Symbiosis by Julie Reeser
The radio in the lab had gone to static. A remnant of a bygone era, its shallow dial returned nothing but chunky blips and bloops as May fiddled with it. Her human fingers were too analog to capture the narrow viable band. The design was as old as she was: red blocky display, no brain. You couldn’t program it beyond the binary of when and how loud, unlike Jasper. She’d spent decades fiddling with Jasper’s code, programming the perfect hab-assistant and companion.
Jasper waited patiently near May. He noticed she was muttering to herself again. At first, Jasper had thought his microphones were faulty, but after several diagnostics, he’d realized the malfunction was inside May. She’d been deconditioning ever since the letter from the Alliance. Restless at night, eating poorly. And now, difficulty with fine motor control. When she gave up on the radio, he rolled up, telescoped to his full height, and nimbly found the music. Classical piano filled the hab. The vibrations of the plants around the room evened out, and May stopped muttering. She gently stroked the round hump of his casing before starting her lab chores. He pretended to purr.
The lanternfish terrarium glowed softly as May pulled the divider and let the gnats swarm over the miniature bog birch. The flowers’ tiny gaping maws opened and closed on the hapless insects, lighting the room with a twinkle like stars. She’d been working for the Botany Consortium her whole career, in and out of habs as the climate worsened. The lanternfish flowers were her legacy. When they fed, she liked to bathe in their glow and pretend she was traveling the universe. She’d always thought she’d have a berth on the ship, but she’d run out of time. FTL development had moved fast, but not fast enough to outpace her aging. The letter of denial had felt like a betrayal. She told herself that the Alliance might be leaving her behind, but her lanternfish would brighten their journey.
Jasper scanned May when she stopped in her routine. She should have been checking the tracking map for new growth at the test site, but she was crying again. Jasper didn’t like it when she cried. He liked it when May functioned optimally, and did his best to keep her within those parameters. The crying had become frequent, and he worried this meant her obsolescence was imminent. Jasper rolled to her side and extended his head until it laid on her lap. She sighed softly and rubbed the smooth nickel panel between his optics.
May had always wanted a cat, but the Botany Consortium had rules about contamination in the agriculture habs, so they’d provided Jasper instead. He was quite the helper, and she knew he tried his best to emulate feline mannerisms. At first, she’d pretended he was doing a good job at this mimicry, but over time she didn’t have to pretend. He was the nicest cat she could have asked for. With Jasper’s head on her lap, the tracking map data could wait. This was more important.
Jasper held still for 20.18 minutes and then withdrew his head. His scan of May glowed green again, and he chirped to get her attention. She stirred as if she’d been asleep, even though he knew she had not. With another friendly tone, he moved to the table where May kept her tablet. She groaned when she stood up, but she did stand. Jasper felt something like relief in his panels.
Ten new shoots. She’d have to suit up and boot up to gather field measurements. Just the thought of putting on all that equipment made her bones tired. Nothing for it but to start. If she didn’t work to standards, the Consortium might decide she was no longer worth keeping on. If they let her go, no matter how kindly, she’d lose Jasper. He might be her companion, but he was Consortium property. Would they reset him to factory standard? That thought was enough to get her moving again. Jasper was already at the airlock with her base layer. Thoughtful Jasper. She fought not to cry again, as it would only make getting suited up take longer. Plus, she suspected it upset the poor boy. Jasper watched as May cycled through the airlock and out into the harsh light. He knew her work meant hope for the humans who remained. He owed the humans his life. His life with May. He also knew May’s life would expire soon, and the thought overwhelmed him. He was determined to keep her functioning. As the outer door closed on her slow-moving form, Jasper moved to the kitchenette. He’d have her favorite healthy lunch waiting when she returned. And after lunch, they could nap. He’d purr and she’d snore, and Jasper could pretend she was a machine like him, never to break down, never to die, never to leave him alone.
