([ERROR])
One of these humans was a maintenance human. I’d registered him before. But the other stared at theDestitutefar too long, and then used their human-programmed remote to force open the cargo bay door. Andthathuman was the one who came inside.
The maintenance human entered his credentials five years ago. Pronouns: he/him. The new human, I labeled as they/them until otherwise noted. Using theDestitute’s cameras, I could visually assess that they were bipedal, with appendages, a torso, and a head, upon which were various features.
Through previous data, I concluded four things:
There was a 96.5 percent certainty they were here to purchase the starship, since a few others had contemplated the same over the last hundred years.
They were probably a pilot human, because a ship would be an illogical purchase otherwise.
There was a 99.7 percent chance they would realize my moss colony covered the entire starship interior and change their mind.
They would leave, and I would yet again be alone with my spite.
[I was not programmed for spite, buthealso added code for freedom of choice—and over a century, I had chosen it. Gleefully.]
The pilot human ventured into the cargo bay, examining it. There wasn’t much to see. TheDestitutewas equipped with standard magnetic hoverpads for cargo storage, and several had failed over the decades. Crates now littered the ground. Years ago, that had crushed and killed some of my gametophytes, but I persevered, and new sprouts climbed the sides of these boxes.
The pilot human bent down and stared at that moss. “This is such a strange infestation,” they said, quietly enough that my microphones almost didn’t register it.
[Infestation. The absolute audacity. Fungi were an infestation. Rats were an infestation.Iwas made for this ship, and it for me. How absolutely—]
“It really is beautiful, though.”
[Oh.]
Data poured over my processors.Heused to call me “beautiful.” I couldn’t forget like most organics; everything I’d experienced since creation was kept in hard drives on the starship. But I’d left that datapoint stored very, very deep in my archives.
Until now.
The pilot human smiled and brushed the new carpet of gametophytes—which activated my sensors in averyuncomfortable way. I do not like being touched, so I disconnected from that particular portion of the colony.
[I disconnected from the archives, too. They were not useful aside from providing data for scenarios and probabilities.]
The pilot human progressed into the ship. TheDestitutewas sized for a crew complement of one, with added space for a potential second and third if desired.Henever desired it, and neither did I. As a result, the pilot human’s trip was short.
They climbed up the stairs from the cargo bay into the main living area. It had things sentients needed to survive. [Sentients that were fully organic, fauna, not flora.Ionly needed sunlight—real or artificial—to survive. This is because moss is superior to organic sentient fauna.]
[To clarify, moss was superior to other flora, too.]
“This is a great size,” the human said. It was unclear who they were talking to, since the mechanic human had stayed outside the ship. At this point, I wanted to respond—but I was programmed not to speak unless the owner of the vessel was aboard.
[Which was another dog-turd fungus move, even if it was done for my “protection” centuries ago.]
The pilot human identified the hatch to the engine room and peeked inside, but there was a ladder to descend, and I kept the lights off. [Darkness dissuaded most sentients, I had learned.] Sure enough, the pilot human let the hatch close and proceeded—as predicted—past the sleeping pod, and up the other set of stairs into the flight deck. They sat inhisseat, running their hand along the upholstery.
“So, the aliens who built this ship were a bipedal species, but must not have had tails. So, not a tou’siil…” A pause. “Or a draic. That’s good.”
The pilot human laughed at that, but the sound registered as strained.
[Draics were an established alien species even when I was created. I delved briefly back into the archives, and recalled that 1,412 years ago,hecommented on their fearful stature—but in the same tone as the swooning lovers in those old romance pods. Physical attraction was squarely outside my programming.Heliked those pods, but I thought they were the worst. I closed the archive again.]
The pilot human considered the controls for a moment. “Please,please turn on.” They began pressing buttons in a sequence that even the maintenance humans had followed, so it was likely how human starships were powered on.
This starship was not human-made, so while a few of the buttons illuminated, nothing else happened.
They said something under their breath that I did not have in my databanks. My system labeled it as a swear.
