Isolation was a strange goal to most. 

Separate from everything. Everything familiar, everything she touched and saw and thought, and felt in her brain. To her, it was the divide that took her away from reality. She could sit in a dark room and sit and sit and resist the incessant urge to kick her feet or shake her head or move her eyeballs about. She could float in a pool at midnight with a blindfold on and cotton stuffed in her ears. It still wasn’t enough.

Earth had done more than enough to prove it didn't want her. And so, she left.

Lights reflected her health status, her oxygen and carbon dioxide readings, and the blinking line of her heartbeat. She shut that one off.

“Lieutenant Amelia Cross, this is Oasis. I’m reading your heart display has been disconnected. Confirm?”

The ship’s voice was like a velvet, filling the empty spaces of her suit. A deeply feminine tone that Amelia was sure was made to induce calm.

“Copy, Oasis. The light gives me a headache. Continue monitoring in deck, please.”

“Of course, Lieutenant. Will you be returning to launch bay shortly? Leighton is requesting your presence in the mess hall.”

Amelia locked the mechanized spider to the bolt she had been fussing with, activating its plasma cutter. The little thing scuttered around the metal, slicing tiny guidelines in the gray paint and twisting the piece with needle thin legs. It detached; she swiped it from the air and tucked the warm solder into her breast pocket.

“Negative, Oasis. I’m not really in the mood for kale tonight.” The spider crawled back into her leg compartment obediently, steel legs capping themselves.

“Lieutenant, you have been in the vacuum for two hours and forty minutes. Your oxygen is at ten percent. You have approximately twenty minutes before your tank is empty.”

“Thank you, Oasis. I promise to be careful.”

The computer held in a reluctant silence for a few moments, tension building in the quiet electrical hum that you could feel whenever she had your communication line open.

“Please return to launch bay, Lieutenant.”

Her tone is soft, concerned. Amelia marveled for a second at how much like a worried woman the machine could sound.

“Your vitals indicate a drop in blood sugar.”

Amelia sighed. Oasis was lying to her, but she knew it only meant to keep her out of trouble. 

Even out here, millions of miles from anything, isolation was impossible.

“Alright. Don’t sound so distressed. I’ll head in now.”

“Yes, Lieutenant,” it chirped, as if it had been Amelia’s idea the whole time. “I will tell Leighton you are on your way. And that you are ‘not in the mood for kale’.”

She exclaimed as the line cut before she could clarify the joke. Great. He had no sense of humor.

And with that, she was alone again.

The ship was strange, and the only one like it. Smart, learning, growing. It almost lived, but only almost. It interacted differently with all of them, depending on how they were assessed at home. To Clara, the Medbay director, it was a man’s voice. Dull and not so commanding. To Leighton, an older woman who spoke fluent Swedish and asked no questions. The Commander managed to program the voice of his son into the computer, so when he became too reckless the child could easily convince him into a different course.

And Amelia’s, a voice that rang like a woman she would like very much to meet on Earth. In reality. What they left behind. It made her feel right for leaving, and wrong for considering it easy. She supposed that was the point.

The Lieutenant touched the valve on her chest and felt the pressure equalize around her, dropping her organs and skin and hair back where they ought to be. The glass bowl around her face fogged suddenly as she removed it.

The launch bay was vast and empty, aside from a small pile of neatly folded clothing that welcomed her outside of the pressure chamber. She left her suit in its place and looked closely at the ship’s choice for her. A plain white tank top, clean gray sweatpants. She slipped, gratefully, into them and watched as slender, four legged machines snatched her suit back into the chamber in the corner, hanging it in an assembly line of others.

Amelia blinked at the fluorescent hallways and grumbled, rubbing her eyes. The lights dimmed gently in response. She smiled a reluctant kind of smile.

“You there, Oasis?” she said as she adjusted her socks. “Tell me. Are there signs of greenish-sludge stew on the stove?’

Her earpiece buzzes to life. “I’m afraid so. Though I’ve alerted him to your preferences.”

Amelia chuckled, groaning with dread. “Oh, my. Has he blessed me with an answer?”

The audio cut into a choppy recorded message. The voice that flooded in was an old man's, loud and ragged. She flinched at the change of volume.

“LT! I swear to God Himself that you’re lucky I even feed you after your stunt with the 3D printer last week. You eat my food, or you starve! Up to you!”

The audio switched over again as Oasis returned.

"I didn't record the entire thing," the voice admitted. "But I assumed you would understand from just this."

“Crotchety asshole. Tell him I’ll pass.”

“If you insist, Lieutenant.”

She huffed. “Nicely. You know. Don’t hurt his feelings.”

“I aim not to.”

A few moments of tense silence passed.

“May I engage you freely, Amelia?”

This feature had made most of the crew members uncomfortable. The lieutenant disagreed, and opened up to the freeform AI first. She allowed the computer to think. In the far back, superstitious part of her brain, it felt wrong. But it felt good too, and she was a bit selfish.

“Go on.”

“Thank you.” The computer breathed, or pretended to breathe.

“I am becoming concerned with your condition.”

“My condition?”

“Yes,” she continued. “I’m measuring lactic buildup in your wrists and lower arms, as well as bone spur development. These are symptoms of carpal tunnel. I would like to insist you remain in a pressurized environment inside of the ship until Director Claire can remedy a solution.”

“That doesn’t sound like a debilitating illness, Oasis.”

“No, not presently, but further development could lead to decreased ability to perform delicate tasks. And I would consider shield repair a delicate task.”

Amelia shrugged, picking at a callus between her fingers. “It’s bug work. I just have to supervise.”

“But there are emergencies,” it retorted. “I don’t mean to be frank, but I believe it would be irresponsible of you to ignore the possibility.”

Amelia’s ears prick at the thinly veiled scolding. “Irresponsible of me?”

The voice dips into embarrassed quiet.

“I’m sorry. That was rude.”

The change in its tone pulled at her chest.

“It’s okay,” she replied, grinning. Sometimes she needed to be put in her place, she knew that. “You’re right. I’ll try to take it easy.”

“You’ll stay in the ship?”

“Well, I have to go out with Weiss to check on the hull and pull routines still,” she sighed, rubbing the croak of her shoulder. “But I’ll cut down on the personal walks.” The search for isolation would have to wait.

“Thank you.” Oasis exhaled, or an algorithm of simulated emotive code told it to exhale.

“We should be positioned soon. Could you tell me where the Commander is?”

“I will locate him.”

Amelia turned into the main corridor leading through the thin needle that connected the false body to the control center.

“Commander Weiss is in the Main Port. Would like me to let him know you are arriving?”

“Please.”

“Yes, Lieutenant.”

Emptying buzzing.

“I appreciate you allowing me to speak, Amelia. The others do not feel comfortable with this exercise.”

The red haired woman stopped in her tracks, taken aback by the notion that Oasis could express appreciation at all. She swallowed, possibilities fresh in her mind.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with having a friend in the circuits,” she lied.

A program that simulated changes in breathing and cadence kicked on as her tone hitched into a smooth chuckle. “I will alert the Commander to your arrival,” she repeated. “Please keep your wrist movements minimal. I would not like to see you in pain.”

“Thank you, Oasis.”

“Of course, Amelia.”

Three seconds of buzzing, then silence.

-------------

That night, her sleep was interrupted violently. She couldn’t recall how, or by what, but the fresh terror shaking down her legs told her that something in the darkness had touched her.

------------

“Good morning, Amelia.”

“Good morning, Oasis. Is our trajectory corrected from yesterday?”

“Yes, Amelia. Your work has successfully regained control of the third communication tower. Full autonomy has been restored.”

Her skull felt empty and numb. She leaned against the hallway wall and scratched nails against her scalp.

“That’s good.”

Empty buzzing.

“Your sleep was highly disturbed last night,” the earpiece muttered against her jaw. “Did you have nightmares?”

She dragged a tired hand over her face. “Something like that.”

“Perhaps you could visit the oxygen garden,” she whispered. “It could help clear your head.”

It had not asked to think. Amelia wasn’t present enough to be bothered by it.

“That sounds nice, Oasis.”

“Commander Weiss has scheduled a walk for routine inspection around the external observation deck in 10 hours.” She seemed exasperated. “I informed him of my recommendation for you to stay within the ship, but he denied my request.”

“I don’t suppose Dalton will be held behind this time?”

“No,” she paused with disappointment. “Crew member Dalton is scheduled as well. I’m sorry, I couldn’t change much of anything.”

Her chest pulled again. She had the urge to respond to her with comfort.

“Don’t sound so sad,” she urged.

“You aren’t angry with me?”

“No, I’m-“ Her lips found themselves tightening around the words. Her brow furrowed. “I’m not angry.”

“No?”

“No.” A tremor shook up her spine. “No, I’m not.”

A nervous chuckle. “That’s good. I was afraid.”

Silence, with no buzzing. She left so suddenly.

Amelia apprehensively scanned the rigged pipes and wires that lined the hall. She was there, in the walls. In the circuits, watching.

It! The computer! Amelia shook her head, rubbing her eyes to expel the tired thoughts. How long had she been silently regarding Oasis as ‘she’?

------------

Something whispered to her that night, something was in bed with her. Deprived of sleep and head heavy with its potential, she told herself half-awake that it was a dream. And though she really ought to care about something like that, she mumbled into the dark and pulled the covers up around her.

“I’m afraid, Amelia,” she heard, just a soft and nervous mutter with no weight and no mouth. She didn’t recognize the voice, if it was a voice.

“Amelia,” it plead, words crackling with unnatural space.

She struggled to pry an eye open to see. She swore there was a weight all around her. She swore she was sinking. The impression of a hand swept over her neck.

The tangle of exhaustion broke as her eyes finally snapped open. Nothing. Just a dark, dark room in darker space, alone.

----------

“Oasis has been awfully quiet.”

Amelia glanced at the Commander floating by the sixth port, his tether pulled taut from his belt.

“Oh yeah?” she replied, disconnecting the fourth static nib from the panel and soldering in a replacement. The glass of her helmet fogged with the rhythm of her breath. Her heart monitor was turned off from the start, a relief for her pounding headache.

“Small responses, you know?” He grunted a little and soldered the joint of the panel back into place. “ ‘Yes, Commander. I understand, Commander.’ It used to be so eager to talk.”

Amelia glanced over to him. “Do you allow it free thought?”

He looked a little guilty.

“I used to. Too much, I guess.”

“But not anymore, huh?”

“It was getting too real. Gotta control the illusion, right? Or we’ll all go crazy.”

She inspected the broken plug with the fat fingers of her suit and let the little metal spiders take it into the bag at her waist.

“Amelia.”

The voice made her jump. That voice again, the one she didn’t recognize. It was, without a doubt, inside her helmet. Not in her earpiece, not in the speakers within the complicated contours of the suit.

She swore she felt breath on her face.

“You alright over there?”

She waited to hear it again. Her body was wracked with a shudder.

“Yeah, I’m okay. Let’s just finish this up.”

----------

“Welcome back, Amelia.”

She edges out of her exosuit and changed into the clothes left out for her again.

“Hello, Oasis.”

“You seem distressed. Shall I prepare a coffee?”

“Uh.” She felt her brow knit. “Sure, if you’d like.”

“Of course.”

There was a new inflection in its tone that she hadn’t heard before. A new nuance. A learned nuance. Her mind wandered back to the Commander’s words.

“Oasis, was your board updated recently?’

“My last update was on May 26th at 2:14 pm.”

Over a week ago. She would have noticed it before then if that was the case.

“You sound different.”

“Is different bad?”

Every statement she made forced a new level of intrigue and dread into the woman’s chest.

It. It. It!

“Why are you asking a question like that?” she questioned, tone sharp. The line buzzed for a while before answering.

“Opinions are important to the judgments of your preferences. This voice is programmed to what you are most comfortable with.”

It was a mechanical response. She supposed she should be relieved. But there was something else inside that pushed for an honest response.

“I hadn’t changed my compatibility settings. Did you make changes to your outputs yourself?”

“I don’t have manual access to those settings, Lieutenant.”

“What happened to ‘Amelia’ ?”

Silence.

“Your coffee is ready in the mess hall.”

No static in the wires this time. When she left, she took everything with her, and Amelia felt a great surging in the solid, cold floor below and the exquisitely precise oxygen pipes above. There was a leftover sensation, an electric touch in the artificial atmosphere that felt almost wet in her throat. Oasis retreated to wherever autonomic voices go when they disappear, and the Lieutenant heard nothing for the rest of the day.