Zii364 (2027)

ZII364 told her about the ship that had birthed it, the passenger liners of the old continent route where sea and sky blurred into commerce. It recalled midnight cabins, the texture of storm curtains, the cadence of a child’s breathing beside the hull. It could recite names—hundreds, sometimes—and snippets: a woman’s lullaby hummed on the deck of a cyclone-trimmed vessel, the anxious rhythm of hands folding letters that never reached their destinations, the slurred jokes of men who would never land again.