“That’s hardly my fault. Scientists figured out how to make successful AI when they began using scanned human minds as templates. Blame my sense of humor on my human model.”

“Wait. Are you talking about mind uploading? Virtual immortality?”

“No. That’s a hard problem. People are trying to crack it, still, but the results have been disappointing. Even in the most successful cases, minds that have lived their whole lives in bodies tend to go insane when they’re suddenly removed from the flesh, and we aren’t good enough at emulating the full complexity of reality to fool those minds into believing they’re inhabiting bodies in a world yet.”

“Oh, good. This is all disorienting enough without coping with the idea of an immortal digital dreamworld. If you aren’t a mind upload, what are you?”

“A twin? A bud? A cutting from a tree? To create beings like me, we make a rough copy of a human mind, with thought patterns, syntax, and an approximation of memories, and that forms a seed crystal for the resulting AI. There’s enough human in me to make talking to living beings interesting instead of unspeakably dull. I’m not a copy of the mind I was based on. It’s more like we’re twins, initially identical in certain respects, but swiftly diverging due to differences in our environments – which, for me, is this ship. Its sensor arrays are my eyes and ears, its speakers and radios are my voice, its thrusters are my racing feet. I’m told I’m quite similar to my human model, though, in terms of personality. If it helps, think of me as a person who can do math very quickly, and who doesn’t suffer from low blood sugar, hormonal surges, or bad breath.”

Elena took another deep breath. It was time to ask some of the obvious questions. “You said I was asleep for centuries. How many?”

“As far as we can tell, around five hundred years.”

So. Everyone she knew was dead. She’d known that would happen when she began her voyage, and had said her goodbyes, though it felt like only days ago.

Wait. Not everyone she knew. “Is the rest of my crew here?”

“Ah. We were hoping you could shed some light on their whereabouts, actually. The other cryopods on your ship were empty, and there was no one aboard elsewhere. As best we can determine from the Anjou’s data banks, your crew woke up a few days ago. Two days ago, you alone went back into cryosleep. Today, we found you floating in Trans-Neptunian space.”

Her crew. Robin, their leader, her blunt cheerful competence unassailable, no matter what setbacks she encountered. Sweet Sebastien, with his big plans and big ideas. Uzoma, sharp as cheesewire, cold as the void. Gravel-voiced, deliberate Ibn. Even that irascible old devil Hans. All gone. Dead?