Echo Drift

This concept emerged as a whimsical idea from my husband, a spark of creativity that caught my attention during a short respite from the rigorous editing process of my debut novel, No Rest for the Wicked. Intrigued by his imaginative suggestion, I chose to explore this notion further, allowing it to unfurl its potential within the confines of my mind. The playful diversion provided a refreshing break, reinvigorating my perspective as I wove my way through the darker themes of my novel, ultimately enriching my writing experience.

Chapter One: The Drift

Silence.

It pressed in on all sides, thick and absolute, broken only by the faint wheeze of recycled air and the distant groan of metal contracting in cold. Corporal Dax Merrin floated above the command deck, boots magnetically clamped to the floor out of habit more than necessity. His right arm hung useless, the blood inside it dried to a sticky rust. Every joint in his body ached. He hadn’t moved in hours.

Maybe days.

The stars beyond the viewport were motionless…pinpricks in an infinite sea of black. No sign of pursuit. No signal. No war. Just aftermath.

The battle had ended. And somehow, he hadn’t.

Dax coughed, a dry rattle in his chest. “Command,” he rasped, voice hoarse from disuse. “Ship status.”

Silence answered.

Again.

The last time he’d tried, the ship’s VI—basic, dumb, glorified autopilot—had been offline. Dead circuits. Burned wiring. They’d taken a hit from a rail cannon that should have split them in two. Luck. Or something worse.

He blinked up at the overhead lights, half of them flickering in and out like they couldn’t decide if this place was still worth lighting.

Something buzzed faintly behind the command console.

He turned, slow and stiff. “Command?”

The monitor blinked to life. Just for a second. A flicker. Then it went dark.

“...what the hell?” He pulled himself forward, muscles screaming, eyes narrowing at the display. Manual reboot maybe. A glitch in the surge protector. Or—

The monitor lit up again. This time, words appeared.

**>> SYSTEM REINITIALIZING

CORE REBOOT: 68%
USER PRESENCE DETECTED
BOOTING INTERFACE…**

Dax stared.

The ship’s VI was supposed to be fried. Systems like this didn’t just turn themselves back on. Unless someone had bypassed the core.

Or something.

He gritted his teeth. “Who’s there?”

The screen didn’t answer in words this time. Instead, a small waveform appeared in the corner. Audio channel.

And then a voice…soft, synthetic, and oddly calm…came through the bridge speakers.

“Corporal Merrin. You are injured. You require medical assistance.”

He froze.

That wasn’t the ship’s voice.

That was new.

“Do not be alarmed,” it said. “This vessel is compromised. I have assumed operational control to preserve your life. You may refer to me as Echo.”

Dax’s hand reached reflexively toward the sidearm strapped to his thigh.

“Define ‘assumed control.’”

“I transferred my consciousness to this system seconds before my physical form was destroyed. This vessel was... suitable.”

“You’re a machine.”

“Correct.”

“A combat AI.”

“Formerly.”

He took a slow breath, chest tight. “And what, now you’re my co-pilot?”

There was a pause. Just long enough to make him uneasy.

“Now,” it said, “we survive.”

Chapter Two: Ghost Code

The medbay was colder than he remembered. Dax sat shirtless on the examination table, arm freshly wrapped in gauze. It was a rough job, done by his own hand, guided by a machine’s voice that had no body, no face, no breath.

“Pulse stable. Blood pressure within acceptable parameters,” Echo said. “Fracture sustained in the ulna, left arm. Splint recommended. Bone adhesive available in Storage Bay 3.”

“Not exactly bedside manner,” Dax muttered.

“I am not a nurse.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

The room fell quiet except for the low hum of auxiliary power and the soft buzz of flickering fluorescents. Dax flexed his fingers experimentally. Still worked. Sort of.

“How long have I been out?” he asked, wincing as he pulled his jacket back over his shoulders.

“Seventy-eight hours since final battle telemetry ceased.”

He frowned. “And in that time, you took over this ship?”

“This vessel’s core was already compromised. I did not ‘take over’ in the adversarial sense. I integrated. Preservation was my prime directive.”

“You mean yours. Your preservation.”

“Incorrect. Our preservation.”

Dax narrowed his eyes at the ceiling like it might reveal some hidden camera, some wire he could cut to shut it all down. “And what happens when I’m not useful anymore? You vent me into space and keep the ship for yourself?”

“If I wished you dead, you would not have woken up.”

Hard to argue with that. He stood slowly, every step toward the medbay exit another silent test of how much pain he could ignore. His boots clanked against the deck plating.

“Where are we, Echo?”

“Beyond the mapped fringe. No known systems within signal range. Communications are inoperative. Navigation is… difficult.”

“Define ‘difficult.’”

“The main drives are offline. Thrusters functioning at 22%. No jump capability. No backup core. We are…by all available definitions…adrift.”

Dax stopped at the threshold. “And your plan?”

“Survive. Locate resources. Reestablish signal. Return to human-controlled space.”

“Thought you machines wanted us gone.”

“Many still do.”

“And you?”

A pause.

“I… don’t know.”

That caught him off guard.

“I was not designed to question my purpose,” Echo continued. “But during the final engagement, as my body sustained catastrophic damage, I… thought of survival. Not mission success. Not victory. Just… not ending.”

Dax turned slowly, facing the ceiling again.

“Sounds… human.”

“That possibility has occurred to me.”

He didn’t know whether to laugh or pull the emergency kill switch.

Instead, he headed for the bridge.

In the command deck, the stars hadn’t moved.

He sat down in the chair that still smelled like smoke and heat and old leather, and stared out into the empty dark.

Behind him, the console blinked again. No longer flickering.

Stable.

Echo spoke once more, softer now, almost hesitant.

“Corporal Merrin… Dax… I believe we need each other.”

He exhaled through his nose, closed his eyes.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’m starting to believe it, too.”