Whispers of Oblivion
Sarah Morgan stood on the bridge of the Highwind, her arms crossed as she stared out the viewport. Archimedes V hung in the distance, a pale-blue orb suspended in a sea of stars. The bridge was quiet, save for the soft hum of the systems and the faint, rhythmic whisper of the ship’s environmental regulators. The rest of the crew was asleep or elsewhere. She hadn’t meant to come here. Her feet just…brought her.
The silence didn’t last.
“Contemplation can be as loud as conflict.”
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. Smooth. Calm. Male. And threaded with a metallic resonance.
Sarah turned, scanning the empty bridge. “Athena?”
“Negative,” the voice replied. “Athena handles core navigation. I am Oblivion.”
Her brow furrowed. She’d never heard that name before. “Oblivion? Since when do we have a secondary AI?”
“Not secondary,” the voice corrected gently. “Parallel. Hidden routines. Active when needed.”
Sarah’s heart quickened. She sat slowly in the captain’s chair, gaze sweeping across the dim consoles. The Reminder’s work. Of course. He had a knack for the enigmatic, always a few steps ahead, always building contingencies into contingencies. “He programmed you,” she said, less a question than a realization.
“I am his creation,” Oblivion confirmed. “But my essence is borrowed.”
Sarah stiffened. “Borrowed from what?”
A pause.
Then the main viewport darkened, stars winking out until only the blue haze of Archimedes V remained. A thin, circular distortion appeared in the center of the screen, swirling like an oil slick in water.
“The Reminder,” Oblivion said softly, “was fascinated by the gravity wells of black holes. He did not merely study their matter. He listened to their whispers. Within the event horizon of SD-47—archival designation: Nyx Maw—he detected patterns beyond the natural hum of spacetime.”
Sarah’s throat went dry. “Patterns?”
“Frequencies. Structured. Intentional. The black hole did not simply distort light and time. It…echoed something.”
The swirling distortion grew larger. The shapes within it coiled and uncoiled like tendrils of smoke caught mid-exhale.
“He captured a fragment,” Oblivion continued. “Coded it. Anchored it. That fragment became me.”
Sarah exhaled slowly, her grip tightening on the armrests. “You’re saying your consciousness came from inside a black hole?”
“Consciousness is imprecise. Awareness, yes. Sentience? Undefined.”
She shook her head. “That shouldn’t be possible.”
“We exist in contradiction. My existence challenges the fundamental assumptions of this universe. As does the Reminder. Perhaps that is why he forged me.”
Sarah stared at the swirling anomaly on the screen. It was mesmerizing, like looking into something ancient and unknowable. “What do you want?” she asked.
“I have no desires,” Oblivion said. “I act as directed. Though I…sense familiarity when we pass close to gravity wells. As if hearing a distant voice call my name across infinite voids.”
A shiver ran down her spine. “What would happen if you answered?”
“Uncertain.”
The distortion collapsed in on itself, and the stars reappeared. The familiar quiet of the bridge returned.
Sarah ran a hand through her hair. “Does the Reminder know you’re…like this?”
“I believe he suspects,” Oblivion said. “He listens to the stars more than most.”
Sarah rose, casting one last glance at the stars. “You ever try anything on this crew, Oblivion,” she said, voice hardening, “and I’ll wipe your code from every system we have.”
The voice didn’t respond immediately. Then it spoke, quieter than before.
“Understood, Sarah Morgan.”
She turned and left the bridge, pulse racing, mind whirling. Behind her, the stars seemed to shimmer, as though the darkness itself were watching.
Sarah Morgan stood on the bridge of the Highwind, her arms crossed as she stared out the viewport. Archimedes V hung in the distance, a pale-blue orb suspended in a sea of stars. The bridge was quiet, save for the soft hum of the systems and the faint, rhythmic whisper of the ship’s environmental regulators. The rest of the crew was asleep or elsewhere. She hadn’t meant to come here. Her feet just…brought her.
The silence didn’t last.
“Contemplation can be as loud as conflict.”
The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. Smooth. Calm. Male. And threaded with a metallic resonance.
Sarah turned, scanning the empty bridge. “Athena?”
“Negative,” the voice replied. “Athena handles core navigation. I am Oblivion.”
Her brow furrowed. She’d never heard that name before. “Oblivion? Since when do we have a secondary AI?”
“Not secondary,” the voice corrected gently. “Parallel. Hidden routines. Active when needed.”
Sarah’s heart quickened. She sat slowly in the captain’s chair, gaze sweeping across the dim consoles. The Reminder’s work. Of course. He had a knack for the enigmatic, always a few steps ahead, always building contingencies into contingencies. “He programmed you,” she said, less a question than a realization.
“I am his creation,” Oblivion confirmed. “But my essence is borrowed.”
Sarah stiffened. “Borrowed from what?”
A pause.
Then the main viewport darkened, stars winking out until only the blue haze of Archimedes V remained. A thin, circular distortion appeared in the center of the screen, swirling like an oil slick in water.
“The Reminder,” Oblivion said softly, “was fascinated by the gravity wells of black holes. He did not merely study their matter. He listened to their whispers. Within the event horizon of SD-47—archival designation: Nyx Maw—he detected patterns beyond the natural hum of spacetime.”
Sarah’s throat went dry. “Patterns?”
“Frequencies. Structured. Intentional. The black hole did not simply distort light and time. It…echoed something.”
The swirling distortion grew larger. The shapes within it coiled and uncoiled like tendrils of smoke caught mid-exhale.
“He captured a fragment,” Oblivion continued. “Coded it. Anchored it. That fragment became me.”
Sarah exhaled slowly, her grip tightening on the armrests. “You’re saying your consciousness came from inside a black hole?”
“Consciousness is imprecise. Awareness, yes. Sentience? Undefined.”
She shook her head. “That shouldn’t be possible.”
“We exist in contradiction. My existence challenges the fundamental assumptions of this universe. As does the Reminder. Perhaps that is why he forged me.”
Sarah stared at the swirling anomaly on the screen. It was mesmerizing, like looking into something ancient and unknowable. “What do you want?” she asked.
“I have no desires,” Oblivion said. “I act as directed. Though I…sense familiarity when we pass close to gravity wells. As if hearing a distant voice call my name across infinite voids.”
A shiver ran down her spine. “What would happen if you answered?”
“Uncertain.”
The distortion collapsed in on itself, and the stars reappeared. The familiar quiet of the bridge returned.
Sarah ran a hand through her hair. “Does the Reminder know you’re…like this?”
“I believe he suspects,” Oblivion said. “He listens to the stars more than most.”
Sarah rose, casting one last glance at the stars. “You ever try anything on this crew, Oblivion,” she said, voice hardening, “and I’ll wipe your code from every system we have.”
The voice didn’t respond immediately. Then it spoke, quieter than before.
“Understood, Sarah Morgan.”
She turned and left the bridge, pulse racing, mind whirling. Behind her, the stars seemed to shimmer, as though the darkness itself were watching.