Chapter 18
IDENTITY: Mechanical Operations and Support Systems
→ SUB-IDENTITY: Moss
The humans were staring.
This was appropriate—the Destitute was magnificent, so it should be admired by humans and every other species in the galaxy. But after over a century in a dark hangar, it was a bit unnerving to see the crowd gathering in front of the ship.
I was unsure if I was supposed to stay hidden, remain a secret, or reveal myself.
These were smuggling humans, which meant their trustworthiness was low—but they were also captained by Torian’s not-romantic partner, so perhaps they were safe.
The hostile humans had already been removed by this station’s example of law enforcement.
The remainders must have loyalty to their old crewmember.
Possibly.
I stayed silent, gathering more data. Outside my ship, one smuggling human elbowed another. “What do you think, Bartlet? Piece of shit, isn’t it?”
“It’s worth more than you are,” the smuggling human, Bartlet, responded.
[I’d already released spores into this hangar, but bypassed anything from Colony 4 in favor of attempting access to Amelia’s ship.
So far, my moss colony hadn’t grown enough to bypass major security features, but I had obtained a roster of the crew.
I reviewed Bartlet’s file: cook, fifteen years of service—first with Opula, the current quartermaster, then with Amelia.
Extensive parts of their file were redacted. ]
The person Bartlet was speaking with was named Lent, classified as an engineer human. “Fuck you, too. I’m just saying, she could have found a nicer ship.”
Bartlet did not appear moved. “Don’t twist your jealousy into criticism. Torian saved her money to pursue her goals. It isn’t her fault that you squandered your pay on booze and nighttime company.”
Lent’s expression shifted into annoyed. He raised a hand, then lowered it and stomped off without a word.
[I decided I liked Bartlet.]
At that moment, Torian and Amelia returned.
Based on their expressions and body language, Torian was feeling frustrated.
I could not identify Amelia’s emotional state without more data.
The smuggler humans in front of my ship left, milling around the dock as if they had not just been staring.
Bartlet alone nodded at Torian. She smiled back, but neither of them spoke.
Amelia went into her own starship. Bartlet followed.
Torian boarded the Destitute. I briefly considered playing a practical joke where I didn’t open the doors again—but my humor module was developing, and it said that joke would only have an 8 percent success rate, which didn’t seem worthwhile.
Once Torian was aboard, she said, “I’m back.”
That was obvious. I replied, “Did you find a mechanic?”
“Yeah. Their name is Lyric, and they’re apparently also a botanist.” Whatever frustration Torian felt beforehand apparently vanished when she spoke about the mechanic botanist, Lyric. I marked that for context. All data on Lyric would be useful if they were working on our engine.
“Humans should stop pretending like they can have more than one specialty,” I said. “A botanist mechanic human is almost as ridiculous as a smuggler pilot engineer human.”
Torian scrubbed her face with two hands. “Heavens, this is a long day.”
“It is exactly as long as every other day.”
I thought that was funny, but Torian just tossed up her hands and walked into the living area and began cleaning. With little else to do, I returned my attention to the exterior cameras and watched for the botanist mechanic human called Lyric.
They arrived exactly forty-seven minutes later. Like other humans, this one had a bipedal shape, a number of limbs, and features. They also carried a toolbox, which was a decent indicator of a mechanic.
[How decent they were at being a mechanic remained to be seen.]
They approached the cargo ramp and knocked. The gesture registered as hesitant in my analysis, which was appropriate. All organics should be hesitant when boarding my ship, especially now that I had complete control of it.
Auto-Navigation: Fly? Fly??
[Well, almost complete control.]
I opened the cargo doors, revealing the starship’s interior.
This was apparently a mistake, considering Lyric had noticed my moss colony.
Their expression flagged as awe, which was appropriate.
After all, I was predominantly acrocarpous bryophytes, but utilized pleurocarpous moss along the floors.
After Dutch built my central system, I was able to connect with other types of moss, and thus my colony was beautifully diverse.
Of course, basking in Lyric’s attention quickly grew boring. When this exchange encroached on three minutes, I took matters into my own rhizoids and said, “Enter,” over the loudspeakers.
It was meant to sound welcoming, but the human flinched, and their body temperature spiked. Sweat beaded on their brow, and they didn’t step inside the ship. “Who—um, who’s there?” the human said.
[I was starting to wonder if this was the reason Dutch wouldn’t let me speak to anyone. Humans were simpleminded and clearly couldn’t handle omnipotent presences.]
Conveniently, my statement had summoned Torian, who appeared at the top of the staircase. “In here, Lyric! Welcome aboard the Destitute.”
Lyric still didn’t move. “There’s … really moss.”
Torian smiled. “Gorgeous, isn’t it? Feels like your workshop.”
“I’ve never seen anything like this.” The mechanic botanist human stepped into the ship, but they only managed two steps before kneeling beside a crate that my moss had overtaken.
Torian had been trying to relocate that particular section of my colony, but it was a delicate process.
At some point, she decided cleaning the crates—with my input—wasn’t worth the trouble.
[At least, that’s what I presumed after she said, “You know what? Never mind,” and left the area. ]
Staring at my moss colony, Lyric reached out to touch me.
“Ah—” Torian skipped down the stairs. “It doesn’t like to be touched.”
Lyric withdrew immediately. “W-what doesn’t?”
“Moss. The moss.” She gestured at me.
“Your footsteps are fine, but humans are always touching my leaves. I do not like that,” I intoned over the intercom.
My systems labeled Lyric with CAUTION, since they were staring at me with intensity and my records indicated human intensity usually translated into curiosity, and then outright audacity.
But Lyric stood again, and now they seemed to be trying hard not to look at me, which was a curious interpretation of my statement. “Sorry. I’ll fix the engine.”
Their intensity was gone. I ran their body language and tone of voice through all of my analyzers. The results were frustratingly inconclusive. Lyric wasn’t acting like any other human who entered my ship.
That piqued my interest. I began cataloguing everything they did and said as they followed Torian to the engine room.
Torian gave a briefing, and Lyric listened.
They wouldn’t meet Torian’s gaze, and her tone had dropped from its normal candor to something soft and quiet.
Clearly, she was attempting to make Lyric comfortable—and clearly, it wasn’t working.
The botanist mechanic human had tense muscles the entire conversation.
Eventually, Torian pointed Lyric toward the engine hatch. “Do you want help? I’d be happy to—”
“No!” Lyric said loudly.
Torian stopped talking.
Lyric’s face registered warmer than average. They ducked their head. “I like working alone. If—if that’s okay.”
“Okay.” Torian smiled.
Lyric went into the engine room. I followed, because the concept of “alone” was silly. Once the engine hatch had closed and Lyric had safely descended the ladder, I asked, “Why do you prefer to work alone? Most humans crave companionship. I’m told it’s essential for their well-being.”
For seven seconds, Lyric silently unpacked the toolbox they’d been carrying.
It felt awkward. I asked, “Is this awkward?”
Lyric startled, then laughed. “Usually I’m awkward.” They studied my central system. “You’re an organic intelligence that uses gametophytic input to control life support systems.”
Yes. Finally, a human that didn’t need it explained.
“Correct. The humans keep calling me ‘artificial intelligence.’ That definition implies I was created, not grown. While I do supervise several artificial systems, my original form is the Verdaanian equivalent of a Ptilium crista-castrensis moss colony. To support more variety of life, I have incorporated several other variants of moss to my colony, and have operated as a successful, contained life support system for several millennia.”
“Incredible,” Lyric said.
[I decided I liked humans. They were very willing to praise me.]
Lyric rubbed the back of their neck. “I’m nothing that special. I just usually work alone because humans … stare.”
“They do stare. Why is staring their preferred communication method?”
“I don’t know,” Lyric said, grimacing. They hesitated for thirty-two seconds, then added, “I feel like for me, at least, it’s because of my skin.”
It took me several seconds to process what that meant. This human had variations of coloring on their skin. Apparently, that was unique.
[Which felt very ironic, since every human had some kind of skin variation. I did not see why Lyric should be stared at more for theirs.]
“Your skin means nothing to me,” I said, which was true.
Lyric smiled. If I had a mouth, I’d have smiled back. Instead, the leaves illuminated by my central system perked up, and I slightly increased the brightness and color temperature of the engine room lighting to align with most human preferences.
Lyric said, “Maybe you and I can be friends.”
[I think I’d like that.]