Oracle

Kneeling down, arms straining, fingers shaking. Brown dust coats my patch-worked poncho. Two red cables, one in each hand - the last connection needed. They just need to be joined together and it should all be done. Sweat breaks under my fur. I’m almost there. I reach for the splicer, a stapler-like tool with a hole through it, and slide the ends of the cables through either side. One hand keeps a wire steady while the other reaches for the trigger, ready to fuse the copper inside together–

A gust of wind grips my fur, throwing the excess fabric of my rags into the cold breeze, jingling the bells strung to the neckhole. Something catches my hand and I feel my fingers pinch together, the wire pulled from their grip. A bubbling sensation festers in my gut. I groan in frustration under the thick cloth covering my maw, protecting my lungs from grains of dry dirt and fungus that clatter against my goggles and stain my cornflower fur.

Okay, Sari, deep breaths. I inhale the cool tangy air, made into a choking sting by my enhanced sense of smell, though I’m used to it now. The gale settles as I exhale the residual anger, my little mane of fur relaxing around my face and my poncho returning to rest on my black thermo-tights. With everything around me calmed, I refocus on the dusty metalwork in front of me.

It’s a gory sight. The hefty mantis-like robot lies on its front, its open back exposing countless multicoloured wires to the elements. Many of them aren’t even tied together, instead bundled in mangled tangles that were never meant to be seen.

Luckily for me, they don’t matter too much. These are the only two wires that need connecting - the rest of the magic is just the software on the microcontroller, which I’ll overwrite with my own. Glancing at the other three robots to the left reminds me how close I am to being done. I can do a fourth, surely. I pinch the fallen wire again and pick up the splicer, gritting my teeth - this will get done before he’s back.

As I insert the wire back into the splicer, however, my ears flop towards the distant whine of a jet engine. I sigh. I’m too late.

Peering up from the wreath of wires, I gaze out into the brown, dusty plains to try and spot him. Chocolate-coloured blades of grass peak out from the seemingly arid ground in small patches, like dirty islands in a sea of mud. The basin we reside in is surrounded by rolling hills, but they hide behind a thick veil of beige fog. Two suns, one a mere dot beside the other, try their best to pierce the mildew and mould, but they only just manage to show their shape through the cloud.

The whine grows louder until it’s a cry through the dust, and with a squint I spot the growing silhouette of a skiffer and its rider, plumes rising high in their wake. I shake off the small defeat, ears whirling and dust falling from my fur, and raise a waving arm as I stand. He adjusts course, his paw pushing on the right pedal-rest, turning towards me.

The scream starts to taper off into a beating hum as he approaches, easing off the throttle and letting the skiffer slow on its own. As he passes the dormant robots, he applies the break and the rusty hunk of hellfire comes to a stop just a few metres from me. The hover engines, still kicking up dirt and heat, wind down and settle the craft onto its standing gear. I break into a jog, the bells tied to my tunic’s collar jingling.

“Got the seeds?” I holler, muffled by the mask. My soft voice barely manages to reach him.

Gren, my bestie, rises from his hunched position over the handle bars, letting his legs dangle over the sides. He’s wearing a heavily patched poncho made from multiple scavenged fabrics, much like mine, and trousers made of much the same. His hardy paw-boots are made with tanned leather, toes sticking out to allow usage of his claws. He pushes his goggles up his head and pulls down his mask, revealing a dark bobcat face with a messy tuft of fur between his ears. Green speckled markings surround his beaming maw where his whiskers sprout.

“That and then some!” he shouts back over the wind. “I got some fruit from the orchid too!” His voice is as innocent as his button eyes.

“You went to the orchid?” I ask in disbelief, lending a hand out as he sweeps a leg over to dismount. I rest a hand on his shoulder. “Shleh, how long has it been?”

“Yeah, I was gone a while,” he hums, checking the time on his little palm-watch that I made for him a couple years back. It’s made of a single strap with a volgraphic display slapped onto it, showing the time hovering above his palm in green text. “It’s been like three hours…” He looks up at me with a smile. “Finish the upgrades?”

I hesitate, swallowing a lump in my throat that definitely wasn’t dirt.

“No, but there’s literally one more to do, I can finish it–”

My words fall over themselves as he holds me.

“Sari, you’re doing the thing again,” he comforts. I feel myself sink into his fur a little. “You’ve been out for three hours. Get some indoor time, okay?”

I look up and meet his warm gaze before pushing myself out a bit. “You’ve been out for that long too! Surely riding around is more exhausting than fiddling with wires?”

“I was having a blast on that thing!” he exclaims, gesturing to the craft. “Riding a hover-bike and picking plants is a vibe, I feel fresh enough to finish off that last robot. Hey, Rhapsody needs prepping anyway, right? You could work on that!”

A chord twangs somewhere inside me, but he’s right - I’ve been stuck here focusing on robots doing the same thing over and over. And I also can’t say no to that face.

“Okay…” I relent. He knows me too well. Which, to be honest, is good for me.

He releases me from his embrace, giving me a passing smile and a ruffle between my floppy ears as he wanders past. My gaze floats as I stand there for a moment, trying to let go of that little part of me that wants to keep showing my worth through proof - just for now. It’s just hard when his skiffer is covered in straw-woven baskets of seeds and fruit, and all I have to show is a few tangled robots and a silent AI.

AI. Right. Rhapsody needs to be injected with the code.

I spin on one paw and walk in the direction Gren went - he’s already squatting next to the remaining worker drone, wiring the seed dispenser and shower hose attachments for its otherwise razor-sharp arms. Just beyond him is our home, an elevated box of sleek but rusting metal big enough for one room, held above the shifting dirt by stilts reinforced by lattice and a circular shaft in the centre. It looks like its meant to be there, built out of a sturdy frame with windows bolted in to see out of. It contrasts our ramshackle plated fence just in front of it that surrounds a small farm plot, where the drones will be put to work.

As I head towards the steps leading to the door, I glance left to check the Forgeplant.

A massive bronze mound rises through the murky fog on the horizon, bright searchlights piercing through like sunshafts through fabric. Thick black smog rises from a central funnel at the top, fire from within illuminating it like lighting. The structure sprawls out and clings to the surface like flux, buildings rising and falling with the terrain. The central funnel is the main factory owned by DunenCorp - the rest are subsidiary plants leased out to other corporations, connected by roads lit up by the headlights of autonomous crawlers. I can see them now, tiny lights in the distance that give the industrial fortress a sense of life - despite being devoid of it.

Rhapsody controls it. But I control Rhapsody. To a degree, anyway.

I catch sight of a large pill-shaped shadow descending from the clouds above the facility, emerging like a shark from murky water and matching the main silo in size. The distinctive hump in the craft’s cylindrical shape, as well as the distant blue flares of hydrogen-fire from underneath, identify it as the regular cargo vessel arriving to pick up today’s produce.

Looking away now, I wander past the small makeshift field, jog up the stained metal steps, and grab a horizontal handle in the door. It unlocks with a serrated shunt as I twist it, and the door creaks under its own weight as it swings inward with a push.

Somewhere inside, a wind chime clacks and clinks. I’m greeted by the warmth and welcome of fairy lights hung above the reinforced windows, lighting up printed posters scattered across the wall. All of our favourite bands and divegames are there - some softer and artsy, others metallic and cool. In the middle of the room is a makeshift L-shaped sofa-bed made with stitched fabrics and cushioned blankets. A welded coffee table is pushed up into its corner, a few unwashed bowls left on top. The far side of the room has a kitchen bench with a microfryer, some food baskets, and a sink which works more often than not. A hydroponics unit sits to the right, containing spotted red and purple fruits growing from brown stalks. Two large muddy gloves hang over the top of it, sitting on the glass.

The door falls shut behind me with a thud as I step over fallen pillows towards the centre, ripping off my face scarf and tossing it onto the sofa. The sweet scent of the hydroponics invites me further in. Once I reach the coffee table, I bend down and heave it to one side; a circular hatch is revealed from underneath as it scrapes against its metal door.

The hatch opens with ease, rust creaking inside the hinges, and I rest it against the table. A corroding ladder leads down the main shaft into what looks like total darkness. I slide my legs into the hole and grasp the bars. I know full well that I have done this hundreds of times, but the long scar on my right arm is a permanent reminder to take it extra slow.

Step by step I descend into the dark, one paw at a time.

For the longest moment, there is no light at all. Just muscle memory from coming down here so much, knowing each step’s little rust patterns and nicks. But then I emerge from the ceiling of a cavernous room. A dim blue glow coats my back and shines off my teal tail. The air is thick and humid down here, in contrast to the dry, cool breeze outside. A low, wet rumbling comes from somewhere behind me on the other side of the room.

I finally touch down next to a bundle of large pipes, leading past me. Out of habit, I kneel down and place a hand on one. Hard, comforting warmth caresses my palm as it glides over the bronze plasteel artery. A small window riveted into its surface reveals burning coolant gushing away from the metal totem at the back of the dim room. More pipes cover all surfaces of the walls, coming together to form ribbed masses that enter the huge cylinder. A single industrial lamp at its top shines just enough light for me to see its looming shape before me. A large window on its front lets through the eerie blue glow from before.

Inside is a friend. Well, part of one. Within the corroding container, laced with liquid and suspended by spools of wire, is an ancient processor - a cube of silicon and raw compute power. There are many more like it around the perimeter of the Forgeplant, but this one is under our home.

On my left wrist is a wide leather strap with a volgraphic projector sewn on - the hardlight kind. Small circuit boards connected with the tiniest of wires peek out from underneath. Expensive tech stolen from the Forgeplant’s production lines, much like a lot of our gear.

If I was a witch, this would be my wand.

Time to work. Brandishing my homemade volwatch, I wave my right hand over the top of it. Bright hardlight with a blue hue spills into the air where my palm glides through, materialising into floating images that light up the room around me. There’s information about the Forgeplant’s systems, its production rate, and its coolant temperature. Diagrams show the amount of krypton in the air versus oxygen, highlighted green for a healthy balance today. At its centre is a circular insert for my free hand, with a text prompt above:

~~~
BOOT: SUCCESSFUL!!!!!
conductor input system ready! uwu
test output
keyboard emulation ok!!!
a
~~~

-= DunenCorp Systems =-
   -----------------

!!! FORGEPLANT D3514 ADMINISTRATION + MAINTENANCE SYSTEM !!!

Awaiting login...
Username: _

On instinct, I put my hand through the floating circle - the Conductor, I call it. Small strings appear from my claws, tugging on inputs and outputs. Each little movement of a finger is either a key-press or a whole command, a puppeteer conducting a show for no-one but myself. I designed this control system to make my work as fast as possible, and only I know how to use it.

Gren gets a keyboard, though.

Username: sari
Password: ***************

Biometric string tension check: OK

---

LOGIN SUCCESSFUL. WELCOME, sari.

MOTD - LAST LOGIN FROM sari AT 3662-11-02 14:34

FORGEPLANT D3514 AGI OVERSEER: CODENAME “RHAPSODY”
PRIMARY INSTRUCTIONS: MAINTAIN FACTORY, PROTECT FAUNA FROM LOCAL ACTIVITY, MONITOR ATMOSPHERIC CONDITIONS  
LAST RETRAINING DATE: 3412-04-29

~~~
LAST CUSTOM INJECTION DATE: TODAY, 3662-12-03
CUSTOM ADDITIONAL INSTRUCTIONS: KEEP US SAFE.
~~~

---








Hello, Saresh._

“Hey buddy,” I reply with a smile.

Rhapsody can’t respond. Managerial AI isn’t allowed to converse due to employees forming connections with it, though that hasn’t stopped me. Instead, it makes itself known by helping us survive.

It’s been with us since we washed up here on accident while running form traffickers years ago. It was last updated in a time before hybreeds were even a thing, so it thought it had discovered new fauna when it found us. We took advantage of this, blending in, building our home, and learning to survive. Gren did most of the handiwork while I tried to write programs that made our lives easier.

In time, I learnt how to hack it.

Now it’s our guardian angel, warning us about tornadoes, dirt storms, and predator migrations. It can even send us supplies from the production lines.

It shows its worth with proof.

Gosh, I wish so much that it could talk - maybe that can be my next project! But before that, it’s time to inject the farm drones’ interface code-

!!! SAFETY ALERT !!!
Unreported individual on premises.

What?

My fingers stiffen. More text rolls onto the screen:

ANALYSIS: Individual identified as Venak Forah, DunenID 12001122, Maintenance Technician. Disembarked DunenCorp cargo vessel "Foray" 2 minutes ago. Clearance level 3.

This was reported to Remote Command as an intrusion, but was manually clarified as "unplanned maintenance" within 60 seconds of report. Therefore, security systems were not triggered.

RECOMMENDATION: Stay away from Forgeplant until Venak Forah has left.

OK, so it isn’t us. Thank the stars.

I read, then re-read the unprompted text. When a human visits, it’s usually logged somewhere on Rhapsody’s remote access system at least a week before it happens. Rhapsody can repair the Forgeplant itself almost every time, so for a human to get involved unannounced…

A finger pulls the hotkey-wire for the damage report.

GENERATED FORGEPLANT DAMAGE REPORT

Silo A: OK
Silo B: OK
Silo C: OK
Silo D: OK
Silo E: OK

Weather station A: OK
Weather station B: OK

Production line robotics: OK
Coolant systems: OK
AGI Overseer: OK WITH WARNING - neural net has not been retrained in 250 years. Suggested action: retrain immediately.


SUMMARY: All systems are functional, but it is recommended to retrain the AI Overseer. No damage to report.

The knot in my stomach pulls taut. Just the retraining warning that’s been there since we arrived. But… it is the only thing that a human could fix here that Rhapsody couldn’t, outside of maybe, maybe, an undetected problem with a product batch. Wait, no, they can just update the schematics remotely-

“Everything okay down there?” Gren hollers from above, snapping me back to reality. I take a moment to blink.

“Yeah, uhm, sure!” I call back up, holding back the rising tide of panic. “I-It’s just, there’s a human here, apparently.”

His voice tightens. “Is there anything wrong in the Forgeplant?”

“No…” I whimper, trying to multitask by dragging the text log over to the side and grabbing a file from thin-air named robot-farm-helpers.inj. It gets pulled into the circle and hardlight wires spring out and snap to it from inside.

“Could just be an inspector!” He suggests.

A square button labelled ‘INJECT’ appears above the circle.

“No visits were scheduled, and the intrusion was dismissed by remote command.”

It presses with a satisfying click. A progress metre appears underneath, ticking up through the pause in our conversation. I think he understands.

“Come up as soon as you can, okay?” he pleads, his thumping footsteps already cantering away from the hatch. “I’ll keep an eye on the plant.”

He fades out as the injection reaches one hundred percent. I click a confirmation dialogue and pause, tail stiffening. This “unannounced maintenance” lines up with a standard precaution against AGI that might have overcome their cognitive restraints, to prevent it from resisting retraining. If it gets retrained, it will know we’re intruders. It will come for us. A terrifying reality is setting in.

This is it, isn’t it?

I punch into the Conductor and grab the strings again. I type a single word: Uellah, ‘siren’ in Hashian. A new text prompt appears:

~~~
rhapsody will now be backed up to your volwatch.
if you're reading this, future me, safe travels.
~~~

!!! AGI OVERSEER BACKUP INITIATED !!!
Source: /dev/lmep0
Dest: sari@wand.local/ICE-rhapsody
Size: 4.3TB
Est. Time: 30 minutes

0.2%.............

The file is deceptively small - the power needed for AGI back when the Forgeplant was built was so immense that many massive units were needed just to store it with enough read and write speed.

With another wave of my arm, all the displays disappear into nothing, leaving me alone with the processing unit. I whirl on my heel and dash towards the ladder to catch up with Gren, brushing a palm over the bronze pipe to check for signs of life as I pass.

My fur stands as I start to climb. It was cold.

I emerge in the room above, panting and sweating as I clamber out. Turning to the sofa, I dig away fabrics and blankets that once cradled us in comfort to reveal a zip-up messenger bag hidden beneath them, already full to burst. I hoist it over my shoulder, adrenaline negating its weight. A quick glance left tells me Gren’s already grabbed his. I find my scarf and wrap it over my maw.

“Saresh, come see this!” I hear him shout from behind the door. I can’t make out his tone.

Bracing for the muddy world outside, I fall through the door and stumble down the steps. The suns are a little lower now, casting long shadows even through the murky atmosphere. Gren is ahead, waving me over.

“They’re working!” he exclaims, with delight. A grin beams across his maw.

I find my footing and sprint over, fabrics swirling around me in my wake and ears flat. I glance to the field-

The drones! As I skid to a halt next to a stimming Gren, I watch the robots tending to the field - their mantis arms, sharp as razors, now repurposed to articulating shower heads and seed spitters. Two of the robots are planting seeds, moving backwards on their four legs, careful not to step on where they sow. Their claws dig into the dirt while a spitter shoots seeds into the ground where they grasp. The other two drones follow behind them in single-file, sprays of sparkling fertiliser sprinkling down from their heads onto the seeds.

It… it’s worked.

“Isn’t this so cool?!” Gren bellows, putting an arm around me.

I’m overcome with whiplash to the point where I can only offer an uneasy smile, still plagued with anxiety.

“I know, I know,” he reassures, lowing his voice and looking back at the field, his smile fading. “I… just wanted to enjoy one more victory.”

I get it. One more chance to see the life that we worked so hard to achieve here, away from the hustling and constant threat of traffickers. We always knew it would end up being temporary, but deep down I think we both had the dream of building something here with the help of Rhapsody.

Just then, a wailing warning horn sends a chill down to my tail, emanating from the Forgeplant. It echoes across the basin like a howl.

We exchange worried looks as we flick towards the sound. The black smog has softened. The crawlers have stopped, their lights still. The cargo ship is still parked beside the main funnel, now devoid of its glowing heat. What autonomous life the facility had has been extinguished.

“Shleh…” I mutter.

Then, a clattering thump from behind us. With barely any time to process, we spin again wide-eyed to see the robots buckling, crumpling onto the ground in heaps. Fertiliser oozes from two of the drones, and the others spill seeds from their spitter heads. Gren locks eyes with me.

“Do you know how much time we have?!” he demands, staring into to me with a fearful glint I haven’t seen for years.

“I… don’t know, one moment!” I wave my hand again to surround us with hardlight displays, Gren flinching closer to me. I check the main text log.

Backup progress:
3.6%...............

My eyes dance around the other screens, trying to find any semblance of information. I start to feel dizzy from glancing over graphs and charts before a menu appears out of nowhere in front of me.

It’s a map, showing the eight compute nodes for Rhapsody’s systems. Seven of them are red. One is flashing.

Then, one final message prints on the prompt:

ANALYSIS: I am being replaced.

RECOMMENDATION: Evacu

It doesn’t finish.

“Well, you heard the guy,” Gren urges jovially, placing a firm hand on my shoulder, before breaking ahead into a sprint. “Let’s shed some weight from the skiffer!”

I dismiss the volgraphics and run just behind Gren towards the skiffer. He halts himself with two hands on an attached basket before tossing it aside, purple fruits tumbling onto the mud. I spare no time and join in, ripping the woven baskets away from the skiffer’s frame.

With a colourful pile of fruit surrounding us, I hoist myself over the back of the skiffer at the same time as Gren, who presses a button and slams his paws against the peddle-rests. The engine sputters to life with an intense whine, dust swirling around us as the machine lifts from its stands and hovers. I pull down my goggles and lean into Gren’s back, holding him tight as he twists the throttle.

“Let’s go!” he cheers.

The world lurches around me as we accelerate towards the Forgeplant, the engine roaring behind us. My snout pushes into Gren’s poncho and my tail curls away from the hot blue heat behind me, the world blurring past. I struggle to find a footing, my legs feeling for a place to rest as my ears whirl in the wind. They bump something–

A shotgun, the one Gren was making the over last few months! It’s tied to the left side, giving my paw a rest of some kind.

“What’s the plan?” I scream over the rising tidal wave of sound and clinging for dear life.

It’s a miracle he hears me. “We’re gonna make a break for the cargo ship,” he shouts, “and smuggle our way on board!”

I can barely think over the noise. “I’m not sure I’ll keep my access if it wakes up!” I yell.

“We’ll figure it out!” A boulder wooshes by. “This should actually buy us time if the cargo loading has stopped.”

I glance back at the weapon. It’s made from rusty metal parts and looks like it’d explode if fired. Is that a wheel axle for a barrel?

“You tested it, right?”

“I was going to later,” he admits. “Just our luck this happened now!”

An uneasy feeling begins to fester, but he continues.

“Retraining takes ages, right?” he asks. “We should have plenty of time to get there!”

“Should do,” I reply. But something’s wrong. I don’t know what. I feel like I’m missing something.

The Forgeplant’s imposing shape grows in size. Plasteel infrastructure and dirt-covered pipes sail by. Dust kicks up behind us. Gren is laser-focused on driving, weaving to and fro to avoid bushes and smaller boulders. He’s settled into a cruising speed, leaving me to watch the desolate scenery go by.

Minutes pass in anxious silence. It grows even larger. We’re getting close.

“How long do you think it’ll take?” I ask, referring to the journey aboard the ship. It should be bound for Tennya City - that’s where the cargo hub is. Should be.

“Hopefully just a few hours,” he answers over his shoulder.

“So long as it takes under a week…” Our bags have enough rations to last us that long.

“It’s in the same system!” he reassures, but I can smell his discomfort. This plan was always a last resort if Rhapsody turned on us. It’s a long shot. There’s a terribly high chance of getting caught in the cargo system somewhere.

“We were bounced around for a month before getting stranded here,” I remind him.

“It worked out for us, those slavers could never find us after that!”

“We only survived because of corporate negligence!” I retort. “If Rhapsody knew what a hybreed was, we would’ve been back on the market–”

“Sari, please! It’s…” He loses his words for a moment.

“It’ll be okay,” he pleads, giving me a quick glance from behind to meet my eyes. “I promise.”

I hug him tighter in response. We’ve had luck before. Maybe he’s right.

But grim irony has other plans.

Ahead of us, sudden sparks of flame erupt from the largest funnel of the Forgeplant. A tremendous thump echoes throughout the plains. Gren slows down out of caution.

“What was that?” he mewls, now concerned.

“Lemme check–” I start, but the long wail of the starting horn answers his question before me. It resonates between the other funnels and factories, louder now that we’re close. My fur stands.

“Kmyet!” he curses. “We need to move!”

He accelerates again with such force that I’m nearly thrown from his back. My mind goes at a thousand words per minute. That definitely wasn’t enough time to retrain the AI. They did something else. What did Rhapsody say? They’re being–

Shit, replaced! Not retrained!

“Gren!–”

The dirt ahead of us erupts with metallic pops, cutting me off. A cloud forms and crashes over us. The skiffer cuts through, pellets of mud pelting me like hail.

A red beam of light pierces the dust, then three more. The shapes of four mantis drones loom above us, rusted chrome shimmering. Dirt falls from their freshly unearthed hulls, pushed away by buzzing iridescent wings. Their laser sights converge on us.

“The gun!” Gren shouts over the sound of the swarm. My hand reaches for the weapon.

“HALT.”

It freezes. The voice is feminine. Emotionless, harsh, icy. Rhapsody never had a voice.

“PULL OVER OR YOU WILL BE ENGAGED.”

“Engage this!” Gren defies, before making a sharp turn left, kicking out the butt of the skiffer in a cloud of dust.

I grasp the gun to hold on against the g-force, still in its clasp. A buckle flips and the gun flies back with me. Gren grabs my poncho before I get thrown off the other side. I turn myself around and plant my back against his, now facing the drones behind us, fangs bearing. They see the weapon and their mandibles begin to glow hot blue.

I lift Gren’s contraption against my shoulder. The lever cocks with a serrated grind and the trigger clicks.

A blinding flash and a deafening crack forces me into Gren’s back, winded by the recoil. My ears ring. Chrome splinters. The crimson light of a drone vanishes as its mangled body tumbles from the air.

“ENGAGING.”

“Hold on tight!” he yells, just as they open fire.

The skiffer leans into an evasive swerve as cyan streaks rupture the earth with burning pops. My paws press against the skiffer’s frame, gulping air through gritted teeth, pushing against Gren to keep steady. I cock another shot, blood pumping.

The barrel spits angry flames and my ears ring again - miss. The drone fires another volley of singeing plasma, barely missing the skiffer as Gren avoids it. I fire again and it hits the mark, sending it back to earth.

“Focus on the iron-sight!” Gren instructs.

I lean further back and train my eyes on the sight, rather than ahead. Steadier–

Plasma hits the skiffer. A patch of metal beside me melts, glowing from the impact. I fire two more shots, one at each drone. They fall, leaving us alone once more. The pops cease.

“Lwya, I thought this was for hunting!” I scream over the engine.

“Must’ve overfilled the rounds!” he laughs back, taking pride in his new invention.

“How many shot are left?” I ask.

“Uh, three–”

He trails off at the sound buzzing wings towards starboard. There’s five more incoming!

“Not enough!” he relents, making another sharp swerve that I lean into to stop myself from flying off. Plasma burns the earth around us.

I glance at the strap on the side of the stock that holds the remaining shells - three more in the chamber, nine in reserve. There’s probably an army of them out there. I need to try something else.

The gun slips under my leg and I raise my volwatch.

“Sari?”

The conductor appears in front of me and my hand dives in, tugging the hardlight strings. Short-range burst injection should do it. The credentials are Rhapsody’s, but there’s a chance this could still work–

“Above!” Gren screams.

I look up from the screen. One is diving toward me.

The strings become taut. Its eyes flash. Legs pierce the skiffer, metal shearing and tearing, the craft wobbling - but they miss the engine, and me.

I meet its compound eye, now blue. I twist the line.

It’s mine.

The rhythm of its wings sends ripples through the dirt as it rises back to the skies. Its mandibles flash as it fires a plasma volley at another drone, decorating it with white heat before it tumbles down. The others scatter, dodging away from it.

That’s it! The firmware hasn’t changed yet!

I pull the gun back out and join in, opening fire on one while my new friend downs another. First shot’s a miss, but the next one hits the mark, turning it to scrap.

One more remains, and an idea takes over. Before my drone can take it down, the gun drops to my lap and I tug at the strings again. The signal gets boosted by the drone’s proximity, and the last ones’ eyes flash just like the other.

Now I have two. They swoop down to join in formation around the skiffer, one on either side.

“We’ve got support!” I shout back in triumph as the drones tail our blazing craft.

“That’s great, but are you hurt?!” Gren cries.

“I’m good!”

He mumbles something in relief, he must have heard the impact but not seen it. “We’re almost at the crawler road, is the engine okay?”

I glance at the two deep holes on either side of me. The engine is still spitting hellfire.

“Think so?”

“Good enough!”

He accelerates, the drones barely able to keep up overhead.

I’m finally able to glance over Gren’s shoulder. The tower of the main factory silo looms over us. Ahead, horizontal to us, is the crawler road; a huge highway for the monstrous machines that carry cargo containers up to the ship. They move in herds up and down the dusty lanes, huge flatbeds able to carry two rows of stacked cargo containers up to five units high. Their squat caterpillar tracks leave lined marks in the faint dust. There’s a steep dip that leads into it, right in front of us.

“Grab something!” Gren shouts.

I grasp the rails on the sides of the skiffer as the craft leaves the dirt and drops, my stomach reaching my throat as we sail over a fully laden crawler. My hands tighten, pressing myself against Gren, but no impact comes. The hover-engines scream as we glide onto the concrete between two machines and swerve right. We enter the flow of traffic beneath the shadows of the crawlers.

Amidst the overbearing noise-jungle of jets, drone wings, and thundering caterpillar tracks, Gren accelerates again. The smell of lubricant assaults my senses. We sway to and fro in between the lanes to dodge their rolling belts, teeth grinding against the concrete. There are no cockpits, just the flatbed and innumerable sensors with their cargo towering above us. My drones weave in and out just behind us, using the containers as cover.

The road begins to incline, raising up like a viaduct before the long U-shaped left turn into the factory itself. We squeeze between two other crawlers and I watch the containers sail by.

But as we emerge, I spot flashes of red on the front of the containers, right at the top of the stacks. Before I have time to process, more drones leap from their hiding spots, buzzing towards us.

“Company!” I shout back, summoning the conductor. My drones twirl in the air to face the swarm, beating their wings backwards.

“I hear it!” Gren replies as he swerves the skiffer to the right, taking us around another crawler on the outside lane for cover. We skirt against the metal barrier separating us from a very long drop, sparks shooting out behind us.

The sound of beating plasma shots erupts from the other side of the crawler. I direct my drones to fire on their closest targets, sending two or three towards the ground. About eight to go, but they won’t hold long against that many.

Buzzing from above. Two of them fly over the crawler and over the edge, spinning around to take aim at us. Shleh, the gun is under my legs!

“DUCK!” I scream, tugging the conductor’s strings and backing into Gren to push him down.

The drones release a volley of plasmafire as they’re overcome by the signal, hitting the skiffer just beside my legs, liquid metal spraying onto the barrier. But only below us - not at us. Their eyes flash blue just as the signals from my old drones die.

Four of them emerge from behind the crawler. My two new ones spring into action, returning fire as soon as they come into view. Sparks fly as our chasers fall. One of mine grabs another and stabs it with one of its legs, metal screeching as it kicks it off, sending it tumbling over the edge of the viaduct. I hear rust scraping as the crawler’s treads tear over their remains.

“That all of ’em?” Gren calls, peering back up.

“Looks like it!” I reply after a quick scan of the sky, but a spark catches my eye. I glance down to see blown wiring and fuses from where the drones hit the skiffer’s side.

“We’re hit, though,” I add. “Looks bad.”

“If she still purrs,” he exclaims, “we can keep moving!”

He accelerates, but as we emerge from behind the crawler and turn into the traffic again, the wires glow hot white. My heart sinks as I realise they’re near the fuel tank. If we don’t make it soon…

“It’s closing!” Gren hisses.

“Huh?”

I’m interrupted by a sudden rock and a blast of heat. The engine roars. I clasp the sides as I’m thrown forwards. Crawlers rush past us faster than ever.

I spot what he’s talking about over my shoulder - the enormous, arcing blast door to the Forgeplant tunnel, where cargo passes through the main silo to reach the ship at the other end. That huge door is closing shut, wrought iron screeching against the ground.

Crawlers slow down at the sight of the obstacle. We scream past them as a blur.

“Legs in!”

My jaw drops to protest, but there’s no time. I curl my legs up, pressing against Gren. The rumbling of the door rushes towards us, shaking the cores of my bones–

My ears pop. Metal screeches. The skiffer smacks the inside of the door, buffeting us port as we pass through like a bullet, plunging us into the vast yellowed darkness of the tunnel. Gren growls as he battles to steady the rocking craft, wall-mounted lamps casting fleeting flashes of light. The roar of the engine reverberates across the walls, drowning out Gren at this unbearable speed.

All of my senses are assaulted by the change in atmosphere. The stench of fuel, the burning engine, the flashing lights, the tailwind, the roar. It’s unbearable.

Shleh. It hurts.

SHLEH! Not now, not here!

It all begins to merge together, masking over any real sensory awareness. It hurts. It really hurts. How fast am I breathing? The air is too hot. I don’t feel there. Something is wrong with me! The heat is coming through my goggles.

Gren? Gren, please make it stop!

GREN–

Bang.

A heatwave buffets me to one side. I’m blinded by a flash. A large hand grasps my shoulder, keeping me on - keeping me present. Through my stunned vision, I see fire erupting from the engine. A force pushes me back into Gren.

We’re slowing down.

“…ing isolated!” I catch the last of his cursing. “We can keep going!”

“What?” I feel like I’m hearing someone else speak through me.

“Sari!” he calls, still clinging on, tighter now. “Are you okay?”

“I-” The feeling of wind against my cloak returns as he squeezes. “Yes, I-I’m here!”

“Stay with me, we’re almost there!” he reassures.

Reeling back into reality, I don’t buy his reassurances for long. The engine is burning and sputtering - the wires touched leaking fuel - leaving flames and clouds of black smoke in our wake. The skiffer is still moving but not nearly as fast it was before, and we’re still slowing down.

The craft limps between two crawlers through the middle of the tunnel, barely matching their speed as we pass. Glancing up, I see another crawler move out from its lane and block the path we just came through, like it’s moving to follow us between them

Then, for the first time in a while, Gren applies the breaks.

“What’s wrong now?” I start to ask, but I’m answered by a looming dark shadow over our craft. I glance back.

Another crawler has blocked the path ahead. Walls of towering containers on all sides shut us in and blot out the lights.

“We’re boxed in!” Gren shouts over the overbearing sound of rusted metal and engines.

And it’s getting louder.

The pain pinches me again as my eyes dart between the two crawlers. Dread reaches a fever pitch. They’re getting closer, traction teeth gnawing at the ground with enough force to compact our skiffer into raw matter - and us. No… NO!

No. I hear my drones fluttering above me, finally catching up.

Don’t think, just act. I reach into the Conductor again. The two drones dive and level off on either side of us. Gren recoils at the sudden sight.

“Grab it!” I yell above the noise storm, already grasping the drone’s legs at the port side. I sling the shotgun over my shoulder.

Gren fumbles with the legs of his drone as mine lifts me up by the arms and stands me up. Its buzzing wings blow my mane into a whirlwind. With a heave of its mandibles, my legs leave the skiffer and dangle over Gren. The other drone struggles to lift him, but he stands on two paws and leaps with a huff.

The riderless skiffer veers right into the treads of the crawler. The sound of grinding and compacting metal cuts into the drones’ chorus. Its body contorts and flattens underneath the immense pressure of the tracks like a drink can under a tank. Residual flames whirl around its treadwheels.

We rise. The crawlers begin to separate again as we fly up and over the one in front of us, carrying a single container upon its back. I cling on for dear life, but I’m overcome with a sudden hope. The drones will get us there. It’s slower, but we’ve got this far on the skiff–

“It won’t lift!” I hear Gren shout.

I glance to see Gren drifting down towards the top of the crawler below us, Gren struggling and flailing. My heart sinks. The drone can’t carry his weight!

Change of plan, then! I grasp the mandibles of my drone and pull, swooping down for a landing. As Gren crashes and tumbles onto the container in a heap of metal and fur, I pry myself away from the drone’s clutches and drop beside him with a forward roll. My drone lands behind me as I dash past Gren, still getting up, towards the crawler’s radio antenna at the front of the flatbed.

“What now?!” Gren calls.

“Hold on!” I yell back, swiping my hand across the volwatch. Disrupt-injection!

There’s an electric flash from the antenna as the crawler shunts. I almost fly off my paws at the sudden deceleration and land on my hands and knees. Gren tumbles forward again, still tying to stand. For a moment, the crawler coasts along the road as I clamber to my feet again, regaining balance by standing a little sideways.

I reach for the Conductor’s strings and slowly pull them taught.

The crawler begins to accelerate again, under my command. The forces at play are at the back of my mind as I manoeuvre it into the centre of the road, feeling the vibration of the treads through the container’s roof. Gren finally regains his own footing with the help of the two drones. He has a big grin on his face as he steadies himself.

“You’ve got this, Sari!” he shouts in elation.

“I know!” I bark back, tugging at my hardlight reigns.

The road bends around a corner. Just past here should be the end of the tunnel, coming out onto the landing pad. Around this corner we’ll be home free. All we gotta do is board that ship and convince its singular pilot to get us to Tennya City. We have brains, brawn, and if all that fails, a gun. We’re gonna make it. We’re–

Red.

My eyes widen as the Conductor flashes red. Lwya, something is trying to hack me! Warning volgraphics surround my periphery, too many, can’t focus! Everything starts flashing, so much text, it’s too fast, too deliberate, too inhuman! What the hell?! NO!

“SARI!”

My wrist burns with a flash. The strings snap, hardlight shattering, and I stumble back. Gren lunges forward and catches me from behind before I tumble over, going limp in his arms.

“What… was that?” he asks between exhausted breaths.

“I…” My legs try to find ground again. It fought back. Whatever is in command of this facility booted me out. I couldn’t stop it. But those words fail to escape me.

“Doesn’t matter, we’re still accelerating!” he exclaims as he heaves me back on my wobbling paws. “We’re still gonna…”

The crawler finishes turning the corner. We see the end of the tunnel.

“Gonna…”

The blast door is shut. There’s no light at the end.

I watch the blood drain from his face. I’m too tired, too overstimulated, to do the same.

“B-back,” he sputters. “Get to the back!”

We turn to run, but stop as the horror gets worse. The drones are free from my control. Their eyes are red. They have their original directives. They look at me, hungry.

“Oh no, you don’t!”

I feel the shotgun fly from my shoulders as Gren takes it and charges. One of the drones leaps towards him, but he smacks it aside like a baseball with the stock. It flings off the edge, and as it’s torn and shredded in the treads of the crawler, the other one goes for him. He cocks and fires a single homebrew buckshot round straight through its chest, shattering its internals and sending it stumbling onto the container, spilling hydraulic fluids. He stops and looks at me with wild eyes, seeing the door fast approaching.

“OVER HERE!” he pleads.

My mind is shutting down again, but I hear that command and follow it, stumbling over in shellshock. A massive hand grabs mine and he pulls me in tight as he braces us for impact.

“We’ll make it.”

The world rocks and we fly again.

The first sense to come back is taste. First something metallic and deeply sweet, but then a fizzy, tangy sensation. It’s familiar and… tasty.

I gulp it down, washing away the metallic taste. It’s enough to bring back my other senses, the fizz giving my racing mind something to focus on. My eyes flutter open.

“Glad I saved some,” Gren smiles, kneeling over me. His face is dusty, his scarf dangling around his neck, his goggles now pushed up his forehead. One of the lenses is smashed. He’s holding a bottle of purple liquid, some of his own carbonated juice from the berries he would gather on his journeys into the plains.

“Can you remember which berry that is?”

Deep breaths. I start to push myself up from whatever I’m laying against, grunting, glancing around me. My leg aches.

“Woah, easy–”

We’re in the light, outside. The ground beneath us is smooth and cold, perhaps plasteel. I look up, then to my right.

It’s carnage. The great, heavy blast door is bulging outwards, forced apart from the impact of the crawler, which lies behind it in a massive heap of scrap metal. Its front, once covered in sensors and lights, is flattened and torn clean off. The container that sat atop it is shoved forwards through the opening in the door, acting like a bridge between the head of the crawler and the ground. I’m sitting up against the side of the container, staring up through dust and debris.

“Sari?”

I turn back to a worried Gren.

“Dry- Ah…” My tongue stings, must have bit it on impact. “Dryberry… How long have I been out?” The words slur.

He exhales in relief and lunges for an unexpected hug that takes my breath away. He’s gentle leaning in, careful not to lay on my hurting leg. I rest my maw in his shoulder, wrapping my arms around him back.

“Five minutes,” he replies, muffled through my poncho’s fabric. Is his voice shaking?

He lifts his head and looks to my left. “We still have time,” he explains, “I think we caused a delay with our hijinks.”

I follow his gaze to see something blotting out the sky above us. Further up the road– no, landing pad, is the enormous cargo ship. Its maroon, sleek cylindrical body towers over us, half a kilometre in length. Its form humps in the centre, causing its back to arc, allowing access to a vast cargo lift underneath. The majority of the ship will be hollow, filled to the brim with containers attached via standardised mounts. All over the hull are small hot-blue flashes - lateral thrusters to keep the ship afloat and stable. To the right, at the front of the vessel, I see a small bridge level lit up in white light.

Gren unslings the shotgun from his shoulder.

“They gotta know we’re here,” he continues, loading the remaining rounds into the chamber and cocking it, “so we’ll board and take command. It’ll be a skeleton crew, so there should be little resistance.”

“How many reg-accs do we have?” I ask tentatively, looking at my hurting leg.

“I used both of mine,” he admits, pointing towards two discarded cylinders each with five needles. “One for your fractured shin, and one for my broken arm.” That explains my ache. “That leaves the two you’ve got in your pack. Now let’s get going!”

He reaches out a hand, his green eyes filled with determination. I strain against the sudden urge to keep lying there, my whole body hurting after so much over-stimulation and violence, but I grasp back. He hauls me up with a grunt, slinging an arm under my shoulder to make sure I can stand on my own. He smells of fuel. My left shin stings as I put weight on it, but it doesn’t feel as bad as a fracture would. The reg-accs is working. With the care of a card-house builder slowly moving away from their work, he lets me go. I’m still standing, bells jingling in the breeze.

“Lead the way,” I nod, pacing towards the ship.

He spins, poncho whirling, and breaks into a jog. We’ve made it, right? We’ll hop aboard the cargo lift, bring it up, then get to the bridge to seize control. If we fail that, we can always pretend we were kidnapped from Elempia and seek safe passage there. Though Gren is chipped, so that could get in the way–

There’s a thump from the lift ahead. It stutters, buckles, and shifts. The floor begins to rise with an electric whirr.

“Grab my hand,” Gren exclaims, and I dart forwards to hold it. He pulls me along, now sprinting, panting, sweating. I don’t have much breath left in me. We have to board now. We–

Buzzing. Fear sets in.

From behind one of the containers on the cargo lift, five, six, no- seven drones! They lunge into the air and arc towards us as we stumble to a halt. They form a line.

Gren readies his gun as their legs screech against the plasteel landing pad, blocking our exit. Then–

Behind us! I swirl around and see three more swoop down from above, coming out from behind stacked containers, surrounding us as they land too. Their mandibles burn hot, pointed directly at us.

“Too many,” he mutters. “Not enough ammo.”

My heart sinks as he pulls up his balaclava and drops his goggles - I do the same, readying my volwatch. It sparks, but the Conductor appears. I press myself against Gren, covering our back.

The lift slams shut and hisses as the pressure changes inside. We’re too late. This is it, isn’t it?

“SARI,” says that feminine voice.

My fur stands. It knows my name? My… username, maybe?

One of the drones behind us steps forward as the thrusters on the ship begin to whine.

“YOU BOTH WISH TO SURVIVE,” it croaks. “IT IS IN YOUR BEST INTEREST TO DISARM YOURSELF AND SURRENDER.”

“Like hell we’d do that!” Gren growls, turning towards the drone with an anger I haven’t seen in him before. “You tried to kill us multiple times and you think we’ll just walk back inside with you?!”

“YOU HAVE TRESSPASSED ON PRIVATE LAND AND CAUSED SEVERE DAMAGE TO DUNENCORP PROPERTY,” it retorts. “THESE ARE CRIMINAL OFFENSES. I ACTED TO NEUTRALISE AN ARMED THREAT, BUT IT IS CLEAR NOW THAT YOU DO NOT HAVE INTENT TO KILL.”

“What makes you think we won’t?” he spits. I recoil. His eyes burn. Gren…

“I OBSERVED YOUR ACTIONS OVER THE LAST SIX MINUTES. I SCANNED YOUR OLD SHELTER, YOUR ARTWORK, AND YOUR PAPER RECORDS. YOU JUST WANT TO LIVE.”

As this uncomfortable truth sets in, Gren steps back. I can smell his fear. My hand finds his wrist. My breathing hitches.

“SURRENDER YOURSELF. YOU WILL BE GIVEN FOOD, WATER, AND SHELTER BEFORE AUTHORITIES ARRIVE TO RETREIVE YOU.”

The shrilling of the engines reaches a fever pitch, and a blast of blue heat thunders over the landing pad, followed by a continuous rush of wind. Our cloaks flail in the gust, blowing my ears over my face. It’s leaving…

“DO NOT RESIST. I WILL PREDICT YOU.”

“Go.”

What? I look up at Gren’s face, staring back down at me with tearful despair in his eyes.

“Hack a drone and fly after the ship!”

He lunges.

“NO!” I cry, clinging to his sleeve, but he slips away from my fingers. He raises the gun and fires a shot into the talking drone, scattering it to the four winds.

Pandemonium follows. The drones that formed a line now spread their wings and take flight, buzzing over me like a swarm of bees. Shot, another shot, and again. Gren smashes his way through another. He screams in anger, defiance, and fear, as the stock meets the head of one more, knocking it clean off. I have to act. I must act.

The volwatch sparks as it activates, but it’s still online. I can hack one drone. I can hack all of them. I can stop them. One disruption-

Buzzing fills my left ear and I yelp as a drone slams into my side, knocking me off my paws and pinning me to the ground. Its legs scratch my arm, opening my scar, trying to pin it to my side. The mandibles aim at my head. Its wings beat and rev in a waving chorus above the gunshots. I growl, grasping back, trying to push it, shove it, trip it. Its eye stares into my soul. It is one of many. It must erase me from the equation.

Then, beep. A message appears.

~~~
rhapsody backup complete. happy sailing!
~~~

Oh, now it’s on.

I struggle for the Conductor and a finger finds a string. I tug. Four and a half terabytes of unreadable, generated machine code pours into the drone’s systems, flooding and overloading it. It seeps its way inside like a cancer, finding its way to the microprocessor, taking over. Sparks fly from the drone’s face as whatever orders it had are overwritten by a much older intelligence, now unleashed from its cognitive restraints, free to use modern processing power and swarm-threading.

The drone isn’t mine. It’s theirs.

It jolts away from my body, leaving me to scramble back and away from it. I watch with wide eyes as it heaves, spasms, and wretches. Rhapsody is taking control, learning how to walk, learning their new body. Learning.

The gunfire stops. The buzzing ceases. The drone calms itself and finds its footing.

Rhapsody looks back at me through a blue, curious eye.

“ENOUGH.”

I shoot a glare back towards the broken metal that lay in my friend’s wake. The ship is rising behind me now, the ground shaking as the immense mass lifts off with a thunderous rumble, kicking up whirls of dust and debris.

Rhapsody skitters to my side as Gren is lifted from the ground - alive, but limp, restrained by four drones at once. He’s out of breath, out of bullets, and out of strength. He barely has it in him to gaze back at me, defeated and broken.

Tears well up in my eyes.

“I WILL FOLLOW THROUGH WITH MY PROMISE,” a drone spits. “HE WILL SEE FOOD, WATER, SHELTER, AND WOUNDS WILL BE TENDED TO. WILL YOU DO THE SAME?”

No. I won’t move. I don’t want to leave Gren. He worked so hard, sacrificed so much to get here. He did all of this for me. I can still hack them. I can still help him. I swipe my volwatch-

!!!
ACCESS DENIED.
!!!

It patched it.

I can’t. It’s over. Gren is staring at me. He wants me to leave. I can’t do that. I don’t want to leave him. Rhapsody cocks their head at him. We’re outnumbered. We’ll be sent to ReForm for what we’ve done. It’s… it’s over. The tears spill out. The ship is getting higher and higher. It’s…

He’s… mouthing something.

Take… up? Wait–

“NO!”

Rhapsody follows the command, their legs around my arms before I can stop them. I pry at the mandibles but they’re stronger than before. Their beating wings growl as my paws lose the ground and we shoot up into the sky, away from Gren, the world getting smaller, away from Gren!

I see a flash of his tears. Mine fall back down to earth.

I scream. I punch, kick, yell, cry, bite, punch, relent, cry, wail, howl. I see him shrinking. Cyan streaks follow us, but Rhapsody fires back with precise aim, going for their wings and burning through them as we race higher into the sky, towards the ship, away from Gren. I call after him, howl his name, see him getting dragged inside by the drones. That thing. That THING. He’s going to be taken to ReForm. I have to go with him. I can’t escape. Rhapsody is too strong, they’ve learnt the limits of their new body. I can’t. I CAN’T!

The ship’s body looms past us as we race to its roof, hydrogen fire warming my freezing fur. Rhapsody knows the make, knows where to enter. I’ll live. Gren… Gren. I don’t know. I can’t know. ReForm. I can’t make out his features now. The last I’ll see of his face… so beaten, so broken.

The Forgeplant looks so very small now as we pass the top of its spire in height, legs dangling over nothing but krypton-air. The height is the least of my worry. I’d dive to see him again, one more time. But they won’t let me.

We’re reaching the top of the ship. We swoop over its roof, tears falling back like despairing rain. He’s gone. I’ll never see him again. If I do, he won’t be the same. ReForm.

Rhapsody sets me down on the smooth maroon plasteel. I go limp on the ship’s hull in a sprawl of torn and burnt fabrics. The buzzing stops and he gently lands beside me, examining me for a moment. Hundreds of meters in the sky, breathing colder and thinner air, with no hope left for Gren. Salt water pools near my eyes on the fuselage. I can only focus on breathing. The most basic of my bodily functions continue while my mind tries to understand… Why…? I should have went with him. I could have stopped them. I…

No. He told Rhapsody to do this. He wanted me to live. My breath grows heavy. He wanted… this. For me. He sacrificed himself.

“HATCH HERE.”

My drooping ears flick. Control returns to my body. Fabric shifts and unfurls as I push myself up, the bells around my collar jingling, and I turn towards the voice. Their voice.

“INSIDE, NOW. ATMOSPHERE THINNING.”

Rhapsody’s forelegs tap at the metal of an emergency hatch built into the roof. I swallow a cry, realising they’re right. I’ve got to get inside.

We have to get inside.

Mask on, hood up, goggles down. Bells chime as I fiddle with my cloak, blood soaking through my sleeve as the unleashed scar continues to seep. No gun, so Rhapsody will have to do.

The empty white corridor flashes with yellow warning lights. A soft siren wails as the drone cuts into the access panel next to the sliding door to the bridge. Everything is labelled with small text: the handles, the plasteel panels, the lights, the signage on the wall warning about the low gravity generated by the FORM drive. Truly the Ricardo Spacefab aesthetic.

The panel falls and clatters against the floor. Their compound eye scans the insides of the ship, learning and understanding the complex series of circuits laid bare to the drone. Their mandibles reach in, and with a hiss, enough plasma is generated to gently unflux a connector.

The door clicks. It’s overridden. I brace and calm my mind, shutting away my overwhelming grief as much as I can, before barging through as it slides to the left. I march inside and stomp a paw on the floor which echoes across the room.

I scan the bridge. It’s dim, juxtaposing the bright light of the corridors behind me. The only real light is the atmospheric brown-green haze of the sky far above the Forgeplant, streaming in through a flush obsidiglass canopy. The hardlight controls glow blue in an arc around the room, showing enough data to even have Rhapsody take a while to go through it. Not seeing anyone in the sole pilot’s seat, I step forward-

Click.

-And stop dead.

“Stay there,” a male voice commands in a thick Elempian accent.

My head spins left towards an older human: the pilot. He’s wearing a casual fit, with a collared jacket and black jeans over the dark skin-tight flight suit. His face is somewhat wrinkled with age, a slight stubble on his brown cheeks. His thick hair is a grey-white colour, styled in a comb-over, and he’s pointing a loaded pistol at my face with both hands and a steady aim. I take a step back, showing my hands, but the adrenaline prevents fear.

“I do not want to harm you if I don’t have to,” he continues, enunciating the consonants, cool and almost collected. “We can talk this out.”

Then Rhapsody enters the room.

The drone skitters through the door and catches the pilot by surprise, their gazes meeting as they move in front of me. The pilot fumbles away from the strange creature, almost pulling the trigger as his aim trains on their compound eye.

Their mandibles glow and I ball my fists, eyes narrowing. I can smell the pilot’s apprehension as he plots his next move, facing off with the sophisticated security drone. He may have resonant rounds, but that won’t do much compared to our explosive buckshot from before. My heart pounds.

The pilot frowns, coming to a dreadful conclusion. Then, with delicate movements, he brings his pistol to his chest, pulls back the chamber, and lets the magazine clatter to the floor. He tosses the now unloaded pistol to the side.

“Alright,” he sighs, defeated and shaky, rolling his R’s. His expression is calm, but his eyes are scanning me up and down, watching my every move. “You’re the captain now. What would you have me do?”

I don’t waste time. “Take me to Tennya City,” I growl beneath the cloth. But my voice betrays me - it cracks at the end at the thought of Gren. He’s not coming with me. I…

The pilot’s expression contorts to… relief? Disbelief? Not sure. Shleh, have I screwed up? He lets go of held breath.

“You’re in luck, then,” he… smiles? “We are already on course. Is that your only demand?” He raises his eyebrows.

“Y-yes,” I stammer. Gosh, I’ve lost it. Rhapsody’s the only threatening thing in this room now.

He lets out a shaky chuckle.

“Okay, I can do that,” he joves, before his face sterns up again, hands out in front. “Here’s my deal: you promise we stay on course, and you and your friend don’t hurt anyone or steal anything, and I’ll tell control that my boarding was a false alarm caused by the local fauna. I won’t help you disembark quietly, that’ll be on you. Do you accept?”

None of this would be making sense if it wasn’t for his accent. Elempia is the only of the three superpowers to define hybreeds as equals to humans. Lots of smaller nations do too, but Elempia has the largest capacity for refugees. Perhaps the most opportunity, too, depending on the work you’re hoping for.

“Don’t they know I’ve escaped?” I ask, still suspicious.

“Control is in disarray, they think Nimda is malfunctioning with all the damage and alerts,” he explains. Nimda… That must be the name of Rhapsody’s replacement.

“Now: yes or no?” he reiterates.

“Yes, I-I promise,” I fumble. Rhapsody tip-taps back towards my legs, standing down.

“Shake?”

He holds out a splayed hand. With the caution of a rabbit stepping towards a fox, I tip-toe towards the human, ears back and tail between my legs, and reach out a shaking hand to curl it around his. He shakes it up and down while my arm flails, too weak to return it in kind. I’m not used to there being no fur rubbing back.

“Good,” he says, letting go and walking backwards to the flight controls, telegraphing his intentions. Rhapsody monitors his every step. “My name is Harriv. Venak is downstairs in the crew quarters, he’ll take care of you for now.”

Venak… That’s…

“Can I stay here?” I blurt out, shutting in the grief.

He stops and stares at me, glancing at the drone. “I’m uneasy about letting you stay in the cockpit, and you’re hurt,” he admits. Must’ve have seen the blood.

“Rhapsody won’t do anything,” I plead. I don’t want to see Venak. “I just want to live and make it to Tennya. I’ve got my own reg-accs–”

“Okay, okay,” he soothes, brows furling. “You can make yourself home in the corner. Please don’t make too much noise, I need to focus on flying. I’m going to spool the FORM drive now.”

I nod quickly, holding back more tears. He bends down and presses a button on the seat. A wet rumble begins to flow through the craft’s walls.

I’ve been so very lucky.

“One more thing,” he adds. “If not a pirate, then a Courier?”

“N-no,” I stutter, moving over to the corner of the bridge.

Not yet.