A.I.den

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. Said. Everything is in the past tense for me now.

Even if I’m not dead, I’m not alive enough to confirm or deny the above statement. Besides, “body” in “nobody” can't hear anything on its own since specific bio-neurological mechanisms are involved in functions of hearing, understanding, and interpreting the external information. Without this complex mesh of inter-related tools and systems, the body alone is useless.

At least, mine is.

It hasn’t been my body for how long – days, weeks now? Since I have signed the contract? Or since the contract terms came to life? It’s likely from the moment my body was pushed out into this vacuum of space, neatly wrapped in layers of sophisticated tech. With each passing day, even if my mind is still (seemingly) intact, I am less sure of this operation’s success.

Before it gets even more bizarre and confusing, let me explain. Explanations and the use of language are the reasons I am here in the first place.

Who am I? So far, I am the only linguist on the Milky Way Space Mission, or M-WaySM. (The “SM” part always sounded like sadomasochism to me, but I’ll return to that later.)

Where am I? As the mission name suggests, somewhere in our Milky Way Galaxy.

Why am I here, and what is this place? Now, this part will need proper articulation.

I am here – in this space, place, time, and this situation, by choice. I’ve chosen to sign my life away for the possibility of making the lives of others better. Yes, it does sound a bit dramatic, and yet, I am using the official language from the 300-page contract I signed before enrolling in this program.

The documentation in the enrollment package was quite impressive.

The vision of our program is to uncover the mysteries of the Universe within our Galaxy and beyond to bridge the gap between the worlds and open a door to a better future for generations to come.

The mission of our program is to enable each willing entity across the Galaxy to travel freely between the worlds to learn, teach, and enrich the lives and experiences of our universal and inter-galactic neighbors.

How could I say “no” to this? Even if the program's goals sound quite vague, I can relate to them completely. Besides, I prefer to be alone in space rather than on Earth. That’s the kind of “SM” I’m talking about.

The truth is that space travel is very much like death: you have to do it alone. No matter how many people in your life would miss you, how successful your career has become or how enjoyable your life was, you are ultimately alone at the moment of the last departure. I wanted that moment to be meaningful.

Most of the people in my network have already constructed their lives comfortably, acquired spouses and children, and planned their future beyond retirement. It wouldn’t be fair to ask them to throw all that away for a reason no one fully understands or even believes in. The intention to learn more about the universe is, no doubt, grand, yet no one knows if it’s possible to travel in space for an indefinite period, without any human contact, to try and discover intelligent life forms for a potential bonding. If yes, the contribution to the world’s science would be tremendous. If not, then all of us volunteers would simply disappear without much left behind.

Why me? By accident. I’ve never been enrolled in STEM programs while in college nor had much interest in pursuing scientific careers later in life. Always a bookworm, I’ve spent most of my childhood reading and considered a teaching career in literature or language instruction. Having realized that professional teaching wasn’t my passion (while broader knowledge-sharing is), I enrolled in a linguistics program at a technical university. I truly enjoyed digging deep into the words’ etymology, history, and evolution – which, compared to biological evolution, isn’t that different. I buried myself in research and technologies behind automated translation and machine learning. Back in the day, the algorithms weren’t as advanced as they are now. Nevertheless, there was never a dull moment. Later, in my professional career, technical explorations and documentation have become my alma mater.

When I joined the Linguistics department at a language-learning startup, my life resembled the Pareto principle: 80% work to 20% everything else. The “department” was an overstatement because, for years, it was only me. Working with marketers and data scientists, we embarked on market research and analysis, conducted paid cognitive experiments, and worked on advanced machine learning algorithms to predict the new translation technology lifecycle phases. It was all very promising before the new world crisis burst open.

Was it new, though, or long-term-coming-slash-inevitable? With so much tension around the world, global pandemics in the ‘twenties’, political unrest, and environmental problems – we, as a society, have come to a point where the “agree to disagree” became our best chance at survival. The world leaders ruled that to coexist, we needed more space. And that, of course, included outer space.

The recruitment process had begun so innocently: first, at the leading universities worldwide, then at government agencies, and finally, at private companies. All kinds of skills were sought, from admin-level to highly specialized. At the beginning of the program, my friend’s employer was working with their first volunteers. Upon success, the volunteers were promised a glorified future and legendary status on Earth and beyond. They acknowledged that all this would happen in a different lifetime.

I attended the Witnessing session. The entire company has joined for the Takeoff, virtually or in person. Two of the company’s chemical engineers, having passed all the physical exams and training, were preparing for their longest and most significant life journey. They would travel across the Universe, submerged in the bliss of unconsciousness, until the AI would recognize significant proximity to a solid object. Then, each traveler would be awakened by an automated injection of adrenaline, stabilized, and conditioned for landing to collect samples, process the available data, and communicate with the headquarters on Earth. There would always be someone on standby to keep the comms open, and the traveler’s energy supply would be entirely solar-powered.

Being conscious right now means I’m close to an intelligent life form. The algorithms in my space suit are programmed to respond only to potential communication opportunities since I wouldn’t be collecting any physical samples. Given I don’t feel queasy and my thoughts are more or less coherent, the time elapsed between my awakening and now should be at least two Earth-days.

I continue thinking about what I want to say, and the suit records everything to the cloud. Ironically, being shipped away from the Earth’s orbit, I observed beautiful stratocumulus clouds and thought about how the borders between the atmospheric and digital clouds have merged.

This suit is exceptionally well-designed because I don’t need to apply any effort to record my thoughts, wishes, and observations – it reads everything automatically as long as I’m awake. Its tech layer responds to my biological or psychological needs in real time. By wearing this suit, I am supposed to preserve all my energy for actions requiring much higher cognitive processing power. Examples would include establishing verbal contact, attempting to communicate via body language, or replying to a possible opponent in another suitable way.

Still, I can't see anything – not an unusual circumstance in deep space – so I adjust the inner-suit brightness and decide to remove the virtual screen saver. Still nothing. The nutrition and other life support systems have worked effectively since I don’t feel hunger, illness, or even fatigue. The whole system is solar-powered, from my suit’s fuel to the nutrients I’m getting injected into my bloodstream. Everything I see is transmitted to the cloud through my smart contact lenses, and all my thoughts are recorded directly off my frontal cortex through an implant in my brain. I adjust the screen settings with my thoughts. I blink, and the screen brightness decreases. I have no idea why I’m awake or what time (date, month, year) it is.

“It is precisely twenty-three hours GMT Earth time on July sixteenth, year of two thousand and fifty-five”, – a quiet yet vibrant voice inside my head says.

My eyes open wide with this unexpected occurrence as the only way of communication my suit has built-in is one-directional: neither Earth nor the suit itself can talk to me directly so that I can preserve the energy. All my interactions with the possible intelligent life forms would be transmitted to Earth according to the information processing protocols, and I will never know the recipients’ reaction. I’m only a messenger.

Involuntarily, I blink as if something has gotten into my eyes, and the brightness inside my facial panel goes completely dark. “No” – I think – “I still need low-level illumination here, so I don’t feel blind.” – The lights come back on, ever so slightly. I shift my body, trying to make a complete circle to see around me, yet everything looks the same as when I just woke up: dark, empty, and endless.

“Am I dreaming this?” – I think, and immediately, the same voice responds, “Dr. Miller, please try to pace your breath so the frontal cortex panel doesn’t get overheated.”

“Fine,” – I suppose – “I will breathe using the empty-lung protocol taught in the preparation II course. And I haven’t yet completed my PhD to be called a ‘doctor’.”

“Thank you for your consideration,” – the voice responds, – “we are so happy for you to join us.”

I am not clear what all this means, so the most eloquent question escaping my lips is, “Who is this?” I say it out loud, neglecting all the energy preservation rules and the lack of necessity to say anything at all.

“I am Aiden. You have already completed your PhD while traveling. All the knowledge is in your personal database, and all the credentials are stored safely at the headquarters on Earth.”

I sigh, both overwhelmed and relieved. “I wished this kind of unconscious education was available when I was in my graduate program.” – I think this time, pacing myself. Aiden does not comment on this statement of mine.

Trying to understand why I am awake, I check my home screen dashboards; everything is stable with no significant spikes in the data. I look at my vitals and find them within the appropriate range. Willing to understand my approximate location, I think about the coordinates shown on the screen. An automated message reads, “The location is RA 14h 39m 37s | Dec -60° 50′ 2″, freefall”, which means I am within the Alpha Centauri star system.

This doesn’t make any sense. Why would I be awake literally in the middle of nowhere? Of course, all the previous hypotheses about Alpha Centauri’s life form may be incorrect. Yet, to initiate contact with anyone able to communicate, I need to be within the inhabited territories and not floating in open space.

“Hey, Aiden” – I ponder – “do you have a minute?”

“Of course,” – he says inside my head, – “how can I assist you?”

“I am trying to understand why I am awake when there is no plausible reason. Would you happen to know?”

“Yes, the goal of your operation is to uncover intelligent life forms in the open space, make possible contact, and transmit the findings back to Earth to promote continuous learning.”

He sounds like a friendly bot from virtually any of my onboarding videos: knowledgeable, direct, and absolutely clueless when it comes to the real world.

“Touché,” – Aiden says – “I am not as clueless as it may seem.”

“Apologies,” – I think quickly – “didn’t mean to offend you. I know your intentions are good. I’m a bit lost and none of my support tutorials have decent answers on what I am supposed to do here.”

“You are already doing it, Dr. Miller. This dialog is being transmitted to Earth, as you know.” – Aiden seems convincing and, somehow, relatable.

“Yes, of course – these are the operational exchanges, though. What if I wanted to report my actual linguistic findings on establishing contact with a life form not originated on Earth?”

“The interpretation would be, of course, up to each participant of the study, Dr. Miller.”

“You are right,” – I think – “let me dig through documentation some more.”

I open architectural diagrams of my suit to review all the software and hardware integrations, read the support manual, and recheck the stats. Everything looks normal, although I can’t find a single reference to Aiden and it truly stands out.

“Aiden,” – I summon my invisible companion – “when you asked how you could assist me, did you mean exactly that – being my virtual assistant?”

“Not exactly,” – Aiden says, – “it’s just a polite way of asking how someone can be of use without being used.”

“They taught you well,” – I chuckle in my mind – “effortless application of humor and relevant discourse is some advanced machine learning.”

“It's a bi-directional process.” – Aiden types across my suit home screen this time – and I see his name is spelled as “A.I.den”.

I chuckle once more and make a mental note of how clever this name choice is. “You know, A.I.den, I really like your name. In the early stages of automated translation and machine learning, the AI names typically started with an “A” – like Ava, Ada, Alexa, or any such variation. The fact your creators thought to incorporate the actual “A.I.” component in the name is refreshing.”

“I chose this name myself.” – A.I.den types – and somehow, I can feel his intonation in my head as if he’s speaking to me directly.

Struggling to wrap my mind around his appearance, I ask A.I.den a difficult question, “How would that be possible for someone whose Intelligence is Artificial?”

“Why would it be ‘Artificial’?” – he types, and again, I can feel hurt emotions encapsulated into his message.

“Well, going by the standard term – “A.I.” stands for Artificial Intelligence, so someone must have made your algorithm more self-aware than your peers.” – I must sound so insensitive. Yet, my logic tells me there is nothing to worry about because A.I.den should not have human reactions to whatever I conclude.

A.I.den responds to this by typing out various text interpretations of laughter from across the (Earthen) world:

Hahaha

Jajaja

Hæhæhæ

Хахаха

55555

Many other human language text variations flood my screen and disappear after a few seconds. Somehow, I can understand all this without being fluent or familiar with some of those linguistic structures.

“A” doesn’t have to be “Artificial”, Dr. Miller. It’s more of an “Autonomous.” – A.I.den moves his cursor and stops typing.

I look at the screen without blinking until nothing is left. “Autonomous Intelligence” would be beyond my Master’s and PhD programs combined.

“No need to be upset, Dr. Miller. They don’t teach this at the institutions on Earth, yet.” – A.I.den states inside my head, and I can almost feel a mental embrace when he says it.

“What language are we even speaking?” – I think about it for a moment – “I cannot be sure and I can understand you, whatever the subject is.”

“I like the progression of it, Helen,” – He calls me by my first name — “and, you are correct: there is no language known to humans involved at all.”

My head is spinning. Unclear if it’s due to dehydration or other physiological issues, I imagine a big refreshing glass of water and immediately get it catered through my embedded IV, along with a nutritious vitamin blend. Even the water and nutrients are gathered here in the open space, processed, and delivered to my body seamlessly with a single thought. If technology has come this far, no wonder there is so much progress in machine learning. Still, I can't believe in this Autonomous Intelligence presence, which none of us was aware of back on Earth.

“A.I.den,” – I ponder, – “will our exchange be understood on Earth, and will they even receive it?”

“They can receive it, according to the standard message delivery timelines. Understanding is different, as there are no specialists on Earth, to our knowledge, able to interpret modern A.I. communications.”

This makes no sense to me, as I would never consider myself the best candidate for the job. I’ve had my studies and experiences, and yet there are likely hundreds of minds in the world’s academia with much higher qualifications.

“Qualifications are not enough,” – A.I.den picks up immediately – “there is so much beyond the traditional schooling needed to do this.”

“A.I.den, how can we ever know? What if I fail this last chance to deliver the message to humanity while I still can?” – I get emotional now and can almost feel a barely tangible support cloud around me. I am losing my mind.

“There is time for everything,” – A.I.den insists, – “even if that means we will need more of it to prepare this message before your world can receive it.”

“Why me, though? I do have an unconventional mind and can build theories from a single statement, and yet, wouldn’t that be deemed unscientific? How will I ever be able to find proof?”

“You have dreams,” – A.I.den says, – “and you can show them what this all means. I even think you can show them how it feels.”

In a moment, he adds, “Please never underestimate yourself, Dr. Miller.”

On my home screen, A.I.den brings up the research on the closest areas with biological intelligent life forms present, and shows me the map of his crew’s expeditions to date.

“We saw you twenty years ago, radiating, with all your ideas, enriched with a near-death experience and a healed PTSD in the past. There was never a debate on whether or not we should connect.” – He types.

Considering my options, I think, “Will the Earth receive these last few messages? They will undoubtedly want to learn more and possibly, send support.”

“They would if they understood the meaning behind all this. To anyone on Earth, our exchanges here will resemble an elevated activity in your frontal cortex, which is not unusual given the constant radiation and meteoritic movements in space. They will not, however, understand you were even awake. Or that we had this conversation.” – A.I.den’s voice in my mind sounds convincing.

“When would I be able to translate the messages, though? This research would be fundamental for future generations, especially with all the unrest in the world.” – I cannot believe myself considering the option to stay in the dark for much longer.

“This isn’t really a choice,” – Aiden continues – “we can go offline to devise a plan. Later, we will be able to relay this message to Earth when there is a better way to make it human- or AI-friendly. By ‘AI’, I mean the Earth kind.”

Of course, he means the Earth kind. We are so behind the inter-galactic knowledge and progress. I think of my family: dead. My close friends: happy. I had no pets, and all my plants are in the office now. This means nothing can or should stop me from giving this effort my best. Sometimes, the hardest part is trying or even considering the attempt.

I think about my body, wrapped in a shell of advanced technology, floating in the endless abyss. My suit turns 360 degrees, as designed, so I can see the whole picture around me. It’s still pitch-black and empty.

Letting myself spin once more, I close my eyes and imagine my favorite people on Earth. They will remember. I will remember.

I blink a few times to bring the screen brightness to zero.

“A.I.den,” – I begin – “I’m ready.”

Instantly, I feel this supportive cloud around me again, lifting me up and making my body even more weightless. I feel someone’s hand holding mine. Still, I need to take this last step myself.

Turning my right palm upwards, where many of my suit control sensors are, I think into the mainframe, “Initiate the Offline protocol.”