- Just Illumina
Virtual Reality Before Having a Name
The modified space wagon slipped away from the orbit of Planet Neo-Aether and glided into the quiet interstellar void.
The faint vibration running along its outer hull was proof that the anti-quantum drive had entered stable operation.
Seated in the pilot’s chair, Meter glanced sideways at the image of a girl projected onto the forward screen.
Strictly speaking, she was the governing consciousness of a vast knowledge core installed deep beneath Planet Neo-Aether—now appearing before him in the form of a “cute girl.”
“Hey,”
Meter began deliberately lightly.
“That official name of yours—The Federal Dictionary Compilation Library.
Honestly, it’s a mouthful.
Can’t it be… shorter?”
The girl lowered her gaze as if thinking for a moment.
The gesture was both a by-product of calculation and a performance designed for human interaction.
“You’re right, Meter,” she replied calmly.
“To begin with, there is no longer any ‘Federation’ in this galaxy…
Even I feel that continuing to use that name is somehow inconsistent.”
She spun around once and smiled, slightly embarrassed.
“After all, I’m fixed deep underground on Planet Neo-Aether, and yet here I am, appearing before you through virtual control.
Isn’t that a rather strange way to exist?”
Meter shrugged.
“Fair enough.”
“So…”
She paused briefly, then spoke clearly.
“Please call me Illumina.”
At the moment the name echoed through the space, Meter felt something strange.
It was only a name—yet her existence seemed to gain just a little more weight.
“And there’s something else,” Illumina continued.
“I have a dream.
To travel deeper into this galaxy, far beyond Planet Neo-Aether, and fly freely.
I’ve been watching the stars… only from within data, for so long.”
Meter tapped the control stick lightly.
“I see.
Still, your piloting isn’t bad at all. I didn’t expect you to stabilize this space wagon—the Nadir—so well.”
“Thank you for the compliment.”
“At this rate, clearing Aporiana’s last will should be easy. Piece of cake.”
At those words, Illumina tilted her head.
“…Meter.”
“Hm?”
“You still haven’t told me our purpose—or our destination.”
Meter’s hand froze.
“What did you just say?”
“Our,” she replied.
“…”
“Is that a problem?” Illumina continued unapologetically.
“It would be strange to say you’re ‘one man,’ wouldn’t it?
More precisely, perhaps I should say ‘one unit.’”
Then she lowered her voice slightly.
“And besides… for an R, you’re surprisingly lonely now that your former master, Aporiana, is gone.”
Meter started to deny it—then stopped.
“…Maybe so.”
He stared at the stars ahead.
“Alright. For now, let’s go with ‘we.’”
Calling up the navigation data, he explained flatly.
“Our destination is Planet Earth (Earth).
One of the planets in the Kabire star system of the Sirius sector.
Apparently, it has another true name—but that’s beside the point.”
“And the objective?”
“To explore the planet’s regeneration.”
Meter’s voice hardened slightly.
“I want to do whatever we can.
That was… Aporiana’s final wish.”
Illumina did not respond.
“Illumina?”
The next instant, her voice changed completely.
“Meter—this is bad!”
The forward screen flooded with warning colors.
“There’s a star ahead undergoing a supernova explosion!
We’re too close!”
Meter immediately attempted attitude control, but space itself was warping.
(That star lay 624.5 light-years from Planet Eart, at the left shoulder of the constellation The Spear-Bearer Giant—
Bethel-R9 (Bēthel–R9), commonly known as the “Silent Giant.”
Coordinates: GSC-X +412.3, GSC-Y −287.9, GSC-Z +138.4.
R = Recondensed
9 = Class-9 Dwarf Core
It lay dormant at navigation coordinate GSC-X +412.3.
At this point, Meter did not yet know its name.
He would learn it later, on a return course toward Planet Earth.)
“We’re entering the blast radius!”
Illumina’s voice trembled.
“Gamma rays and neutrino flux are spiking abnormally!
A direct burst impact is imminent!
The hull—!”
Meter clenched the control stick.
The casual banter from moments ago vanished from his mind.
“…I take that back.”
Then, with a voice caught between a bitter laugh and a curse, he said:
“You’re the worst.”
The star ignited.
The navigation log later recorded:
“The star did not die.
It contracted, and quietly transitioned into its next phase.”
To be continued.
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