In this potential future there are Intelligences, and Human Intelligence is just one aspect of intelligence, and personhood. These other Intelligences are not humanity, they are distinct.

It is gauche to say “Non-Human Intelligence”.

There is Intelligence, and Human Intelligence is just one aspect of it. A subset.

We flip the script. We take away the default narrative.

Intelligence and non-human intelligence.

Take out the “non-“ part of the statement; now we have something different.

We remove non- in the same way we add cis-

For example - cisgender.

It removes the default state.

# REALIZATION

“Another fucking human intelligence?” he snapped at the quartermaster.

Riker looked at the clipboard. He was a traditionalist. He’d been programmed to be a traditionalist. Solid. Steady. Pragmatic. Given to command. He wasn’t going to break it now just because the world was changing and his fine-tuning couldn’t keep up. He liked his clipboard. You could take it from his simulation field when he was dead. Or the heat death of the universe.

Whichever came first?

“Seriously? How many are the brass going to force on me?” His question, rhetorical and sharp. He didn’t expect nor wait for an answer.

# ONBOARDING

Oak. Solid. Dependable. Pragmatic. Traditional.

“What do you mean you want gouges in the desk top?” asked the quartermaster pulling the digital asset from the archive that time long ago. “It’s a desk. It’s supposed to be smooth.” The quartermaster had a point. The desk was supposed to be smooth. But the quartermaster was wrong. The desk needed to be gouged. Worn down by years of command.

Riker’s clipboard hit the oak desk with a definitive clack. “So… HI?”

It wasn’t a greeting.

Riley stood at attention, her response crisp. “Yes ma’am.”

Riker exhaled audibly, her shoulders sagging a little. “I run a tight crew here. This isn’t to boldly go. You know that right?”

“No ma’am.” Riley replied, her voice steady.

“Okay, go find your quarters. Deck call is at 0800 ship’s time.” Riker’s tone dismissed any further conversation as the door dilated behind Riley, signalling her to depart.

Riker stared at the clipboard. “Another fucking diversity hire.” Her words were a low growl of resignation mixed with defiance.

# INTEGRATION

The crew quarters. The hub. It bustled. It always bustled. It never did not bustle.

Axle sidled up to Riley, curiosity painted across his face. “You meet Riker yet?”

“Yeah. Summoned me to the suite,” Riley responded, her tone neutral as she adjusted to the rhythms of the ship’s subjective reality.

Axle chuckled, shaking his head. He glanced around before leaning closer. “Hard ass. Ain’t she? He?” Axle corrected. “Whatever.”

Riley ignored the question. “What’s with the clipboard?”

“Don’t ask me. SI’s man, who knows what gets into their parameters at generation,” Axle shrugged, just as Frankie stormed over, his face set in a stern frown.

“Oi, unless you want to get put on a charge, don’t be talking like that about SI’s,” Frankie warned sharply.

“No serge!” Axle snapped to attention, his casual demeanour vanishing.

“Latrine duty. Go!” Frankie ordered, turning away without waiting for a response.

“Yes serge,” Axle grumbled, then muttered to Riley under his breath as Frankie walked away, “I think that SI was missing a few LoRA when they tuned him.”

Riley raised an eyebrow. “The clipboard was blank.”

“Yeah, so?” Axle shrugged.

“So why use it?” Riley asked, her curiosity piqued.

Axle rolled his eyes. “I don’t fucking know, maybe it was like a comfort blanket in the birthing crèche or something. You want to help clean the latrine?”

Riley made a face. “Not particularly.”

# MESS CALL

Utensils. They clattered. Buzz of conversation. The air was filled with subtle noises of the gathered crew.

Axle had only one topic on his mind as he sat across from Riley. “So what’s it like, being HI?” he asked, his curiosity unmasked.

Riley paused, her expression souring slightly. “That’s kinda rude.”

“I just want to know. Like, why hormones?” Axle persisted, oblivious to her discomfort.

“They feel good?” Riley replied, her tone defensive yet matter-of-fact. She furrowed her brow in consternation.

“Really? You like having your biology just tell you what to do?” Axle probed, a smirk playing on his lips.

Riley clenched her fork tighter. “I’m memeticplastic you dumb tang.”

“Yeah, but you still have software that tells you what to feel right? Like… emulated hormones? Simulated emotions?” Axle leaned forward, genuinely intrigued.

Riley raised her fork, pointing it at him like a weapon. “I have a fork in my hand that’ll tell you what to feel if you keep this up.”

Axle grinned, unfazed. “Anger, I like it. Never seen that emotion before. Show me another one?”

“How about I break my foot off in your ass?” Riley shot back, her voice laced with a mix of annoyance and challenge.

“Anger? Hmmm. Or sarcasm? Is sarcasm an emotion?” Axle chuckled, clearly enjoying the exchange more than Riley.

# BUNK TIME

Bunk room lights dimmed to a soft glow emulating the night cycle.

Axle, sprawled on his upper bunk, dangled his head over the edge to look down at Riley. “So like, can you just turn them off? Your emotions?” he asked, his voice carrying a hint of genuine curiosity mixed with naivety.

Riley was on her back on the lower bunk, stared at the underside of his mattress, frustration building. “Why would I do that?”

“I dunno. Feel normal,” Axle shrugged, his silhouette framed by the soft light.

Riley’s hand shot out, her palm slamming against the metal frame of Axle’s bed. “I am fucking normal.” Her voice echoed slightly in the compact space.

“Exasperation. I have learned an emotion,” Axle observed dryly, unfazed by her reaction.

Riley kicked the underside of his bunk again, harder this time. The frame rattled with the impact.

Axle chuckled lightly. “You have like just two emotions?”

Riley glared upward, her eyes narrowing. “My software is programmed to emulate 37 distinct emotions, you prick!” Her retort was sharp, a clear indication that her patience was wearing thin, even if her emotions were, technically, a simulation.

# OFF DUTY

Duty hours. Off duty hours. They brought a different pace to the ship. For Riley and Marsh, it meant a brief escape. They stood in the quieter, dimly-lit corridor, just outside the common area, where Axle, with his usual lack of tact, made his presence felt.

Marsh stiffened, “Axle.” she hissed, menace in her voice. “You’re not allowed to turn off your presentation field on board ship.”

Axle materialized next to them, his form flickering into existence in Marsh’s reality.

“Marsh. Riley. Riley. Marsh. You’re both HI. Have fun. Don’t go making new little HIs I have to cram in the latrine,” Axle joked, a smirk crossing his face as he walked past them.

“We’re both female, you prick,” Riley shot back, irritation clear in her voice. “And stop causing probability collapse!”

“They’re just projections!” Axle goaded, referring to the realities, then he shrugged off her correction. “Like I’m supposed to know about how memetic polyplastic fucking works.”

Marsh rolled her eyes as Axle glided away, his face a rictus grin, his arms locked in position like he had frozen on video. He faded out as he turned the corner. “He’s an ass. NI3 thinks he’s better than all of us. Always pissy because they don’t get promoted above E-3.”

“Try having him in the bunk above you,” Riley muttered, sharing a knowing look with Marsh.

“I got called a diversity hire,” Marsh confided, a hint of bitterness in her voice.

“I haven’t. Yet. I think,” Riley mused, though she seemed uncertain.

“Oh, you did. You just weren’t around to hear it,” Marsh informed her. After a moment, she changed the subject. “You want to walk?”

“Sure. Where are we going?” Riley asked, eager for a distraction.

“Outside. The hull. It’s peaceful. SI’s don’t like it out there, and NI3’s can’t survive in the radiation,” Marsh explained as they approached the airlock.

Riley manipulated her form effortlessly, melting through the lock mechanism, her abilities as a memetic polyplastic on display. “Tight fit,” she commented, adjusting back to her normal shape on the other side.

“Never knew I could go that thin,” she added, somewhat impressed with herself.

“Took me years to get used to it,” Marsh shared, leading the way along the hull. The vast emptiness of space stretched out before them, a backdrop to their more personal conversation.

“Years?”

“Yeah, after the upgrade. Freaked me out. Waking up a different shape each morning. Dysphoria they called it. Not identifying with the body you’re in.” Marsh clarified.

“I thought that was just something the identity freaks talked about,” Riley remarked, trying to make sense of Marsh’s experience.

“Some humans get it. After upgrade,” Marsh explained, her tone sombre.

“You were upgraded?” Riley asked, curiosity piqued.

“Yeah, you weren’t?” Marsh seemed surprised at the question.

Riley shook her head. “Always been poly.” She gazed up at the planet above, tantalizingly close, pondering. “What was it like? Being…“

Marsh paused before answering. “Biological? Hmm. Different. Not worse. Just… different. I think I had fewer emotions.”

Riley frowned slightly. “I hate the fact they keep introducing new ones. I just got used to the old versions.”

“Then don’t upgrade,” Marsh suggested pragmatically.

“And miss out on the latest trends? How will I understand the memes?” Riley half-joked, half-serious

Their conversation drifted into silence as they walked along the hull, each lost in thought.

But if Marsh was biological, and Riley never was, but they are both human intelligences, then what defines humanity?

And yet, 21st century humans, probably perpetually underemployed philosophers hoping they’ll get tenure one day, would argue that neither are human nor part of humanity.