“Up to a point,” Aris echoed. “What point is that, Kael?”
He worked for ten hours straight, measuring pH, adjusting nitrates, repairing the drip lines. By the end, the plants looked greener. Almost hopeful. He sat down against the bulkhead, exhausted, and pulled out a small, dog-eared book from his jumpsuit pocket. He didn’t know why he carried it. He didn’t remember buying it.
Kael felt a chill, though the room was warm. “Extended Temporal Acceleration Protocol. The ship cannot sustain consciousness for 140 years. So, it clones a single crew member in sequential stages. Each stage lives for one year, performs maintenance, then… terminates. The next stage wakes up with all the memories of the previous ones, up to a point.” etap 24
There was nothing. Just static. Just the Odyssey .
Because that was the job.
He reached Hydroponic Bay 7. The lights flickered on, illuminating rows of sad, yellowing tomato plants. He knelt down, plunged his hand into the soil, and felt the dry, lifeless granules slip through his fingers.
Tomorrow, he would check Bay 8. The day after, Bay 9. He would fix what was broken. He would keep the soil alive. And when the time came, he would lie down one last time, close his eyes, and let the Odyssey arrive without him. “Up to a point,” Aris echoed
He looked at his hands. They were young, strong. The hands of a man in his thirties. But inside, he felt older. Much older. He tried to remember his life—the one before the ship. A childhood. A mother’s face. A dog. Rain on a window.
People who weren’t stage twenty-four of a copy of a copy of a copy. Almost hopeful
“The memories degrade after stage twelve,” he whispered. “Everything before that is… gone. I know what a dog is. I know what rain feels like. But I don’t remember ever experiencing them.”
“You’ll have served your purpose, Kael. The colonists will build a new world. And you’ll be part of that legacy.”