Theseus

I didn’t remember much more of that night. I remembered that I had a good time. But I woke up the next morning feeling like absolute garbage. But I had woken up in the ship. In my heart. On a familiar medical bed. The core module was right there. If I could just hop in, maybe this growing, pounding headache could be mitigated.

I groaned, though, when my eyes started to focus and I saw that the chamber was closed, and there were a pair of insulated wires sticking out of the bottom of the release mechanism, indicating that Doc had anticipated my desires and removed the choice entirely.

I reached back and grabbed the uncomfortable plastic pillow beneath the paper sheet and shoved it into my face, ignoring the cold introduced by my movement when I threw off the top of the rough blanket someone must have provided. The room was too bright. My head pounded. I hoped that it was just a hangover and that these weren’t the effects of the withdrawal from connecting to the core module that I’d have to endure for another two days. Part of me wanted to try to pry the lid open with my bare hands and alleviate at least one possibility, but I knew that wasn’t going to happen. It was a needfully secure chamber.

Pushing myself up, I was glad that my body at least wasn’t heavy with anesthetics anymore. It seemed I would have to face both my hangover and the din of enduring the world without the core module. Mercifully, there was an unopened aluminum can of water next to my bed, which I grabbed and guzzled down with the urgency of a starving animal. It helped. Setting the empty can back down, I pulled the blanket over my shoulders and stood up, stumbling forward before catching myself on the wall. It was going to be a long day.

—

Walking out of the bathroom, it felt strange that I hadn’t done that in over a week. The core module was self-cleaning and filtered waste out almost immediately, and waste was already minimal given the light diet one needed to sit still all day. I’d become accustomed to just… letting my body take care of itself in that regard. Still, it was another little thing that helped me feel better after the rough night.

Closing my eyes, I gave a brief glance over the ship. No one else was inside. They must have all already been busy with their work and errands in the colony. For the first time, I was alone inside of my shell. It felt peaceful.

Making my way down to the mess, I scoured the cabinets and sighed when I saw that there were several new large boxes of the disgusting rations I’d grown to despise sitting on the floor. To my relief, however, there was also a healthy smattering of low-grade boxed foods I’d seen a thousand times in grocery stores back home as well, and a few bags of easily preserved dry vegetables. I breathed a sigh of relief knowing that at least we wouldn’t be completely without real food.

Sitting at the table, I popped open a box of cereal and shoveled a handful of the sugary flakes into my mouth. It was food, at least, and it didn’t make me want to throw it right back up.

As I enjoyed my breakfast, I stared down at the terminal on my arm. I’d nearly forgotten in my awful morning that I had a duty to perform as well. I needed to become a competent pilot in two days. I sighed as I tapped the console. I at least had to take a look at what was on the new blade. The data on the terminal and the data in my head combined to help me focus on it easier.

A training AI. Or rather I was supposed to be the training AI? I supposed it would be more of a performance diagnostic for me, but I couldn’t help but wonder if this would even work correctly, given that I had such different needs from its intended use case. It had several virtual reality scenarios that would play directly into my implant when I ran them. A basic maneuvers tutorial, a military operations guide, a simulation of battles in space, both for small skirmishes and for maneuvering through large battles. There was also a file labeled with a warning. It would simulate ship damage. I swallowed and decided that perhaps I should save that one for when Doc could supervise.

I had to wonder how real it would all feel. I’d used VR for safety training before, but I’d obviously never had it transmitted directly into my brain. Would it be just like the real thing? If so, I wondered if it would be just like being in the core module.

I pushed the box of cereal away from me and let out a sigh. Just the basic maneuvering tutorial, so I could see what it felt like. Then I’d finish my meal and go lie down again. I selected the file and pressed run.

—

I could feel myself floating. It felt familiar, but impersonal. Like it wasn’t really me in the core module. It took a moment for my mind to recall what was happening. VR. This was a simulation. The fact that I’d momentarily forgotten that was a little bit frightening, but what was even more jarring was the fact that I didn’t seem to be able to reach outside of the virtual environment. I suppose it made sense that a core would need to be contained within the confines of the scenario to make the most of the training. Still, it was disconcerting that I didn’t have an exit button. I would have to run through the entire program.

To my disappointment, it didn’t feel quite as comforting as the real thing, but it was at least familiar in a good way. I closed my eyes and examined myself. It was there that I realized why it felt alien. It wasn’t Theseus. It was a Foundation dropship. I supposed that the software had to have been developed by someone. Still, I wondered how effective the scenarios would translate to the larger ship I was familiar with. I supposed that it was the theory I was learning, and I would have to apply it in practice in the real world.

Reaching into the ship’s systems, it gave me access without any hassle, and the environment around me began to form as I grabbed the sensor data. I was flying downward toward a desert plane. There was a prompt in the code, describing a complex point system that encouraged an AI model to operate correctly. My score was quickly plummeting, and I realized that I’d spent too long parsing my environment and I was about to plunge into the dirt.

—

I jolted back from the table, still reeling at my impending crash, my heart racing at my thankfully brief spike of adrenaline. That was… jarring. I looked down at the console and saw it printing out a report with a ‘CATASTROPHIC FAILURE’ printed in large red text at the top. I stared at it for a few minutes before I muttered “Ouch.” And closed out of the interface. I didn’t trust my body to maintain itself during the simulation, I should have left it there until Doc came back to the ship. That would have been the responsible thing to do.

Grabbing another handful of cereal, though, I looked around the kitchen and realized that I truly had nothing else to do. I’d just be wandering around my shell all day, waiting for them like a pet left behind at an apartment while someone was at their day job. I reluctantly opened the program again and stood up to return to my heart, ready to begin some potentially dangerous training out of boredom.