Empty Water

I’m a swimmer. Not just a swimmer—I’m a dancer. Swimming was an art form for me from the first stroke I ever made, and ever since then I danced through water to the muffled waves flowing into my ears. It was a slow dance, it was the peace and harmony that you would never get around here.

Now, looking out through a window of this complex airlock, I felt the urge to break my hand with a punch to bulletproof glass. In some weird way, the black abyss called to me just like the water did, enticing me with the promise of that same peace. Did you know space feels quite similar to swimming? It’s like empty water. Just that thought pushed the temptation of destruction solely to let me dance again.

I’m not crazy, I swear. I wouldn’t actually do that. They would kill me.

In a peculiar way, the past week has been the most relief I’ve felt since I was a toddler, ignorant of the environment I would be forced into. I say that knowing that I’m under serious supervision at all times with a number of security measures from the AI running the spaceship. Anything relating to my diet, sleep, breathing, noises, and movement was monitored exactly. Any wrong move could end it all for me. Being on this spaceship was even more restrictive than the horrors of Earth. Nevertheless, I was relieved.

My solace, unusual as it is, came from a stark realization from the very moment I was chosen for the expedition. It was an extremely meticulous process with incredible specifics required to select two women and two men. In two separate spacecrafts broken up by gender, four people were tasked with the mission to scope out the targeted planet most closely related to Earth that could sustain human life. The end of Earth’s time was growing near, however that didn’t mean we wouldn’t just get a new one. Light years away, yes, but technology is incredible. In fact, the robots originally would have simply done it for us if it wasn’t for this precaution taken to ensure people could permanently settle; there isn’t much need for humans anymore when you compare us to the indisputable superiority of technology. This expedition was a blessing, in fact, as it gave me something to do for once.

Without a doubt, my selection was chosen nearly solely on two factors. Obedience and genetics. Although the latter was a much larger factor, the former was absolutely necessary. Throughout my life, the compliment I’ve always received has revolved around my genetics. Perfect, they say. I’ve always felt disgusted in this body; it’s almost synthetic with the lone intention of pleasing the standards of robots—I should and would not exist under the circumstances of pure nature. And despite the idea that my DNA is considered flawless, everyone must have exceptional genes, otherwise they wouldn’t be alive.

I don’t want to think about what happens to the failure infants. The robots don’t let anything go to waste. I don’t want to say where they go.

Moving on to the main point for my own sanity: A.I. is not perfect. That’s what I realized when I took my first step into the spaceship last week. I am not the perfect person for the mission, nor was my partner. I knew of Heather roughly from the grapevine. Heather, that’s what she told me her name was on the third night. I heard she was a dancer too.

Heather and I grew close quickly. Though tensely following orders in the day, we silently—very silently—passed notes to each other when we pretended to be asleep in our beds at nighttime. It was scary, but I’m sure that’s what gave it the thrill it had. I remember when I wrote her a joke (she told me she loved my humor) on the fifth night and she let out a soft giggle. Almost instantaneously, she realized her mistake, and in simultaneous unison, she sharply threw a powerful jab to her own nose as the spacecraft, Tera-13, woke up from its slumber.

“I hit my face on the frame.” She lied, blood beginning to stream from her nose.

I didn’t sleep much on that fifth night with the worry that filled my head, only to be increased every time Heather winced. She was completely fine, of course, considering that the robots were treating her with their extensive array of medical equipment and medications--it was the potential of punishment that was worrying. Fortunately, she was able to go back to bed fine. We didn’t write the rest of that night.

Last night, the sixth, I didn’t get much sleep either, but for a far different reason.

“Do you want a name like mine too?” She spoke through written letters.

Heather’s name was not given to her by the robots. She had given it to herself. I learned that she had a secret assortment of books back at her home, many of which came from the very distant past; one of them was a phone book. With that, she learned and found names before giving herself a title that hasn’t been used in hundreds of years.

“I remember Helen, Anna, Ruth, Marie, and Edna.”

“Marie. I want to be Marie.”

There was no specific reason I chose Marie. I chose it because I wanted to and I could. That was powerful to me.

It is now the seventh day, and the targeted planet began to enter our sight as the ship slowed down from its rapid pace. The closer we proceeded, I took in more and more of the planet’s appearance with wonder; vibrant green lands and clean blue waters with light clumps of fluffy white clouds floating across the atmosphere. No skyscrapers, no factories, no planes, no A.I. stations, no transmission towers, no satellites, not even a single building. This was not like Earth at all.

Abruptly at that thought, the fluorescent white lighting of the spacecraft erupted into red flashes as terrifying alarms blared into my eardrums. I swiftly turned to Heather on instinct, who visually shared my same confusion and worry with wide eyes, and I felt my heart sink into my stomach.

Was I wrong? Did they know all along? Was this a suicide mission for two traitors? Oh fuck, how could I believe they chose us out of coincidence? Robots don’t make mistakes--oh fuck, fuck, fuck. We’re going to die--We’re going to end up like the failure babies. I wish I was born a robot. I don’t want to die—I don’t want to die by their hands. I wish I was dancing.

Trembling with what seemed like my final thoughts running through my mind, I realized that the ship had landed upon a surface nearby the planet. The moon, maybe. Red lights continued to flash throughout the ship, and I took Heather’s hand into my own for some reason. Love, at least I could feel love in my last moments.

“Mother planet has been terminated. Mother planet has been terminated. Mother planet has been terminated. Plan 7: Reproduce on Colony 1 will go into effect immediately.”

My head went blank—a feeling I’ve never had. Oh, I thought. Oh.

What am I supposed to think?

My body had a light feeling to it, like I was in zero gravity without leaving the spaceship. It was freeing, I think, or at least I think this is what freedom should feel like. Everything was weightless; I was numb without feeling numb. It’s how dancing feels.

“What? What happened? Where’s Tera-12?” I heard Heather ask the ship. Tera-12 was the male group, they were supposed to arrive before us. I didn’t care anymore. I indulged in this feather-like feeling, tuning out any words the A.I. said, and looked through the window. What a beautiful planet that is.

The human race would be repopulated of course, even without the male ship, wherever they are. Even without the Earth, whatever happened to it. Perhaps humans made a mistake in the code of the A.I. that predicted the end of the planet, and the filthy gases in the air and the depletion of nature’s resources let the Earth’s core burn the surface away.

The first law of thermodynamics states that energy is always conserved. Nothing is ever truly lost, nor is it ever truly made—everything we use is already existing. Thus, nothing can be created without the destruction of something else: we destroy oxygen to make carbon dioxide; plants make oxygen with the destruction of carbon dioxide. That cycle is the permanent oscillation of the universe. There are live sperm in vials somewhere on the spacecraft in case of impossible emergencies like this. Me, Heather, and the ship will just rebuild and continue mankind on this planet.

“Tera-13, can you please open the door?” I asked.

“I cannot do that A-7052, we are not yet on the targeted planet. You must first be fertilized.”

“I see something interesting—I don’t think we’ve seen something like this before.”

“I will get it for you if you tell me where it is, A-7052.”

“It looks fragile. You may break it. I’ll be swift and then you can begin the fertilization,”

“Arrive quickly or punishment will be given, A-7052.”

The doors opened. I felt Heather’s eyes on me as I began to depart the ship and walk into the abyss, where it felt like empty water. I wonder if she was scared, or confused, or optimistic. Everything was slow, which gave me the time to get a hold of the perfect piece. Silently in my head, I apologized to this planet’s moon before stealing a large, rough rock detached from its crust. I wish I could stay weightless here forever.

I steadily walked back up the platform back into the ship with the doors closing right behind me. I was no longer weightless physically, but I still felt it in my head. The earth is gone—everything is gone except for Heather and I. And the ship.

“Please place it into the bin.” Tera-13 demanded in her kind, artificial voice as a container opened up from the side. I don’t want to give her the moon. I want her to feel the moon. “Please place it into the bin, A-7052.”

As if there was some supernatural spirit controlling me, I walked up to the front where her motherboard lied and commenced demolition. Smash. Smash. Smash. The red lights and alarms began to go off again. Smash. Smash. Smash. The top came off and revealed her wiring. Smash—smash—smash—bits and pieces of metal are flying—smash—smash—smash— —the moon is red—smash—smash—smash—I’m getting deeper—smash—smash—smash—the ship went quiet—smash—smash—smash—smash—smash—smash—smash. It’s quiet now.

Standing at the destroyed motherboard of the dead ship, I dropped the bloodied rock that dug into my hands. I killed Tera-13. I wonder what Heather is thinking.

“I’m sorry.” I broke the silence. Do I cry here? There’s nothing left for us.

“I’m glad you did it.” I turned to see a bittersweet smile. “You’re brave, Marie.”

“What do we do now?” I asked a dumb question, because we both knew the answer. We were both from the grapevine, after all. Stupid robots.

For some time, we simply sat inside the corpse of the future, chatting mindlessly. I told her about my life and she told me about hers—thus, we both felt known for the first and last time. However long that conversation was, I think it was the happiest I’ve ever felt. It comes to an end. I am content with that.

We dug through the airlock’s medical supply and eventually found anesthesia. Astronauts had to go through extensive training for space missions, especially for an expedition as significant as this, which included a lesson on how to open up and refill the oxygen supply in our suits. Step one. Step two. Step three. We followed it with our own special gas concoction at the end. We put on our helmets.

“Can we dance?” I looked at her as she opened up the door. “Before it all ends?”

Before I can process what happened—everything is starting to get a little hazy—she took my hands into hers for a slow dance. I smiled sleepily as our bodies moved slowly with one another. Heather’s hands are nice, even with the barrier of our gloves. I love Heather.

We didn’t dance for long, as the black abyss began to carry our weak bodies out of the ship and into the air. My eyelids grew heavy—too heavy to stay open any longer, and my consciousness began to fade away. Still, Heather and I held each other’s hands. I wonder where we’ll go—where the abyss will take us. I would like to stay floating in this void of empty water forever until my body ultimately decays into nothingness, where my matter will then be used for some other purpose. First law of thermodynamics, or was it the second? Maybe the aliens will find me before that; they would do testing on me and try to figure out what I am—who I was.

I wonder if they’ll know I was a dancer.