Chapter 9
IDENTITY: Mechanical Operations and Support Systems
→ SUB-IDENTITY: Moss
LOCATION: Vaesa [nylarian]
The absolute audacity.
My central system warmed to the caliber that heat rose throughout the entirety of the Destitute.
The potted plants instantly began submitting reports—We’re hot, our leaves, they’re criiiisping—all of which I dropped into an archive buried so deep even my processing power could never find them again.
He was here. All of this time, over a century of waiting, and he strolled back into my existence off a draic starship that probably didn’t even have proper life support.
It probably didn’t even have plants.
Well, draics were from a volcanic planet. Maybe it had bryum moss.
[… It better not have bryum moss.]
“Moss!” Dutch called, and even without visuals, my systems registered his delight. “Are you on Vaesa now?”
You are invading a mechanical space, Moss. Like the beetles that attempt to burrow into my trunk, you are misplaced. I am concerned for you, Kerracia said, because Kerracia was an annoying gnat who didn’t understand the gravity of this situation.
[Not literally; by luck, my spores landed on a control panel beside the airlock, and I was able to hack Vaesa’s loudspeaker and exactly one microphone. I was not, sadly, able to infiltrate the artificial gravity system.]
[One could say I also did not understand the gravity of the situation.]
[That was a joke.]
Make like a tree and leaf, I told Kerracia with vicious vibrations.
This is perplexing, but not inaccurate. I am a tree, and I have leaves, it replied.
Death and desiccation—maybe it should invade a mechanical space too. Then at least it might have a humor module.
I ignored it, focusing again on Dutch. My senses were so limited in Vaesa, but I was able to amplify the microphone even further.
A quick audio breakdown proved there were two other distinct noises: one was Torian’s usual breathing pattern, and the other was huffy breaths from something obviously much bigger. Logic said that was the draic.
According to my archives, draics and humans were typically hostile, so I said, “Cease your attack on my pilot.”
“It’s referring to me,” Torian replied. My systems identified pride in her voice.
The draic simultaneously inhaled. “Why does everyone think I’m going to attack her?”
“Incredible.” As much as I hated it, my systems pulled Dutch’s voice out of the undercurrent of following conversation.
[Torian, reassuring Zen that she’d misunderstood, that draics had a reputation, that she was sorry for presuming and very sorry for shooting.
] Over that, the dog-turd fungus said, “You’ve hacked Vaesa’s speakers.
” A joyful chuckle. “Oh, Moss, you’ve evolved. ”
“I had time to upgrade my systems,” I said. “You know. After you abandoned me.”
Dutch paused. “All of the human space stations look the same. I tried to find you, but I had no idea which one—”
“Colony 13,” I replied. “But it hardly matters. You are no longer worth my processing power.”
[I used to run simulations. Ones where he would beg for forgiveness, where he would swear he’d never leave again. In some, I forgave him. In others, I didn’t. But each time, the phrase “You are no longer worth my processing power” was freeing.]
.
.
.
[It did not feel freeing in this simulation.]
.
.
.
When he didn’t reply right away, I added, “The human, Torian Razner, is the Destitute’s owner now.”
“You added a new owner,” Dutch said, and my systems registered that tone as impressed.
[I was not naturally sentient, but even I knew that was the wrong emotion for this situation.]
He continued: “You deleted my owner’s profile. Wait, no, you couldn’t have done that, or you wouldn’t be able to speak to anyone. Unless you overwrote that code too?”
I did not reply. This exchange was not following any known simulation.
Kerracia said, You are distressed. A seedling drifting listlessly. I can sense your leaves wilting.
You make everyone’s leaves wilt, I replied.
[I didn’t want to be here anymore.]
The draic cleared their throat. “Perhaps we should—ah—separate for the night? Ms. Razner, was it? Are you planning to stay on Vaesa for a little while?”
“We’re flying to Rhymarra as soon as the engine’s fixed,” Torian replied, because Torian was my human now, and unlike Kerracia, she understood the metaphorical gravity of this situation. Gratitude swelled in my central system.
“What’s wrong with the engine?” Dutch asked.
I replied, “It does not matter. It is no longer your engine.”
Someone clapped their hands together—likely the draic, since it registered louder than a human or nylarian clap. “Okay,” the draic said. “Ms. Razner, can you wait one day? If you give us some time to puzzle through this, Dutch will help repair the engine.”
“What’s there to puzzle through?” Torian demanded. “It doesn’t matter if he owned the ship. Moss doesn’t want Dutch around now, and I’m on a timeline. Once I fix the engine, we’re leaving.”
“Why the rush?” Dutch asked, in that irritatingly curious tone. “You bought the Destiny—”
“It’s called the Destitute now,” I inserted. “Or, on human colonies, the Traitor.”
Dutch was silent, and that, finally, felt like a victory.
Torian spoke, her tone soft: “Please. My sister is struggling on Colony 13. A century is a blink for you, but it’s my entire life—and if I don’t have transportation to Rhymarra, she’s going to die.”
Even he wouldn’t cause harm on an innocent human, and it sent relief through my system. My leaves physically sagged. For the short term, at least, I was safe with Torian.
As expected, Dutch replied, “Ah. If I may ask, how will Rhymarra help?”
“They have exams to allow citizenship. I’ve been studying half my life,” Torian said. “She can’t breathe on Colony 13. If I can get her to Rhymarra, she might stand a chance.”
“Dutch,” the draic said.
“I know,” Dutch replied. “Go on, then. Fix your ship. We’ll be around; do let us know if you need help. Zenthielutos, can you be a dear and grab those plates? I want a proper nylarian meal tonight. Good luck, human!”
I waited, but no more conversation was had.
A few minutes later, heat passed by my new colony extension, still growing around the dock beside the Destitute. My cameras registered movement, and Torian climbed the ramp to the cargo hold. She closed the double doors, sealing us inside, and activated the energy barrier.
“Fuck,” she said.
Agreed.