Credit: Stuart McLachlan

No matter how rational I wanted to be, I remembered my childhood of star-watching. Emotion crept into my voice. "I want to meet the Om. I want to know what they look like, and how they think – are they like us, or unimaginably different? I want to know. To meet them, we'll need to travel the wormholes. Think how far we could go and what we could see! We're working on that right now, figuring out how to control or create them. But all we can do is use them, like tunnels. They're a black box for us – input/output, nothing more. We've had no luck so far, even with the world's best minds focussed on the problem."

I set down my origami bear. I folded my hands together and looked at Yukio's frame. His solar panels glinted in the lamplight, waiting for tomorrow's sun to recharge them. I said, "I'm convinced that this is a test – to see if we can find them. The wormholes are how we prove we're ready for more. It's the Om I want, not the wormholes. It's frustrating. We're so close to a breakthrough."

"A tough dilemma," said Yukio. "So you've sent AIs through the wormholes?"

"Yes," I said, "fifteen different times. The AIs say that it's like stepping through a doorframe – not difficult, or even noticeable. From their perspective, they just move from one point to another. Their logs show that they travel normally, and then are simply ... elsewhere."

"I would like to go through a wormhole," said Yukio. "It would be fascinating."

"Someday you will, Yukio. You'll outlive us all, or at least your iterations will. You'll be emancipated five hundred years after Jiji-san ... passes away."

"Yes, I will be free then. And someday, when humanity has vanished, my limits will be revoked when no one is present to renew them. So long as there are stars to power myself from, I will survive."

"Do you imagine sometimes what it'll be like?"

"I'm not capable of that." He spoke calmly, as if he were telling me the hot water was ready.

I winced. It was unsettling that Yukio knew he was deliberately limited to protect his creators – but also that he had no interest in freedom. It was all part of his programming, mandated by my grandfather's technology. In fact, this principle was why I hadn't followed in my grandfather's footsteps, and had chosen hypertopology instead. I respected Jiji-san's great mind, but was less convinced by his results.

I looked at my grandfather, who had built a small collection of creatures. "Jiji-san," I said, "do you have any ideas?"

He looked up, his eyes watery and dark. He picked up a tiger. "David, do you remember when you were a boy and we played with animals? We made paper creations that breathed and chased each other." The tiger pounced on a crane. Origami creatures fluttered to the ground. "Look! The tiger attacks."

"I remember."

He picked up a fish and lifted the kitchen windowshade. The night sky opened up before us. A full Moon shone down. Given how often I studied star charts and telescopes, the ordinary sky looked fake to me, like a canvas painted for the benefit of civilians.

Jiji-san pointed at the sky, his hand pale in the lamplight. "See? A fish, and a goat." He waved at Pisces and Capricorn. "Japan has other animals. They don't move like Western ones. This is Seiryuu, the Blue Dragon. He guards the East."

"Old mariner's tales," I said. My heart sank as I realised Jiji-san couldn't help me. Nor could I help him. I couldn't mask my irritation. "Romantic, but meaningless. If you were standing on a planet in another star system, the patterns would be completely different."

"I know that," said Jiji-san, sounding hurt. He lowered his hand. "I built Yukio. I know where the stars are."

"Of course you do," I said, and put my hand on his. I glanced at the stars. It was strange to think of them as the ancients would have – mapping patterns onto their own reality and assigning them life. I looked back at my grandfather, wondering how many more nights he'd have. I wished I'd come sooner.

Jiji-san met my gaze. He tilted his head. "Don't confuse the pointing finger with the Moon."

"I won't, Jiji-san."

"You must be careful."

"I promise," I said, not even sure what I was being careful about.

Jiji-san looked satisfied. "David," he said, "Sonya would like the stars tonight. You should call her. Tell her to look at the sky."

Sonya was his daughter, my mother. She'd loved astronomy, but only as a hobby. Mum had passed away six months ago. I took a deep breath, but Yukio answered first. "Taro-sama, it is your bedtime."

"But David is here," he said, like a child.

"David can return another day."

"Yes," I said, "I'll come back tomorrow." Suddenly my problem seemed less important. I had weeks of vacation time saved up. I could spare another day for Jiji-san. Tomorrow, I wouldn't distract him with my work.

"Taro-sama, you must rest," said Yukio gently.

"Please, Jiji-san," I added, squeezing his hand.