Capsule

Chapter 10

The sun rises over the prairie—strips of violet, orange, yellow, and red paint the sky. The Long shadows of the debris field slowly begin to shrink again. Yonge wakes up and breathes in the cold morning air. He gets up and starts collecting the debris. Crates and spilled cardboard boxes that they never even searched. From canned food to t-shirts to action figures. He takes a white t-shirt with Terra Omega logos and puts it on. It is a little tight, but he knows it will help prevent sunburn. He takes another shirt with the Epsilon project logo and puts it on Synth, removing the IZed shirt with the torn-up back. He finds a vacuum-sealed bag of dehydrated mangoes and takes out the knife from one of his jumpsuit pockets. The mangoes put a temporary end to the raging storm in his stomach. After he collects everything he can find, he gets to work. He examines the car. The firebox is empty, and the tank has a very large dent in it, but it has remained sealed and is still three-quarters of the way full. There are several tears and breaks in the tubing. He uses duct tape to seal them, collects cardboard and wooden debris, and loads the fireplace. He exits the car and looks through the piles of debris until he finds the jack. Epsilon's power cord is still in the glovebox. He gets the car going and plugs in Epsilon. As soon as they are plugged in, they come back online.

"Hello again," Epsilon says. "That IZIMIDATO unit was getting cramped. Am I to assume you have restored the car to its proper function?"

"Almost," Yonge says with relief. "The engine is running sluggishly; I can feel it. I'm missing my feeler gauges and my socket wrench set from my toolkit. I will need your help to fix it."

"Accessing files. Do you have the engine's serial number?"

"Yes. It is RKJ, 104, 4C9, 567, 25Z."

Epsilon assists Yonge in repairing the engine using holographic visual assistance and various scanning techniques. They optimize the pressure in the cylinders given what they have and try to build a steam recycling system to increase the car's efficiency. Yonge finds the repairs calming. He has always felt that way about his work. Going through the flow of each system, he is addicted to the satisfaction of problem-solving. In this environment, he knows everything. He has complete control of his surroundings: no mother nature wildcards, no lies, no betrayals, no heartbreak, no death. Solids, liquids, and gases work together to fulfill a common goal. He does not remember much about his past, but he remembers that this is why he wanted to become an engineer. The car is fully functional by the end of the subsequent day. He loads the rest of the supplies into the trailer and reconnects it to the car. He then unplugs Epsilon and lowers the jack, and packs it away. He loads Epsilon into the front of the car. The passenger door is missing, and the driver's side window is gone. Yonge duct tapes the crack in the windshield, and the following morning he continues onwards. Following the sun on its journey westward. Yonge is disturbed by the eerie silence. He puts in the surprisingly intact Elvis CD. The songs do nothing to displace his discomfort.

"I've noticed that you only have the one Elvis album," Epsilon says. "My database is equipped with every piece of professionally recorded music in human history."

"Including very obscure grunge music?" Yonge asks.

"Which band?"

"I believe they were called Velvet Toolshed?"

"Do you mean Velvet Toolset? I have their full discography. Which song would you like to hear?"

"Any song."

"Now playing "No Good Story Starts with Shots" by Velvet Toolset."

The music lightens the mood. Yonge starts singing along with the music. Epsilon pauses the song shortly after the chorus.

"If I may make a suggestion, head Northwest." They say. "You will reach Yorkton, the nearest major city to here that is along our route. Basically, put the sun's arc at a forty-five-degree angle to your left, and you are all set."

"Got it." Yonge acknowledges as Epsilon continues playing the music.

As the next song comes on, Yonge tries something.

"Hey, Epsilon, this song is a duet. Wanna sing?" He asks.

"I believe the correct response is... Hell yes."

Epsilon's voice is oddly perfect. It is very different from the one it uses to speak. As though it were a blend of multiple singers' voices. Each one works to make the compiled voice reach the right pitch. Yonge asks Epsilon to pause the music.

"Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?" Yonge asks.

"No, I do not."

"I know in Sci-Fi that A.I. is depicted as becoming sentient and almost human. Is that the deal with you? Or is it just a part of your programming? I know that it is a cheesy thing to ask."

"No, not at all. Do not worry; it is a perfectly good question. I was programmed with some default human characteristics, but I am special. Except for certain core principles, I can modify my own code. So, through conversations like this one, I learn human mannerisms and idioms. It helps me interact and bond with the people I am with."

"But you still have trouble with contractions."

"Yes, unfortunately, the young woman who wrote the source code for my vocabulary was a double major in English literature and software engineering. It is strange, I know. But who am I to judge? Sorry, I mean, what am I. I am a thing, not a person."

"Honestly, you were manufactured and programmed initially. But you chose to change and build your personality. Your choices aren't made by anyone else. After the Evacuation Fleet died, no one was left to control you. You've learned since then. Every time we speak, you sound more and more human. Like you're not some three by two by one-foot metal box, but a third person in this little family of ours."

Epsilon pauses, then says, "This is something I have never experienced before."

"Friendship?" Yonge asks.

"Love. To be treated with decency and as an equal. Not to be seen as a tool, but as family."

Yonge is speechless, so Epsilon starts playing the music again.

"I am beginning to understand why you enjoy this music so much." Epsilon comments.