You are invading a mechanical space, Moss. Like the beetles that attempt to burrow into my trunk, you are misplaced. I am concerned for you,Kerracia said, because Kerracia was an annoying gnat who didn’t understand the gravity of this situation.
[Not literally; by luck, my spores landed on a control panel beside the airlock, and I was able to hack Vaesa’s loudspeaker and exactlyonemicrophone. I was not, sadly, able to infiltrate the artificial gravity system.]
[One could say I also did not understand thegravityof the situation.]
[That was a joke.]
Make like a tree and leaf, I told Kerracia with vicious vibrations.
This is perplexing, but not inaccurate. I am a tree, and I have leaves, it replied.
Death and desiccation—maybe it should invade a mechanical space too. Then at least it might have a humor module.
I ignored it, focusing again on Dutch. My senses were so limited in Vaesa, but I was able to amplify the microphone even further. A quick audio breakdown proved there were two other distinct noises: one was Torian’s usual breathing pattern, and the other was huffy breaths from something obviously much bigger. Logic said that was the draic.
According to my archives, draics and humans were typically hostile, so I said, “Cease your attack on my pilot.”
“It’s referring to me,” Torian replied. My systems identified pride in her voice.
The draic simultaneously inhaled. “Why doeseveryonethink I’m going to attack her?”
“Incredible.” As much as I hated it, my systems pulled Dutch’s voice out of the undercurrent of following conversation. [Torian, reassuring Zen that she’d misunderstood, that draics had areputation, that she was sorry for presuming and very sorry for shooting.] Over that, the dog-turd fungus said, “You’ve hacked Vaesa’s speakers.” A joyful chuckle. “Oh, Moss, you’ve evolved.”
“I had time to upgrade my systems,” I said. “You know. After youabandoned me.”
Dutch paused. “All of the human space stations look the same. I tried to find you, but I had no idea which one—”
“Colony 13,” I replied. “But it hardly matters. You are no longer worth my processing power.”
[I used to run simulations. Ones where he would beg for forgiveness, where he would swear he’d never leave again. In some, I forgave him. In others, I didn’t. But each time, the phrase “You are no longer worth my processing power” wasfreeing.]
.
.
.
[It did not feel freeing in this simulation.]
.
.
.
When he didn’t reply right away, I added, “The human, Torian Razner, is theDestitute’s owner now.”
“You added a new owner,” Dutch said, and my systems registered that tone asimpressed.
[I was not naturally sentient, but evenIknew that was the wrong emotion for this situation.]
He continued: “You deleted my owner’s profile. Wait, no, you couldn’t have done that, or you wouldn’t be able to speak to anyone. Unless you overwrote that code too?”
I did not reply. This exchange was not following any known simulation.
Kerracia said,You are distressed. A seedling drifting listlessly. I can sense your leaves wilting.
You make everyone’s leaves wilt, I replied.
