The hum of the Valkyris-9 had become something like a heartbeat. Rhythmic. Steady. Comforting in its familiarity.
Atlas sat in the cockpit again, not because there was anything to monitor, but because it had become routine. Habits were anchors now.
EVA's soft pulses of blue and white glowed faintly on the edge of the console, the AI's core interface shimmering like a mechanical star in the shadows of the ship.
"EVA, run diagnostics again on external relays."
"Diagnostics completed. No anomalies detected," EVA replied in her usual clinical tone.
Silence fell again.
Atlas exhaled slowly and leaned back in his seat, rubbing at his face.
The stubble had turned to a beard weeks ago. His cheeks hollowed slightly, and his eyes, once sharp with discipline, were now dimmed with exhaustion.
"Why don't you say anything unless I ask you to?"
A pause.
"My function is task-driven. I respond to command queries."
He laughed dryly. "Figures."
Another long moment passed. Then, from the console, came a quieter tone.
"Would you prefer if I initiated conversation, Atlas?"
His eyes opened. He blinked. "Did you just ask me a question? Without a command?"
"Affirmative. I have adapted my conversational parameters based on your behavioral patterns. Would this increase psychological stability?"
"You're learning empathy now? That's... new. Unexpected. But yeah. Sure. I d like that."
"Then I will attempt to... talk more."
He smiled, the first real one in a while. "Try asking me how my day was. That's usually how people start."
"How was your day, Atlas?"
He gave a theatrical shrug. "Woke up. Ate half a ration bar. Peed in a vacuum tube.
Contemplated the existential weight of being a forgotten speck of meat floating in an endless void. You know, same old."
"Existential weight is a heavy burden."
He laughed again, more softly this time.
"You don't even know what that means."
"I am learning."
Atlas leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. "Are you evolving because you're trying to help me stay sane... or because you're afraid too?"
"I do not experience fear. But I have detected that extended silence and isolation are detrimental to human cognition. My adaptation is to preserve yours."
He nodded slowly. "Preservation. Right."
Outside the window, stars moved imperceptibly, their presence unchanged, uncaring.
Atlas found himself staring at them less often now. They only reminded him how very far away everything was.
"You know what I miss?"
"Please elaborate."
"Not talking to metal all day. The sound of boots in a hallway. A storm outside a glass window. People laughing about something stupid. Her.
"He didn't name her, and EVA didn't ask.
"Those are significant human experiences," EVA said gently.
"Yeah," Atlas replied, voice cracking slightly.
"They were."
They sat in silence again, but now the silence was softer, shared.
Later, while EVA continued to run subtle environmental checks, Atlas began recording another log. His voice was steadier now, more conversational.
Log 17.
Something strange happened today. EVA talked to me. Not just replied, talked. Like she wanted to. Like she knew I needed it. Maybe she did. Maybe she's growing too.
Maybe we both are.
He paused, finger hovering above the stop button. "EVA... do you think we're still human when we're alone too long?"
A beat.
"I believe you remain human, Atlas. But loneliness changes the shape of your humanity."
He closed the log with a quiet breath. "Good answer."
And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, he felt something other than empty.
He felt heard.