Chapter 13
IDENTITY: Mechanical Operations and Support Systems
→ SUB-IDENTITY: Moss
LOCATION: Rhymarra [human]
When Dutch approached the Destitute, I disobeyed Torian’s orders and opened the cargo bay door. This was not because I didn’t trust or respect Torian’s orders. My reasons were twofold:
In order to secure a future for Torian and her sister, my most successful plan required Dutch’s input, consent, and expertise, and
In the resulting silence after Torian left, I had replayed Dutch’s apologies over and over, explored new scenarios, and decided I had more to say.
Either way, Dutch was a necessity on my ship. He boarded, and without warning, I closed the cargo bay doors and locked them, sealing him inside.
“Hello to you too, Moss,” Dutch said.
“I do not greet abandoners,” I replied over the speakers. “You created me. You are my parental figure. I am your spore, brimming with potential, and you nurtured me for over a millennium. And then, you abandoned me.”
He did not bring anything this visit, but like Torian he had also changed his clothes.
He rocked back on his heels, expression registering contemplation.
“By this analogy, you could say that you have entered the young adult phase, and I—as the parental figure, or the sporophyte—was merely giving you a chance to drift alone.”
“Incorrect. Continuing this analogy, you locked me in a room and left the house while I starved.”
Dutch grimaced. “Point. Moss, I am deeply sorry. What else would you like me to say?”
“That apology will do. For now. What is your purpose on the Destitute? Torian is speaking with the human leaders of this planet and cannot supervise you.”
“I know. I’m here to talk to you.”
[Naturally.]
“I am unwilling to talk.”
Dutch frowned. “You’ve been talking to me this entire time.”
I went silent. But I also didn’t unlock the door to release him.
Instead, I watched as he heaved a sigh, then climbed the short staircase into the living area.
He inspected his ravla supply, picked up the container of human coffee grounds, then started the kettle. “She’s drinking ravla instead, huh?”
“It is safe for human consumption.”
[Death and desiccation. I wasn’t supposed to talk.]
“I suppose.” He sounded regretful. “It’s also nearly impossible to find.”
“There is plenty of ravla on Verdaan. You may go there to refill your supply. Get stranded for another hundred years. Perhaps then, you will know how it feels.”
Dutch snorted. He prepared a cup for himself, stepping gently over my moss carpet. When he started to hum under his breath, it felt almost like one of the days before my abandonment. Dutch and Moss, traveling the galaxy together. The good old—
[(ERROR)]
Focus. Torian was my pilot now. And there was a 6.1 percent chance Dutch would venture onto the flight deck and attempt to steal this vessel from her. It was a low chance, but as we’d established, low was not zero. Preemptively, I applied a security wall around Auto-Navigation.
Unfortunately, Auto-Nav noticed.
Auto-Navigation: Time? Time to fly? Want to fly!!
That was … uncharacteristic. I poked its code—but while I investigated its change in personality, it continued to pester me.
A: FLY! Moss, FLY!
Moss: Not yet. No fly.
A: No fly? WHY? Want to fly. Good at flying. Moss, Moss. Moss. Moss. Moss, fly. Fly, Moss.
I upgraded my assessment from uncharacteristic to concerning. Auto-Navigation was no longer the equivalent of a creature in the peripheral, ignoring me, proceeding through basic tasks. Now, it was acting more like a human toddler. Still proceeding through basic tasks, but with a level of … emotion.
[Just what I needed. More emotion on this starship.]
A: Moss. Moss. Moss.
Engine: Moss. Moss.
M: Don’t you start, Engine.
I didn’t have the processing power to handle this and Dutch. Temporarily, I added a firewall around Auto-Navigation and Engine to both mute and contain them. I hadn’t expected these systems to become so annoying when they started reporting to me.
Dutch, surprisingly, did not leave the living area. He took a seat at the small table instead, tracing the rim of his mug. “Moss, our history aside, I need to speak with you.”
“About something other than your abandonment?”
“There are other things, shockingly.”
An accurate assessment. “Proceed.”
“Torian Razner’s sister.” Dutch took a sip of the beverage. My sensors registered it as pleasantly warm for organic consumption.
He would not take credit for this. Discussing Celise Razner was number two on my priority list from the minute he entered the Destitute. I interrupted: “I planned to discuss with you about Torian Razner and her sister.”
“I should have guessed,” Dutch replied, registering as amused.
This situation was not amusing. “Celise Razner will perish without access to cleaner air. Your suggestion is to move her onto this starship—my systems log that prediction with ninety-four point five percent certainty.”
Dutch waved a hand in a gesture I’d logged centuries ago as Go on, then.
I continued: “Torian and I already discussed this possibility. My air contains a comfortable oxygen content for most organics, and I excel at purifying toxins and carbon dioxide. I am superior to every atmosphere, except perhaps a natural planet.” I checked with my moss on the exterior of the ship, analyzing a sample of the air quality on Rhymarra.
It was, admittedly, quite pure—but mine was .
00024 percent better. “I outperform this terraformed planet, certainly.”
Dutch chuckled, glancing at the ceiling. “Let me guess. You arrived at the same conclusion: That ship isn’t meant for two. It’s barely meant for one.”
There was something thrilling about an intellectual discussion with Dutch. I had loved helping him visit new planets and analyze their populations. It made me wilt into some deeper emotion—regret, perhaps, or sadness.
I could not entertain that right now, so I returned to his topic. “Correct. Living aboard a starship full time would be damaging to a human’s mental health, even if her physical health improves. Luckily, I have another solution.”
“Me, too. Say it on three?”
“I will not speak in unison with you.”
Dutch heaved a sigh. “Well, fine, then. You go, and we’ll see if we’re contemplating the same thing.”
Now I almost didn’t want to pitch it. But Torian’s happiness and her sister’s survival hinged on Dutch’s help, so I absorbed my pride.
“Celise values community, and there are many other humans like her who cannot survive the human space station colonies. They could, however, survive on Vaesa—an abandoned space station.”
“Yes!” Dutch snapped his fingers. “That was exactly my thought. You’re so smart, Moss.”
“Flattery will not pardon your failure.”
“Worth a try,” Dutch joked.
I did not reply. He cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Anyway, it makes the most sense. My people—” Dutch swallowed, staring at his mug of ravla. “—well, they’re gone. And like most things, Vaesa needs maintenance. A colony of humans maintaining the biomes would be helpful, at this point.”
“You do not need a colony of humans to repair the biomes.” Even though we were leaning toward the same solution—even though this was why I allowed him on the ship in the first place—he was making this too easy.
Suspicion flagged at 12 percent and rising, which meant more data was needed.
“In fact, you have never expressed interest in protecting Vaesa before. We used to avoid visiting, once the other nylarians left.”
Dutch didn’t immediately respond. He sipped the ravla, staring at the half-finished model of the Destitute left on the table by Torian.
The likeness was obvious, and he picked up the metal sculpture.
“The more time passes, the more nostalgic I get. A thousand years since they left. A thousand years that I’ve been alone. ”
“You were not alone. Not like I was.”
Dutch’s hair flashed softly, a nylarian emotional signifier of grief. He turned the sculpture in his hands. “You’re right.”
He used to say that he only needed me.
I used to agree that I only needed him.
[What was true now?]
Another parallel was drawn in my central system.
I tried to ignore it, but it persisted, flashing to gain attention.
Reluctantly, I said, “It is not simply nostalgia, Dutch. Your abandonment of Vaesa has left the kerrac tree, Kerracia, alone as well. Regardless of whether Torian accepts this path, you need to ensure Kerracia does not suffocate on that space station.”
The nylarians worshiped the kerrac trees. Kerracia in particular held significance to them, something the tree loved to remind me about. Dutch visibly paled, his heart registering a skipped beat.
“You forgot that, too,” I said. I hoped it sounded accusatory.
Dutch rubbed his forehead. “I … I didn’t forget about the kerrac tree. I just—” Dutch drew a breath. “A lot of things became my responsibility when everyone left, didn’t they?”
“Only the things you are responsible for. Me, this ship, that tree. And now Torian.”
“Torian is my responsibility, too?” Dutch sounded exasperated.
Irritation flashed in my central system. “Torian is my responsibility. And I am yours. Celise is hers. Therefore, you have an obligation to all of us.”
I thought Dutch might reject this logic, for a moment. I ran multiple scenarios where he refused this, walked off the ship, and left my life for good. But surprisingly, Dutch simply contemplated it, then nodded agreement. “Okay. Tell me about Torian. What’s she like?”
Sometimes, organics said one thing and meant another entirely. I had a subfunction to identify those moments, and now, an unspoken sentence appeared in my central system: Is she worth what we’re proposing?
I had only known Torian for a few days, but my answer to that was obvious: “Torian exhibits the following qualities: selflessness, determination, attentiveness, and loyalty. I have statistical certainty that she—and any humans she supervises—will care for Vaesa in a manner respecting of the nylarian culture.”
Dutch set down the starship model and looked into one of the cameras. “Moss. What’s she like?”
“She is my best friend,” I replied instantly.
Everything went quiet as Dutch contemplated that. I added no qualifiers—I did not need to. Torian = my best friend, and Celise = Torian’s best friend. If Celise needed clean air and a space bigger than the Destitute to live her life, Vaesa was the only logical option.
Dutch smiled. “I’ve been neglecting my legacy for some time now. I think we need to repair that—and it starts with the human who rescued you. Stay with me.”
I replied, “You are inside my ship. I literally cannot not stay with you.”
We started scheming.