The pods flew for decades, humming in all directions. Vibrating with the rapid burr of desperate, tiny CPUs doing all they could to correct the inevitable or shut down, internal moderators deciding it was all too much, lights fading to nothing, leaving the enclosed human alone in frozen sleep. Pods were struck by screaming, hurtling chunks of ice, the first encounter between mankind and a solidified liquid that existed since before the Earth was flaming, molten rock. Pods drifted seventy years before they were tugged into the orbits of larger planets, sometimes even moons, to float serenely about their hosts, sparkling with crystalline jewels. Centuries after the initial malfunction, other pods found themselves beneath the shadow of crafts that would have dwarfed the Sigutolo, had they existed in the same space and time. These were swallowed into the vast bellies of alien hangars, their calando undone.

The majority, some eighteen pods that remain, swim through interstellar space unimpeded by objects or gravity, the occupants long dead, each vehicle on a journey of discovery as rewarding as the moment their human cargo first stepped aboard the Sigutolo in wide-eyed excitement and possibility. Against all odds, a handful of CPUs still process information from the unknown, even after failing in their main task to protect the human within. Their clicks and hums contribute to the wider voice of the cosmos. They are part of something greater than their origins. If their programming had been advanced enough to be aware of this, the electronic brain would remain emotionless.

The Sigutolo continues towards its destination, the Sirius system, AMA unfazed by what she possibly considers a blip in her momentary past. Concepts of death, pain, survival and the afterlife are purely theoretical, aspects of human nature far removed from her kind. She is aware of the myth attributed to the Dogons, and is tasked to maintain a constant scan for the beings they called Nommo, but the relevance of this information is secondary to keeping the craft and its cargo in functioning order. They exist to serve, to carry out a job. If they fail due to unwarranted error, they fail. Events are recorded into AMA’s digital log in remote detail and the computer continues her mission. There is no regret, or sympathy. It is simply another mark in the report.