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“Perhaps the underground needs a sky as brilliant as the one above,” the roving traveler mused as she reached out for the light blue crystal cocoon of Remnant Energy.
The moment she touched the cocoon her waveworn frequencies were absorbed, sampled, and analyzed by it. Her thoughts and feelings, coalesced with the energies inside the cocoon giving it form and substance. And since it had been created as a tool, the Remnant Creature within manifested into a shape that most closely resembled the frequencies it had assimilated into itself, as it had computed it to be the most effective model that could easily facilitate understanding between itself and its guide.
Thus, from the chrysalis was born a woman with haunting blue-purple eyes that looked both innocent and sad, and a delicate mouth that was either smiling or weeping. Her entire appearance, from her hair to her attire, was insubstantial, ethereal, beautiful.
“I am the Shorekeeper,” said the woman, “a tool created for you.”
The rover stared at the young woman—could she even call her that, she wondered—who introduced herself not by a name but more a title.
“It’s straightforward,” the rover said, contemplating. “But it hardly sounds like a name.”
“A tool does not require a name,” the Shorekeeper answered matter-of-factly. “It is merely a title and will not affect my ability to perform.”
They stood in silence, and the Shorekeeper wondered what it was she saw reflected in her guide’s golden eyes. She questioned if taking this human form had been the correct answer. Because if her appearing as human was going to give her guide pause in utilizing her, perhaps it would have been better had she taken a different shape. She was but a tool, after all.
Even the use of personable pronouns like “ she ” or “ her ” to refer to the self was incongruent with her ( its ) core programming.
Finally, her guide and master, the Astral Modulator, sighed softly.
“Well, we will have plenty of time to talk about that.”
The Astral Modulator smiled at her and the Shorekeeper, without deliberation, dedicated a portion of her memory to store that image. Later, she would evaluate why she had done so when it did not serve the purpose she had been created for.
As an observer, the Shorekeeper was constantly perplexed by humans.
She can accurately recreate the patterns of human behaviour in her Sonorospheres and take them to their most logical conclusions, even with the margin of error brought about by their contradictory decision-making. How can they use the same action to both signify joy and sorrow? Why do some act opposite to their desires? How are they capable of extreme violence and yet may also possess boundless mercy? She did not understand. She knew them, she just didn’t understand them.
Perhaps they were too young, the Shorekeeper concluded. Their civilizations had only prospered in the past thousand years or so. Compare that to the trillions of years the planet and the other lifeforms that predated them have had, and one may derive from the data that the humans are still on track in evolving past their discrepant nature.
She wondered if this was correct though. For the human who guides her, the Astral Modulator, despite her eons of existence still exhibited the same incongruencies in her decisions, the same as them that she would act in ways opposite to even the Tethys System’s recommendations.
For one thing, she had an obstinate tendency to treat the Shorekeeper like any other human instead of what she actually was: a tool.
“Where are we going?” the Shorekeeper asked.
“A farming village aboveground,” the Modulator answered. “Tethys predicted that the Lament will hit it in a year. We still have time, so I thought perhaps we can gather some more data.” In the hopes that any additional information may help them in preventing the incoming catastrophe altogether, she thought.
For the first time, the Shorekeeper experienced a human civilization firsthand. She had met other humans before, of course. The Black Shores had a number of them recruited by the Tethys System. But this was the first time she has ever lived with humans. They were as confounding in real life as they were in her simulations. What was different though was actually the Shorekeeper herself. She could no longer be as detached as she was when all she did was analyze the data and calculate the probabilities. Instead, she was curious about everything—things she knew intellectually—and exhibited eagerness in experiencing everything, like a child stepping out of their home for the first time. Her natural curiosity brought a small smile to her guide’s face, unbeknownst to her.
All the while, the Astral Modulator was there holding her hand, guiding her. It served no real purpose for their data gathering mission but Shorekeeper found that she was unable to let go.
But as the Tethys System had predicted, Lament struck a year later.
They had stayed in that village, and together they have become a part of its everyday reality for the past year. So when tragedy struck, these were not just numbers churned out by some calculation. They were neighbours who fell into despair, friends who cried out in anguish. Yet even then, it was still difficult for the Shorekeeper to deviate from her programming.
“A future that has been altered is destined to be altered. Attempting to change predetermined outcomes should be avoided,” she echoed the Tethys System’s instructions.
“I can’t just stand by and do nothing,” said her friend, her First Instance. “If this is the cost of reaching tomorrow, I question whether such a tomorrow is worth it.”
The Shorekeeper could not comprehend her friend’s words. This was one of the times she would exhibit the same divergent behaviour as the other humans. Even so, the Shorekeeper responded by expanding the Stellarealm to heal and protect the people.
They had tried to save as many as they could until reinforcement finally arrived, subduing all the remaining Tacet Discords, and rescuing all survivors. The casualty count and scope of destruction did not quite reach the number the Tethys System had predicted, the difference exceeding its margin of error by quite a bit. The Shorekeeper wondered if it was because of the Astral Modulator’s actions, and by extension, hers as well. The Lament had struck as predicted but other smaller events had diverged.
One of these diverging outcomes was a boy whom her calculations predicted should have perished alongside his parents, but managed to survive thanks perhaps to their efforts. And he was now set on a path that would lead him to the Black Shores.
“Tethys didn’t predict this. That child isn’t a candidate we need,” the Shorekeeper said.
“Not everything requires Tethys’ command,” the Modulator replied. “Humans aren’t bound by such restrictions…”
The Shorekeeper frowned at this. She understood that humans were not bound by her and the Tethys System’s calculations, they were unpredictable and stubborn and contradictory. But any outcome should already be predetermined, all anyone could do was wait for time’s inevitable march to the end. Or was she incorrect to think that? The aftermath of this Lament was not as devastating as they had predicted by a margin of 2.3%. Could there have been a problem with her logic? Or was it only a case of having computed from incomplete data? Maybe she needed to learn more about the humans and gather more data from them.
“You seem to be lost in thought,” said the Astral Modulator, shaking the Shorekeeper from her reverie. “Remember the past year? I wanted you to see and experience these things for yourself.” She leaned closer to the Shorekeeper and took both of her hands in hers. “We aren’t data or abstract concepts stored in records—we’re your companions.”
“Companions…,” the Shorekeeper repeated, looking back at her past year of experiences in the village. A year of simulating the life of a human with her guide and friend. “Humans are truly complex beings… I don’t yet understand them, but I hope, one day, I will.”
A subtle, hidden anticipation began to stir within her, as she continued to hold on to the Astral Modulator’s hands. She realized there was at least one human she truly wished to understand more.
She didn’t let go even as the ship continued its trip towards the Black Shores, towards home.
The years passed by the thousands.
In her attempt to understand more about her companion, the Shorekeeper gradually dedicated a great deal of her computational capabilities to monitoring the Astral Modulator. This wasn’t an issue and did not interfere with her usual tasks. She could still see her missions through and was able to perform calculations with no significant lag. But by doing so, she came to appreciate her companion more. By tuning into their shared frequencies, she was now able to better comprehend her emotions and even discern her thoughts from her actions. And ever since the Resonance Beacons went online, she now also knew where she was at any given moment, something she used to only be able to do when the Modulator was on their shores.
“See?” her companion said as she played the piano. “Just let it flow out of you, like this.”
Music did not rank high in the list of priorities necessary to the survival of humanity, according to the Tethys System. But it had been deemed necessary to the survival of human civilization, according to the Astral Modulator, and the Shorekeeper agreed.
“You can do it, too. Come, give it a try.”
She patted the seat next to her even as her other hand continued to play the melody. It was a new composition of hers, a small duet she had wanted to teach the Shorekeeper so they could play it together.
Over the years, the Shorekeeper had started doing more and more things that deviated from her core programming. Things she would have found unnecessary because it had nothing to do with her purpose.
She did not need to eat, but found that she enjoyed it. Her favorite food was her companion’s famous seafood chowder and would not pass up the chance whenever she cooks it. It was now common knowledge to all Black Shores members that whenever the Founder makes a batch of chowder, they would always— always —need to set aside at least a single bowl for the Shorekeeper. No one wanted a repeat of the blackout during the winter of ‘49, so much so that it’s even included in the onboarding process for new recruits.
She did not need to sleep, and what other people considered as her sleeping was just her shutting down the functions of her physical body when it was no longer necessary for her to move around. Her mind was always active, and it was at this time that she could dedicate almost a hundred percent of her computing prowess back to her original purpose in assisting the Tethys System, because it was a time she did not need to monitor the Astral Modulator anymore for she would have also retired for the night. But ever since that first night she accompanied her to bed so she wasn’t alone after a particularly disastrous mission, the Shorekeeper would now ensure she left a bit of her consciousness in her body so that it may simulate a sleep pattern for her companion’s benefit. There was something about feeling the warmth of another living being next to her that would have made the Shorekeeper’s heart race if she had one.
She did not need to learn how to play the piano, but if she did then she may share more of these moments with her companion, her First Instance. And spending more time with her was now in the top levels of her prioritized directives, more so than assisting Tethys or dealing with the Lament.
“Fill it with all that you desire,” her companion had once said. And so the Shorekeeper did.
When the Astral Modulator enacted her daring plan to escape the Mobius Loop, for a moment—or maybe a couple hundred years—the Shorekeeper was thrown into confusion. She had known of the plan—had been given specific directives on her next course of action after it was executed—yet she did not understand how it would affect her until it did. In those moments after the First Instance’s memories were wiped and all evidence of her existence was deleted from the Tethys System, the Shorekeeper was acutely aware that some parts of herself had died, too.
For who else knew her as completely as that roving star did? From the moment she was born into the world only she knew everything about her. They were both immortal beings, meaning that no one else but them could ever fully know the other. Humans in general would only live a fraction of their lives and thus would only know a part of them that lived through a particular era. The same was true for both the First Instance and her, the Second Instance. They only truly had each other in this world.
Thus by erasing all of her memories, the Modulator had unwittingly erased a part of Shorekeeper’s existence with it. Neither of them had been aware that this would be the case but at that moment it was as if Shorekeeper’s dearest and only friend, her lover, her kin, her family—told her to cease to exist.
The Shorekeeper did not begrudge her this decision. It was not made lightly. Yet understanding that did not take away from the pain she didn’t know she was capable of feeling.
But soon afterwards, the Founder of the Black Shores subsequently disappeared. The Shorekeeper did not know where she went. She could not find her anywhere on Solaris-III, and this pained her even more.
For the Shorekeeper’s complex mind was made up of several hundred thousands of prioritized directives, all with their own distinct levels of required attention. Anything below 50,000 levels was routinely ignored, like all communications and satellite transmissions outside of their shores. She was aware of virtually all of them, but she did nothing about it.
Anything not in the top ten thousand was handled automatically by her vast computing capabilities. These would include the day-to-day functionalities of the Black Shores, terminal communications, facilities and amenities operation, managing the KU-robots, beacon maintenance and monitoring, recruitment evaluation reports, among others.
Her top thousand levels involved her calculations for assisting the Tethys System and operating her physical body and personal consciousness.
The full half of her top ten levels of attention was then dedicated to monitoring the Astral Modulator, how she was feeling, what she was doing, and where she was at any given time. This was what she gave her utmost attention to.
So when one day her Roving Star had vanished from the constellations of the Tethys System, the Shorekeeper’s top levels of attention abruptly became empty. For a few seconds of physical time, she was blind. But due to the unimaginable speed at which her mind processes everything, she was essentially lost for hundreds of years.
Was the void she was born from as deep and desolate as this void she had left within her, she had wondered in despair. That she was capable of feeling despair was not something she would have ever wished to learn about herself.
Her roving Star was her bridge to humanity. Everything she knew of humanity in a more intimate manner came from her. But now that person was gone and so for Shorekeeper to understand more of humanity, she needed to experience more of it.
In an attempt to fill the void that was left by the Astral Modulator’s absence, the Shorekeeper made the decision to serve as the vessel through which all Reverberation data flowed, passing through her core into Tethys. She dedicated the top levels of her attention that used to contain everything about the First Instance back to their original functions.
Grief. Resistance. Exhaustion. Decay.
Birds died in panic, their hollow eyes fixed on the earth.
Suffering. Chaos. Loss. Extinction.
Scattered flowers were crushed to dust. Stiffened hands remained frozen in desperate grasping.
Fear. Loathing. Anger. Resentment.
Cracks spidered through her body, the sound of shattering echoing continuously within.
Agony? Agony… Agony, agony!
Was all this suffering so great that her energies couldn’t handle it? No, it had always been an incredible burden, and she was always meant to constantly repair herself with more energy crystals to take on the load. She was but a tool, all she needed was to reform from new crystals while focusing solely on her purpose. There was no need for ego—her consciousness, her memories, her sense of self took up considerable amounts of computational power. She could just give all that up. Everyone had already made their choice after all.
A heartbeat. Radiant frequencies. Black hair. Golden eyes. A sad smile. A determined voice. Soft hands. The scent of cooking. The sound of a piano. The warmth of a body in her arms. An affectionate kiss to her cheek.
With a gasp, Shorekeeper stopped the Tethys System from overriding her most precious memories in its attempt to restore her from a new batch of Remnant Energy. It would have repaired her and thrown away all her experiences and all her emotions for they did not serve their purpose. All it needed was a tool.
But she was the Shorekeeper.
She was no mere entity of energy. She was no mere tool that can be tossed aside or remade anew. It mattered that she remained as herself. It mattered to her. It mattered to everyone. And she knew it mattered to her companion, her friend, her guide, her First Instance. Wherever she was, even if she could no longer remember her, it would still matter that the Shorekeeper endured until the day they could meet again.
I am… the one and only Shorekeeper because of you.
It’s been many years since she had first confined herself underground as the core of Tethys. In exchange for keeping her experiences, her memories, and emotions intact, she gave up managing a physical body. It was somewhere then that new Black Shores members no longer knew the faces of their Founder and the Shorekeeper, because no one ever saw them anymore.
But one day. One fateful day. A tug in Shorekeeper’s consciousness made her pause from her usual functions.
A report from the lowest levels of her attention was steadily increasing in priority. It was faint at first and so the Shorekeeper ignored it along with the rest. Perhaps a spike in the planet’s satellite transmission traffic, she thought. But it persisted in its rise in her priorities, until it was occupying a new row in her top hundred levels of attention.
A heartbeat. A familiar frequency.
She could hardly believe it. If she still had a body, then it would have simulated her holding her breath. Phantom tears fell from phantom eyes. But the feeling of relief and the overflow of emotion was real.
She missed her. So she looked for her.
Shorekeeper found her unconscious somewhere in the Gorges of Spirits. It was her. It was really her. But there was something wrong, she needed help and Shorekeeper, in her butterfly form, could only do so much. There were other Resonators nearby, she realized. Maybe they can help her while Shorekeeper gradually regains more of the power she had given up to the Tethys System.
One day, Shorekeeper will come back for her, and take her back home to these shores. To their shores. Their home.
“That sounds familiar,” said Rover. “I feel like I heard it before.”
“A long time ago, you taught me how to play it,” Shorekeeper said, a sad smile on her lips.
A look of distress flashed across the Rover’s face.
“I see,” she murmured, eyes downcast. “But I… I have no memory of it.”
Shorekeeper bridged the space between them on the seat.
“I’ll teach you,” she said, warmly. “Just like you did for me before.”
And with soft delicate fingers, Shorekeeper took Rover’s hand and placed it firmly on the keys of the piano. A sigh escaped her as she felt the warmth of her companion’s hand, remembering when she had done the same for her all those years ago.
It did not matter that Rover could not remember. Besides, Shorekeeper still had her memories of their time together. And for now, maybe that was enough. They can just create new memories from now on.
“Come, give it a try.”