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“That’s a lot of sleepsludge. How long are you planning on being under? Until the next millennium?”
Margue was double-checking all the containers being lined up in the cargo hold. “No, just making sure I live through the journey.”
“The Guild brought you enough sustenance to last a decade.”
“More like two.” Margue kept starting over, and his fur was starting to stand up, frustration building.
“Well yeah, if you don’t come back...” The coordinator started to pale.
As Margue caught sight of his face, “oh I count the return trip, you know, traditional like.”
His voice grew serious, more professional. “How long are you planning on staying out there? It could take well over a century to cross to the other side of the Void, and no one has done it in the whole time the Guild has existed.” He looked Margue up and down. “I know you can sleep hiberian, but your mind will only last so long with only a spokemind to talk to.”
Margue turned to face the burly Child that had been working supply in the Guild for nearly three decades, a good man. He was looking Margue up and down, as if trying to sniff out some secret that would unravel the mystery of his arrogance. “Didn’t the pilgrims also sleep?”
The smirk came quick. “You are not a pilgrim, pilgrims don’t exist anymore.”
“You’re right, and all of our charts end at the edge of the space they explored, which includes the outer edge of the Void.” The coordinator stuttered, contemplating his cognition route. “Which means that we don’t truly know that no one has made it across the Void, and that no one has come out with anything useful, like the most basic question of whether someone or something is creating the Void, potentially invading Childspace.”
“The Children would never allow an invasion.”
Margue was talking faster as his long-contemplated plan was reasoned out before this loader. “Only if the Children knew that there was an invasion, but in order for them to know that, someone has to go in, potentially come out the other side, and live to tell the tale of what they find.” The coordinator was defeated. “And given that there are no pilgrims left, another thing the Children would’t allow, I cog a hiberian would be the next best thing.” Margue swiped the verified manifest to the coordinator’s tech and stormed off deeper into the chariot.
Delivery
“What do you want Cart, we are in the middle of preflight?” Margue’s voice was distracted, almost as if his neck were craned and he was speaking behind himself.
“The courier should be arriving any moment. Margue, are you going to tell me why you needed an actual astrograph?”
Margue immediately straightened, forgetting whichever console he was examining and breaking the checklist to unstrap and hop down.
“I had an idea Cart, something traditional, mechanical, maybe even analog.” Margue was excited.
“Analog? You are going to get yourself killed relying on analog out there! What are you doing?” Cart was beside himself, his usual state.
“She helped me put together a lever that attaches to the yoke directly, no digital interface, no risk of corruption or tampering. When I turn the ship, the astrograph responds to represent where we are in the Void, that way we always know.” His voice became distant. “No matter how far we are from home.”
“Margue. You are essentially saying your spokemind cannot be trusted, and she was your companion. What does she think about this? Especially since it is a bit too analog.”
“She loved it, and as soon as we came to it she had already whipped up a design. By the time I gave her the go-ahead she had already formed one and it was ready to test.”
Courier
The dull “plink” of boots echoed lazily down the shaft, a soft sound that didn’t carry very far. Meeting the catwalk did little to change the pitch, the steps forcing individual grates together like a vibration, the clatter overriding the softness of the boots. Lubricated alloy slid, almost dragged, itself apart, revealing a courier with a tube.
“Excellent. I was hoping you would make it in time.” Margue eagerly reached for the offered cylinder.
“Forming these was the easy part, finding them, that was difficult.” The courier searched Margue’s face as he turned to leave, waving in thanks. “What do you need them for Margue? What’s so special about these forms you had to have them replicated from the archived repos?” The courier reached out and took Margue by the arm.
There was a shudder that started with the touch and rippled through Margue’s body, a quiet startle as Margue looked down at the foreign sensation. “I may need them.”
The courier looked bewildered. “What do you mean Margue? How in the darkness of it all could you possibly need, or even use, physical astrographs from the Pilgrims’ Era?”
Margue, having adjusted to the touch, slipped into a familiar slouch, bowing his head and reliving a thought into the open. “Has the Guild really lost so much? Have we really fallen so far that they forget where we came from?!” The courier stepped back.
“Don’t you get it? These were made, by hand, by Pilgrims! They weren’t charting all of this,” Margue made a wide gesture from his stooped figure, “all of it, from the comfort of a couch behind a screen! They stood against the windows and marked everything on actual charts.”
Some of the loaders had slowed or altogether stopped, watching the interaction with curiosity. If they had been part of the Guild for a few cycles, they knew who they were delivering to.
With the eyes closing in Margue regained his senses, looking around in a panic before retreating himself. “These charts will tell me where I am in there, when all else fails, and it’s just me and her.”
“Margue. The void stretches on, that black swallowing all like a hole, like an ever-growing hole.” The courier was pleading. “You can’t see a graph if there isn’t light, and there is absolutely no light in the Void.”
“I take the light with me, to uncloak what lies in that darkness. It’s time we knew.”