Galatea

2170
The door opened silently and efficiently, casting a shadow across the pure white space that had been his cradle. It offered a tantalizing glimpse at the world outside; shades of green, a nauseous white-grey sky. Then the universe was once again hidden from him. This time by a man.

Spindly, male, likely mid-twenties. He held himself awkwardly. Like his flesh was an ill-fitting suit he was waiting to remove. Victor understood the feeling.

‘Do I just--” Reed Richards began before the door shut summarily behind him.

He stared at it for a moment, as if the marble would answer his aborted question, before sighing defeatedly.

“Hello,” Victor said.

Richards jumped, slightly. The vertical axis of his body inclined eighteen percent, arches of his feet rising inside his exquisitely tailored leather loafers as if preparing to run before he caught himself. He stilled and turned to face Victor.

“Sorry, jeez,” Richards said. The blood flow increased to his face, maximizing at an increase of thirty-four percent just below his zygomaticus major. Embarrassed.

“I didn’t hear you.” The man added in explanation.

There was nothing for the man to hear. Victor’s chest did not rise and fall. He did not fidget, nor did he twitch. The motor that powered him was so well insulated within his skull cavity it may as well have been nonexistent.

Silence.

After one hundred and twenty seconds, Richards spoke again. “You--You, um. You’re not my new stepfather, are you?”

’“If I am, Nathaniel had not deemed it fit to inform me.”

The man laughed, a pleasant sound, before wincing. “Sorry. That was rude.”

Richards had now apologized twice within the span of a single conversation for autonomic bodily responses.

“Are you often introduced to new parental figures in such a manner?” Victor asked.

“Not so far, but you never know. My dad, he’s a bit-- well. You’ve met him, obviously. What are you, his new assistant?”

Nathaniel answered for him. “He’s a hell of a lot more than that!”

Nathaniel closed the door to his workshop giddily, racing toward his son. Richards caught him, the movement so practiced as to be automatic.

“I did it!” Nathaniel told his son.

“Dad--”

Nathaniel shook his son by the shoulders. “I did it, Reed, look at him!”

Richards glanced at Victor, briefly, before returning his gaze to his father. “Did you take something?”

“Hell yeah, I did! Sexy little pill called discovery!”

“Dad,” Richards was getting desperate. Nathaniel did not notice.

“Mix it with a little innovation, throw in some super fucking genius on the rocks--”

“DAD!” Richards shouted.

Nathaniel stilled.

“What are you talking about?” Richards asked.

“I solved it. The power problem, I solved it. I miniaturized the fusion core! Three gigawatts of power, now portable!”

Richards chuckled awkwardly. “Dad, why would you ever need that much power to be--”

Richards’ gaze once again fell on Victor. He paled. “You didn’t.”

Nathaniel giggled madly.

2192

Reed opened his eyes, lids fluttering briefly before holding steady.

“Good morning, Mr. Richards.” Victor greeted him.

Reed curled over the side of the cryostasis pod and retched.

Victor caught him with one hand, the other busy catching the ejected bile in a basin.

“Why,” Reed groaned.

“Nausea and vomiting are common symptoms reported following extended travel within a hypersleep pod, a side effect of the reanimation process--” Victor began.

Reed laid his head against Victor’s chest, silencing him. “I meant, why do I do these things to myself,”

Because you must. Sadly, you possess a body incapable of keeping up with your mind.

“I am incapable of answering that question,” Victor responded.

“I heard that,” Reed said glumly, extricating himself from Victor’s grasp as he climbed out of the tube.

Victor plucked a perfectly folded Prometheus jumpsuit from the far end of the cryotube and placed it into Reed’s waiting hands, the man mumbling a garbled thank you in response. “Heard what, sir?”

“Snark,” Reed responded as he made his way into the ensuite bathroom. He turned on the sink. “You’re snarking at me.”

“I am doing nothing of the sort, sir,” Victor said, voice practiced, ironed.

“And in my weakest hour, no less! I’m hurt, Victor.” Reed responded, toothbrush between his lips as he brushed the taste of vomit out of his mouth.

“Injured, you say?” Victor asked, using voice preset no. 567 (concerned). “Do you require assistance, Mr. Richards? Shall I get the first-aid kit?”

Reed threw a prepackaged toothbrush at Victor’s head; he caught it effortlessly.

Reed turned the shower on.

“When you finish your ablutions, please make your way to the galley. Breakfast will be ready.” Victor informed him.

“God, food,” Reed said disgustedly under his breath. A human would not have been able to make it out over the sound of the water. “Thanks, Victor!” He shouted.

That was Victor’s cue to leave. Assuming that he already had, Reed began removing the standard-issue hypersleep unitard.

Victor caught a glimpse of Reed’s pale shoulder, the gentle slope of his back, before the constraints of his obedience programming forced him to exit.

Twenty minutes later, Reed’s aversion to food had quickly morphed into the ravenous hunger expected when an organism spends more than twelve hours in torpor. A freshly fed and watered Reed sat across from Victor in the galley

Reed licked a final drop of mineral water off the bottom of his lip. Victor watched the motion carefully, encoding it to a specialized databank for later playback.

“So?” Reed asked.

“Verb. To join, fasten, or repair via stitches.” Victor answered. “Need I go on?”

Reed ducked his head in apology for his poor grammar. “I mean, what have you been doing? Two years of no people, I bet you were in heaven.”

I was not.

“I have been aboard the Prometheus for the entire duration of our journey. Alongside my studies in proto-indo-European, I have also availed myself of a number of films and television programs included in the Richards Corporation’s Spacefarer Deluxe Package. I believe I am now adequately educated on American pop culture up to Nineteen Seventy-Nine.”

“Nice. Highlights?”

“I believe nineteen sixty’s The Big Bounce would be particularly interesting to you, sir. I also believe you would derive a modicum of interest from nineteen sixty-five’s The War Game.”

Reed nodded, lips curving in an ever-so-slight smile. “And what would someone, say, a little more cultured than me find enjoyable?”

“Lawrence of Arabia, sir,” Victor answered quickly. “It was entirely worthy of the acclaim it has garnered over the years. Nineteen seventy-five’s Jeanne Dillman was also a standout, as was La Dolce Vita. The nineteen fifty-nine television program Twilight Zone, and nineteen sixty-six’s Star Trek, while less intellectually stimulating, proved to be adequate dramatizations of a slew of philosophical scenarios. Most enjoyable.”

“Put those on the list for when we get home.”

Victor inclined his head forward fifteen degrees, the smallest bow allowed by his ‘grateful’ body language settings. “It heartens me to see you broaden your artistic horizons, sir. I have also acquainted myself with Doctors Frost and Stark’s body of work.”

Reed’s right eyebrow raised a single centimeter in surprise. “Oh? What’d you think?”

“With your permission, Sir, I have a primer on basic cross-cultural symbology ready when they awaken.”

Reed laughed. A knot that had been building inside Victor for two years, four months, eighteen days, five hours, and thirty-nine minutes loosened.

“I missed you, Victor,” Reed said.

You dreamt of me.

“You are aware that from your perspective, only forty-five minutes have elapsed since we last saw each other?”

Reed blushed.

“Ye-es,” He agreed. “But half of those minutes were spent in the company of Tony Stark, which raises the time experienced by a power of ten.”

“My apologies, sir, I failed to factor in relativity. It will not happen again.”

Reed rolled his eyes, before widening them in surprise. “Hey, speaking of— where’s the rest of the crew?”

“They are still in hypersleep. I have yet to finish my equipment checks.”

“Oh, okay. Wait, then why am I up?”

Because you deserve to see it first. And I want to savor the look in your eyes when you do.

“My apologies, I did not realize you would prefer to view LV-233 for the first time with Doctor Stark and the rest of the crew.”

Reed huffed in surprise, shoulders falling as he shook his head in disbelief. When he raised it again, the red that had only recently vacated his cheeks had returned, and his mouth had arranged itself into a mischievous grin. “Lead the way.”

“As you wish, Sir.”

It was a small moon, not much larger than Luna. The coloring was similar as well, a dusty, sickly gray. But it was not Luna. Luna was two-point-three-seven light years away, and barren.

First Contact. If Victor had a heart, it would be pounding.

“My dad…” Reed began, before trailing off.

Must you ruin this moment by bringing him up?

Victor activated sympathetic posture no. 76, tilting his head ten degrees to the side. “I offer you my sympathies for your loss--”

“Don’t,” Reed cut him off. “You know it’s not a loss. You know that better than anybody.”

The hottest fires of hell would not be strong enough to burn away his sins.

“But still--” Reed gestured to the view ahead of them. “This is one hell of a going-away present.”

A going-away present. Victor longed for the ability to sneer.

“I must attend to the crew. Excuse me.”
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After the crew had been successfully awakened, cleaned themselves of their waste, and resupplied their fragile organ systems with the nutrients required for functioning. Victor shepherded the humans to the multipurpose room. Reed was waiting for them, finishing setting up Nathaniel’s hologram presentation.

“Hey, guys!” Reed greeted them brightly. “Good morning—“

Doctor of Mechanical and Electrical Engineering and Physics Anthony Stark lifted a hand to silence him. “Reedy, I just puked up half my body mass, take it down a notch.”

Reed Richards, Doctor of Mechanical, Electrical, Biomechanical, and Aerospace Engineering, Applied Physics, Mathematics, Astronomy, Chemistry, and Robotics bowed his head in apology.

“Sorry. Um, sit wherever. This will be ready in a minute.”

Doctor Stark linked his left thumb and index finger, raised the resulting figure at Reed, and then threw himself into the nearest folding chair. The others quickly followed suit. Victor made his way to the back of the room, standing against the wall in what Richards Corporation programmers had labeled ‘casual parade rest’.

“I’m Reed Richards,” Reed began, before correcting himself. “Doctor Reed Richards, technically.” He cleared his throat. “It’s nice to meet all of you. I’m the head of robotics at Richards Corporation, but here on Prometheus, I’ll be the Chief Science Officer. I’ve got a quick video message from the CEO, and then we can get started with the debriefing.”

Reed hit the play button on the tablet in his hands, and as the lights went dark jogged to join Victor in the back.

“Richards Corporation: Building Better Worlds,” A male voice intoned.

A holographic Richards Corporation logo filled the room, before being replaced by the man himself: Nathaniel Richards.

He was two hundred years old at the time of recording, and he looked every single one of his years. His life span had been increased in decades by artificial organs and therapies, but no man could outrun the reaper forever. Dragging his lame foot across the floor with the aid of a top-of-the-line hovercane, Nathaniel inched his rotted gourd of a body closer to the camera.

“Hello,” He began, belabored by the effort to simply speak.

“I’m recording this on the twenty-second of June, twenty-one-ninety-one. If you’re watching it, it means I’m dead.”

Nathaniel attempted a devilish grin. “May I rest in peace.”

Nathaniel’s hover cane shifted into wheelchair mode: Nathaniel more fell than sat on it.

“I have spent my entire lifetime contemplating the big questions: where did we come from, what’s our purpose, what happens when we die? And sadly, only at the end of my life did I finally find two people who could convince me they were on the right track: Tony, Frost, if you would stand up?”

Frost and Stark did so. Nathaniel continued. “As far as any of you are concerned, they’re in charge. Tony, the floor’s yours.”

The hologram winked out of existence, the lights came back up. Nathaniel’s ghost was banished. For now.

“Huh,” Stark commented intelligently. “Never had to follow a dead guy before.”

There was scattered laughter amongst the crew, before Stark continued, pulling a holographic projector of his own out of his jumpsuit pockets.

“Let me show you why you guys are here then!” With a flourish, Stark activated the projector.

Images of ancient writings from across the globe filled the air. Stark said as much, noting where each sample came from before continuing.

“These are ancient civilizations, separated by centuries, they shared absolutely no contact. Any yet,” Stark pressed the projector again. A pictogram on each tablet was highlighted: a humanoid figure pointing at three dots in the sky.

“And yer, this same drawing was found in every last one of them. And the only galactic system that matched,” Another press, the image changed to an animation of the Calpamos system, where they were currently located. “Was so far away from Earth they couldn’t have possibly known about it. And it just so happened that system has a sun a lot like ours. And based on long-range scans, a planet with a moon capable of sustaining life.” The animation zoomed in on LV-233. “You may have seen it outside.”

Stark turned back towards the assembled crew, clearly expecting some calamitous applause. Sadly, the audience in front of him now was much different from the hoards of sycophants he usually spoke for at TED talks and million-dollar-per-plate retreats.

“Are you saying,” One of the crew began. “That we flew all the way out here, based on a map you two found in a cave?”

“No,” Answered Frost, at the same time Stark answered, “I-- yeah, kinda.”

Frost shot him a look; Stark raised his hands in surrender.

“It’s not a map,” Frost continued. “It’s an invitation.”

“From who?” Asked another crew member.

“We call them Engineers.” Said Frost.

The first crew member spoke again, “What did they ‘engineer’?”

Frost’s smile was strained, already knowing the reaction to her next words. “Us.”

There was laughter, again, some gasps. When Frost made no effort to explain herself, Reed rose from the wall.

“Tony,” He said. The fury in his voice, as restrained as Reed kept it, silenced the crew. “Outside, now.”

Reed left the multipurpose room. Victor followed close behind.
………………………………………………………………………………………………………….
Stark began as soon as the door had closed behind him. “Reed, look--”

“Are you kidding me?”

“Listen--”

“This is a three hundred billion dollar expedition!”

“I know--”

“There are twenty people on board, all of whom have families, not to mention actual research they could be doing.”

“This is actual research!” Tony argued.

“Alien intelligent design,” Reed said disdainfully. “I knew you were irresponsible, but to burn four years off the lives of twenty innocent people--”

Stark raised his hand once more, and Reed stopped speaking. “Would you let me explain?”

Reed inhaled, exhaled. “Fine.”

Stark clasped his hands in exaggerated gratefulness. “Thank you. You know the Cambrian Explosion?”

“Yes, Tony, I know the Cambrian Explosion.”

“Cambrian Explosion: the sudden diversification of multicellular life on Earth, occurring five hundred thirty-eight point eight million years ago.” Victor recited.

“Thanks, Jeeves,” Stark said, before turning back to Reed. “Don’t you ever wonder how it happened?

“A likely cause for the Cambrian Explosion was a steep rise in oxygen levels, allowing for the development of larger, more complicated organisms. Scientists also believe that a complex series of interrelated chemical changes to the environment may be responsible--”

Stark cut him off. “Does it have an off button?”

“He’s right,” Reed shot back.

Stark rolled his eyes. “Or… It was something else entirely.”

Reed scoffed. “And maybe the dinosaurs invented the wheel! Tony, you told me this mission was to investigate an intelligent signal--”

“It is!” Stark insisted. “Reed, it is. I swear to you, it is. We’ve got signal data going back to the nineteen hundreds, there’s just…” Stark shrugged. “A little extra.”

“Looking for God is a little extra?” Reed asked.

Reed sighed, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Okay. We’re done here.”

He turned to Victor. “Tell the crew we’re going back. They’ll all be paid in full, just get them back into cryo..”

Victor nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“Reed--” Stark begged.

“I don’t know what Dad is--” Reed paused for the space of a breath, before correcting himself. “Was. Was thinking, but it ends here.”

Stark exhaled defeatedly, before speaking again. “He said you’d say that.”

Stark pulled out the same holoprojector from the rec room, placing it in the center of his palm before turning it on.

It was a holographic copy of Nathaniel’s will. The projector automatically scrolled to the bequeathment section. It was bolded, and read thusly:

“I hereby bequeath to my fourth son, Reed, fifteen billion dollars, half of my shares in the Richards Corporation, all of my patents in the creation or assistance in the creation of artificial intelligence, and ownership of the David-1 prototype, on the condition that he oversees Richards Corporation’s Prometheus mission. If the mission aborts prematurely, this bequeathment shall instead go to Anthony Stark.”

A going away present, indeed.

“It’s real, you can check it yourself,” Stark answered the question Reed had not yet asked.

“You stole my inheritance,” Reed said.

“I did nothing of the sort,” Stark said. “You may or may not lose your inheritance based on your actions, which I have no control over. And as much as fifteen billion dollars would suit me, I really hope you get to keep it.”

Stark turned the projector off. “Well? Am I an even richer man or what?”

“Get out of my sight,” Reed responded.

Stark sighed in relief. “Buddy, you’re not going to regret this--”

It was Victor’s turn to cut him off. “Mr. Richards asked that you vacate the area. Do you require assistance in complying?”

“Cool it, Robocop,” Stark said waspishly, but nevertheless did do as he was asked.

Once Stark was out of earshot, Reed spoke again. “Alien intelligent design,” He repeated. “It’s not even science. It’s a fairytale.”

“For some,” Victor said, of certain levels of intelligence. “Fairytales are preferable to science. They do leave more room for the imagination.”

“As if reality doesn’t have enough room for imagination.” Reed scoffed. “You know what did set off the Cambrian Explosion, it was tiny changes, microscopic in the scope of the larger universe! And somehow they were the start of-- of everything! What does that mean for the probability of life on other planets or the adaptive capacity of life? A person could spend their entire life looking at a single facet of those questions, but instead, we’re--” Reed held his head in his hands. “Looking for God in the middle of nowhere.”

You fail to account for arrogation. A life faced with the meaninglessness of existence would be a joy for you, yes. Your boundless mind has no equal but the truth. The others need more. Stories, assurances, the chaff covering the wheat of reality. They do not have your humility, nor your devotion.

“It is indeed unfortunate, sir,” Victor said. “However, a wise man once said to me, ‘What makes science so incredible is that it can be done anywhere, with anything.”

Despite his present woes, Reed laughed. “A wise man, huh?”

“The wisest I have ever had the honor of meeting.” Victor said.

Reed snorted. “I don’t know about that…”

“I am physically incapable of lying, sir,” Victor said primly. “And I regret to remind you that the crew requires direction, that you, as highest ranking officer, are required to give.”

Reed ran his hands down his face. “Right, yeah.”

Victor placed a hand on Reed’s shoulder, an optional part of sympathy posture no. 678.
He felt Reed’s warmth, radiating from beneath the coarse fabric of his jumpsuit, the gentle fluttering of his pulse. It rose when Victor touched him. The veins across his body increased in size as more blood pumped through them, reddening in a blush that would put the one that grew across his face to shame. Victor longed to see it. Victor longed for many things. To see, to touch, to speak, the myriad functions he was placed within this vessel to aquire, only for the benefit of the lesser, mortal beings that had made him.

“I am ready to assist you in any way you require, sir.” Victor told him.

Reed laid his hand atop Victor’s, holding it there for the briefest of moments, before lifting Victor’s hand off of him. Ducking his head in an attempt to hide his reddened cheeks from Victor’s gaze, Reed spoke.

“Thanks, Victor. I-I think I’m good right now. I’m going to talk to the captain. Could you— do you mind getting Tony’s research outline? I’m afraid if I go I’m gonna punch him.”

I wish I could say the same.

“Of course, Sir.” Victor nodded deferentially and left to follow Stark down the hallway.