I said nothing.

“Good, Ben. Smart choice,” they said. “When I ask how you are feeling, it’s not because I care about you personally or because I’m being friendly. It is because I need accurate information. So. Do you feel mostly normal? Like yourself?”

I eye-checked my space goth costume. “I guess.”

“Brilliant.” They held up the ring. “This is called an axon diadem. It will give me data for your neural efficiency, synaptic integrity, etcetera, etcetera.” They pulled the ring along its circumference, changing its dimensions, then placed it atop their own head. “You wear it like this. Nothing physically invasive. Not painful. But necessary. And it is better than dying alone in space.”

I shrugged. “Whatever.”

“Hmm.” Aptat glanced at my head and adjusted the circlet. They pulled it to a large circumference, which gave me feelings about my head size. “Step forward.” I obeyed and Aptat gently placed it so that it settled just over my ears and across my forehead like I was a little space prince. They opened a palm, over which an ethereal holographic display rendered in aqua and orange, akin to a hospital-style readout with bars and lines jumping around, along with symbols and figures changing in sync with their corresponding graphic displays.

“Just answer or respond to my stimulus in whatever way feels natural. I am making a record of your ‘self’ at a moment in time. This will give me your resting coherence. There are no right or wrong answers. Honesty is the only prerequisite. Are you ready?”

“I guess.”

“Okay then, let’s begin: Name?”

“Ben Sullivan.”

“Place of origin?”

“Great Bend, Kansas, United States, Earth. Fucker.”

“Your earliest memory?”

“Distracted.”

“Lying on the ground, looking up at the sky.”

“What am I supposed to say?”

“First thing that comes to mind. It’s not about the substance of the answers. I may repeat questions to measure variability. Just go with it. So: Lying on the ground, looking at the sky.”

“Insignificant.”

“Parents.”

“Disappointed.”

“Dreams.”

“Sometimes.”

“Life.”

“Wasted.”

“Life.”

“Regret.”

“Wonderous. Joyous. Pallid. Neutral. Indecision. Magnificent.”

“Indecision.”

“Fire or Ice?”

“Neither.”

“You are walking on a beach.”

“Never been to one.”

“Purpose?”

“I don’t know.”

“A terrifying thing,” they said, more quickly now.

“Dying in space.”

“A terrifying thing.” Faster.

“Dying in space alone.”

“Your first memory.” Faster.

“Waking from a nap.”

“Your first memory.”

“I said, waking from a nap.”

“Your first memory!”

“Dawn!”

“Your first memory!”

“I said–” but stopped as something else came to mind. “Hearing my mother sing to me. In the morning.”

“Again. Your first memory.”

“Mom singing after I wake up in the morning.”

“What is the song?”

“Four and twenty blackbirds baked in a pie.”

“Baked in a pie?”

“In a pie.”

“A pie.”

“A pie!”

“A pie?”

“When the pie was opened the birds began to sing.”

“How was it opened?”

“Its petals unfold.”

“Petals?”

“Petals like a flower.”

“A flower?”

“Like the Bloom of God.”

Aptat’s eyes snapped up from the display. “The Bloom of God, huh? That’s one I haven’t heard before,” they said, reaching out for the diadem and lifting it from my head.