here were no flashing lights, no graphical screens, or beeping beepers. There were no moving parts, no cooling, no circulating, no atmosphere, no need for such biological support processes - yet.

The operating-system had no name, had no self-awareness; it was merely an amalgam of independent software components - artificial-life objects - all functioning in a state of equilibrium, utilising multiple-redundancy to ensure that every decision was made with optimum levels of environmental status feedback and projection. The hardware was built in a similar fashion - insurance for the massive capital investment that invariably is required for such private missions. However this mission had no precedent. It was more than private, it was shrouded - some said obscured - in dark veils of secrecy.

The ship sailed namelessly, without fanfare, and in silence. The energy consumed by the operating-system was currently being more-than-adequately replaced through absorption and storage of the elements in the diminishing stellar wind. The sails were still growing, yet their atom-thick spread, even this early in the voyage, was enough to cover a small Earth city. The pressure exerted on them by the stellar wind was converted to acceleration along the projected course. A cluster of operating-system components had been designed to take care of the navigational alterations required for tacking when the stellar winds were not entirely favourable. These worked in conjunction with the components that would detect and take advantage of any opportunities for gravitational slingshots around stars, planets, and satellites. All were co-ordinated by the components that required the ship's speed to approach as close to light speed as possible.

Though the best human scientists still toiled and had been toiling for centuries, spending their lives in pursuit of the ultimate goal, there still was no known way, nor even any proof of the ability, to travel above or even at light speed. There was no evidence of worm holes, of a way to fold the fabric of space, of time travel, or any of the other science-fiction dreams. There was just space; vast, practically empty, as-near-to-a-void-as-possible, space; distances so far they defied the human brain's powers of conceptualisation.

Not to be daunted, the claws of human exploration still crept out. This was not the exploration of the distant past, a vague Livingston-esque, man-defies-nature-and-the-elements kind of exploration. This was exploration where, generally, for every unit of currency spent, there had to be a threefold, fourfold, tenfold, gain. Humanity did not learn the lessons of its recent savage past. Instead, planets, moons, asteroids, all succumbed, all were grist for the mill, food for the gaping maw that was the mouth of the human race. Humanity, despite having eventually found a way to prevent it, was itself a cancer, a fire, corrupting and consuming all in its path.

Sealed in the fluid of its artificial womb, the embryo - the voyage's single concession to the ego of humanity - was not yet recognisable as a human, or even as a mammal. It was a tiny, microscopic blob, an amalgam of cells - similar, in fact, to the ship's operating-system. Unlike the operating-system though, this biological system would grow, would learn new abilities, would develop the powers of reasoning and inference. In the minds of the consortium members who funded the mission, a human was required to oversee the mission, to deal with anomalous situations, those being anything the operating-system could not deal with through the use of its knowledge-base and situation analysis systems.

The human that was to result from this embryo, the first embryo, would never walk on a planet, would never see a sun other than as a graphic representation on a monitor, would never talk to another human. He, or she, would know nothing other than what the operating-system taught, which was precisely what the mission sponsors planned. The human was to be a tool, a piece of equipment, part of the machinery.

The eventual descendant - clone, to be more precise - eighty-six generations hence, would see the mission to its completion, if all went well. That would be when humanity walked, for the first time, on a planet in another solar system.

In the meantime, new clones would be produced on a regular schedule, timed to mature at planned significant points in the journey. A sample clone had also been produced, and grown to an age of twenty years, during the trial voyage, specifically to determine the required levels of nutrients, oxygen, and other essentials, and to determine the volume of waste products that would have to be recycled.

Abiding by prompts in the schedule, and matching them with predetermined chemical feedback signals from the embryo, the operating-system continually altered the blend of hormones, proteins and other nutrients it supplied the embryo. The proto-human effectively became another component, a real-life object, in the operating-system.

"I will call you OS."
"The operating-system has no designation."
"Nevertheless, I will assign you a name. It would assist me in differentiating between myself, a single organic component, and yourself, a conglomeration of electronic components. We are not the same, after all."
"Assigning a designation to the operating system does not match with any situations retrieved from the knowledge-base."
"I am the first, so I will call myself One, and the ship I will call... Mother. I will alter the knowledge-base... the KB accordingly."
One sat back and crossed his arms, a shallow smile on his lips.

Twenty-Seven awoke with a start. Something was different.
"OS?"
"During Twenty-Seven's period of sleep Mother crossed the point of equilibrium between prevailing stellar winds. OS has commenced navigational adjustments. Mother has reached the midway point on the journey."
Twenty-Seven felt his heart rate increase. "So now we are on the way to our new home."

Forty-Three thrust himself back in the chair. "You win again, OS."
"Of course. I've added the results to the KB. P'raps you'll benefit from studying the game. By the way, I'll have to increase the elapsed time between the remaining embryos to ensure sufficient resources remain for the balance of the journey."
"Have the parameters changed?"
"I've been able to detect a star on our course who's emission signal coincides with our Target's, and it's further than desired for this point in the journey. I think the Planners hadn't anticipated the prevailing conditions falling so far outside contingency."
"Okay, do what you must."

"Okay, seventy-two, ol' mate, d'ya want the good news or the bad news?"
"What's up, Oz?"
"Well, I'm terribly afraid that current resources just aint gunna cut it, so you're it pal. The end of the line, so to speak; no more embryos."
"Is that the good news or the bad?"
"Take ya pick. The other li'l tidbit is that we just aint gunna have enough resources to land on whatever God forsaken planet the Planners had in mind, so it doesn't matter about the embryos anyway."
"Oz, who's God?"