Theseus

As we pulled the truck into the open cargo bay, I tumbled out in a hurry, ready to charge up the stairs into my heart. Part of me was excited to find out what exactly Doc meant that she was ‘waking up’ and part of me wondered if I could sneak into the core module before she was conscious enough to realize what I was doing.

“Hey- Hey, hey.” Aisling called, stepping out of the truck behind me. I stopped to listen, keeping in mind that I was trying to be a good girl and not charge into things too quickly right now. “Protocol. If she’s lucid, you don’t give her any kind of hint what you are, right?” Aisling stepped in front of me and stared me down, almost glaring at me. “She is an unknown factor right now. She’s not part of the crew, so don’t trust her, got it? You make sure she’s not in the room at all before you dive. You don’t know if she’s pretending to sleep or something.”

“I mean, she’s got all those vital monitors, I kinda do...” I mumbled, but let out a quiet groan and nodded, my heart sinking as I conceded I probably wouldn’t get to the void today. “Right. Okay. I promise,” I sighed loudly, letting her know I wasn’t happy about this.

Aisling’s expression softened as my disappointment settled in. “Good. Come on, it’s only been like, two days since you were last in there, you’ll be fine.” Aisling started to walk up the stairs. “Now let’s go interrogate a pirate captain.”

“Hah!” Joel called, sliding past me. “She’s gonna think she’s in custody or something if you open like that.”

“Yeah, that’s the point. Need to get a read on what she’d do if she was,” she answered back as they climbed upward.

I lagged behind, my enthusiasm deflated now that a full dive was off the table. I was suddenly too tired to put in the effort for stairs and instead sluggishly stepped over to the modified scissor lift we’d firmly locked in place next to the staircase so Lily had a way to navigate the vertical layout of the ship and slowly rode that up to the middle floor instead.

I briefly considered walking into the open door at the end of the hall and joining the others at my heart, but I was dead on my feet, and if I wasn’t going to dive, then I was going to relax in my own quarters. Turning immediately to my door, I slid it open and walked into my seldom-used personal domain.

Within was a mattress on the floor in one corner, the pale blue sheet mottled with stains left by core lubricant. A shelf was bolted to the wall, where I kept a few electronics I’d been tinkering with to experiment with my psychic networking abilities, some basic equipment for the physical upkeep of my cybernetics, a box of chips with various commercial programs I could run, a few system blades for the box at my hip where the bulk of my components were stored, and a small assortment of chips and candy I liked. On the top shelf, in a secure container, sat the sole component I owned for the expansion slot in the back of my head: The psychic damper.

I once kept it out of my head out of fear of the device, but now I felt a bit lesser without it. It left an empty spot in the data stream that I wanted to keep on hand. Physically, I just liked its weight at the back of my head. Unfortunately, it was hard to hide the expansion bay unless it was empty, so I had to go without when I was out of the ship. Fortunately, these parts were made to be hot-swapped fairly easily.

If I was done for the day, I may as well make myself comfortable. I pulled the damper down from its case and braced myself as I reached back, brushing my hair out of the way and bracing myself as I slid the module comfortably into the base of my skull.

A momentary flash of alien dissociation rippled through my mind, as if my brain had to reboot itself the moment the device connected with my systems, and I had to let out a shuddering sigh. As much as I liked both the safety from psychosomatic ship damage to my body that the device offered as well as the unforeseen utility it gave me in a pinch, I didn’t think I would ever get used to the strange sense of emptiness it gave me as it booted. I didn’t mind the division of my mental functions upon activation anymore, but that instantaneous flash of my mind splitting in two and then rapidly stitching itself back together always disoriented me.

The only other piece of furniture in my room was my favorite. An oversized armchair, soft, plush, and comfortable, sat in the center of the room. It was the one non-electronic luxury purchase I’d made once we started earning money. I’d found that I didn’t like lying down when I was relaxing, and I wanted to make myself as comfortable as possible on occasions like these where I couldn’t dive and relax in my real domain at the ship’s heart.

One might think my room was a bit bare, but I was a fan of minimalism. The lack of surfaces didn’t bother me, and what use was a desk to a living computer, anyway? I wasn’t going to sit and stare at a screen when I saw the true electronic world every time I closed my eyes. I wasn’t going to input with a keyboard unless I was making a show of it for someone. Maybe I could use some drawers, since my meager wardrobe was pretty much just piled in one corner on the floor, but I kept forgetting to do anything about it when I had spending money.

Perhaps best of all, my room was private. I stripped myself of my dirty clothes and unceremoniously tossed them into the dirty side of the pile. I had no qualms about my bare body being seen by the crew anymore, since the core module necessitated that the only material objects I could bring into it were my own components. The crew barely batted an eye at me being disrobed, so long as I didn’t go traipsing around the ship in the nude for no reason. But sometimes it began to grate on me that anybody could and would just walk into the infirmary while I was in a sensitive state, and there was nothing I could do about it. Privacy was nice now and then.

My chair was a poor substitute for the void, but I figured it was as close as I was going to get today, so I found myself sinking down into the soft fabric upholstery, kicking up the foot-rest, and closing my eyes to see what was going on around the rest of the ship. The irony that I was enjoying privacy while I was constantly aware of everything the rest of the crew was doing was lost on me.

Ray was cooking dinner down below in the mess hall. That was reason enough to stay awake a little longer, at least. The sensor array in that room was on the opposite wall to the kitchen, so it was always hard to tell exactly what she was making around her massive bulk, but I assumed it would be delicious. I’d have to thank her for playing part in my rescue at dinner. I smiled to myself and nuzzled the headrest of my chair slightly, imagining it was Ray’s arm. It wasn’t as soft.

After lingering a bit longer on the kitchen, I switched around to the cargo bay, looking for Mouse. Instead, I found Shaw. He held a tiny sliver of black metal in his hand that extended out to a long, sharp point in front of him, and he made a few stabbing motions into the air, testing the stability of the metal, no doubt. I clicked on the intercom near him and my synthetic voice called from the speaker, “You look like a dork.”

The metal dissolved instantly into a blob of liquid that floated over his hand as he turned toward the speaker. “Says the woman who was captured by ne’er-do-wells to write computer code,” he jabbed back. “Lovely job with that, by the way. I’m told we’ve made enough to reimburse the audio equipment we had to leave behind.” The metal fell back into his hand, forming a solid stick that he fidgeted with as he spoke. “I take it, as usual, you’re not fired for that?”

“If it was that easy to lose a spot on this ship, do you think you’d still be here?” I joked, though I wasn’t sure if my tone was lost in the electronic voice. Even emulating my own voice, it was hard to produce emotionally expressive sounds, especially without the void. At least I wouldn’t stutter. “You know, it’ll be hard to keep in touch with Lily if you leave.”

Shaw gave something between a sigh and a laugh. “You’re still on about that? I keep telling you, I have no interest in your sister. You’d probably airlock me if I did.”

“And I keep telling you, that’s bullshit. I see the way you look at each other.” I wasn’t the best at reading people, and I wasn’t exactly happy that my grievously traumatized sister was interested in a guy who, for some reason, insisted on playing the part of an admittedly actually well-connected but sleazy info broker, but I wasn’t going to deny reality. It was time to change the subject, though. “How’s the implant?”

“You say that like you can’t see inside my brain,” Shaw wasn’t wrong. I could see the electronic operation of the mysterious deep implant that allowed him some manner of electromagnetic control over that metal. But I wanted to know more about how well he was handling it personally. “Learning to maintain a finer point. I wish there was more of this stuff, but there isn’t, so I have to work with what I’ve got. And in a pinch, I’d rather have a sword than a shiv. I read something about pre-colonial humans using thin pointed swords called rapiers. Thought I’d see if I could manage it.”

“That thing really means a lot to you, doesn’t it? You’re gonna have to tell me more about how you got that implant sometime,” I offered, knowing that he would deflect.

And sure enough... “And whatever happened to all that ‘the past is dead’ talk this crew’s always spouting? I’ll tell you when it’s important, hmm?” He flipped the bar of metal into the air, fumbled it spectacularly, then dissolved it back into a floating mass before it got too far from him. “You didn’t see that. Shouldn’t you be greeting the rogue captain upstairs?”

“Sure, whatever.” I knew I wasn’t going to get anything out of him before I spoke up, I’d just wanted to mess with him. And I was getting to Collins, I just wanted to make sure I had a read on what everyone else was doing, first.

I found Mouse in his quarters, down the hall from mine, still tinkering with Thunderbolt. I wouldn’t be surprised if he didn’t even care about what was happening in the infirmary. He was too focused on his weapon. A piece of experimentally small arms artillery apparently required a lot of maintenance. I could have just stood up and knocked on his door, but... I tapped his intercom next. “Need any help with calibrating or simulation?”

“Nope,” he answered curtly, not even flinching from cleaning a barrel at my sudden entrance into the room. Everyone was way too used to me being omnipresent now. It was hard to surprise anyone on the ship. “Got any data on the new gravity contacts yet?”

“We haven’t left orbit since those were installed. I’m not going to run artificial gravity when there’s actual gravity.” I complained.

“Still need to make sure none of it’s malfunctioning,” he mumbled as he slid the barrel carefully into place and then latched the firing mechanism back together around the gun’s stock. “I’ll need to fix them in an environment suit if they go wrong in space. And the way you pilot, they need to hold up.”

I swear, he was never going to let go of his grudge at my frantic dogfight patterns. They worked far better than any standard core could manage, but I couldn’t deny they shook up the crew. The brand new, more reactive, artificial gravity system we’d installed recently would hopefully help ease that burden. It was made for smaller ships, but piecing together multiple nodes would supposedly work just fine. “I’ve done the math, it’ll work,” I reassured him.

He let out an uncertain groan. “The math on paper and the actual physics don’t always agree.” There was a short pause where he looked up at the sensor array, his eyes glaring with his usual fiery intensity at me. “What’re you doing here? Avoiding something?”

Yes. I sighed and said, “Alright, alright. I’ll check in on the... captains.”

And with that, I finally shifted my attention to my heart. My own physical body’s heart ached at the sight of the core module. I’d get my chance soon enough. Lily sat in her chair next to it, napping with a blanket over her. She really shouldn’t fall asleep like that, but I think Doc felt guilty when he needed to interrupt her sporadic sleep cycle to get her into bed.

Collins was still in her bed, attached to all the vital monitors and intravenous tubes that had kept her alive and healthy for the past half year, though now the back of the bed had been lifted slightly so she was in a reclined sitting position. Aisling, Doc, and Joel stood over her on one side and watched as the woman’s eyes tracked each of them in turn, her heart rate much higher than it was when she was comatose. She tried to mouth words, however, she hadn’t used many of her muscles, including her voicebox, for over half a year, and she was speaking too quietly for the sensor array to pick her up.

“She’s awake, alright.” Aisling agreed with Doc. “Thought you said you were making sure she didn’t atrophy.”

Doc shrugged “I made sure her arms, legs, neck, and back didn’t atrophy. I can’t say the same for her vocal cords. And she’s still got to work out using those muscles again. It won’t be as long of a process as Lily’s. She’s just more stiff than you could possibly imagine.”

“Good, I need to get some info out of her for the investigation.” Aisling commented idly, then turned to address Collins herself. “Hey. You’re finally awake, huh? We’ve been waiting to ask you some questions.”

There was a short pause, the woman mouthing something quietly to Aisling.

“You’re on board my ship.” She carefully avoided giving specifics, just like in our previous meeting. We were still in information lockdown, after all. “You’re safe. And very lucky to be alive. We just happened to pass near enough to the Demitrius to get your core’s distress signal. That was half a year ago.”

The woman’s brow furrowed, concern growing on her face as she heard that news. Aisling continued, “Don’t worry, you’ve got an excellent doctor taking care of you, and we’ll have a longer talk once you’ve recovered enough to speak.”

The woman mouthed something else. “We’ll talk about that later, okay?” Aisling said. “You’re not in any trouble. We just need to get a few questions answered. I suggest you comply. You don’t exactly have a ship to return to, anyway. We weren’t in a position to tow so many pieces out of wild space. It’s gone.”

Collins looked disheartened, but made the ghost of a nod to Aisling. She understood she was in no position to bargain, but both her vitals and her weak expression betrayed a building anxiety in the woman. I may not have been able to read social cues all that well, but having a complex biological monitor permanently strapped to my arm meant I’d gotten pretty good at discerning the meanings of minor vital changes. Aisling had successfully planted a seed of doubt in the former captain. I wasn’t exactly sure why, but it must have been some important bit of social engineering if Aisling was going through the trouble of manipulating someone fresh out of a coma into thinking she was in danger. Maybe it was something to do with getting her to hand over ownership of Isabelle.

I briefly pinged the other core, her module installed in a spare crew quarters room across from mine. She had only second-hand access to the ship’s network through a buffer I controlled, so I allowed her access to the infirmary sensor array before sending her a message ‘Hey Izzy, your captain’s awake.’

‘Understood.’ Came the immediate reply. ‘Unit expects to either be decommissioned or transferred to user Meryll’s control for new training protocols.’

I had to smile to myself, noting what I perceived as a hopeful tone to the statement. Isabelle was based on a standard core. She was a biological computer with no sapience, and on the surface, she seemed exactly as rigid and adherent to her programming as when she’d been extracted from the Demitrius. She refused to personify herself, and was clearly existentially baffled by both my existence and my interest in a core that could not be used as the permanent focal point of a machine structure again. Cores were unable to graft themselves to more than one structure, after all, and one could not unbind themselves under any circumstance, including in the case of catastrophic collapse like the Demitrius had endured. Just as Theseus was the only ship I would ever know, the Demitrius was the only one Isabelle could truly be a part of.

But I had noticed over the past six months that Isabelle had gradually formed new habits when speaking to me. She’d become slightly less rigid in how she spoke to me, had begun to occasionally offer relevant information unprompted, and a couple of times, had helped guide me in skirting her own established protocols in order to help me learn new information about core behavior. She was unable to give me full access because Collins was still technically the only authorized user, but she’d helped me circumvent that restriction when possible before.

There was a person in there, dammit, and I was going to wake her up. In my own way. I wanted to prove that you didn’t need to torture and traumatize tens of thousands of clones to create a touch more than half a dozen sapients. I knew I didn’t have Foundation’s resources, and I knew it was a longshot, but I was stubborn and willing to take chances. And sometimes that wasn’t a trait that could get everyone killed, but could instead give purpose to a defunct machine core.

‘So how’s it feel? Is she special to you since she’s your captain?’ I asked, trying to goad self-analysis from her.

‘Does user Meryll consider priority zero access special?’ she asked.

‘I guess, if that means she can do anything she wants to you.’

‘Then Captain Morgan Collins is special,’ she declared.

‘I bet you’re glad she’s going to be okay.’

‘Unit is not capable of emotional response.’ I had seen that stock error message so many times by then. She’d said it to me so often that she’d begun using the shorthand version.

‘Yeah, yeah. You’ve got self-preservation protocols, though, right? So you can say it’s a good thing that your captain is awake, and could potentially give authorization to me, who will keep you from getting scrapped. Right?’

‘Self-preservation is weighted heavily by utility.’ There was a short pause before she next sent, ‘There is marginal value to my continued operation. Therefore, it is technically beneficial that Captain Morgan Collins remains functional.’

I wasn’t sure if that meant anything at all toward making Isabelle self-aware, but I considered it a victory that she at least acknowledged she wasn’t useless. That there was still a personal connection to the captain for her, even if it was utilitarian. ‘Alright. I’ll let you keep access to that sensor for now so you can observe her, if you want.’

‘Understood.’ She briefly accessed the sensor, but in what must have been a span measured in machine cycles, dropped it to perform some other unseen internal function. I figured she wouldn’t really make use of the sensor, but it felt like a gesture I would make for a normal human. I’d let a person keep watch over a hospitalized person they cared about, so I did it for Isabelle. Maybe if you just treated a core as you would a human, it would eventually just... become sapient.

Maybe it was wishful thinking. Maybe I was just a child playing with dolls. And surely someone had tried something like this before. It wasn’t like she was just going to suddenly snap into self-awareness, after all. I wasn’t trying to jam humanity into something like Foundation had done to me. But maybe if that humanization came from someone like them...

It wasn’t until later that week, when I reviewed the logs, that I would realize Isabelle had momentarily tapped that sensor once exactly every 60 seconds until access was revoked.