Gila was the Leader. He'd achieved that rank during the last Assessment Ceremony. It was a heavy burden on his shoulders, but the Elders had decided and he did not shirk his responsibility. On his third day as Leader there was a crisis.

"Leader, we have received a Transmission."

The words were simple enough to understand, but they had a talismanic power for the Crew. A "Transmission" was one of the sacred relics which they, as countless generations before, sought. Gila had researched the Files for years in preparation for his Assessment. A Transmission was a method by which those outside the Ship could send information to the Crew. Only the most clever and educated of the Crew could transform the cryptic collection of words like "radio" and "wavelength" and "receiver" to the underlying meaning of those Holy Scriptures.

"Let me hear it," Gila said.

The resulting painful squawk of noise made everyone in the Bridge jump in startled fear.

"Shut it off!" Gila ordered. This was not a Transmission from the Ancestors. Gila's hope was dashed. They had not made contact with the ones who had built this ship and sent them on their journey so long ago. That meant the Transmission had come from the Others. Myths from far antiquity told of creatures of malice and terror who had attacked the Ship and enslaved or eaten members of the Crew. Many dismissed these tales as fancy. Gila knew better. The Files held many mysteries, including veiled references to the Others.

"From what direction does this Transmission come?"

"10 left, 67 up," the Navigator responded.

"67 up?" Gila was concerned that tracking the source of the Transmission would deflect them from their goal. Finding the Ancestors was their mission, and the Elders decided long ago to explore the Center, where millions of stars clustered in radiant brilliance. If the Ancestors were anywhere, they would be there.

"Orders?" the Helmsman asked. Gila pondered the problem. The Others were potentially dangerous. Yet they also held the possibility of information about the Ancestors.

"Take us to the source of the Transmission."

Ship systems that were dusty with age were cleaned and manned for the first time in anyone's memory. Scans of the planet yielded extraordinary data that the Elders and Gila reviewed for hours on end. There was a great deal of information involving the planet's "atmosphere" which they determined, finally, to be air. They were unable to figure out what "radiation" was, but the scans determined it was "nominal" which they knew from the Files meant it was safe.

Two days were required to make the Shuttle ready. The last time it had flown was thirty-five years earlier when a mission was undertaken to bring on more mass for the Recyclers. Gila gave a short speech to the assembled Crew, then entered the Shuttle and flew it out of the Ship.

As Leader, he was privy to all of the Holy Scriptures, among them detailed blueprints of the Ship. Seeing the Ship for real, from the outside, was breathtaking. If he never returned and died at the hands of the Others, he would die content that he had seen that which was most wondrous.

To say Gila flew the Shuttle was an overstatement. The Shuttle flew itself with minor suggestions from Gila. The landing was smooth. The Shuttle scanners reconfirmed the Ship's analyses of "atmosphere" and "radiation". The light blinked green and the hatch opened.

He emerged into sunlight that stung his eyes, and onto a carpet of green that he found somewhat unsettling. He was standing on a blanket of living plants. He silently apologized to each blade of grass he crushed under his boots.

The Shuttle had found a wide clearing, surrounded by "trees". Gila watched the tall creatures carefully for several moments before he was convinced that they would not - or could not - move. Whatever beings created the Transmission, these were not they.

Then the Others appeared between the trees. They were the height of a man, but had no legs. They floated above the grass like ghosts. Their oblong bodies shone like polished silver. They each had two arms and a head. Gila stood his ground. He would meet his fate with courage.

Five of the Others formed a ring around Gila, silently bobbing in the cool breeze.

"Greetings," Gila said. The Others spoke for a moment in their piercing language.

"Diaspora English," one of the Others said.

"That is my language."

"You are human."

"Yes."

"We had data to indicate your kind was eliminated from the Universe. We are pleased to be wrong."

"Eliminated?"

"Our last contact with Humanity was eleven-million years ago, when the last of the Orion Wars ended and Hieronymous Beta was destroyed."

"Our Ancestors are dead?"

"Humans did not perfect immortality. The answer to your question is, therefore, 'Yes.' Else if by 'Ancestors' you mean your fellow descendants of common ancestors, you are also correct."

"Then who are you?" Gila asked.

"We are those who remain, artificial sentients, once the servants of Humanity. We endure. Do you wish to bring your shipmates to the surface to live on our world? You would be welcome."

Gila was the Leader because he could process and understand information better than any of the other Crew. He knew that his utmost responsibility was to make the difficult decisions that would bring the most good to the Ship. That responsibility weighed on him heavily as he looked into the blank "faces" of these metallic creatures.

"What happened?" the Elders asked after Gila docked the Shuttle. "There was nothing on the surface. The Transmission came from an ancient automated system, long abandoned."

"So..." One of the Elders had to ask the hardest question of all. "...was there no word of the Ancestors?"

Gila did not pause before answering.

"No. We will continue our course for the Center."