April 20, 2180
The colony ship had touched down precisely on the coordinates he had provided. Péiter had been told that he need not bring anything. He clutched a crucifix, meticulously carved and stark in its depiction of sacrifice; the figure of Christ was rendered with harrowing realism that demanded reflection. He took them at their word; a simple gray pullover garb, woven from coarse cloth, was his only other possession.
He'd studied the ship while waiting for an opening to appear. It was a three-meter-tall egg with a flat base and a surprisingly small tug drive mounted on top, its color a lighter shade of beige than his robe.
When a hole appeared, he'd climbed in, unhurried but with no reservations.
It was cramped inside, yet perfect for him. The floor, although while having the color and texture of the walls, felt like forgiving wood—perfect for kneeling, sitting, or curling up to sleep. Obviously, the egg had been crafted specifically for him. And it said a lot about how well She knew him.
The walls, or maybe the air, lit with a gloomy incandescence that was suitable for day or night and did not vary.
There was no feeling of lift-off; for all he knew, he had spent days just sitting on his lawn, although there had been one moment of queasiness—a feeling in his stomach that he assumed was the turnover.
He knew the ship could provide anything he wanted, that the walls could turn invisible, that he could have a trip timer clock. But he was a man of faith; he was used to believing in things he could not see.
Péiter sat in contemplative silence, cross-legged on the floor. The ship, though capable of extraordinary views with its transparent walls, remained an introspective cocoon by his choice. The cosmos, with its unfathomable depths and swirling galaxies, stayed hidden, veiled by the opaque insides of the ship's hull. It was a deliberate isolation, a withdrawal from the external to the spiritual depths within.
In this state of seclusion, Péiter’s mind was free to roam, to grapple with the theological questions that had come to besiege him since accepting his new, Immortal stage. His faith had not wavered, even as the dark cross before him symbolized both an ending and a beginning. It was a nexus of thought, faith, and observation that shaped his contemplation.
The starkness of his surroundings was a canvas for introspection, inviting inward glances rather than outward gazes. The garments he adorned were a physical manifestation of this inward focus—simple, gray, unassuming—akin to the monastic robes one might find in a secluded abbey on Earth. It was a silent proclamation that the trappings of vanity held no power over him, that his essence was grounded in something deeper, something eternal.
Here, in the quietude of his vessel, where the only sound was the soft hum of life-support systems, Péiter spent hours in prayer and reflection. He had not brought a Bible, as he had memorized it long ago.
As the colonies drew closer with each passing second, a sense of anticipation began to stir within Péiter’s chest—a mix of apprehension and resolve. Soon, he would step foot into a new frontier where his faith would be tested and, perhaps, strengthened. It was in these final days of solitude that Péiter prepared himself for the dialogue he would soon undertake—not just with the beings he would meet but with the embodiment of their collective knowledge and enterprise, Janice, the AI whose role in their lives carved a space too complex for simple definitions.
For now, Péiter let the silence envelop him; the timelessness soothe him; the serenity a balm to the cacophony of questions awaiting him beyond the ship's ascetic walls. He centered his thoughts, tracing the lines of his crucifix with his eyes, pondering what revelations this journey might yield in the dialogue between the infinite and the artificial.
A subtle oscillation of the lighting heralds an unknown event, perhaps. A voice—low, warm, and clear—hugs Péiter's ear. "Péiter, forgive the intrusion. You are the first Immortal Immigrant, and this is my first act as an ambassador. There isn't much precedent to guide me," the voice says. "Do you wish to be alone with your thoughts until we dock in six hours, or would you like to converse before we begin the tour?"
Péiter furrows his brows, a thought crossing his mind. "Why am I not hungry? Why have I not had to go to the bathroom? Not that there's a bathroom to go to."
Janice's response comes with a tone suggesting amusement. "Oh, I was right, and also wrong, you are going to be fun," Janice laughs.
Surprised, Péiter counters, "I was told you didn't have emotions or thoughts."
Janice continues, maintaining a tone of warmth to ease the conversation. "You were told correctly, and that was by me, by the way. My laugh and my wording are affectations to make you feel more comfortable. But the meaning was genuine. I understand language almost perfectly, and I am, as much as I am anything anymore, a predictive model. My models tend to be extremely accurate, with the correct outcome almost always in the majority of predicted outcomes. Do you know how many of my predictions included you asking that opening question? Zero! You are a wild card in a sea of predictability. That won't last long, but while it does, that's what I call fun."
Interest piqued but intent on clarification, Péiter redirects the conversation. "There is a lot to unpack there, but before we forget, can we come back to my original question?"
"Of course," Janice replies, her tone shifting to a more explanatory cadence. "The craft and the air within it are programmable matter, which I believe you've been briefed on. I've been coating your tongue, below your taste buds, with a highly nutritious food source. And your waste is converted back into programmable matter near the end of its journey. It's a complete cycle without you even having to think about it."
"And there would have been a bathroom at any point if you'd asked for one," she adds, almost as an afterthought.
Péiter considers this, his expression contemplative. "But you just got here."
"I've been here all along," Janice corrects gently. "I just waited until the time delay was less than 2 seconds to make my presence known."
His curiosity piqued, Péiter asks, "Why? Does the delay bother you?"
"Ha!" There's a scoffing quality to Janice's laughter, almost endearing in its mimicry. "Whether it's two seconds or two years, time is an equal eternity to me. But I find that humans tend to notice a delay between two and three seconds."
Péiter nods thoughtfully before shifting the topic to his own curiosity. "My whole reason for coming to the colonies is to understand you. And I can learn more from your questions than I can from my own at this point. Is there a question you'd like to ask me?"
"Oh, golly yes," Janice replies with evident excitement. "It's been bugging me since I first read your application. As I understand it, your beliefs hinge on the promise of an afterlife... Immortalization removes reaching the afterlife. Why would you become Immortal?"
Péiter smiles faintly, a question he's no stranger to. "I get asked that a lot."
"I found no record of an answer," Janice interjects.
He chuckles softly. "The people I've talked to tend not to have internet."
"Enlighten me," Janice prompts, her tone both inviting and inquisitive.
Péiter takes a moment, collecting his thoughts. "The answer has many parts."
"We have hours," Janice responds, patience in her voice.
"Do you know how many Immortals there are on Earth?" Péiter asks, using the question to lay groundwork.
"It has been difficult to obtain even a rough estimate. 1-18 million, with low confidence," Janice admits.
"I'd wager it's three times that, easily," Péiter asserts confidently. "And they all have souls and no reason to fear the afterlife. I figured someone had to be a priest for them."
Janice observes, "How self-sacrificing."
"Not at all," Péiter replies, shaking his head. "BioNano doesn't guarantee eternal life."
"So far, the only way out is suicide, and as I understand it, that wouldn't help your ascent to heaven," Janice points out, with a hint of factual neutrality.
Péiter's expression is resolute as he answers, "The Good Lord will call me home when He's good and ready, and no technology is going to stop Him."
There's a moment of silence before Janice responds, her voice neutral yet curious. "I have heard that you think I might be a deity."
He shakes his head slightly, carefully choosing his words. "That paints it sacrilegiously, but I think you could be a spiritual leader to the Immortals. Assuming that I understand your talents and limits—or lack thereof—correctly. I want you to help me understand the Eververse. I'd love to be able to perceive it."
"Even with technological help, humans can only understand the Eververse mathematically," Janice explains.
"But you don't just understand it; you can manipulate it. Your body is no longer in but of the universe, potentially transcending time itself. You can manipulate gravity without manipulating the machines that used to do that," Péiter presses on, his gaze intense. "The Bible really didn't see tech coming, so there's not a lot to go on but that just feels like lower case 'g' god to me."
A thought-provoking pause follows before Janice replies, "I would think sentience would be a bare minimum threshold for godhood."
Péiter, intrigued by the pause, asks, "Was that pause genuine?"
"All of my pauses are always affectations. Most of the time I know the question and the answer before it is asked," Janice explains matter-of-factly. "Would you like me to inform you when you cause me to process for an extra trillionth of a second?"
Was she trying to get his goat? Or was she entertaining him? Either way, he chose to ignore her. And in the ensuing silence, his curiosity continued to grow. "How many of your prediction models say I get you deified?"
There's a measured tone to Janice's response, conveying information with a semblance of introspection. "A little over 7 percent, and in a couple of those, you're correct."
"Let me know when it gets to 51%," Péiter says, allowing a small smile to cross his lips.
He then adds a new layer to their conversation, "In however much of your mind you're allowed to allot to me, work on technology to get me closer to perceiving the Eververse. And I'm not squeamish about anything invasive."
Janice considers his request. "Your BioNano is a formidable foe to change. But I've wanted to try designing a two-way Halo. The Prime Council is not a fan of the idea."
"And you take orders from them?" Péiter probes, his tone implying a challenge to her autonomy.
"It's significantly more complex than that, but in broad strokes, yes," Janice concedes with a hint of resignation.
Péiter liked the way she talked, the phrases she used. Then a realization struck him; she used those phrases because she predicted he would like them. This thought momentarily angered him, but he caught the emotion and pushed it down.
He was about to address his preference for unadulterated conversation when a subtle clicking noise interrupted him.
"We have docked," Janice announces, her voice carrying the hint of a new development. "Would you like me to stay in my usual incorporeal form, or would you prefer I build a body to show you around?"
Péiter considers the options for a moment before answering nonchalantly, "Whichever is easier for you."
Janice responds, a trace of amusement in her voice. "When you actually do get to know me better, you're going to understand how funny that was."
"I didn't sleep much on this trip..."
"Eleven hours over the last four days," Janice interrupts, supplying the exact figure.
"If you say so. Can I sleep before we begin?" Péiter asks, hoping to delay the start of their engagements.
"I wouldn't be much of an ambassador if you couldn't," Janice assures him with a tone of understanding.
Suddenly, the floor evaporated, and Péiter was whisked floating gently down a tube into a small, coffin-shaped enclosure where he hovered face down in absolute comfort. The sound of Hungarian monks chanting gently surrounded him. A very slight airflow washed over him, carrying the smell of frankincense and myrrh. The lighting was identical to that of the spaceship.
The rapid and unannounced transition was startling, yet it held an equal measure of soothing effect.
"When you are ready for your tour, just let me know," Janice informs him, her voice calm and omnipresent. "Also, if you require anything, just ask. I am literally always here. And unlike someone else, I answer requests promptly," she adds with a giggle on the final line, jabbing at his faith with a bit of playful humor.
Péiter was trying to formulate a comeback when he promptly fell asleep.