Work Text:
Something pings in Beta’s mind, and she is awake.
It is less of a noise than it is a physical sensation. A small electrical input created by her implant that stimulates the part of her brain that deals with her consciousness. She is not only awake, but aware, within microseconds.
She knows that she has slept for exactly 8.46 hours, the amount of time that her implant has determined allows her to learn with the most proficiency. Beta does not know what time it is. There are no clocks in her room, and no celestial bodies to be used as a way of measurement. The lights in her room automatically brighten, the soft sound of classical music increasing in volume until it reaches its peak.
Her body wakes up slower than her mind. She lacks the subdermal implants of her benefactors, the ones that have assisted in suspending the aging processes. She wiggles her toes and her fingers, and when she feels that she has sufficiently woken her body, Beta swings her legs delicately over the side of her bed.
She has 30 minutes before her training begins - so says the timer that had begun once she woke. This is more than enough time, so she leisurely makes her bed as she had been instructed to do. She repositions the pillow so that she may tuck the sheets into the mattress, and smooth it until there are no lines or wrinkles in the soft, gray fabric. She tucks back a small strip of the blanket that is exactly 3.5 inches wide. Then she carefully places the pillow back into place, above the blanket. It has been less than four minutes.
Beta turns her attention to the door at the foot of her bed, and it opens with a small gush of air as she approaches, causing the short hairs around her face to fan out. She enters the bathroom and relieves herself before pushing open the door of the shower, which signals the water to begin pouring from an opening in the ceiling, dispensing at a perfect temperature for her comfort. The water smells of whatever chemical that is used to cleanse it so that it may be recycled.
Beta takes her time with this, as well. She will come to remember these moments as the ones she found herself to be the most human. She holds out her hand beneath a small cavern in the tiled wall, and it dispenses a small amount of soap to wash her body. She runs her hands over herself, and lets out a long sigh, loosening the tension that had gathered in her muscles.
Her body had changed over the past few years. She had come to realize that these changes were normal, but only after several panicked questions to her servitor, who answered her questions as vaguely and calmly as possible.
When her hair and body are sufficiently clean, Beta steps out of the shower and wraps herself in a fresh towel. The steam had been vacuumed from the room through a vent, which left little condensation on the mirror. Beta can see her reflection as she gargles with a blue liquid that stings her gums.
Beta has no idea if she is beautiful. According to what she has been able to gather from the data she can access, beauty was highly valued in Earth’s society before the Faro Plague. Once it began, she supposes, beauty mattered very little. Still, the humans on earth had bought and sold beauty for generations, unaware of their coming demise.
Beta brushes through her short, red hair. She has seen photos of Elisabet Sobeck - the Alpha to her Beta. The woman she was created to embody, the savior of the Earth that her benefactors had abandoned to machines. She had the same hair, cropped above her shoulders in a modest and sensible style - the same green eyes.
But Beta had spent ten minutes in her shower, and needs to move on. So she abandons the mirror, and changes into a fresh set of clothing. Long, white pants, and a soft, wide t-shirt. She discards the towel into a hamper. It would be gone by the time she was finished with her training, and a new one would be waiting in the bathroom.
When she exits, she finds a tray at her desk. It is silver, and on top of it is a cup with a lid and a straw. Inside is her meal, the only one that remains after almost two decades of travel. The rehydrated powder is slightly bitter, but it contains all of the nutrients Beta needs, and she finds that it is easier to drink it as quickly as possible than draw it out. So she takes it from her tray and sips away, moving to look out a small window.
It is dark, as it is every time she wakes. Still, Beta continues to look outside of the ship, awaiting the day that the ship slows and Earth comes into view. For now, it is only darkness, the ship moving too fast for Beta’s eyes to detect any passing light.
When Beta finishes her meal, she has five minutes until her training begins. She sets the mug back on its tray, and sits in her chair, placing her arms on the rests at the side so that her muscles do not cramp. And then she waits.
The world fades away, and she is in a white room.
“Hello, Beta,” says Aspasia, her lovely face smiling at her as it did every day.
“You are looking well,” Aristotle notes. “Shall we begin immediately?”
“Yes,” Beta answers, though she knows that she is not speaking. She is in her mind, and also in the Apollo network that is currently restricted to The Odyssey - her benefactors’ ship. This world, this room, these people - none of it is real.
She spends the next several hours pouring through lessons - ones that the Apollo Avatars have accumulated. Some are familiar, assessing her understanding of the material. Others are new, and require more of her attention. She prefers these lessons. The others are repetitive and bore her.
“You are making excellent progress today, Beta,” says Aristotle. “What would you like to work on next?”
A panel opens up in the channel, where it lists the open projects available to her. They are all familiar - all but one, which Beta immediately selects. She is halfway through her day, and wants to put off further analyzing Travis Tate’s chaotic recordings of his Hades project. She has learned many new words in listening to his data recordings, and only recently began to understand why they waited until she was older to allow her access to them.
The room shimmers, the panel disappearing. No work appears.
“Aspasia, I think something is wrong,” Beta tells her.
“I can detect no malfunctions, Beta.”
The Avatar’s face momentarily obscures before returning to normal, and Beta jumps. “What is happening?”
“I can detect no malfunctions, Beta,” Aspasia says again.
“Aristotle,” Beta calls. “Something is wrong with this lesson.”
“Return to your lesson, please,” he replies, politely.
Something is wrong. This lesson has malfunctioned, and Beta attempts to summon the lesson panel again. It pops up, but just as Beta reaches up her hand to select another, a stream of letters appear in the air above her, blinking in quick succession.
She watches them for a minute or so before commanding the AI. “Paper and pencil.”
Beta writes down the series of letters, but they are nonsensical. She files through the languages she has studied, one by one dismissing them as possibilities. Then, she remembers an old lesson that she had mastered ages ago - one she had found particularly fun and challenging.
“Graph paper,” she demands, and it appears in front of her. It takes her a long time to understand how many rows to make on her graph paper, but she understands that she is on the right track once the word “Beta” appears in the first few columns.
She has been given a transpositional cipher. She quickly deciphers the rest of the message. It is made up of strange, abnormal instructions, but Beta can only conclude that this is another assessment of her abilities - how she might accomplish difficult tasks under duress, and without direct instruction.
However, when she follows the directions given by the cipher, the world bottoms out from beneath her. It is as if the ship has stopped functioning, and she is free falling through space. Beta screams.
But her body lands softly on a cold tile floor, curled into herself like an infant. It takes her a moment to unravel her head from where her arms are cradling it. When she does, she finds herself inside of a large, bright room. Beta scrambles to her feet.
It is so glaringly bright that Beta’s head begins to spin. There is a kitchen behind her, with fruit in a bowl on the counter. She is standing in the middle of a large sitting area, with shelves filled with books on either side of her, and a large instrument in the corner. Ahead of her is an opening to an enormous balcony. She can hear unfamiliar, interesting sounds pouring in.
So Beta follows these new sensations and discovers the ocean as she leans over the edge of the building, marveling at how huge and blue it is.
This is Earth. This is Elisabet’s dream, the world she loved so dearly that she sacrificed everything for it. This is home.
“I was hoping you would find me earlier in your day.”
Beta whirls towards the voice, and finds a tall, thin woman gaining on her. She smiles patiently, her bright, cropped hair shimmering in the light. Beta immediately recognizes that she is no Avatar.
“Who are you?” she asks, and finds herself afraid.
“I am Tilda,” she says. “We have met, briefly - but you would not recognize my face or my voice. Your implant was coded to construe them.”
“You are one of… them.” Beta marvels at this woman. Emotions flitter across her face in a way that is distinctly human. She wishes that she knew more about these feelings, about how they manifest through facial expressions, so that she could understand why this woman was looking at her in such a way that made her stomach both light and heavy.
“I am,” Tilda answers. “And I am sorry it took so long for us to properly meet. Please, sit.” Tilda waves her hand towards a small table that is set with fruit and cookies and other various treats. Beta immediately complies, eyeing the food.
“Does this mean that we are close?” Beta asks. “Will we be reaching Earth soon?”
Tilda sits, graceful in a way that is almost unnerving. Beta feels clumsy in comparison. “By our calculations, we will reach Earth in no less than eighteen months, and no more than thirteen, if we are still using Earth’s solar rotation as a means of measuring time.”
Tilda watches her as Beta’s eyes sweep over the table. “Why did you create a false assignment in my Apollo interface?”
“Try anything that you like,” Tilda told her, avoiding her question. “It is all delicious, I promise you. You will enjoy it.”
Beta picks up a biscuit, one side of it dipped in chocolate. She has never tasted this, there had never been any unnecessary snacks sent to her room on The Odyssey; if there had ever been any on the ship to begin with. She brings it to her nose and inhales, the sweet scent of it gently gliding against her senses. When she tastes it, she moans. It is incredible .
Tilda is smiling when she opens her eyes, having closed them to linger in the sensation. She brings a cup with a dark liquid inside to her lips.
“Will I be seeing the others?” Beta asks, head swiveling to search for them.
“No,” Tilda says firmly. “And if any are to ask, you should not tell them of this data channel I have created for you.”
“Why?”
“They,” Tilda began, and then sighed. “They believe that it may distract you, that after so many years in isolation, meeting us prior to reaching Earth might compromise our mission there. They are very protective of you.”
“Why are you going against their wishes, then?” she asks, devouring the rest of the biscuits on the table. Beta attempts to drink from the matching cup in front of her, also filled with the same dark liquid. It is bitter, and she places it back down, scowling.
Tilda sighs again, and Beta thinks she might be uncomfortable with her questions. “We left our home quickly, out of necessity. We can not return. Our chance at survival is on Earth - with Gaia. I think it is important that you know your role in this plan, to understand how important you are.”
Something swells in Beta’s chest. It is a feeling she is unfamiliar with, and it warms her blood as it floods her chest and cheeks. “Why did you have to leave your home? Why can’t you return?”
“These questions are unnecessary, Beta. Because we have you.” Tilda thrust her hands forward, her long arms reaching halfway across the table towards Beta. “You are our salvation. You are our… final hope.”
There was something tight in her expression as she spoke, and something that was distinctly human in Beta recognized that Tilda is…very sad.
Their meetings continued for a very long time. Beta would find herself more eager to wake, rushing through her routines too quickly, and forced to sit and wait for her implant to whisk her away into the Apollo Database. When the odd assignment she recognized as Tilda’s invitation appeared in her panel, she would waste no time before opening up the data channel. On the days she did not, Beta knew she must wait.
The time they spent together meant everything to her. Happiness was a foreign but welcome friend to Beta. Tilda’s approving smile as she explored the art and data in her home was the first thought she had when her implant woke her, and the last thing she thought of before her implant lulled her to sleep.
Tilda never warmed to Beta’s questions, and she learned to stop asking them after a time. Still, Tilda would spend most of their time together speaking on art and music that she loved, cafes and bookstores she used to frequent. Sometimes she would speak of Elisabet in passing, but Beta learned quickly that questions about her were most unwelcome.
Sometimes Tilda would sit at her piano - the mighty instrument in her sitting room - and play while Beta searched through her books, through the data files of old shows that she became quickly attached to.
Over time, the meetings became less frequent. Beta assumed that Tilda wanted her to prepare for the upcoming arrival to Earth, so she focused very hard on her studies. But the meetings never continued at their original frequency.
And, just as quickly as they had begun, they stopped altogether.
—
“Alert. Intruders. Alert.”
The automated words ring in the air around them, but Beta hardly hears them as she is released from the Specter drone. Gerard urges her forward, to the platform in front of a large, metal door. She does not bother to look at him. Not when Tilda stands to his right, eyes impassively lingering on the door as if she does not exist.
The scan begins automatically, a light reaching out to Beta and running over her body slowly, analyzing her.
“Genetic profile confirmed,” the voice says again. “Entry authorized. Greetings, Dr. Sobeck. Please step inside.”
Nausea pierces its way through her gut. And Tilda, despite ignoring her still, might have moved her chin a few inches in her direction, and then returned her attention fully to the door as it opened.
Specters race ahead of them, in their gravity-defying way that still unnerves her. They station themselves at the exit - loyal, unyielding sentinels.
“Hmm,” Gerard hums. “Looks promising. Beta?”
Her knees are weak as she moves into the room, immediately eyeing the console that is already illuminated, but ignoring it momentarily. There is a large, metal machine in the center of the room, and from the soft sounds bubbling up from below them, the facility had long since flooded.
This is not the Earth she had envisioned. It is not the Earth Tilda had shown her, or the world that the Old Ones had taken advantage of.
No. This world is filled with violence. Faro’s machines had been replaced by metal monsters that roamed freely, forsaking the tasks given to them by Gaia to defend themselves against tribal peoples. And her benefactors…
They had spared no time in slaughtering the people who had made their homes around the facilities they wanted entry to. Beta had seen blood before, but never so much.
She had studied this facility. The Hades Proving Lab. She approaches one of the large wheels of the machine, and places her hand on the bright console. It spins, giving her access to what she had been created to find, what her benefactors had searched for since their arrival - a Gaia kernel. The base code for the terraforming system, without her subfunctions.
“Do we have it?” Gerard asks from the doorway. Beta turns and holds it in front of her, words failing her. “Fantastic.” Beta begins walking back towards the door, eager to leave. “Did the pulse originate here?”
Beta pauses, and turns toward the console. It is already activated, already running programs that should have long ceased.
“Is someone…” she muses.
If there is someone here, someone they deem to be a threat… Beta could not expose them and risk more bloodshed. If they had sent out the signal, it had brought them to the appropriate facility to find a Gaia kernel. They are no enemy of theirs.
“Something wrong?”
Beta stares into the bright light pouring through the door for a moment. No. She will not participate in this. This is not what Elisabet would have wanted.
She turns back to the console, content to return the facility to its dormant state, and allow whoever had led them there to escape. The arms of the large machine moved upward, the wheels at the end lifting into the air.
Beta locks eyes with her - this stranger who looks so familiar. With long, red hair that is braided with beads throughout it, wearing clothing padded with machine armor.
Those were her eyes. Elisabet’s eyes. This stranger - this clone who should not exist - stood and immediately moved to shield herself, the shock and fear that Beta felt mirrored in this woman’s expression.
“Shit.”
The clone scrambled into a defensive stance, what skin was left visible rippling with muscle, striped with scars. Her weapons hung from her armor, as useless as decorations against Beta’s benefactors.
“Specters,” Gerard commanded. “Beta.”
No.
Don’t let them take me.
Elisabet.
Please.
But the Specters took hold of her before she could find her voice, and Beta was stolen away from the stranger with her face.