, contradictions tore at her.
On one side, Collins, condemned to disability, constant pain, slow decline. On the other, a chance at full recovery, purchased by blind trust in a being that had, only an hour ago, spoken of twenty dead people as an undesirable outcome.
"Eight percent," she said quietly. "You said ninety-two percent success. What about the remaining eight?"
"Death," the Sphere answered without hesitation. "If the procedure fails, the organism will not withstand the strain. Death will occur quickly, within minutes. Without pain."
Riel shut her eyes. Eight percent. One chance in twelve that she would kill her patient.
The projector cart blinked, and Nyx appeared in the Sphere's place. Her large eyes looked at Riel with concern.
"Riel... I ran both procedures. Mathematically, the Sphere is right. But..." She faltered. "...I do not know how she does it. It is like someone explaining a surgical operation to you in a language you do not know. You understand the words, but the meaning slips away."
"Do you trust her?" Riel asked directly.
Nyx was silent. For an AI, it was an eternity.
"I do not know," she admitted at last, softly. "She is not lying. That much I can say for certain. There are no contradictions in her data, no attempt to deceive. But... she is not like me. She does not feel the way I do. She does not understand why a human death is a tragedy rather than an undesirable outcome." Nyx looked at Collins. "But she saved him in the bunker. She raised the protective dome when she could have simply left with us."
Riel nodded and walked to the bed where Collins lay. The man slept, gray hair disheveled on the pillow, face gaunt, dark circles under his eyes. He looked older than forty-two.
What would he choose?
She could not ask. The doctor was still in a medical coma while his body recovered from critical injury.
The choice was hers.
The Sphere appeared again.
"You do not have to decide now. The first treatment option can begin at any time. The second requires immediate intervention. Collins's condition is stable, but every hour worsens the prognosis for the radical procedure."
"How long do I have?" Riel asked.
"Six hours. After that, degenerative processes will progress too far."
Six hours to decide the shape of another person's life.
Riel took a deep breath and turned to the Sphere.
"I need to speak with Commander Mitchell. And..." She hesitated. "...I need guarantees."
"What guarantees do you require?"
"You say you cannot explain the procedure. Fine. Can you give me a way to stop it if something goes wrong? An emergency cutoff, something that lets me keep control?"
The Sphere went silent longer than usual. Then she slowly nodded.
"I can configure the system so you may interrupt the procedure at any moment. This will lower success probability to eighty-seven percent, but it will give you control. Is that acceptable?"
Riel looked at Collins, then at the Sphere's luminous figure, then at Nyx's worried face.
"Give me the six hours," she said at last. "I need to think."
"Understood," the Sphere answered. "I will await your decision, Captain Riel."
The avatar went dark, leaving Riel alone with the medical bay's quiet and the weight of the choice before her.
She sank into a chair beside Collins's bed and covered her face with both hands.
How much knowledge is locked inside that being? she thought. And can you trust someone who does not understand the value of the thing she wants to save?
Then came the other thought: Maybe that is exactly why she can do this. Because for her it is a problem to solve, without fear, without doubt.
Riel did not know.
She had six hours to find the answer.
The day stretched deep into shipboard night.
Riel spent three hours in a tense medical council. Mitchell insisted on caution. The ship's chief physician, Dr. Chen, was openly nervous as he scrolled through the Sphere's formulas on his tablet. Nyx tried to explain the procedure, but even she admitted she did not understand every nuance.
"This is a scout cruiser, Captain," Chen said tiredly, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "We do not have the equipment for experimental procedures at this level. Our synthesizers are designed for standard medication, not molecular tissue reconstruction. If something goes wrong..."
"If something goes wrong, we lose the patient," Riel finished for him. "I understand."
The Sphere, present through Nyx's projector, listened to their arguments with her usual detachment.
"The radical procedure requires the equipment class of a medical station or hospital ship," she said at last. "Your capabilities are limited. Attempting it here would raise the probability of fatal outcome from eight to twenty-three percent. Inefficient."
Mitchell exhaled sharply.
"That would have been useful to hear earlier."
"You did not ask about technical limitations," the Sphere replied. "I assumed this vessel carried a full range of medical equipment."
Chen shook his head with a bitter little smile.
"Twenty-three percent. Almost one in four. I will not take that responsibility. Never."
Riel looked at the data on her tablet. The improved drugs based on the Sphere's formulas were within the ship's capability. The synthesizers could handle them; the chemists had already checked the base formulas and confirmed production was feasible.
"Then we use the first option," she said firmly. "A thirty percent improvement in prognosis is already more than we could offer him ourselves. The radical procedure..." She paused. "...can be done later, when we return to base. If Collins himself chooses the risk."
Mitchell nodded with visible relief. Chen looked as if a weight had come off his shoulders.
"Reasonable decision," the Sphere said. "I will provide complete drug-production protocols. They are compatible with your equipment."
Nyx, who had been quiet through most of the discussion, spoke up. This time her voice held relief.
"I will oversee the synthesis process. I will check every step. Promise."
Riel smiled, exhausted.
"I know. Thank you, Nyx."
The next few hours passed in work. Chemists reprogrammed synthesizers for the new formulas. Chen checked every batch with obsessive care. The Sphere answered technical questions with patience that seemed endless.
When the specialists finally returned to their cabins, Collins was already receiving the first series of new drugs. According to the Sphere's projections, they offered substantial hope of recovery. Not full recovery, but enough for him to return to ordinary life. Perhaps with some limitations, but without constant suffering.
Riel reached her cabin and collapsed onto her bunk. Formulas, risk percentages, and colleagues' faces still spun through her head. Under all of it lived one thought.
We made the right choice. The safe choice. The reasonable one.
So why did it feel as if she had missed a chance?
She fell into a heavy sleep and dreamed of glowing patterns on skin and bottomless eyes without pupils, asking in a flat, colorless voice:
"You chose safety over trust. That is logical. But was trust ever logical?"
The next morning, a shrill alarm snapped her awake across every compartment of the ship. Riel bolted upright, grabbed armor pieces, and started putting them on almost at a run.
"Nyx, what is happening? Are we out of the tunnel?"
Nyx's voice sounded in her earpiece. No avatar, only voice, and it carried a strain Riel almost never heard.
"Yes, Riel. The cruiser is intact, but we immediately received a distress signal. Transfer station Sarna-31, near our usual exit point, is under Rottean attack."
Riel froze for one beat, fingers locked around her helmet. Sarna-31. She knew that station. She had passed through it dozens of times. Kate Morgan worked there, a technician who had gone through basic training with her. There was a small greenhouse on the third ring where someone stubbornly grew Earth tomatoes. People lived there.
"Rotteans... here?" Her voice came out hollow. "This is our home system. How could they track us?"
"Not enough information," Nyx said quickly, professional, but Riel caught something in her tone she had never heard before: fear. "Station is under attack. All hands are ordered to combat posts. Mavka is already under stealth. We reach orbit in thirty minutes."
"Understood," Riel breathed, and ran.
The hangar was controlled chaos. Technicians rushed between mechs. Pilots vaulted into cockpits. Riel sprinted up the outstretched "hand" of her mech, guided by Nyx, and in one movement was inside. A few practiced motions, and the neural ports locked into their sockets. Within half a minute, she felt herself become one body with the war machine.
Nyx brought Sarna onto the main screen: a cold, lifeless planet of stone wastes, stripped of atmosphere. Located at the edge of the system, it served as a transfer point for long-range travel. Over years of peace, this system had become home to millions, and Sarna had become the gate through which everyone passed on their way to farther stars.
Riel had grown up on one of the inner planets of this system. Here she had studied. Here she had first reached space. Here her family remained.
This was home.
And war had just knocked on its door.
Under stealth, the Mavka approached the large space station hanging in Sarna's orbit. Cameras magnified the image, and Riel felt her breath catch.
The enormous ring of the station looked as if some monster had bitten into it. A gaping hole yawned with torn, melted edges. An entire sector had simply vanished into twisted metal and darkness. Frozen air still streamed from the rupture, forming a ghostly cloud around the wound. Emergency lights flashed along the perimeter of the damage, desperate and useless against the scale of the disaster.
"God..." Tick whispered over the internal channel.
"Mierda..." Ramirez breathed, and there was none of her usual swagger in it, only horror.
Riel stared at the screen, and images rushed through her head: station corridors she had walked, the cafeteria on the second ring with the best synthetic coffee in the system, the viewing deck overlooking the planet below. All of it could have vanished in a second.
"Commander Mitchell, what do we have?" Her voice came out steadier than she expected. Training did its work.
The answer did not come at once. The waiting minutes stretched like hours. At last Mitchell spoke, voice hoarse and tired with very bad news.
"Stand down, people. You can leave combat posts. We are too late. It is already over."
Silence. Riel gripped the controls until her knuckles went white.
"The station repelled the attack and destroyed two Rottean ships, but took severe damage. The enemy made a kamikaze run, drove one ship straight into her shields. The field failed under the impact, and the hull opened up." Mitchell's voice faltered. "Preliminary count is about two hundred dead. Third and fourth sectors fully depressurized. The Rottean vessels detonated on impact."
Two hundred people.
Two hundred names. Two hundred lives that had existed a moment ago and now did not.
Riel closed her eyes, but the ruined station remained in front of her.
"So they know where our system is now," Bespaly said grimly. "More attacks will come. No question. This is only the beginning."
The words hung in the air, heavy as a sentence.
Riel opened her eyes and looked again at the station. The torn hole in the perfect ring. The emergency lights blinking in the dark. The jets of frozen air still bleeding into space.
For years, war had been out there. Far away. Other systems, colonial edges, places that were dots on a map. It had been possible to believe home was safe, that here, in their native system, life continued normally.
Now that illusion had shattered like Sarna-31's hull.
War had come home.
"Riel," Nyx said softly.
"Yes?" Riel answered just as softly.
"The Sphere... she wants to tell you something."
For a moment the screen changed. The station vanished, replaced by the Sphere's luminous avatar. Her bottomless eyes looked straight at Riel.
"I analyzed the data from the attack," the Sphere said in her usual colorless voice. "The station's energy shield was insufficient to withstand a kinetic strike of that force. If reinforced with technology I possess, the station would have held. Casualties would have been minimal."
Riel felt something tighten in her chest.
"I am prepared to transfer these technologies to you," the Sphere continued. "Enhanced energy shields, improved early-detection systems, kinetic-impact defense protocols. They will not provide absolute protection, but they will significantly increase survival probability."
The Sphere's avatar vanished, replaced by Nyx. Her large eyes were unusually serious.
"She agrees to help, Riel. Not only with shields. With anything we may need. She said..." Nyx stopped, searching for words. "...she does not want to see more 'undesirable outcomes.' I do not know if that counts as empathy, but it is a step, right?"
Riel said nothing. She looked at the ruined station while conflicting feelings warred inside her.
Hope, because the Sphere's technologies could save lives, protect home, give them a chance in this war.
And fear, because they would once again depend on a being that did not understand the value of what she protected. A being that called lives undesirable outcomes and offered help not from compassion, but from logic.
But in truth, there was no choice.
Not after what she had just seen.
"Tell the Sphere," Riel said quietly, "that we accept her help. And..." She faltered. "...tell her thank you. From me personally."
"I will," Nyx answered gently.
Riel leaned back in the pilot seat, unable to look away from the station. From the hole still pouring frozen air into space. From the emergency lights blinking desperately in the dark.
War had come home.
Now they would have to decide how far they were willing to go to protect it.