Archive of Our Own

She doesn’t want to ask the question, knows it will only make her sound like a child. Still, as she lets herself be led into the dimly lit room, the words pull at her. Fizz on her tongue just like the wine they drank together the night before—a celebration, Tilda had said—and she can’t keep them inside any longer.   

“Will it hurt?”   

Tilda’s gloved hand touches her shoulder. Rubbery and cold.   

“No, love,” she croons. “It won’t hurt a bit.”   

They approach the operating chair, gleaming white as bone even in the low light of the medical bay. Attached to it are a number of arm-like protrusions, all of which hold sharp-looking instruments. Aloy doesn’t know exactly what any of them are for, but has read enough about Old World practices to know they are surgical in nature.   

“But there may be times when you feel some...discomfort.”   

***  

Aloy understood now.  

Before, when Beta had said she would rather die than be captured again, when she had asked Aloy to kill her if there was even a chance she would end up...here...in this vat of nothingness...Aloy had thought her weak. Further proof that, although their DNA was identical, they could not be more different from one another.  

Not that she had blamed Beta for it. Unlike her, the clone the Zeniths had created had never known love or warmth. There had been nothing in her life worth holding on for. How could she possibly have the strength to endure something like this?  

But now? Now she got it. Some things really were worse than death.  

Wait. There. It was happening again. The light! But was it real or just a trick? Something her mind was conjuring up in some futile attempt to stop her from going mad? It was getting better and better at that.  

But no—this was real. The tiny glowing ball was getting bigger, forming an entire world around her out of the darkness. Aloy felt her heart beat faster. Finally! She knew exactly where she was going and who would be waiting for her. But right then, she didn’t care.  

In a rush of movement, the light shifted and twisted, and out of nothing, a room began to take shape. A room in a house. Her house.  

Suddenly, Aloy was no longer lying on her back, strapped down within the slick confines of the Specter, but sitting upright in a chair. She took a moment to shake off her disorientation then surveyed her surroundings as they morphed into view.  

They were in the parlour today. 

The walls of the room were white with an intricate gold trim. Off to the side were a pair of big, open windows, the billow of their sheer curtains offering just a glimpse of the glittering ocean beyond. A small yet elegant table sat between her and the chair beside her which, as yet, remained unoccupied. On it appeared a precarious-looking stack of plates, each one holding a variety of colourful cakes, cream-filled pasties, and square-cut sandwiches made with the fluffiest bread Aloy had ever seen. In the centre was a teapot, fussy and painted with tiny flowers, and two matching cups, small and delicate.  

“Hello, Aloy.” 

The fact that Aloy felt a rush of relief at the sound of her captor’s voice disgusted her, but she couldn’t help herself. Just how long had it been this time?  

“Tilda.” Aloy knew the curt reply wouldn’t do her any favours, but after a beat passed and she was still sitting in her chair rather than being pulled back into darkness once again, she figured she had gotten away with it.  

“I thought we could have afternoon tea together today. Would you care to join me?” Tilda’s voice asked, because so far it was just her voice, not echoing around the room, but pumping directly—horribly—into Aloy’s mind.  

Aloy crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “From where I’m sitting, I’d say that it’s you who has yet to join me .”  

At this, another ball of light formed, this time hovering over the empty chair, and before Aloy could blink, the light became Tilda herself. She looked the same as she always did; her high-necked suit, shimmering white and gold, covered her entire body, leaving only her pale face exposed. Her short-blond hair was slicked back to perfection. And, of course, she reeked of smugness. Secure in her victory. Over Aloy. Over the other Zeniths. Over the entire world.  

“Touche,” Tilda replied with a smirk. When she spoke, her voice had come from her mouth rather than the inside of Aloy’s head. That was something, at least.  

Aloy said nothing but kept her eyes fixed on Tilda as she poured tea for them both. She added milk to her own but, for Aloy’s cup, she forgoed it, adding a slice of lemon instead. That must have been how Elizabet had taken it, Aloy supposed. She went on to wonder, yet again, how the woman she was cloned from could ever have loved someone as cruel and ruthless as Tilda van der Meer.   

“And how are we feeling today?” Tilda asked.  

How are we feeling? I don’t know, Tilda, you tell me—how should we be feeling? How should we feel knowing that thousands of innocent tribes are slowly dying back on Earth as the thing you and your friends created strips the planet of life? How should we feel knowing that my friends—those good people you betrayed—must have lost all hope the moment you stole me and GAIA away? Sad? Angry? Devasted? Oh wait. Sorry. That’s how I’m feeling. You won’t be feeling any of that, what with you being a psychopath and everything.   

That’s what Aloy wanted to say. It’s what she would have said a few months ago...and been sent right back to the Specter for her troubles. She knew better now.  

“Fine.” Aloy bared her teeth, hoping it would pass for a smile. “Thank-you.”  

“I’m pleased to hear that,” Tilda said, smiling back in return. She lifted the teacup to her purple-tinged lips then gestured for Aloy to do the same.  

Aloy hesitated. She always hesitated before consuming anything during their time together. Not because she was worried about being poisoned or drugged—none of this was actually real, after all. For all her fears of being dragged back into her desolate pod, Aloy knew that in reality she was still there, her body being pumped full of all the nutrients she needed to survive. She didn’t need to drink. She didn’t even feel particularly thirsty. That meant that anything that passed her lips here would do so solely for the purposes of pleasure, and pleasure was not something she wanted to experience here. It wasn’t right. Not when her friends were— 

Aloy chased the thought away before it overtook her. She would have plenty of time to dwell on that later. Right now, what Tilda wanted Tilda would get.  

The cup was so light, Aloy almost spilled scalding tea all over herself. It was very different from the heavy mugs sculpted roughly from clay that she grew up with. She doubted even the Sun-King himself possessed something so fine. And the tea, when she finally tasted it, was just as delicate. Behind the bitterness of the leaves lay something fruity and floral that blended perfectly with the lemon.  

It was delicious. Damn it.  

“Do you like it?” Tilda asked, a look of delight on her face. “It’s blended with the oil of a citrus fruit called ‘bergamot’. It isn’t native to America so you probably haven’t tried it before. It’s called Earl Grey after one of the leaders of Great Britain. Have you heard of Britain? Never mind. The story says that a Chinese scholar presented this blend to him in gratitude after one of the Earl’s men saved his son from drowning, but the truth is likely much less romantic.”  

“The more I learn about the past, the less romantic it seems.”  

They stared at each other. Aloy waited for the darkness to reach out and consume her but it didn’t come. There was no chance that Tilda had not realised the comment was a barb directed her way—she must have chosen to brush it off.   

“Yes,” Tilda continued. “In actual fact, bergamot oil was added to low-quality tea leaves to boost the flavour, allowing traders to charge more for them.”  

“Sounds about right,” Aloy mumbled. She thought back to some of the more disreputable merchants she’d encountered during her travels and had to acknowledge that this was a problem that had persisted long into the future.  

“I used to tease Elizabet about that,” Tilda said, her eyes softening. “This type of tea was her favourite, you see. In turn she would admonish me for adding milk—a big no no in polite society.”  

“I guess you’ve always done things your own way.” Aloy’s cup clinked loudly as she placed it back on its little matching plate. How the Old Ones weren’t forever breaking their tea-cups ware was lost on her.  

“I suppose I have,” Tilda agreed, the iridescent shimmer of her bodysuit illuminating the wistful smile still playing on her lips.  

Not just a suit, Aloy reminded herself, a shield. A combination of genetic therapies and technological implants had made Tilda immortal, but that shield was the thing that stopped her from being hurt. The thing that prevented Aloy from picking up a fork and plunging it into Tilda’s neck.  

Well, it would have done if this were real and not a clever computer programme of Tilda’s own creation. Aloy kept forgetting that part.  

Tilda placed a pastry on Aloy’s plate. It was stuffed with so much cream that it oozed out of both ends and the top of it was covered in a dark layer of chocolate. Tilda had told her about chocolate before. A dessert so rich and decadent that it was once bestowed upon queens. Aloy had never tasted it and she did not plan on doing so today.  

“Our journey is progressing smoothly,” Tilda said, selecting a pastry of her own. “The ship estimates we will reach our destination within the next thirty years.”  

Aloy would not have been able to take a bite of food even if she’d wanted to for her throat had closed up at Tilda’s words. She couldn’t breathe. Thirty years?! That was practically a lifetime! Thirty years of this ? She’d never survive it. She wanted to scream. To tear at her hair and wail. To let the hot tears of rage and pain stinging at her eyes fall freely. But she wouldn’t do any of that. Not yet.  

“Thirty years?” she asked, hoping she had misheard somehow.  

“Yes,” Tilda said through a mouthful of pastry. “It really is remarkable how far humanity has come that we are able to make the journey in such a short space of time. Ah—forgive me—I know thirty years must seem like a long time to you.” Between bites of her cake, Tilda paused to give her a pointed look. “Which is why you really should consider taking up my offer sooner rather than later.” 

The immortality treatment. So far, Tilda had given Aloy the option of refusing it, but this would not be the case forever. Sometimes she wished Tilda would just get it over with. But, for whatever reason, she wanted Aloy to accept it willingly. To do what Elisabet could not.  

Never.  

“While the process usually goes much more smoothly on a younger participant,” Tilda went on. “I’m willing to give you more time to...come to terms...with your situation. But take it from me—” she gestured towards herself with a smile “—you’ll want to preserve your body while it’s in its twenties rather than waiting until your fifties like I did. Trust me—you'll prefer it.”  

“You mean you would prefer it.”  

Tilda’s eyes narrowed sharply, all warmth vanishing from them in an instant.  

Aloy knew she had pushed too hard. Hit a nerve. She hadn’t meant to say it. Oh gods, she hadn’t meant to. The thud of her heartbeat was suddenly deafening. She felt dizzy. The blackness already tugging at the corners of her vision.  

Before she could apologise, Tilda held up her hand and said the words Aloy dreaded to hear: “I think that’s enough for today.”  

Then the world began to disappear.  

The sea. The curtains. The walls. The tea and cakes. All of it faded slowly away to nothing.  

“Wait!” Aloy screamed. “Tilda, wait! I’m sorry! Tilda, please !”  

But the darkness continued steadily on, consuming everything in its path. Even her own body was fading away. Soon all that was left was Tilda’s face, watching coldly on.  

What was Aloy thinking? Begging never worked. She struggled to get a grip on her panic before it was too late.  

“Tilda, I still need to talk to you!” Aloy couldn’t feel her own mouth anymore but, somehow, she was still able to speak. “About Elisabet’s vision!”  

All of a sudden, the room and everything in it—including Aloy herself—snapped back into place.  

Tilda let her hand fall back down onto the table. “I’m listening.”  

But Aloy needed a moment. She took several deep breaths. In. Out. In. Out. All the while weighing up what she was about to say, what she was about to commit to. She had thought long and hard about it, gone back and forth countless times as she argued with herself for days on end. She had decided. It was the right thing to do.  

“I’ve been thinking,” Aloy began breathlessly, trying and failing to keep the tremble from her voice, “about what you’ve been saying. About how maybe...maybe it was impossible for us to save Earth. Maybe it was all hopeless...right from the very beginning.”  

Tilda raised a thin eyebrow at her. Sceptical.  

“Don’t get me wrong,” Aloy quickly clarified. “I still wanted to try. And I still haven’t forgiven you for taking that choice away from me...but if we can make a new world...if I can help save humanity in a different way...then I have to do it.”  

“So what are you asking me for?”  

“Access,” Aloy’s voice was much steadier now. She had always been a good negotiator. “To the data channels. Not all of them, of course. Just the same ones Beta had.”  

“For what purpose?”  

“To prepare! I may have Elisabet’s mind, but there is still so much I don’t know about her work. There’s so much I need to understand—about GAIA, machine creation, terraformation—maybe if I had that knowledge, I could even figure out a way to improve the systems. Avoid the mistakes that were made on Earth.”  

Tilda considers her request for a long time. What Aloy was asking for was a lot. Neither of them trusted each other yet. But Tilda would want this more than anything; a willing partnership. Them shaping the future of humanity together. Had Aloy said enough to convince her she was genuine?  

“Alright, Aloy,” Tilda said finally. “You’ll have what you need.”   

***  

“So...how long will all this take?”   

Tilda’s arms envelop her from behind and Aloy feels a hot breath against her neck. Tilda’s breath is always hot, perhaps because the rest of her is so cold in comparison. “Overall, the process will take a number of months,” she says. “Do you remember the samples we took last time? Of your blood and bone marrow?”   

Aloy nods. It was difficult to forget having a needle rammed directly into her spine.    

“From those samples we harvested something called ‘stem cells’. These have been successfully... altered...to halt the aging process.”  

“How does that work exactly?”  

“To be perfectly honest, I don’t really know. Dr Song explained it to me, but that was several centuries ago now. All I know is that it works. Today, those altered cells will be put back into your body and the AI will monitor how well you tolerate it.”   

“And if I don’t tolerate it?”   

Tilda spins Aloy around until they face one another. “You will,” she says. “I know you will. With everything you’ve achieved up until now? This will be nothing!”   

Aloy can’t help but laugh at Tilda’s earnest expression. She reaches out to cup her cheek. “What was it you said to me back on Earth?” she asks. “That I was Elisabet’s ‘best possible self’?”   

Tilda’s eyes close as she leans into Aloy’s touch. She nods.   

“Well,” Aloy breathes. “I think that—with your help—I'm going to become even better.”   

Tilda sighs. Content. Aloy feels the hum of it flow through her as they come together in a kiss.   

***  

Aloy closed the file hovering in front of her and flopped down into her seat. That was it. The last one. It had taken far longer than she thought it would to read all the data relating to Project Zero Dawn. She had only had time to come to grips with the basics back on Earth. Just enough to understand what went wrong and how to fix it before time ran out. Now she had a much fuller understanding of everything GAIA was capable of. She even got a few ideas of how they could improve things.  

But she was dangerously close to information overload. She needed a break.  

Aloy took a moment to glance around her surroundings. When Tilda had first opened this data channel for her it had been nothing but an empty room, the walls of which were so white it was almost impossible to differentiate them from the floor and ceiling. There hadn’t even been anywhere to sit. Aloy had spent her days feeling as though she was floating in mid-air as she scrolled through the files she had access to. They had been highly restricted back then.  

Still, it was so much better than before.  

Eventually, Tilda must have grown pleased with her progress, for one day, Aloy had a desk. The day after that, a leather armchair—the one she was currently sat in—had appeared. Before long the room had become an entire library, the once-bare walls suddenly filled with row upon row of books, all different colours and sizes. They stretched so high Aloy needed to use a ladder to reach some of them.  

What Aloy liked about these books was that they did not contain any facts or figures. You wouldn’t find any machine schematics or mathematical predictions among any of their pages. These books contained stories. Thousands of tales from the past that had been lost to history.  

Sometimes Aloy would feel guilty about picking up one of these books when there was still so much data to sift through. So much she still needed to understand. But, through these stories, Aloy had learned more about the people of the past than anything she could find on a Focus.  

She picked up her latest read—a strange tale about a pig who befriends a spider and the pair’s plot to save the former from being eaten. She was enjoying it immensely.  

“A wealth of classic literature at your disposal, and you’re reading a children’s story?”  

Aloy didn’t look up. She had grown used to Tilda’s sudden appearance on the data channel. And her teasing.  

“They remind me of the stories I heard growing up. The Nora do enjoy their morality tales.”  

Tilda leaned back against the desk, cocking her head as she gazed down at Aloy. “I can’t imagine the Nora would welcome an outcast child around the campfire during story time. Did Rost tell them to you?”  

Aloy’s grip on the book tightened. She nodded. There was no point trying to keep her past a secret from Tilda, she had already admitted to scouring through Aloy’s Focus. She could rewind and replay every detail of the past few years of Aloy’s life at her leisure.  

“Which one is it today?”  

Aloy held up the cover. The book’s title—‘Charlotte’s Web’—was printed across it in wispy, looping letters, as though spun by the titular character herself.  

“Ah,” Tilda smiled, “that was one of my favourites also. As a child, I found it to be very comforting.”   

“Comforting?” Aloy asked. “I’m sitting here terrified that this pig is going to be eaten!” 

“It helps children cope with change,” Tilda said, amused. “Childhood is full of changes, both good and bad. This book helps to prepare them for its inevitability.”  

At least Tilda had always been open about her own past—about the loss of her parents, about growing up in a boarding house, about the loneliness that had followed her into adulthood. Aloy could not deny that some aspects of Tilda’s life were similar to her own. Perhaps more so than Elisabet herself.... 

“How is the research coming?” Tilda asked, changing the subject. “Forgive me, I realise you have only just taken a break,” she added, holding up her hands.  

“Well,” Aloy replied, closing the book. Wilbur and Charlotte’s adventure would have to wait for another time. “I now have a much better understanding of GAIA and her subordinate functions. And...I’ve had some thoughts...about the future terraformation...some ideas for improvements.”  

Tilda’s raised her eyebrows. “Impressive. Would you care to share them?”  

“No,” Aloy said firmly. “Not right now. There are still a few details I need to work out. But soon.”  

“Of course. Take all the time you need,” Tilda said. “I shall leave you to your thoughts, for now.” She turned to leave.  

“The world we’re going to create...” Aloy said suddenly, “...it’s going to be very different, isn’t it?”  

Tilda turned back to her, surprised. “Yes,” she said, voice taking on that dreamy quality it always did whenever Aloy asked about their future. “This time we’ll have APOLLO. The entire collective knowledge of mankind is all there, ready to be passed on to the next generation of people.”  

Aloy stared down at the book on her lap and thought of all the things she had yet to discover. About how different the New World would have been if they had been given this knowledge from the start, rather than left to decipher it from relics and barely functioning technology they could not hope to understand. And what about her friends? Varl, Erend, Kotallo, Zo—even Alva, who possessed more Old World knowledge than she knew what to do with—all of them would be very different had APOLLO not been lost.  

Then it hit her. Something worse than everyone she had ever known being left to die. Worse than their home being ravaged to dust. A realisation so horrific, so profoundly disturbing, she could not understand why she hadn’t thought of it until now.  

“That’s not true,” Aloy whispered to herself.  

“What do you mean? The Zeniths have their own copy of APOLLO. I told you months ago.”  

Aloy’s head snapped up. Suddenly she was seething. “The entirety of your world has been preserved,” —she flung out her arms to indicate the room full of books, the artwork hanging on its walls — “but what about mine? No record of our stories will be left behind! We didn’t have these” —Aloy tore the Focus from her temple and threw it to the ground— “recording our every movement! All of Earth’s tribes—Nora, Oseram, Tenakth, Utaru, Quen—everything about them, their entire culture will be lost forever! And we—” Aloy’s voice started to break  “—we were part of humanity too!” 

Throughout her rant, Tilda had simply stared at her, stunned into silence. Aloy expected to be brushed off, for Tilda to be just like her fellow Zeniths and dismiss her people as savages. Mistakes that were never meant to be.  

But Tilda surprised her yet again.  

“No,” Tilda took a tentative step towards Aloy, holding up her hands as though there were an arrow trained on her. “Aloy? Listen to me. They won’t be lost. Because you’re forgetting something. Something very important. Do you know what it is?”  

“What?” Aloy asked, the word coming out as a sob.  

“You will be there, Aloy. In a thousand years—two thousand—however long it takes for the new humans to be created—you will still be there! To guide them. You can teach them all about the New World. Pass on whatever traditions you see fit.”  

Aloy’s stomach lurched. Her? Saving humanity was one thing, but this? Shaping it into something new? Choosing what to preserve and what to discard like fruit gone rotten on the tree? Like some sort of living goddess?  

The enormity of her task, of time itself, stretched out before her. Too big to comprehend. This was all wrong. It wasn’t fair! She never asked for this! Who would ever ask for this?! 

“I know,” Tilda soothes, causing Aloy to become distantly aware she had been voicing her thoughts out loud. “I know you didn’t ask for this, and—Aloy? Aloy, look at me. Breathe for me now, okay? Deep breaths. That’s it—you didn’t ask for this. You don’t even want this. But, Aloy? You will do it.  Not because I’m forcing you to, but because that’s who you are. You are the one that steps up. The one who takes action. Does what needs to be done. Just like the woman you came from. And when it fails, when everything falls down around you, you dust yourself off and try again. That’s what I loved about Elizabet. It’s what I love about you .”  

Tilda’s touch should have been repulsive. Aloy should have shrugged her off, pushed her, screamed at her, regardless of how many of her new-found privileges would have been revoked. Anything to stop those hateful arms from wrapping around her. 

The frightening thing was that it wasn’t repulsive. Not at all. How long had it been since someone had held her like this? Even before, back on Earth? Aloy couldn’t remember.  

Aloy didn’t embrace Tilda in return, but she didn’t pull away.  

***  

Aloy pulls back, breaking the kiss that, for a moment, felt as unending as her life was about to become. Her eyes are still drawn to Tilda’s lips. She watches as they twitch up into a smile before forming the words:   

“I have something for you.”   

Aloy’s mouth quirks into a smirk of its own. “Something other than the gift of immortality, you mean?”   

“Well, the two sort of go hand in hand,” Tilda admits. She opens her palm. Inside is a small, round device, no bigger than a Shard. It’s as though Tilda has plucked it right out of the air and Aloy has to remind herself that they are not in a simulation anymore.   

This is real. Tilda is really giving this to her.   

Her own energy shield.   

“It attaches here,” Tilda says, reaching up and fastening the device somewhere in the neck of Aloy’s suit.   

Although it is just the two of them, the act feels strangely formal. Ceremonial, almost. Aloy holds her breath.   

“There,” Tilda says. The shield whirs to life in an instant. “Now nothing can ever hurt you again.”   

***  

The pain was everywhere, but the worst of it was in her eyes. The light. It was so bright. She tried to close them. Focused all her strength on simply moving her eyelids. She couldn’t. Something was stopping them. Holding them open as the light shone back and forth directly into her pupils.  

If this went on any longer she would surely go blind. Aloy tried to scream, and while she was able to, the sound came out muted and smothered. There was something in the way, some kind of tube reaching through her mouth, down past her throat, ending who knew where. Aloy gagged around it, arms flying up with the sole, panicked intention of pulling it out, but her hands were so slippery, coated thickly in something sticky and wet, that she could not grab hold of it.  

But then, all of a sudden, the machine released her. The tube withdrew from her throat in one sickening pull, and whatever was clamping her eyelids open let go. But, most importantly, the light that had been tormenting her all this time finally switched off.  

The thick, mucusy substance sloshed as Aloy propelled herself upward into a sitting position. She hugged her bare knees to her chest, feeling various things disconnecting from different parts of her body with the movement. She coughed. A lot. Pain seared her throat each time but she had to get whatever had been coating that tube out of her. Eventually, she hacked up enough so as to be able to breathe properly once again.  

Her eyes took far longer to adjust, but, slowly, the blurry shapes in front of her began to make sense. She recognised the black and white sheen of the Specter she sat in, now open to her surroundings, the colourful lights of machinery blinking on and off, the steel chrome furniture.  

This was the inside of the Zenith ship. Aloy was finally seeing it for the first time.  

The clink of footsteps filled Aloy’s ears. From out of the shadows, someone emerged. The only person it could be.  

“I thought it was about time I welcomed you abord properly.”  

Too much of Tilda’s face remained shadowed for Aloy to make out her expression, but there was a note of suppressed excitement in her voice. She held out a hand that Aloy had no choice but to accept; now that the adrenaline had worn off there was no way she was climbing out of this thing by herself. Aloy let herself be pulled unsteadily to her feet and leaned her full weight against Tilda as she stepped out of the pod on shaky legs.  

“You woke up a little early, I’m afraid,” Tilda said as they began to walk, ever so slowly. “I was hoping to avoid most of this...unpleasantness.”  

Tilda was getting whatever goo Aloy was covered in all over her pristine suit, but she paid no attention to it. She held Aloy securely against her, keeping her steady as they walked. Tilda explained that the weakness Aloy was feeling was not due to muscle atrophy. That, thanks to the Specter’s advanced electrostimulation, she may find herself stronger than ever. That what she was feeling now was just the shock of waking up after being unconscious for an extended period of time. Or something. Aloy didn’t catch all of what Tilda was saying as most of her concentration was taken up one putting one foot in front of the other.   

“How about we start with a bath?” Tilda asked.  

Since Aloy was already naked, she reasoned she might as well.  

Thankfully, the bathroom was close; a small, simple room with nothing but a steel bath, shower and toilet crammed in together. Aloy guessed that, while abord the ship, the Zeniths had spent most of their time in simulations. There they would have all the perfumed bubbles they could wish for. But the water Aloy sank into was warm enough to soothe her aching body and that was good enough for her.  

Wordlessly, Tilda began to bathe her. She started with Aloy’s hair, undoing her many braids one by one, her scalp easing as each strand fell free. Aloy didn’t have the strength to fight her. She didn’t even want to. She realised, somewhat hazily, that she was enjoying this. She wanted someone to take it all away. To care for her. To comfort her. To lather her body with soap. To massage her skin with eager fingers. To wash away the tension, the hurt, layer by filthy layer until she was something else. Someone new.  

Getting into the bath had been one thing but getting out was another altogether. Without Tilda there to help her Aloy would likely have stayed there, shivering as the water cooled around her. That’s if she hadn’t fallen asleep first. She had only just woken up after who knew how long and yet, frustratingly, all she wanted to do was go right back to sleep. Well, Aloy would have been frustrated if she wasn’t so exhausted.  

But Tilda had been there—to wrap her up in a warm towel, comb her hair then dry it with some handheld device that blasted hot air at her, and then, finally, take her to bed.  

And because Aloy was so very tired, so desperate to sink into blissful, dreamless sleep, she did not even object when Tilda crawled in beside her.  

*** 

They would have to turn their shields off again soon. Something about the medical equipment being too sensitive to have that amount of energy whizzing around it.   

“No sooner than she gives me a gift, she takes it away again,” Aloy teases.   

“I’m sorry.” Tilda fills the air with musical laughter. “I just couldn’t wait to give it to you.”   

“You mean you were stalling.”   

“Perhaps a bit.”   

Tilda’s told her of her worries, late at night, legs entwined. About how immortality changed people. How even the kindest among them became insufferable narcissists as the years went on. She knew that wouldn’t happen. Not to Aloy. But...   

“Come on,” Aloy says. “Let’s get it over with.”   

***  

Aloy peered into the canvas once more. Forcing herself to view the hideous scene it depicted rather than look away. And hoping that whatever it is she’s supposed to be feeling comes to her quickly before Tilda can ask:  

“So, what do you think?”  

Aloy thought that she had seen more pleasant things out on the battlefield. But she sensed this was not the right thing to say.  

“Um...it’s...nice?”  

“It’s nice,” Tilda repeated flatly.  

“Yes? I mean, no? I like the colours.” Aloy pointed to the man whose head was being sawn off by two determined-looking women. “The blood here is a nice shade of red.”  

“You think that Artemisia Gentileschi’s depiction of Judith seducing and then slaying Holofernes is ‘nice’?”  

“Yes.” Aloy stuck her hands to her hips and gave Tilda an exaggerated nod. “It’s a nice painting.”  

Tilda let out a sigh that sounded like exasperation in its purest form. “I take it you’ve had enough for today?”  

“I have, yes. Thank you, Tilda.”  

The art gallery melted away with a simple click of Tilda’s fingers, leaving them standing in the cold interior of the ship’s food hall.  

“I swear I’ll make an art critic of you one day,” Tilda said, taking a seat at one of the metal tables.  

“We’ll have terraformed an entire planet before that happens,” Aloy replied, pulling out a chair of her own.  

Tilda’s laugh echoed around the hall. A room clearly designed to accommodate more than just the two of them. “Hungry?” she asked.  

“Starving.”  

Two plates were placed in front of them by robotic arms. The food wasn’t great—grey pieces of meat in a tasteless gravy accompanied by a splodge of potato that Tilda informed her came from powder. Aloy knew they could be eating far better things on the data channel they’d just exited, but that meant being hooked up to a feeding tube again and Aloy wanted to avoid that at all costs. Besides, she would always rather eat something real, no matter how terrible it tasted. So far, Tilda had respected her wishes.  

But just because the food was substandard didn’t mean they couldn’t dress up for the occasion. Aloy had spent ages rummaging through the dresses Tilda had given her before deciding on the blue silk one she was currently wearing. She’d decided not to braid her hair, instead wearing it in loose waves that hung down over her bare shoulders. She even smudged a little khol around her eyes like the Carja. It didn’t look half bad.  

Aloy’s stomach had churned with nerves the entire time. As though she were getting ready to go on a date. Which, Aloy supposed as she lifted the first fork full of food to her mouth, she sort of was.  

“Speaking of terraforming, you’ve been working extremely hard on your research.” Tilda made a start on her meal as well, though far less enthusiastically than Aloy. “You certainly were determined before, but since you woke up, you’ve barely stopped.”  

It was true. This was the first day Aloy had taken off. “Yes,” she agreed, “but I think you’ll agree the progress I’ve made has been worth it.”  

Across the table, Tilda’s eyes flashed. “Does this mean you’re finally ready to share?”  

“I am.”  

Tilda placed her fork down on top of her uneaten potatoes and gestured for Aloy to proceed.  

Aloy sucked in a breath. “Unfortunately, we have a problem. A rather big one, as a matter of fact.”  

“Which is?”  

“HADES.”  

Tilda crossed her arms. “You destroyed HADES months ago. I fail to see how it could be a problem.”  

“That precisely is the problem. HADES was originally designed to correct GAIA’s mistakes—if she made an error during the terraformation process, one resulting in the planet being unable to sustain life, HADES took over and wiped the slate clean, allowing GAIA to try again—as many times as necessary. A good system in theory, if not for the signal that sent HADES rogue, causing it to become intent on destroying all life on Earth for no reason whatsoever.”  

Tilda shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “I see where you’re going with this, but you used the Master Override to destroy HADES. There’s nothing stopping you from using it to reboot GAIA if the environment becomes too unstable.”  

“You mean the Master Override that was installed in my spear? The one I lost back on Earth after you overpowered me and brought me on this ship?”  

“Ah.”  

“And even if I could reboot GAIA, that wouldn’t solve the problem. The environment would still have to be destroyed.”  

A muscle tensed along Tilda’s jaw. “And what is the probability GAIA will make a mistake?”  

“High. GAIA was designed to terraform Earth. Regardless of how similar this planet that we’re heading for is, there will still be far too many variables to account for on the first try. Or even the fourth. It is highly likely that corrections will have to be made a number of times before she gets it right.”  

Cutlery clattered to the floor as Tilda brought her fist down hard on the table. Aloy jumped.  

“And what do you propose?” Tilda asked in a strained voice. While it was clear she regretted her break in composure, it still looked to be hanging by a thread.  

“Seems to me like we have two options.” Aloy held up her index finger. “One—we turn the ship around. Give up on this and go back to Earth, maybe figure out how to save it on the way.”  

“Out of the question!”  

“Thought not.” Aloy held up a second finger. “That just leaves us with option two.”  

“Which is?!” Tilda was almost shouting at her now.  

“You give me full access to all the data on this ship. With that—given enough time—I’ll be able to create a manual override. Not just for GAIA, but for all her subordinate functions. It’ll take longer than if we still had HADES, but we should be able to use them to purge the planet if and when we have to.”  

Tilda considered her request for a long time. Finally she looked away and said, “You can have full access.”  

Aloy’s heart leapt.  

“Sometime within the next ten years,” Tilda added.  

“What?” Aloy asked, suddenly outraged. “Ten years?! I have no idea how long this will take! It might involve rewriting entire programmes from scratch! And I know you forget this sometimes, Tilda, so let me remind you: I am not Elisabet. I have nowhere near the kind of talent she had for this stuff. I need all the time I can get!”  

“I just don’t trust you enough. Not yet,” Tilda said, still not looking at her.  

“You don’t trust me? You brought me here! Now I’m trying to make this work—to make us work—but I can’t do that if we’re not equals.”  

At the word ‘us’ Tilda finally looked up.  

Aloy rose from her seat and marched over to Tilda’s side. Once there she took both of Tilda’s hands in her own. “Do you really think I would be working so hard at this if I didn’t want it?” Aloy asked. “If I didn’t want you?”  

“I,” Tilda began, stumbling uncharacteristically over her words. “I was under the impression you still hated me.”  

Aloy let out a humourless laugh and kneeled down. “I never hated you,” she said, looking directly into Tilda’s eyes. “I hated what you did, that you didn’t give me a choice, but I never hated you. In fact, from the first moment I saw you, I think I loved you.”  

Tilda’s eyes misted over with tears. She didn’t speak. Or perhaps she couldn’t.  

“When I found out you and Elisbet were together, I figured it was something to do with her—some kind of genetic memory or something. That she was the reason I was so drawn to you. But that didn’t explain how jealous I felt whenever I pictured the two of you together. How badly I wished it were me. That’s when I realised these feelings didn’t have anything to do with Elisbet at all. They’re mine alone.”  

Still Tilda didn’t speak. Said nothing as Aloy let go of Tilda’s hands and began to caress her thighs instead. As she parted them gently. Dragged her mouth across the fabric.  

“You don’t have to,” Tilda said suddenly, grabbing Aloy’s hand and holding it in place. “I've already made myself clear: you never have to do that if you don’t want to.”  

“But I do want to.” Aloy reached up and pulled Tilda’s mouth to her own.  

The kiss, once it began, could not be stopped. Tilda grasped the back of Aloy’s head, fingers tangling up in her hair as she crushed their lips harder together. Just when Aloy felt she could not take a moment longer, they broke for air.  

“Take me to bed, Tilda,” Aloy said.  

***  

Aloy lies back in the chair and tries her best to relax. Or at least appear to.   

Beside her, Tilda is whispering something to her, likely some soothing words intended to lessen her fear, but the whir of equipment combined with the hammer of Aloy’s own heartbeat drowns them out. She squeezes her eyes shut. Not because she’s afraid—Aloy's gotten used to needles now. And besides, it’s not going to pierce her skin anyway.   

She’s programmed it that way, after all.   

Once Tilda had given her access to the ship’s full systems, it hadn’t taken Aloy long to install the override. To make it so the machine ground to a halt just before the needle met her flesh. And it wasn’t just this machine she’d hacked.   

The reason Aloy keeps her eyes closed is because she really doesn’t want to see what happens next. There’s nothing she can do to stop herself from hearing it though.   

The sound of something slithering to life lets her know it’s started. The shriek of a threat system activating. So fast. Too fast for anyone to react in time. A grunt of pain. The buzz of energy. A scream. And then nothing.   

Aloy’s eyes fling open. Something warm and wet has smattered across her face. The Specter is scanning the room, its red searchlight passing over her completely as it sweeps the area. The mechanical eye at its center returns to its neutral blue. No threats detected.   

But she can't relax yet. Can’t stay here. She’s wasted too much time already.   

Aloy slips out of the chair, eyes fixed to the floor, not wishing to see, to look at what she’s done.   

What she does see is blood. More than she thought was possible. Enough to be sure.   

She turns to go and, as she does, she catches something pale at the edge of her vision. Tilda’s arm. Sprawled out towards the surgical chair. The one Aloy has just vacated. She had reached for her, whether to seek comfort or offer protection, it was impossible to tell.   

But it doesn’t matter—the guilt still claws at Aloy either way. Maybe there was some truth to the whole ‘genetic memory’ thing after all?   

She can’t think about that. Not now. Aloy turns and flees the medical bay, her bare feet pounding hard against the ship’s floor. She knows where she’s heading. The one place she’s still never been: the control room.   

She bypasses the code with ease.   

Inside makes no sense whatsoever. A million blinking panels, mapped out star systems, and—worst of all—a large viewing panel depicting the endless nothing of space.  

Don’t panic. Focus.   

Find GAIA.   

It doesn’t take long. A few minutes searching and there she was, stored safely away in a hatch. Plugging her into the mainframe is a little harder, but Aloy succeeds.   

Then the blackness of space is all but taken up by GAIA herself as she fills the room. For the first time in a long while, Aloy has to remind herself that GAIA is not really a Goddess. That her golden glow and beatific smile is doing exactly what it was programmed to: comfort.   

“Aloy,” GAIA says, expression changing to one of concern as she takes in Aloy’s appearance, “are you alright?”   

And suddenly it’s all too much.   

“GAIA! GAIA she—it was Tilda—she—she took us and—and—Earth—everyone—I—I don’t—”   

“Shh, it is alright, Aloy. It is alright now.”   

Aloy kneels at her feet and sobs. Doesn’t stop until there are no more tears left in her.   

“Do you...” she says finally, “...know where we are?”   

“My diagnostics tell me we are en route to the Alpha Centauri star system and have been travelling aboard the Zenith ship for approximately eight months.”   

Was that really all? To Aloy it felt more like eight years. “And Earth? What’s happened to it?”   

“From this distance it is impossible for me to tell. But the return journey will be much shorter if we sacrifice fuel conservation. I assume that’s what you wish to do? Return to Earth?”   

“Of course! And you can do it? You can turn the ship around?”   

“Naturally.”   

They smile at one another. Two beings created by Elisabet Sobeck. Their vision—and hers—was back on Earth. And they would fight for it until the end.