Chapter 3 #2
“I want you to avoid that wreck you found. We don’t want to lose signal again and have your mission cut short.
In addition, we’ll deploy a signal repeater halfway to the bottom, just in case.
” He smiled, but somehow it wasn’t a pleasant expression — though maybe that was my own distaste for him showing.
Something didn’t sit right with me about him surviving a catastrophe that had cost fifty people their lives.
“We don’t want to lose our most valuable asset, after all. ”
I inclined my head, determined to keep my mouth shut unless asked a direct question. I wasn’t pleased about the signal repeater being deployed. To me, it was like having someone looking over my shoulder.
Finally, I was released for preparation.
Dr. Gail and I made our way to the lower midship area, where my various appendages were stored in tanks.
It was odd to walk past my cetacean-like tail, suspended in salt water and hooked up to nerve generators and nutrient feeds to keep the biological components “alive.” Next to the tail, my tentacles floated, furling and unfurling almost as though they were greeting me.
I knew it was just the random electrical impulses being fed to them to keep them conditioned, but it amused me to imagine they missed me and were eager to be off on a new adventure.
It took several minutes to disconnect my upper body from my legs, which could be safely left in a dry docking station rather than a wet one.
My arms were very strong, so I grasped the bar suspended from an overhead track, which lifted me up.
Dr. Gail was at the controls, and I was transferred over to the tank, and then she lowered me down to where I could connect to the tentacles.
I’d done the procedure thousands of times, but it was always interesting to go from two legs to eight, with the increased sensory input.
My brain had been enhanced to handle the additional paths, so that I could “walk” as easily with my tentacles on the ocean floor as I could with my human legs on the ship.
Next, I was transferred to the open hatch in the floor of the room so I could leave the ship.
This was done via a sealock, similar to an airlock on a spaceship, though it was vertical rather than horizontal.
The water I floated in led to another hatch at the side of the ship.
I would dive down, and Dr. Gail would secure the hatch before flooding the chamber completely.
I would spend several minutes purging all the air from my lungs before opening the outer door and exiting the ship.
“Ready to submerge?” she asked softly. Somehow she always seemed to look a little sad or wistful when I prepared to leave the ship. Perhaps she wished she could go with me to see everything with her own eyes.
“In a moment,” I replied, swirling my tentacles as I floated in the water, my head just above the level of the floor. “I had a question, first.”
Dr. Gail raised a brow, but didn’t seem perturbed. We often had short discussions before I left the ship, usually about anything of concern, since we were alone. “What is it?”
“Per what you told me yesterday, I did some research,” I told her, keeping things a bit vague in case there just happened to be someone observing through one of the monitors.
This was rarely the case, however. Apparently watching me switch limbs was disturbing to most people.
“I wanted to make sure I knew everything about the previous missions, but there was something missing. I don’t know if it’s important, but can you tell me the name of the scientist who was injured on the Explorer? It was redacted.”
I don’t know what I expected. Perhaps for her to look puzzled or surprised, especially if she didn’t know the information.
Maybe even sad, if she had known the person and they hadn’t survived the ordeal.
I certainly didn’t expect all the color to drain from her face or for her to catch hold of the edge of the command console and sway on her feet as though she was in danger of losing consciousness.
“Dr. Gail?” Alarmed, I used my arms to begin levering myself up out of the lock, splashing water all over the floor. She drew in a shuddering breath, motioning me back into the water.
“I’m fine!” she said, but she wouldn’t look at me. Her lips twisted. “I suppose I should have known you — someone would ask one day. His name was Michael. Michael Gail. He was… my son.”
I had no answer to that. I could only look at her, regretting the pain I had caused her, while also wondering why her words struck such a chord inside me. Was it because I couldn’t remember my own mother?
“I’m sorry, Dr. Gail,” I said, knowing the words weren’t enough. Obviously, her son had died, and I had inadvertently reminded her of that loss. There wasn’t much that had ever made me feel bad about myself, but this did. Even though I hadn’t meant any harm.
She shook her head, and then she looked at me, her eyes dark with pain. “It’s fine, Corbin. You didn’t know. It was years ago, I just….” Her voice seemed to desert her for a moment, and then she drew in a deep breath and set her shoulders. “We should continue with the mission. Are you ready?”
I was torn. I could scrub the mission with a word, and stay and try to comfort her — or, more likely, make it worse.
Comforting wasn’t something I had any experience at, and since I’d never actually experienced “loss” in the sense of someone I cared about, I had no insights to offer.
At the same time, she seemed to want me to continue, so wouldn’t honoring her wish be the best thing I could do?
“Yes, Dr. Gail.” I really didn’t have a choice. Perhaps if the being who had spoken to me had information to offer about Michael, it might be something that would help her pain. Other than that, there wasn’t anything I could do.
With that, I submerged. The hatch above me closed, leaving me alone. If there was one thing I’d learned in my life as a construct, forward was the only way to go, because there was no going back.