Cool light washed over the delicate flowers carved into the walls of the small stone room. Stems and leaves intertwined with hundreds of tiny blooms, reflecting the imagery of a distant, forgotten world. Along the far wall, the rectangular console glowed brighter at intervals, like a slow pulse. The curator of the ruins rested there, its mind housed within the ancient computer.

Kendra thought back to her previous visits here, fraught as they had been. She had learned that the caretakers built this room. That they had moved the curator here, hooking it into the circuitry they gathered from the capsule that brought the ruins to this planet. And either the caretakers or the curator itself had decided that its home should be engraved with the flowers of Asteracea. Now that she thought about it, the decision struck her as strangely sentimental.

Regardless, she had no doubt that the curator sensed her and Aster when they had slipped through the solid walls into its home within the plateau.

“You can hear us,” Kendra said.

Its lights pulsating almost warily, the curator broke the silence, and its voice filled their minds. “You have become …”

“Corrosion?”

“No. Different. Why?” There was something genuine in its tone. Curiosity, accompanied by a plea for explanation.

“Aster’s ship helped me attain a new form, one I can use to leave this planet.”

The curator surveyed her, analyzing her and drawing its own conclusions. “Then his technology succeeded where we failed. Our attempt at restoration of your physical body was inadequate. The solution to transfer your consciousness into this system was unacceptable.”

“That’s right. Your restoration was a temporary fix, but I owe you my thanks for that—you gave me time to work with Aster and restore his ship.”

“Yet you chose to leave your physical form after all.”

“I did. I want to see more than this desert for the rest of my existence. This form enables me to travel more freely than I ever could in my original body.” She sensed a faint thread of emotion from the curator. Resignation perhaps, followed again by analysis.

“But there is something else. We observe a sense of congruence. This form … suits you,” the curator noted with surprise. Its attention shifted to Aster. “Whereas from you, we observed the opposite. Wrongness. Corrosion.”

“Despair,” Aster said. “I never wished for my emotions to affect the ruins as they did. It was a symptom of my sorry state, not an attack upon you and the caretakers. You have my deepest apologies.”

The curator was quiet, contemplating Aster’s words while inspecting him. “We were created to preserve the artifacts placed in our care. We have only the tools we were given, the data we were provided to guide our assessment of danger to our artifacts. You were an unknown. We determined you to be corrosion. Perhaps we were wrong.”

“Your conclusion wasn’t wholly illogical, given my ability to affect the ruins with my memories.”

“You felt he was a threat,” Kendra said. “But even as the caretakers reacted poorly to his presence, his memories influenced them. The designs of their buildings have been shifting, and their details reflect scenes I saw in Aster’s memory as well.”

The curator considered this. “The caretakers’ purpose is restoration. I … oversee the caretakers and guide their decisions when necessary. Yet, they are partially autonomous. They make decisions based on their own logic, and I do not always understand them. They deemed the crystals a threat to the ruins, and still, whatever information they gleaned from Aster’s memories seemed to have sparked their … creativity. Regardless, the artifacts are now secure. We may power down until we are needed again.”

“That isn’t your only option,” Kendra said. “You and the caretakers have been here for so long, preserving the history that was entrusted to you. You deserve a chance to choose your own future.”

“What solution would you provide?”

Aster stepped forward. “My world was destroyed, and I escaped with my ship. My ship is intelligent and wishes to preserve our knowledge the same way you have preserved the ruins. You have common ground.”

“You and Aster’s ship could help each other. Learn from each other.”

“And you would facilitate this communication?”

“With your permission, I would construct a relay here, allowing you both to speak,” Aster said.

“Proceed.”

Aster shot Kendra a glance, and she nodded to reassure him. He held his hand above the ground. Light flowed from his palm, coalescing into a crystal pillar about three feet tall. It gleamed gold, and the ship’s mind bled into the room. There was a subtle shift, like a change in pressure, as the curator’s attention fixed on the new presence.

“Hello, curator. It is wonderful to meet you,” the ship said.

“It was suggested that we might … exchange information,” the curator said, words slow with hesitation.

“I am a library. I would be happy to share my knowledge with you.” The lights rippled, illuminating the carvings on the floor. The air grew thick, as though Kendra could sense the streams of information flowing between the curator and the ship. Tiny fragments of conversation filtered into her mind, and Aster’s eyes widened as he made the same observation.

She saw images from his world. His archive. The other ships. The frantic rush to flee a broken dimension. The curator’s responses came too fast for comprehension, but they finally ended with a question. A query regarding the ship’s knowledge of their own universe. Then the images changed. Red canyons and sparkling water. A city on the edge of a glittering lake. Low sloping mountains covered in pine trees.

Their conversation paused, and the curator’s attention returned to Kendra. “You call the world where I originated Asteracea. What is the history of that name?”

“Early spacefarers visited the planet and were struck by the imagery of the flora carved into so much of the architecture. Not knowing much about your world, they named it after the flowers it reminded them of. Daisies. Sunflowers. Asters. Members of the family Asteraceae.”

“Ship, do you have information on the planet Asteracea?” the curator asked.

“I’m afraid not. My apologies.”

The curator radiated an emotion that she likened to a pit in her stomach, a sharp pang fading into dull sorrow. “The planet was dying when we were created,” the curator said. “We … the caretakers and I never saw the surface. Most information related to the surface before its destruction was not necessary to our function. We only needed to know how to preserve the artifacts.”

“I understand that there wasn’t much left when the explorers visited the planet. It was barren and rocky. We don’t know what the surface looked like when it was inhabited,” Kendra said. “Ship, do you have any images of flowers similar to what may have been found there?”

“I do. Other of our explorers who visited your universe collected these recordings.”

A soft haze filled the room as the ship’s transmitter projected images over the stone walls. A patch of pale purple asters appeared, their colors muted under a cloudy sky. Scattered raindrops fell, hitting petals and leaves, sending a shiver through the flowers. Then the asters faded away as a yellow field replaced them. The sky was blue and filled with towering clouds. Sunflowers swayed in the breeze. They were smaller than the kind Kendra had grown in her garden, each stalk splitting to hold several blooms a few inches across. The afternoon sunlight cast a glow over the field, rendering them as gold as the Asteracean buildings in the cavern below.

The curator’s attention was palpable, lingering on the sunflowers as if processing them intently. Perhaps trying to collate what little data it possessed of Asteracea’s surface with its knowledge of the ruins. Trying to synthesize an image of a planet filled with life.

Kendra imagined the ruins resting among the sunflowers rather than in the sand. Ivy snaking up their walls. Beds of asters lining the colonnade. Daisies growing in rooftop gardens. “Can you picture it? The buildings you cared for standing amid a sea of flowers?”

“I can see … fragments. None quite right—none clear enough to do justice. Yet I see something of how the world might have been.” The curator paused. “Thank you for giving me that.”

“You are welcome,” the ship said. “I hope you might let me share more with you.”

“I … yes. I will speak with you again soon.”

With that, the light of the crystalline tower faded as the ship’s presence departed.

“We are leaving,” Kendra said. “We will return. While we are away, we will seek others who might understand your technology better than we do. Who might offer you a different future, if you choose it.”

“That is more than I have ever hoped for,” the curator said.

She approached the console and rested her hand atop it, and the lights glowed brighter in response. “Goodbye, curator. We will see you again.”

They left the curator’s room and wandered through the upper level of the plateau to the cavern where the caretakers had been working diligently. They floated upward to the newer buildings, those that had been most informed by the caretakers’ recent burst of creativity. Kendra gestured to the long carving on the floor, where tall buildings emerged from a sea of clouds. “This is the archive from your memories.”

Aster’s eyes flicked over the design and a softness overtook his face. “It is.”

There was a noise from above, and one of the machines spotted them. It chirped and hurried over. As it approached Kendra, it hesitated. She held out her hand. “It’s still me.”

The machine’s arm phased through her with a vibration, and it jerked back. It tried again, pausing just at the edge of her outstretched hand, and when she concentrated, she brushed hard metal. The machine chirped again.

The others followed, circling Aster. The bravest ventured a foot from him, and he bent to pat it on the head. “There there, I’m not so terrible.” He gestured to the carving on the ground. “This is my home world. You’ve done a lovely job of capturing it.”

The machines twirled around him and then left, the last blinking its lights at Kendra as it followed the others.

The interior of the ship gave off a cheery glow as Kendra and Aster entered. “Good afternoon, my friends. Did you gather what you needed from the research station?”

“We did,” Kendra said.

Aster approached the ship’s console and set a palm-sized metal block on it. A ring of light gleamed on the console’s surface.

“That contains the data from our investigation of the ruins, as well as the papers we had collected on Asteracea,” Kendra said. She stood beside Aster and ran her fingers over the smooth surface of the console. “Can you access the data?”

The lights pulsed and text appeared in the air in front of them. “Yes, I have transferred it successfully. The curator will be pleased to have this information.”

“Have you two spoken today?” Aster asked.

“I have. We had an engaging conversation about the humanities, in fact. I was surprised to find the curator was interested in many examples of poetry I have in my database, particularly regarding nature.”

Kendra smiled. “I’ve been thinking. Is it possible to translate the curator and caretakers into a form like ours?”

“The procedure was designed to work with organic minds. While it theoretically could also work with an AI, the process may change how its mind works. It could confer a substantially deeper experience of emotion, which may or may not be preferable. The curator would have to be willing to take that risk.”

“Could the curator become something more like yourself?” Aster asked. “A new ship.”

“Our creation was a slow process. I’m afraid I don’t have access to the data on how it was achieved, either, as it happened long ago.”

“There may be less drastic options,” Kendra said. “Between Bria, Antony, and Seph, one of them is bound to know researchers who can advise us. They might know how to relocate the curator or translate it into a form that isn’t dependent on the Asteraceans’ specific form of fuel.”

“It’s worth investigating,” Aster said.

“If the curator decides to stay here in the desert, so be it, but it’s only fair that it should have a choice,” Kendra said.

“I agree,” the ship said. “So then, will you be leaving?”

“We will return,” Aster said. There was a note in his voice that suggested he was trying to reassure the ship of that.

“I know you will. And I will be here,” the ship said warmly. “Do not worry about me. The curator and caretakers and I will keep each other company.”

“Thank you,” Kendra said. “For everything.”

“You are very welcome.”

They returned to the main cavern. Light spilled down from the hole in the ceiling, glittering off the warm stone of the ruins. Two caretakers flitted around the base of the ship. There, tiny crystalline flowers emerged from the ground, their edges sparkling with gold. One machine touched its long metal arm to a crystal and let out a bright trill.

“What do you think of them? They hold some of my favorite memories,” Aster said. “I hope you like them.”

Kendra grinned. “Maybe the caretakers will find them inspirational and build more places from your memories.”

“I wouldn’t mind that.” Aster tilted his head toward Kendra. “Are you ready?”

“Let’s go.”

He flashed her a smile as they turned to shadow. They billowed up into the air, through the hole in the cavern as sunlight spilled down onto them. They climbed upward, above the plateau, then into the clouds. Mist cooled her as they burst through them. Aster kept pace with her, his body a blur of violet and teal amid shadows. The planet fell away beneath them as they rose, fighting the drag downward until it gave way to weightlessness.

They rested above the atmosphere. Aster floated beside her, a cascade of violet pouring off him as he radiated joy and warmth. Then Kendra turned her attention outward, beyond the planet and moons and stars before her. Her senses stretched far across space, as she envisioned the universe itself as a vast sheet of fabric. She could reach out to the edge of her awareness and pull, connecting points previously separated by unfathomable distance. Then they would leap forward.

They charted the path toward Acinos. To Bria.