The Legacy of HARK

The armchair in the corner of the CEO's office at Inoloc Enterprises is of the kind which engulfs the person sitting in it, cradling them in its mass as they sit; think; perhaps read a book.

Its current occupant, HARK Inoloc, is indeed doing this. A rather fascinating read on Balra folk music, and their cultural origins. They spend a lot of time doing this, nowadays. Sat in an armchair, thinking. Or perhaps reading a book. Just taking the time to relax.

It's been a few years since Ibus died, and the changeover period was frenetic, given the company's rapid switch in direction. The board took some convincing, but the impact Inoloc Enterprises is making in the medical world speaks for itself. There was some scepticism when the announcement was made, understandable given the claims. A cure for heart disease? An extended lifespan of the order of decades? It's far-fetched, anyone would admit.

But the company proved itself; HARK proved themselves. Within a year, the initial testing began. Within two, it was deemed fit for purpose, and made available to the public. Completely available, for anyone in need, anyone at all.

Now, well, the initial frenzy has died down, business is returning to normal, and the public image of Inoloc Enterprises has never been higher. Life is going well. And that means, finally, time to relax.

The midday Corico light radiates through the window, heating up their metallic chassis as they flick the second to last page over. The book is closed, and the chair disgorges its occupant. Walking over to a bookshelf on the far side of the room, HARK selects the next tome. The sunlight's not going anywhere else soon.

Deep below the earth, in the smooth, artificial tunnels of MONOR, HARK knows that business will be running as usual. Fresh recruits will be learning how to properly snap a salute (courtesy of Commander Graff, despite HARK’s protestations), papers will be being exchanged, ships prepared for take-off, trades offered and finalised in the blink of an eye. HARK, however, is not down there with them.

Instead, they sit on MONOR’s blank surface. Calm, quiet grey stretches all around them, and up above, deep space is peppered with stars. HARK crosses their legs, their chassis groaning in complaint as they do. Old, now. Not just the metal, either – it’s their core. Even with the addition of Ibus’ heart (it has a different name, they know, but they’ve never been able to think of it as anything else), nobody can live forever. Not even an Android. And HARK is very old.

To anyone made up of flesh, scale, or feather, the surface of this planet would be freezing cold. HARK does not feel the cold, except in their hands; useful for checking temperatures and the like. They twist their hands in their robes – white, trimmed with fabric taken from Ibus’ cloak. That, too, is old and faded, and yet the memory of its vibrancy persists.

HARK tilts their faceplate up to the sky. There are too many stars to name, and here, they know no constellations. The chill in their hands has crept further, up to their forearms, their shoulders. Still, even without names, the stars are still just as beautiful. HARK lingers on one – a small, twinkling thing, half-masked behind a cluster of brighter stars to the right. Absurdly, Reflection comes to their mind. In truth, Reflection had always done things by halves. Cold seeps into HARK’s spine. If she had not backed out of her deal, if she had stuck to what she promised… where would they be now? Still working for her, or some other Elder, even today? Perhaps they would never have met Ibus. Perhaps they would’ve become a researcher, or an aide to some other powerful, ailing leader. Perhaps – and HARK shudders to think of it, even now – they may have ended up working for the PIA. Thankfully, this universe is merciful, and such tales are simply that – tales.

Stars. The more HARK looks up above at them, the more they blur, transform into those HARK once knew. Their first assistant on the Thousand Colours Moon, a young Sailor in lime-green suit. The trader who promised HARK an interview with Ibus, and who passed away not long after. Lusi, and hushed words, raised against a tyrant. HARK’s sensors are nearly overwhelmed by the cheerful ferocity of a star that must belong to Sera. Commander Graff’s star glints, orbited by ranks that are almost neat. And there, Ibus, off-kilter, and shining with the warmth of a shared, secret joke. Even, distantly, there is a pale and hungry light that brings to mind gunfire, and long, long hunts, and a heart of metal and fabric-painted wire.

The cold reaches HARK’s jaw, their faceplate, their hidden eye. Deep inside, their artificial heart beats once, twice – and burns.

By the time HARK’s empty chassis is found, their bioluminescence is still flickering in the pattern they had set it to. It comes out to a string of words, spoken by a ghost. It is just four words.

HARK’s chassis is cold, but the metal of their faceplate reflects a hundred thousand stars, warm and welcoming. Even now, as they always were, the heavens are alit in radiant kin.

Written by Molly M.

Outside a building, exalted in stonework and masonry, lies a frame of beaten brass. A sculpture of a heart, myocardial muscles hammered into shape, polished to a glistening sheen. Arterial tubes, a golden yellow with extremities blasted dull by the wind, twist around the structure.

There is a marble plinth below it. On that plinth, a plaque.

Time and wind have worn away at the lettering, now shallow. Minor scratches, miniscule imperfections, marring the monument imperceptibly over aeons despite the maintenance of the curators' love. Yet it remains proud, for beneath the rough surface is a shine.

The Southern Corico Institute of Medical History

This memorial is dedicated to “Ibus' Heart”, also called the Lifegiver procedure. This procedure is estima—

–saved the lives of over–

–unknown who donated–

–ocedure was named after a piece of folklore, in which the hero, a humble barrel-maker's apprentice, tears out their own heart to save their companion. Ibus, the companion, is said to have lived on forever, for the sake of his apprentice's sacrifice.

This memorial is dedicated to the apprentice, the saviour, the Lifegiver. For losing so much, for giving us so much, we thank them with all our soul.

To the Lifegiver, who gave to all.
Who gave up all for us.