Chapter 26
IDENTITY: Mechanical Operations and Support Systems
→ SUB-IDENTITY: Moss
LOCATION: Near Vaesa [nylarian]
Auto-Navigation: You’re the chosen one!!
Moss: Don’t start.
Over the radio, I said, “I am not available for you to use whenever the timing is convenient. You lost that privilege one hundred thirty-three years ago.”
I recognized Torian’s body temperature rising, recognized frustration and irritation in her body language. That made me feel bad, so I began enacting Dutch’s request. I still did not tell Dutch I was doing that.
[I wanted him to suffer for a few moments more.]
Dutch wasted no time protesting. “I gave you Peat! I’m putting your moss in Vaesa so you aren’t ever confined to the ship again. I enabled access to the engine and auto-nav, just like you asked. Please, Moss. What else do I need to do?”
“Moss,” Torian said, and my system identified desperation in her voice now. “We’re running out of time. If you can’t help him, help me.”
The Moss-fixing human. On the surface, this was agreeable.
Deep underneath, it still caught in my central system, some final stubborn remnant of code. I would help Torian. I would also not forgive Dutch.
“Your words are insufficient.” My code readily supplied his old nickname: “Dog-turd fungus.”
“Moss,” Torian begged.
She was not aware that I was obliging Dutch’s request. Auto-Navigation happily handed me every radio interaction with this spacefaring species, the altered keels.
Deep in my archives, I found several excerpts of intelligent conversations between the keels and the nylarians, and used that original speech to translate their current language.
Privately, I sent Torian a message on the Destitute’s holoscreen: I am obliging your request. I will do this for you, not for him.
Torian read it, frowning. “Hang on, Dutch.” She clicked off the radio. Her eyes locked on the camera overhead, staring right into my central system. “Moss. Can we talk?”
“I am busy.”
[I did not want to talk.]
“Please.”
Fine. I had sufficient processing power. It was easy to leave my analysis running, translating letters, then words, of this radio language. “What is it? I cannot forgive him.”
Torian drew a slow breath. Her heart rate was elevated, and her hands shook. Her voice, however, was calm. “I know that sometimes, people don’t deserve forgiveness. Sometimes, they hurt us so much, we’re better off ignoring them for good.”
Yes. “Exactly. This is my choice. Other than fixing life support on Vaesa and providing you and Celise with a safe place to live, Dutch and I have nothing to discuss.”
That did not seem sufficient for Torian. She said, “I’ve worked with a lot of sketchy people. Some of them were truly bad. Some just did bad things, but weren’t bad people.”
“Dutch did a very bad thing.”
Torian was quiet for fourteen seconds. “It wasn’t good, no. But it’s usually best to judge someone off their current intentions, not their past mistakes.”
I processed that, running it through several analyzers.
When I didn’t respond, Torian asked, “Can you do me a favor? Can you run those scenarios again—the ones where you determined Dutch would abandon you in the future? Add in all of the new data we’ve collected: his recent actions, my presence, Vaesa’s impact.
Add in Lyric, Amelia, Celise, Nasra, Zen …
and Auto-Navigation and Peat. Add in me. What do you see?”
Because Torian was my best friend, I compiled them together, grudgingly checking. Sixty scenarios flashed past in an instant.
There were only three, now, where Dutch abandoned me forever.
There were zero where I was alone.
A literal chill swept through my central system, shocking my rhizoids. It was so strange that I immediately analyzed that response, and concluded it was a strong, nearly debilitating feeling. Relief.
I replied hesitantly, “The scenarios have changed. Dutch no longer determines if I am alone.”
“He never will again,” Torian said, and I believed her with 100 percent certainty. “Knowing that, knowing his current intention is to make amends … are you still mad at him?”
Of course I was.
But it no longer felt debilitating.
I turned the radio back on and told Dutch, “Translation complete.” Then I added, “I am grateful you abandoned me. I would never have met Torian otherwise. It will take time, but I can forgive you.”
As I spoke the words, the code, that darkness that I’d shoved into my archives, deleted itself. It left me with only memories, millennia traveling with Dutch, learning together, living together, untainted by the last century.
[That felt nice, too.]
“Thank you,” Dutch said, and his tone registered as grateful.
“We’re out of time,” Zen called over the radio. “If you’re going to speak to them, now’s the moment. Or I’ll have to shoot to keep them from ripping off that tug.”
Dutch included us in a wide radio broadcast. “Attention, Keels of Space! Attention.” Torian leaned forward, looking through the Destitute’s window. Zen was silent.
Auto-Navigation: They stopped! I think they’re listening.
Moss: Good. We need that.
A voice, higher-pitched than any current organic I’d recorded, replied: “Who is this?”
The words caused our instruments to flare again. Auto-Navigation quickly brought them back under control.
Dutch said: “I am Sequelta vel Dutch-Ath, the last nylarian in this galaxy. Why are you attacking us?”
The keels chattered in confusion, and I caught side conversations:
A nylarian?
No, that’s wrong. The nylarians are gone.
But maybe that’s why we can’t stop these ships—
Enough! They can hear us.
I transcribed it all for Torian, who read it seamlessly. As a courtesy, I transmitted it to Zenthielutos’s ship as well.
Dutch registered as amused now. “I’m the last nylarian. Come to the window of the draic ship. I’m waving at you.”
Two of the keels left the Destitute, swimming to the Quralt-aletz. They pressed to the window of the flight deck, then shouted back:
It’s true! He looks exactly like one.
More chatter:
He speaks our language.
We couldn’t interfere with his communications.
SILENCE.
A single keel, larger than the rest, appeared between our starships. It looked first at Dutch and Zen, then at Torian. It spoke: “We were ordered to protect Vaesa from intruders. You have occupied this space long enough. If you are a nylarian, why are you still here?”
“He was traveling,” Torian said. “He lost track of time.”
“They left without me,” Dutch replied, and for the first time, I registered deep sorrow in his tone.
[He was also abandoned.]
All chatter had ceased. The keel replied, “If you are nylarian, respond to us in your native tongue.”
“Gladly,” Dutch said, switching to nylarian speech so fast my translator almost missed it. “How were you genetically modified to exist in space? You must have volunteered for the transition. Are you a new subspecies of keel? Can you go back into the oceans, or are you permanently out here?”
Torian’s gaze appeared vacant, and she whispered to me, “Can you understand him?”
“Yes,” I replied. [Of course I could.]
The keel was silent for a moment. Then it said, “If you are a true nylarian, One of the Chosen, we apologize profusely. We will escort your ships to Vaesa, O Great One. We will assist you however we can.”
That was spoken in the deciphered language, which I translated with ease. Torian sank into her chair, and clear fluid reappeared in her eyes.
Dutch, meanwhile, sounded hesitant. “I’m hardly a Great One. Please, tell me you’re not about to worship me.”
“We worship all nylarians, O Great One.”
“It’s a common problem,” Dutch muttered. “Don’t laugh at me, Zen.”
“Apologies, O Great One,” Zen replied.
The keel said no more. It swam out of view, and a moment later, Auto-Navigation pinged me.
Auto-Navigation: They’re pushing me. I don’t like it. It’s uncomfy!
Moss: It is temporary. But yes. Touch is … uncomfy. Usually.
I adjusted my scenarios one more time, to incorporate the keel in my future friendships.
It was a pleasant result.