Kyla's Diary - Chapter 5: Ringvolley
“People are built differently. We’re built from the bottom up: genes, instincts, desires, and fears. We cry, we laugh, we hope, we grieve. We are living stories.”
The Mirador sat on the opposite side of Ring A from the Plaza. Tall projection panels lined the far wall, fed by cameras mounted near the observation deck on the Central Axis. One of them always pointed toward Ross 128.
Kyla stepped through the entrance and paused for a moment, looking across the dining zones that made up the Mirador.
Closest to the displays was the terrace area. Tables were set facing the projection panels. A small stage stood near the center.
Farther inside was the formal dining section. The tables there were spaced more widely, with white cloth and elegant decor. That was where most official events and celebrations were held.
A violin note cut across the room. A cellist adjusted his instrument beside the stage. The duo was getting ready as families had already claimed tables beneath the projected stars for Sunday breakfast.
Kyla scanned the terrace. Her parents were already there.
Her father raised a hand when he saw her. Her mother smiled as Kyla approached the table.
“Hi, have you ordered already?” Kyla said as she pulled out a chair.
“Yes, we ordered a basket of pastries, bread, and jelly,” her father replied.
Her mother added, “We got juice and coffee too.”
“Perfect.”
For a moment, they exchanged the usual pleasantries. Then Kyla leaned slightly toward her father.
“The other day I was talking to Darius and Nia,” she said. “We were discussing the new assignment for the anniversary competition.”
Her father straightened his napkin. “How is that going?”
Kyla smiled. “It’s good. I’m doing a lot of research about life before departure, but I wanted to ask you something.”
“About Earth?”
“No, it’s about something Darius said: that everything we create on the ship is used to train Logminter.”
“That’s correct,” her father said. “We use all the content to train Logminter and the other systems aboard Helios, from service bots to the onboard assistants.”
At that moment, a server approached the table carrying a tray. The smell of fresh bread and pastries reached them first.
He placed a basket at the center, followed by small dishes.
“Today we have butter,” the server said. The white goat butter was not available all the time.
He followed with a pot of dandelion coffee and a pitcher of berry juice.
“Pumpkin jam,” the server added as he placed a small dish beside the basket.
Her mother reached for the coffee. “Thank you.”
Kyla tore a piece of bread and spread a thin layer of butter. It melted almost immediately.
A woman approached the table.
“Lina,” she said warmly.
Kyla’s mother stood halfway to greet her. “Good morning, Pattie.”
The two of them exchanged a few words. Her mother was one of the doctors, and on a ship of seven hundred people, she knew everyone.
Kyla leaned toward her father, her Whisperzend light pulsing, and asked, “So why don’t we use synthetic content? These systems can generate text, music, images. All of it.”
Her mother turned. “Kyla, it’s rude to whisper in company.”
“Sorry.”
Pattie smiled. “Don’t mind me. I was just passing through.” She touched Lina on the shoulder and moved on.
Her father waited a moment, then answered. “Synthetic content is not bad, but if you only train on what the system already produced, the output starts to narrow. We don't want staleness. It needs novelty. It needs a fourteen-year-old writing an assignment and asking questions.”
“Yeah, I get that. We don’t want repetition. But if staleness is the problem, shouldn’t we be able to program novelty?”
Lina added, “Your father works with systems. I work with life. People are built differently. We’re built from the bottom up: genes, instincts, desires, and fears. We cry, we laugh, we hope, we grieve. We are living stories.”
Kyla paused to think about this for a moment.
“Yes, I think I understand. We have skin in the game.”
“Exactly.” Her mother set down her cup. “Speaking of games, are we still going to the ringvolley match?”
“It’s at eleven thirty, right?” her father said. “If we finish here by eleven, we’ll have time.”
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They walked the curve of Ring A, leaving the sound of the Mirador behind.
Early that morning, the Plaza had been converted for the match.
The court occupied the open ground beside the main stage, its boundary lines projected in white. The net stretched across the center, and the rings above the poles remained dark.
Kyla and her parents found seats close enough to hear the players. The crowd filled quickly. Sunday matches always did.
On the far side, Julian stood near the net. Beside him were Liam Rook and two other players.
Darius and Nia played for the opposite team. Taro watched from the bench after being substituted in the second set.
It was a close match. Julian’s team had taken the first set. Darius’s team took the second.
The third set was different from the start. The energy shifted. Both teams were quieter, more focused. The rallies stretched longer. The ball crossed the net again and again before a point was decided. The crowd settled into a tense rhythm of silence and sudden noise.
The match tightened.
17–17.
One team pulled ahead. Then the other answered.
18–18.
A high ball drifted toward one pole.
Julian adjusted and sent it through the ring.
A sharp tone sounded.
The ring lights turned blue on Julian’s side and yellow on the other, marking the start of the no-hands phase.
The pace changed instantly. The ball moved through chest, foot, and head in quick succession. Nia pushed it deep. Julian absorbed the return, controlled and precise. Liam rose and drove a header down.
Darius returned the ball quickly.
Liam moved under it.
He could have controlled it and passed it.
Instead, he angled the ball toward the ring.
It passed through.
The ring lights turned green on his side and red on the other. A longer tone accompanied the lights.
Then the whistle.
The Plaza erupted.
Liam exhaled, a brief smile breaking through. His teammates rushed toward him.
“That’s it,” Kyla’s father said. “Three points.”
Kyla said nothing. She watched Darius walk back to his team. He put his arm around Nia’s shoulder and said something quietly to her. Nia stood up straight and nodded once.
“Good match,” her father said.
Her mother stood and gathered her things. “Nia played well.”
“She did. But that other boy, the tall one,” her father said.
“Liam,” Kyla said.
“He’s something else.”
Kyla’s mother said, “Isn’t he the one who sent your curfew violation notice?”
“Yes,” Kyla said. “He’s one of the curfew monitors.”
Layna waved as she walked toward them. “Hi, Mr. Cloutier. Hi, Mrs. Soria. What a game! Darius played well. Too bad they lost.”
“Yeah,” Kyla said. “I guess we’re canceling the celebration at the Mirador this afternoon.”
Layna laughed and said, “It’s the best of three games, so we can still win.”
Around them, families gathered their things and began to leave. The projected boundary lines flickered once and vanished. The court became open ground again.
Thanks for reading Kyla’s Diary, a novel from the Theogenic Universe. New chapters will be published weekly. Subscribe to continue the journey aboard Helios.