Chapter 20
IDENTITY: Mechanical Operations and Support Systems
→ SUB-IDENTITY: Moss
After Torian went to bed and Lyric, my favorite new mechanic botanist human, left, I was again alone. I did not like that.
So, I located the captain’s quarters and accessed the radio there. I could not find a camera in this room, which left me using only audio to anchor myself. I turned on the microphone for a moment, and identified the sound of running water.
There was a small washroom on the Destitute, and because humans were strange, non-flora creatures, Torian occupied it once per day. I asked what she was doing, and she said she was “showering,” which I equated to watering.
It was curious to me that Amelia would water herself so late at night. I inserted myself into the microphone and said, “Amelia. Are you sufficiently moist?”
“What the fuck—” Amelia yelped, and a second later, the sounds of running water ceased. I heard a ruffle of fabric, and then footsteps. After several seconds, Amelia said, “Wh-who’s there?”
“I am Moss. Torian claimed I was her shipboard AI, but that is inaccurate. I am an organic computer that operates the Destitute’s life support.”
Silence.
“If you are gesturing, you should be aware that I do not have visuals in this room. I am limited to sound only.”
Amelia laughed. “Well, that’s great. I’m so glad to hear the omnipotent intelligence that hacked into my starship doesn’t have camera access in my fucking bathroom.”
My system registered that as sarcasm, with 88 percent certainty.
For a moment, I contemplated withdrawing from her ship. Human privacy was a much larger topic than my current database contained, clearly. It made no sense to me, considering my moss existed everywhere, positioned for all to see.
After running scenarios, I predicted there was a 12 percent chance she’d continue speaking with me, and that felt like enough to stick around. Because I was feeling touchy about it, I replied, “If you install cameras in your bathroom, I would be delighted to—”
“Enough.” Amelia inhaled. There was more rustling of fabric. “Torian told me all about you and Vaesa. Did she forget something?”
Interesting. I had not been informed that Torian was beginning to grow the human colony already, but it confirmed my suspicions that Amelia was more than a simple crewmember. I asked, “What did she explain to you?”
“She told me all about you. Very complimentary, if it matters.” Amelia sounded amused. “I didn’t believe her, but—well, I’m starting to, now. Thanks for that noise to incapacitate the guy cutting into your hull.”
“You’re welcome.”
Amelia continued: “She told me about the aliens. The nylarians. And the space station. I told her she was fucking crazy if she thought I was going to fly into the Kialoa Nebula, but she has a flight path for it.”
“Why is Vaesa worth the risk? If you are planning to steal from that space station, Dutch’s draic lover will not take kindly to the theft.”
Amelia registered as indignant now. “I don’t steal. Much. Certainly not from alien heritage sites.” She hesitated. “It sounds … like my old home. I want to see it. Okay?”
“Okay,” I replied easily. “You are getting distracted. This visit is not about Vaesa. I am here on my own accord, to … get to know you. Torian’s not-romantic partner.”
“I’m not her partner,” Amelia snapped.
“That’s what I said.” Curious, that I’d had this exact conversation with both Amelia and Torian now.
Lyric would never. I sorted my list of questions and said, “Torian is my best friend. If she invited you to Vaesa, we will be in close enough proximity to … share … her time.” I paused, pointedly.
“I do not like sharing. But, you introduced Lyric to me, and Lyric is now my second-best friend. For that, I will offer you the opportunity to answer fifty-two simple questions.”
“How about I answer none of those questions?”
I had anticipated that. I freely retrieved my fail-safe. “Then I will access the video logs on your starship and answer them myself.”
Amelia was silent for twenty-two seconds. “For a computer of moss, you’re pretty manipulative.”
“Thank you,” I said, feeling proud. “First question. What are your intentions with Torian?”
[I had, admittedly, retrieved this list of questions from a human database on Colony 13, titled, Questions to Ask Your Kid’s First Date. It appeared very thorough.]
[I had not, however, factored in Amelia’s personality.]
“I think I should be asking you that. An alien starship with a sentient personality whisked one of my crewmembers away—and then broke into my starship to talk to me about it. Why the hell should I trust you to take care of her?”
I was aware it was a diversion. It did not matter—my system flashed indignantly nonetheless. “I am life support. My very function is to keep Torian alive. It is proving … difficult.”
“No shit.” Amelia snorted. “She hears a fight and runs toward it.”
“That is an accurate assessment of today’s proceedings. I am trying not to be frustrated.”
The sound of mattress springs squeaked, and Amelia said, “That’s just who Torian is. But if you’re truly dedicated to keeping her safe, maybe we can cut a deal.”
I didn’t come for a deal. I came to ask questions.
However, I couldn’t deny I was intrigued. “What kind of deal?”
“I promise not to try anything romantic with Torian and steal her away—if you promise to keep her safe from whatever alien bullshit she finds next.”
That would be difficult. “I am moss. I have spores. Rhizoids. Leaves. How would you like me to intervene?”
“Verbally. Close her off in the ship if you need.”
“Torian does not like that. I tried today.”
Amelia’s tone registered as tense now. “Look. You want Torian to stay your friend, right? You said you don’t like to share—which implies to me that you need her around.”
“Need” was strong. [But not inaccurate.] “Torian is my best friend.”
“Right. I felt that way six months ago, and then a jelly bullet fractured two ribs and punctured one of her lungs. It took hours in the med bay to get her stable. Have you heard of pneumothorax? Go ahead. Look it up.”
I did. It did not seem pleasant, from what I knew of human physiology.
“I do not like that.”
Amelia sighed. “Me, either. Worst day of my life—and I’ve had some pretty bad ones.”
“You care about Torian as a best friend, too, then.”
“I—” Amelia went quiet, then finished, “Yeah. Sure.”
I compiled this data, and reviewed her deal. It seemed favorable for both of us. Torian remained safe, and Amelia would not become romantically involved. I wouldn’t lose Torian to her, the way I’d lost Dutch to Zenthielutos. It felt like a fair middle ground.
“I accept your deal,” I said. “You will not become Torian’s lover. And I will keep Torian safe when you are not around.”
“Glad we could reach an arrangement.” Amelia paused. “Now, get the fuck out of my room. Please.”
“I still have fifty-two questions—” I started to say, but abruptly, my access was cut off to the microphone and speaker inside that room. I still had ship-wide access, but the captain’s suite was effectively a dead zone now.
Well. That was rude.