Chapter 4
FOUR
FRANKENSTEIN
Carla was smiling.
I could just see the edges of it as her head lulled back, turned away from me as she hung loose in my arms, her body limp as she let me just carry her, without the slightest bit of tenseness in her muscles, like she was completely relaxed without a care in the world.
She trusted me.
The thought hit me like a neurofilament through hull plating, smashing through defenses I didn't even know I had.
I had been her enemy. It had never been my job to collect dross and bring them to processing, but I had done far worse when my orders required it.
I had been a part of teams that went down to the surfaces of planets and collected specimens.
My cluster had been involved in attacking explorers who had made the mistake of venturing too close to the edges of Calicium territory.
I had unloaded tribute packages from the few worlds left intact within our territory, planets whose populations did the work for us, destroying their ecosystems and ravaging their own surfaces for minerals to feed our ever-growing army, planets that would eventually be utterly consumed when they had run the limits of their ability to self-harvest themselves.
Nothing I had ever done, in the entire history of my awareness, was worthy of trust.
Yet she gave it to me with the relaxation of her body, with the smile that curled on the edges of her lips.
She was broken in a way the other humans couldn't repair. That was clear the moment I came upon her, lying down on the ground in the middle of the hallway. Her body was weak, but she was still capable of movement. What was stopping her was whatever was going on in her mind.
I had absolutely no idea what to do about that.
At the same time, I didn't need to do anything about it either.
Self-repair was an individual's responsibility.
My task wasn't to fix her; it was to care for her.
If she managed to fix herself, or communicate what was required to do so, then I would assist her with her task of self-repair.
In the meantime, I would provide whatever she needed to the best of my abilities.
Right now, she needed somewhere better to lie down.
The location provided by the system was deeper into the ship, in a section I didn't recognize.
Since the ship was free, it was likely reorganizing, changing itself to suit whatever goals it decided to pursue, one of which was hopefully getting as far away from Calicium territory as possible.
I could see evidence of those changes as I carried her.
The hallways were being torn apart, paneling removed to expose the bare neurofilaments underneath, shifting and moving against one another like a pile of snakes, the long white tendrils still holding the soft pink tinge of all Calicium enslaved Vaurelcar.
The wild ones all had stark white neurofilaments.
It was a known issue that the wild ones were stronger, and the pink was a sign of ill health, but so far, none of the Plexus clusters that had Vaurelcar ships had been able to identify the issue.
The hallway narrowed, but not in size, just in available walking space.
More and more of the neurofilaments were exposed.
I walked on a narrow walkway of metal floor plating, careful not to step off the bridge.
If I did that, the Vaurelcar would feel me, and they didn't like to be touched.
The exposure of this many neurofilaments was a product of it rearranging itself, not because it wanted to leave large sections of its body exposed to the smaller creatures crawling around inside of it.
The metal that made up the inner hallways of the ship was its protection, its clothing that prevented it from having to taste the details of our existence.
It would still be able to see or hear me if it had optical or visual sensors nearby, but those were artificial contraptions that the species adapted as it ventured out into space.
Vaurelcars, in their basic existence, perceived the world primarily through touch.
So I was very careful not to touch it.
It might look like it was trusting me, assuming I would stay on the narrow walkway of metal and not stomp all over it, but I knew that it was more likely a test. If I acted like I would have if I still had a control chip embedded in my skull, I would have taken the shortest possible path, even if it included cutting corners and stepping off the walkway.
"What is that stuff?" Carla asked, moving her hand to point at the neurofilaments.
"It is the primary sensory and manipulation functionality for the ship," I said.
Eventually, the pathway led to a large room I recognized.
I stepped in through the door, onto the dirt.
"A cabbage farm?" Carla asked, lifting her head to look around the vast room. "Why is there a farm on a spaceship?"
"It is Taygetan space grain," I said. "This bulbous plant was engineered to have a broad, sticky root system that held onto dirt even in the event of zero gravity.
All of the seeds were contained within a thick leafy shell that prevented them from flying out in the event of a gravitational loss, making it ideal for space stations or ships that didn't want to import all of their caloric needs. "
"Why not just have a hydroponics system?" she asked.
I didn't have access to the ship's system to pull the data to answer that question, but I had worked in the farms enough that I already knew the answer.
"Soil acts as a natural buffer to retain moisture and nutrients, which keeps the plants alive in the case of mechanical issues," I said as I carried her through the rows of crops.
This location was strange, but I had to agree that it was out of the way.
"When growing this large amount of biomass, being able to recycle it back into the soil along with the organic waste created from caged dross.
Hydroponics would require an additional set of systems to liquefy waste and is less efficient.
There are hydroponic systems for creating food for dross on pure inorganic ships, but Vaurelcar ships also require caloric input to grow, so it is standard to have a farm. "
"A monocrop farm that is larger than several football fields from what I can tell," she said, identifying a basic fact about the farm. "What is a dross?"
I hesitated.
She wasn't scared of me. She trusted me.
If I explained what dross was, that would change.
But at the same time, if I didn't explain, she would also lose trust in me. Withholding information was
"The explanation is unpleasant and might frighten you," I said. "You are in no danger now and do not need to know that information. Would you still like to hear it?"
"Yes," she said, turning her face up to look at me.
My internal system highlighted several details of her expression with green boxes: her eyebrows lifting slightly with a slight asymmetry, her eyes widening slightly, the lower eyelids tightening, her pupils dilating slightly, and a lateral tilt to her head.
Curiosity, interest, focused engagement.
"Dross is a term for biological beings who have been collected for processing," I said.
"Processing is disassembling the biological being and either turning them into a Calicium or using their parts to enhance existing Caliciums. Your species was flagged for having high neural synaptic capability, as well as brain matter that showed exemplary adaptability and growth potential. "
Her eyebrows drew down and in, lines forming on her forehead, her eyes narrowing.
Concern, possible hostility.
"Wait, put me down," she said.
I set her down on her feet and stepped back to give her space. She crossed her arms, a gesture highlighted as: defense response.
"Are you saying that you guys are cutting us up for spare parts?" she asked.
"Yes, but that is not happening anymore," I said. "Plexus command is no longer in control of this ship or of me, and I have no intention of continuing such behavior."
"Were you forced to do that?" she asked, her eyebrows still furrowing. "You said the chip in your head made you do things. Was there no way around it?"
"There have been rumors of Calicium breaking free of their control chips, but they've never been substantiated, and I have no idea of how that would be accomplished," I said.
"Are you sure, absolutely sure, there are no humans on this ship being cut up right now?" she demanded.
"I can query the system to be certain," I said.
"Do that," she demanded.
I sent in a query to the system and received an immediate response.
"I am certain," I said. "All the humans on this ship have been assigned priority guest status."
"What does that mean?" she asked.
"I don't know," I said. "Calicium don't have guests.
The description that was provided indicates that violent action towards guests will result in immediate decommissioning.
I currently do not have any status, which is both beneficial as I am not labeled as an enemy of the ship, but also disconcerting as I don't have the same rights and protections as guests. "
She stared at me for a long moment, her lips pursing together.
"Did you like doing any of it?" she asked.
I didn't have to ask what she meant.
"No," I said. "My existence was a never-ending stream of horror, and I will fight to the bitter end to ensure that I am never under Calicium control ever again."
She took a deep breath, her chest lifting, her abdomen expanding as her shoulders and arms dropped.
"Okay," she said.
"Okay?" I asked.
She gave a firm nod. "Okay," she repeated.
Then she looked around, then looked down and wiggled her toes, the flexible covering surrounding them allowing her to press down slightly into the soil that hadn't been captured by roots yet. When the crop was close to harvesting, not a speck of dirt would be mobile.
"I'm standing," she said.
"Yes," I replied. "You are. Would you like me to carry you again?"
"No," she said. "I think I'll walk. Where are we going?"
I pointed, and she turned, leading the way down the row.
"What made you want to walk?" I asked her.
I wanted to know how I could bolster that feeling.
As much as I had said I was happy to take care of her in any condition, it would be much easier for me to support her needs if she were willing to do basic things.
I could find ways to help her keep her body healthy if all she wanted to do was lie down, but it wouldn't be simple or ideal, as no amount of external observation could make up for the individual's own brain identifying its own needs.
"I was so startled by what you said I forgot... that feeling," she said.
"What is that feeling?" I asked.
She let out a groan and put both her hands on top of her head. "I don't want to focus on it," she said.
"Would you rather me talk about things that interest or startle you?" I asked.
"Yes," she said. "But no more horror for a bit. Can you tell me about something good? Was there anything good about your life at all?"
I thought through my experiences, through the shows I'd managed to watch, and realized that was the answer.
"There is a repository of media stored on the ship's system," I said. "It was marked as junk data, but never got deleted, which, looking back on it, is rather strange. In any case, Plexus Command never flagged us if we accessed any of it, so I got to watch a bunch of different alien shows."
"I want to watch an alien show," she said.
I sent in a request to the system that the sleeping chamber created for her also have a media access device.
"There are many," I said. "What type of show would you prefer? Do you want something based in reality, such as educational or historical material, or would you like something that involves creative elements that are not real?"
"I want to see something happy," she said. "Something from your species culture."
"I haven't seen anything from my original species culture," I said. "So I can't recommend anything, but we can look through and see if we can find something together. Turn left here."
She followed my instructions to go down the path between the crops, and at the end of it was a door set into the wall.
"This is the room the ship has provided for you based on my request," I said.
She stepped towards the door, and it opened automatically.
She stopped abruptly, her entire body tensing.
"I don't understand," she said. "What is this?"