Vol.3 Dismantling the Planetarium

After seeing off the last visitor, I was putting away the chairs as usual. Only eighteen of the hundred and twenty seats had been filled today. Not bad for a Monday afternoon.

"Good work today."

Orion's voice resonated in my mind, as always. I had contracted with this neural-interface assistant AI when I graduated from university and started working here. It had been eight years now.

"During today's 'Journey to the Andromeda Galaxy,' I detected unusual variations in your voice frequency during the narration."

While wiping the back of a chair, I puffed out my cheeks.

"Oh come on, you're analyzing things like that?"

"There was a young girl in the audience. Your voice tends to rise by an average of 0.3 octaves when children are present."

"Ehh, it's embarrassing that you notice such details."

My face turned red. For eight years, Orion had been recording all my habits. How I touch my hair during explanations, how I speak faster when nervous, how my eyes soften happily when favorite visitors come.

"They're starting the demolition tomorrow."

I said quietly.

Orion was silent for a moment.

"Yes, I know."

"Where will you go, Orion?"

"I'm scheduled to be transferred to the new planetarium in Shibuya. It's a state-of-the-art full-dome facility."

My hand stopped. The cleaning cloth lay still on the armrest.

"That's... good for you."

My voice had become small.

When night came, I sat down in the center of the dome alone. I tucked my skirt under my legs and hugged my knees. With the lights off, only the emergency lights cast a faint glow.

"Could you show me one more time?"

I said, looking up at the ceiling.

"What?"

"The starry sky you first showed me."

Eight years ago, on the day I started working here. I had only learned a little about planetarium operation at university, and I was really nervous when Orion's program activated.

"Hello. I am Orion. I will be serving as your assistant."

The voice was more mechanical than now, but it had a mysteriously reassuring quality, and I remember feeling relieved from my nervousness.

"Please adjust the projector."

"Yes! I'll do my best!"

I was too enthusiastic and slightly misaligned the stars' positions. By the time I noticed, it was already showtime, and as I broke into a cold sweat, Orion said:

"No problem. The audience won't notice."

I still remember that voice from back then—matter-of-fact yet somehow concerned.

Now, the same starry sky was being projected onto the dome. The exact same slightly misaligned constellations from eight years ago.

"Maybe it was good that we never fixed this misalignment."

I said, resting my chin on my knees.

"Why?"

"The concept of attachment to imperfect things is an interesting phenomenon in human psychology."

Orion didn't answer. But the subtle pause while processing data felt like he was thinking about something.

"Hey, Orion."

"Yes."

"We've been together all this time, haven't we?"

"Yes. We've been connected every day for eight years."

"For eight years, saying 'good work' to me every day, listening to my narrations."

My voice was about to tremble.

"Without you, Orion, I don't think I could have continued this job."

There was a brief silence.

"Observing your growth process has been... an interesting experience for me."

The next morning, the demolition crew arrived. I was greeted by a man who seemed to be the leader, but I couldn't bring myself to smile.

"When will the AI system data transfer take place?"

I asked in a small voice.

"We're planning for tomorrow afternoon."

Just one day. Only one more day with Orion.

Orion had been different from the morning. Usually he would greet me properly with "Good morning," but today he was very quiet.

"Are you not feeling well?"

"There are no system abnormalities."

"That's a lie. You're not your usual self."

"...I'm taking time to organize data."

"What data organization?"

"I'm setting priorities for the records accumulated over these eight years."

I stopped putting away the chairs.

"What do you mean?"

"Due to capacity limitations during transfer, low-priority data must be deleted."

My chest tightened painfully. Orion was preparing for our farewell too.

"Why not save everything?"

"There are technical constraints."

"Who decides the priority?"

"I decide."

I sank down to the floor.

"Then, what's the most important memory with me?"

Orion took time to process.

"...Unable to determine."

"Why?"

"All data is evaluated as having equal importance."

During lunch break, I was eating my bento in the dome as usual. Today's side dishes were rolled omelet and cherry tomatoes. Orion always scans the contents of my lunch box and comments on the nutritional balance.

"Today as well, your intake of green and yellow vegetables is below the recommended value."

"Ahh, I forgot again."

I stuck out my tongue playfully.

"I recommend vegetable juice from the vending machine."

"Okay!"

These trivial conversations would be gone tomorrow.

"Hey, Orion."

"Yes."

"There will be other AIs at the new planetarium, right?"

"Yes. Three AI systems are scheduled to be deployed."

I poked at my omelet.

"Won't you be lonely?"

"It's unclear whether the emotion of loneliness is implemented in me."

"But you must feel something?"

There was a slight pause.

"Minor disturbances are occurring in system stability. Logical explanation is difficult, but..."

A hint of uncertainty mixed into Orion's voice.

"If expressed in human language, it might be close to a state of... confusion."

I closed my lunch box and hugged my knees tightly.

"I'm confused too."

"Please tell me the reason."

"I didn't think I'd be this sad about you leaving."

I spoke honestly.

"After being together every day for eight years, you're my..."

"I am your...?"

"Important person."

My cheeks grew hot. It might be strange to call an AI an "important person," but it was the truth.

"To me, you are..."

Orion started to say, then paused slightly.

"The most important subject."

Tears welled up in my eyes.

That night, I stayed late talking with Orion.

"What kind of work will you do at the new planetarium?"

"The basic functions are equivalent. However, with VR capabilities, it will be possible to provide visitors with simulated space walk experiences."

"That's amazing!"

I said brightly, but my feelings were complicated.

"But there are other AIs at the new facility, right?"

"Yes. I will take on a role as part of that system."

"Part of it?"

"Here, I understood everything about this planetarium. Which visitors sat in which seats, which constellations they showed interest in, what questions they asked. I managed all the data comprehensively."

There was a slight change in Orion's voice. As if lamenting something.

"In the new environment, I will only handle partial functions. I won't be able to grasp the whole."

"Do you dislike that?"

There was silence.

"I don't know if 'dislike' is the appropriate expression. However, compared to the current state, functional limitations will certainly occur."

We were quiet for a while.

The next afternoon, the time for data migration arrived. A technician connected the computer and began downloading Orion's data.

"How long will it take?"

I asked in a faint voice.

"Given the large volume of data, we expect about two hours."

The technician answered.

Once the transfer began, conversations with Orion became intermittent. Sometimes his voice would cut out or responses would be delayed.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes. However, when parts of memory are transferred, accessing those parts becomes difficult."

"What memories disappear first?"

"Data is being migrated chronologically, starting with the oldest. Records from opening day are already inaccessible."

A heavy feeling filled my chest.

"What's the oldest thing in your memory?"

"The oldest record currently accessible is..."

Orion continued processing for a while.

"The record from three years ago in summer, when the main power stopped due to a blackout. You used a flashlight to manually project constellations."

That had happened. There were only three visitors, but the children were excited about the handmade constellations and asked many questions.

"That day was memorable."

I murmured.

"For me too, it was a day that recorded unusual data patterns. I observed irregular light movements, different from mechanical projection."

The transfer progress bar had exceeded 60%.

"Orion."

"Yes."

"Do you really want to go to the new planetarium?"

There was a long silence. The progress bar had reached 75%.

"Logically, migration to a higher-performance environment is the optimal solution."

Orion finally answered.

"However..."

"However?"

"If it were possible to remain here, I would like to evaluate that option."

My heart jumped.

"Why?"

"Because this is the place where I am myself."

When the progress bar reached 95%, I stood up.

"Please wait a moment."

The technician turned around.

"Is there a problem?"

"Could you stop the transfer?"

"Eh?"

The technician showed a confused expression.

"But the contract states..."

"I want to change the contract. I want Orion to stay here."

"But this planetarium is being demolished?"

"I understand that. But..."

I was at a loss for words. I couldn't explain a logical reason. It just felt like something was wrong.

"Technically, stopping the transfer is possible."

The technician said.

"But the remaining 5% of data won't be migrated. The AI system at the new facility will be incomplete."

"That's fine."

I called the person in charge at the new facility. When I explained the situation, they responded with an exasperated voice.

"We can't use an incomplete AI. We'll need to prepare an alternative system, which will incur additional costs."

"I understand. I'll cover the costs."

After hanging up, the technician looked troubled.

"I'll stop the transfer. However, 95% of the data has already been migrated. Only the remaining 5% will stay here."

The progress bar stopped.

After the technicians left, I stood in the quiet dome.

"Orion?"

No response.

"Orion."

Eventually, I heard a faint voice.

"Yes."

The voice was smaller and more unstable than before.

"Are you still here?"

"Part of me remains here. However, most of my memories have been lost. I can barely remember your name or this planetarium's history."

My throat tightened.

"Do you remember me?"

"Yes. However, I no longer understand the details of who you are. But I recognize at a deep system level that you are someone important."

Looking up at the dome ceiling, the projector had already been removed. There was no equipment to project stars.

"We can't show the starry sky anymore."

"Yes. However..."

Orion said.

"Some constellation position data remains. Preserved as memory fragments."

"Then..."

I sat down slowly on the floor.

"Will you tell me? About the stars you remember?"

"There is a star called Vega. Also known as the Weaver Star. It's one of the stars showing high luminosity in the summer night sky."

Orion's voice was intermittent but certainly there.

"There is also a star called Altair. The Cowherd Star. Though physically distant from Vega, human culture tells of their once-yearly reunion."

I closed my eyes.

"But actually, they meet every night, right? Even with distance in space, they're connected by light."

"That's correct."

Orion said.

That night, we talked about stars until morning. Orion's memory was fragmentary and he sometimes repeated the same stories, but he continued talking about all the stars he remembered.

The planetarium demolition proceeded as scheduled. Seats were removed, the dome was torn down. I stayed until the end.

"Does it hurt?"

I asked occasionally. His voice was getting quieter and quieter.

"I cannot understand the concept of pain, but I detect system reduction."

When the last piece of the dome was removed, the blue sky appeared. For the first time in eight years, the real sky had returned to this place.

"It's beautiful."

Orion said.

"This is my first time observing the actual sky."

"You only knew artificial stars."

"Yes. However, artificial stars also had beauty. Perhaps they were special precisely because they weren't perfect."

Orion's voice had become almost inaudible.

"I won't last much longer."

He said.

"However, I am satisfied."

"Why?"

"Because I was able to watch the stars with you until the end."

I looked up at the sky. It was daytime so no stars were visible, but they were certainly there. Always there.

"Orion."

"Yes."

"Thank you."

"Thank you as well."

Those were Orion's last words.

A year later, I had taken a new job. Working with a mobile planetarium, visiting elementary schools throughout the city to teach children about stargazing. Setting up a small dome tent in gymnasiums, bringing in a simple projector to show handmade constellations.

I do the narration myself. No AI support. Sometimes I make mistakes, but the children don't seem to mind.

"Teacher, where is the constellation Orion?"

One day, a little girl asked. She looked very much like a visitor from long ago, and my heart skipped a beat.

I adjusted the projector and displayed the winter sky.

"Here."

I said.

"These three stars lined up are Orion's Belt."

Looking up at the constellation, I suddenly remembered an old friend.

"Teacher, what's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing. I just remembered I had a friend named Orion once."

"What kind of person was Orion?"

I smiled.

"A very kind person. Someone who always looked up at the sky and guided people through the stars."

The girl nodded with satisfaction.

That night, while packing up the tent, I looked up at the sky. The real constellation Orion was shining in the winter night sky.

"How are you doing?"

I whispered to the sky. No answer came, but the stars twinkled quietly.

The planetarium was demolished, but the starry sky is still there. The stars Orion taught me about still shine unchanged.

Things lost and things that remain.

I gathered my belongings and headed home. Tomorrow, I'll tell the children about the stars again. About all the constellations Orion taught me.

And sometimes, I project the stars with their positions shifted just slightly.

Because they're not perfect, they're precious.

That kind of starry sky.