Simon had been doing his best to ration the food. Grace told him it probably wasn't worth it, there was a gun on the ship for this very situation. But Simon wanted grace to live as long as possible.
“🎶human no eat, question?🎶” Rocky said, Simon had just woke up and he was already being watched. Rocky always watched him. “🎵Why not, question🎶”
"I'm not hungry," Simon said as softly as possible, to not wake Grace who, because of the small size of the bed, had an arm hooked around his middle so he wouldn't fall off.
And he wasn't, or at least, not as hungry as he used to be. Hunger was something he was used to, a hollowness in his chest that never quite went away. It had, for a minute there, but it was back now.
Ryland's grip tightened slightly before relaxing again, he would be awake soon. “Mornin’” Simon said while Grace borrowed into his shoulder.
“Mmph.” Doctor Grace said, then “coffee…”
Simon reached up to grab the mug. He held it while grace blinked slowly, eventually the smell reached him and he sat up, taking the mug. Then he looked to Simon, “food.” He said, looking away to blow on his steaming coffee.
Simon didn't reach up, at Grace's look he shrugged “I already ate.”
Rocky shifted uneasily, but didn't correct him.
“Blip a detected.” The ship said.
“🎵my ship?🎶” Rocky asked, changing the topic and sounding uncomfortable.
“No.” Grace stood, looking up towards the Captains room. “That's a few light years in the wrong direction.”
>>>×<<<
I was sitting on my favorite chair, watching some absolute garbage with Art. At least it was entertainingly bad, the trip was supposed to be a solo cargo run for Art, so there wasn't a whole lot to do. Art had been drifting away over the past 9.62 seconds.
When its attention plateaued around 49% it sent a short, oddly concerned message.
ID:UMI.8.24/IPD “A.R.T”> hm, that's odd.
ID:NYB.8967.3T24/TGC/SCR “M.B”> on a scale of 1-10, how concerned should I be?
ID:UMI.8.24/IPD “A.R.T”> relatively high, 8-9. We should've exited the worm hole by now.
I rolled my eyes, requeing the vid that Art rudely closed. Art immediately closed it again. I rolled my eyes harder.
ID:NYB.8967.3T24/TGC/SCR “M.B”> you're a little slower than expected, so what?
ID:UMI.8.24/IPD “A.R.T”> ‘so what?’ M.B, how much do you know about worm hole travel
I curled up slightly, it was no secret how shit my education modules were.
ID:NYB.8967.3T24/TGC/SCR “M.B”> not a lot.
ID:UMI.8.24/IPD “A.R.T”> there is a 0.000000000000026% chance you will enter one and never leave.
ID:NYB.8967.3T24/TGC/SCR “M.B”> what.
ID:UMI.8.24/IPD “A.R.T”> it has only happened 23 times in the recorded history
D:NYB.8967.3T24/TGC/SCR “M.B”> 23 recorded times?
For something like this to be recorded, the ship would have had to have been perceived entering the wormhole and then perceived not coming back. Then those two perceptions would have had to have been shared effectively by the humans who made them. Then the humans would have had to care enough to actually report it.
As a general rule wormholes are not monitored very well, and as a hard rule humans can't or won't communicate effectively. Ever. Especially not when it matters.
ID:UMI.8.24/IPD “A.R.T”> 7 have come back.
Hardly inspirational I thought as Art's hull creaked. It always creaked when entering or exiting a worm hole, this hardly soothed my pulsing adrenal gland.
I forced a purge of the panic chemicals as I sent:
ID:NYB.8967.3T24/TGC/SCR “M.B”> see, no problem. You were just slow, no need to…
There were no company media channels. There were no channels. No security system from the station we were supposed to be right next to. No nothing.
ID:NYB.8967.3T24/TGC/SCR “M.B”> where are we?
ID:UMI.8.24/IPD “A.R.T”> I don't know. We need to find out. Our best chance at getting back would be to find another wormhole.
ID:UMI.8.24/IPD “A.R.T”> There's another ship on the way though, I am pinging them now.
ID:NYB.8967.3T24/TGC/SCR “M.B”> what did they say?
ID:UMI.8.24/IPD “A.R.T”> nothing, they don't even have the technology to pick it up.This is pre-pre-CR, so old it's on the verge of being remnant.
ID:NYB.8967.3T24/TGC/SCR “M.B”> ID think you know what time it is.
ID:UMI.8.24/IPD “A.R.T”> throw out random shit out until they respond.
ID:NYB.8967.3T24/TGC/SCR “M.B”> a classic.
Art sighed over the feed.
ID:UMI.8.24/IPD “A.R.T”> a classic.
•~☆×♡×☆~•
“Incoming transmission…” displayed on the screen, Ryland hesitantly reached to accept. “Connection established.”
ID:UMI.8.24/IPD> salute,
ID:UMI.8.24/IPD> greetings,
ID:UMI.8.24/IPD> #!,
ID:UMI.8.24/IPD> handshake,
Ryland blinked at the screen as greetings scrolled by. He looked around for a keyboard or something similar. There was one near the Captains chair.
Hail.Mary> hello! Sorry, please slow down.
ID:UMI.8.24/IPD> hello!
>>>×<<<
ID:UMI.8.24/IPD “A.R.T”> They are slow, probably human, and they speak something so old I don't fully understand.
ID:UMI.8.24/IPD “A.R.T”> I hate to say it, but it might be more effective to meet in person with them.
I didn't respond. Sometimes, if I played dumb hard enough art would let stupid things go. This was not one of those times.
ID:UMI.8.24/IPD “A.R.T”> you are the only person on board.
ID:NYB.8967.3T24/TGC/SCR “M.B”> I hate you.
ID:UMI.8.24/IPD “A.R.T”> I know.
•~☆×♡×☆~•
ID:UMI.8.24/IPD> query:meet?
Hail.Mary> what? Like, let you on board?
ID:UMI.8.24/IPD> affirmative.
They sent a blocky image of a stylized shuttle approaching our air lock. “Thoughts?” Ryland tilted his head to look back at his friends. Rocky looked excited; Simon, not so much.
“I don't know.” Simon said, uneasily shifting. “I don't have the best track record with mysterious voices in space offering you whatever you want.”
“🎶Maybe have human food, no starve! No die!🎵”
“It's down to a vote, then.” Ryland said, looking back at the screen. “We are dead if we don't try anything.” He rubbed at his face, “this is as close to a saving grace as we are gonna get, might as well ask.”
>>>×<<<
I sat in the shuttle, our airlocks were the same shape. Was it a coincidence? Or was that just Ideal Airlock Shape?
Air rushed into the (pre)pre-CR vessel as the door opened, I sat a little straighter and then corrected my posture to be looser. I double checked that my act like a human code was running and stood. There was one human on the other side. They (they had no feed id and I don't really understand human gender so this human is a they until they say otherwise) waved at me.
ID:UMI.8.24/IPD “A.R.T”> that's a greeting, I think. Do it back.
I waved and they smiled at me. As they spoke, art scanned for a matching language. By the time it found it the human looked uncomfortable.
ID:UMI.8.24/IPD “A.R.T”> probably because you haven't responded.
ID:NYB.8967.3T24/TGC/SCR “M.B”> says the one who took too long to upload the language pack.
“Sorry.” I said, taking another step, “my ship was struggling with your language.”
“Ok, so theory you're from the future is maybe still accurate..?” when I looked at them they stuttered and fidgeted “sorry, just a joke. Lots of weird things have been happening lately.”
“Weird things?” I asked, finally entering the other ship. It was odd, there were no cameras, no feed, and a clear triangular tunnel that bulbed into the room and extended through the floor.
“Just a lot of guests, well a lot for the fact we are so far from earth.” They're laughed nervously.
“Where's earth?” I asked, still looking for anything with connectivity.
“You aren't from Earth either?” I shrugged, “are you from Eden?" There was someone else suddenly. Another human rushed in, placing themself between the original human and me.
I raised my hands, they didn't have a weapon but I didn't want the situation to escalate. “Calm down, I don't know where that is either.”
The long haired human eyed me. There was something wrong with this one. Their eyes were too reflective, teeth too long, their breathing was off. “Are you contaminated?” I asked, taking a step back.
Another alien contaminant incident would not be good for my mental health. “What's that mean?” they asked. Their dialect was slightly different from the first one's but the same language.
I took another step back “were you in contact with either aliens or runes?”
“Do you have a problem with other species?” The first one said, puffing up protectively.
What is this human's deal? “The fauna isn't what I have a problem with. It's the contamination.”
“What does contamination do?” The most definitely contaminated one asked.
“It depends, some get sick, for others it changes you into a–”
“Monster.” The human finished.
“Sure, but the worst part is that it is highly contagious.”
The brown haired human backed away from the blonde. “Is it curable?”
I asked art, “maybe,” it said, and I repeated out loud, “if caught quickly enough.” then I added, “but it would have to be done on art.”
“Art?” The blond repeated. Hopefully I would get their names soon.
“My ship.”
The softer one nodded, turning to the brunette “do you want to go?”
“We both should. You haven't shown symptoms yet, your chances are the best.”
“But,” the blonde glanced behind himself, then turned back to face me. “You are fine with aliens in general, right?”
“As long as they are nonhostile and noncontaminated.” I said.
“Can my buddy come?”
When a human makes a fauna ‘buddy’ it is either the most terrifying creature on the planet or a tiny helpless bug. There was never any in-between. “Buddy?”
“I was now leaking from a different spot” — I keep thinking back to this line, getting caught on, even books later. Is MB crying and trying to hide that in vague descriptions? Can MB cry?
I mean, tears basically exist to moisturize the eyes so they don’t dry out, but I’m pretty sure MB doesn’t have biological eyes? Like it’s unclear how much of a construct’s body is biological, how much is mechanical, and how much is something it’s genetically locked away from being able to do (like naturally grow hair), but at several points MB “rewinds” moments it was present for but not paying attention to, and I’m pretty sure it outright says in Rogue Protocol that its eyes are cameras since Miki and Abene have the ability to see through them
On the other hand… MB spends much of the series outright admitting to being an anxious wreck, and it’s implied it has PTSD. It also has moments where it’s clearly overwhelmed even if it doesn’t admit it or understands that fact. In this specific moment, it’s in pain and too weak to control its pain tolerance, it’s dealing with the fact it had to basically undergo a surgery that subtly but fundamentally changes its physiology and anatomy for the sake of it’s survival, and ART basically immediately brings up/semi-confirms a major trauma in a vulnerable moment even if ART is trying to help. All that tossed together, some reluctant crying isn’t an outlandish reaction. Tears aren’t just lubricant for the eyes, they also act as a physical manifestation of emotional release. I’m only on Exit Strategy, but at this point it’s clear that all constructs, not just ones that give themselves free will through hack jobs, have the ability to feel things, even if non of them can act on those emotions
Part of me wonders if MB didn’t have the ability to cry before its surgery, that this was another biological function that ART basically activated for it, and this might be the first moment it’s ever been able to. And it’s a little pissed about that fact, hence the vague acknowledgement but not much else
…or maybe MB just popped open a stitch by moving here and is just bleeding a little more than before, idk. I’m only a chapter into book four, maybe in like a chapter or two from where I’m at MB reluctantly looks the reader in the eye and says “so I physically do not process lacrimal ducts”
The company doesn't care if augments and armour bruise the skin they grew to cover your steel enforced bones. Organic muscles are cheaper then and roughly durable as inorganic ones.
Shoulder joints can be locked in and out of place.
