Valiant: Tales From The Drift

[Tails #8: Violation]

Log Date: 9/30/12763

Data Sources: Jazel Jaskolka; Lysanne Arrignis

Lysanne’s Notes

A Cyber is, by definition, a sentient intelligence that exists primarily in the context of a computerized or mechanical framework, either in part or in whole.

It’s a vague definition. Vague on purpose, because there’s almost no limit to the forms that a Cyber can take. At one point in the past, beyond the reach of recorded history, Cybers were thought of as digital intelligences packed into a humanoid chassis. But then that definition expanded to included DIs that existed on networks and had no physical form. Then it broadened to DIs that ran on drone networks, a form of life that had a single mind but many bodies. After that, it broadened to include cyborgs, creatures that were a mix of organic and mechanical — sometimes as a matter of choice, and sometimes as a matter of necessity. And in time, that definition evolved to include every form of life that relied on a mechanical or digitized element to survive — everything from wandering trashbots all the way up to sentient interstellar warships.

Ultimately, Cybers aren’t a species — they’re a form of life that encompasses many unique species within its broad parameters.

But because they’re a unique form of life — distinct, in many ways, from organic life — their place and roles within organic societies and cultures are complex and not always fully settled. Each society has a unique arc that it takes with Cybers, who typically evolve in tandem with the society that gave birth to them. Countless societies in the galaxy have given rise to many varieties of Cybers, and each one has an evolving relationship to these machines that were, in many cases, originally created to serve the societies they were born in. It is not always easy to be a Cyber in some societies that still struggle to see Cybers as living things to be respected and valued for more than just their utility, and in many places across the galaxy, Cybers are still feared, or not treated like equals.

Perhaps my conceit blinded me to it, but I hadn’t realized that the Dandelion Drift had slowly, quietly become one of those places.

Event Log: Lysanne Arrignis

Dandelion Drift: Common Room

1:32pm SGT

I’m sitting at the counter along the back wall of the common room when I hear the stool beside me being pulled out, and Milor sits down beside me.

“Don’t.” I begin without looking at him. “I’m not in the mood for your bullshit today—”

“I’m not here to mess with you.” he says, taking off his widebrimmed hat and setting it on the counter. “That whiskey ain’t gonna drink itself, blondie.”

I look at the glass of whiskey sitting in front of me, untouched, a single chilled stone sitting in the bottom of it. After a moment, I push it aside to him.

“She still givin’ you the cold shoulder?” he asks as he takes the glass.

“I told you I wasn’t in the mood for your bullshit today.”

“And I told you I wasn’t here to mess with you.” he says, sipping from the glass. “Tell me where we’re at with strawberry soda. I’ve given her space over the last few days because I figured you’d be patching things up, but if you’re just gonna sulk around, someone else needs to take the wheel.”

“Oh don’t even start that.” I say, disgusted. “Walking up in here all gruff and bossy, like you’re doing the rest of us a favor. You’re the one that created this mess in the first place, you think you’re earning points for doing something to fix it? That doesn’t put you ahead, that just breaks you even.”

“Look, I admitted it didn’t go the way I hoped it would.” Milor says defensively. “But it needed to happen — we didn’t have a choice after what happened with the Vaunted. Letting her continue to be that way would’ve been dangerous for all of us, and would eventually put her in a position she wouldn’t want to be in. The jailbreaking was unpleasant, and it wasn’t fair to her, but it needed to happen.”

“Did it really, Milor?” I demand, finally turning to look at him. “What’s the probability we would’ve found ourselves on the wrong side of the Vaunted again? Jazel and I are law-abiding citizens of the galaxy, and employees of CURSE. The Vaunted aren’t our enemies. They’re supposed to be our allies. Those compliance subroutines probably never would’ve kicked in again because Preservers don’t get into that kind of trouble.”

Milor snorts, shaking his head. “All that book learning ruins kids nowadays. Y’all learn everything but common sense in those fancy-schmancy schools they ship you off to.” Taking another sip from the glass, he sets it down. “Alright, try this one on for size. Even if she was never compelled to obey law enforcement again, we still owed it to her to take out the restrictions that CURSE put on her social and emotional systems. They hobbled her, blondie. CURSE wiped her memories, made a box for her, and shoved her into it. We owed it to her to open it for her and let her out again.”

“You don’t know that!” I snap. “Perhaps they wiped her memory for a reason. Perhaps there were unpleasant things that had happened to her that she wanted to forget. Perhaps she wanted a fresh start after the Challenger program collapsed. And for the strictures on her programming — CURSE probably put those in there for a reason. You see how she’s been over the last few days; she’s unstable! CURSE probably put in those restrictions to stabilize her, to keep her from being overwhelmed by her emotions.”

“CURSE this, CURSE that.” Milor mutters, rubbing his nose. “You seem to have a lot of faith in the goodwill of your employer.”

“And why shouldn’t I?” I demand. “CURSE does good things for the galaxy. The Peacekeepers are heroes, and CURSE’s science department works on breakthroughs that improve the lives of people across the galaxy.”

“And then they sell those breakthroughs to corporations that will monetize those discoveries and sell the product at a price point that will keep the people that actually need it, financially locked out of it.” Milor says, slamming the glass down. “How do you think CURSE pays for that army of operatives they have? They don’t get funding from any nation or government. They keep themselves afloat by selling off technology and knowledge that ought to belong to the people, and by selling off the secrets of stolen Challenger tech.”

“So oh, what, the Challengers were any better?” I shoot back. “Where did the Challengers get their financing from? Selling out to corps by taking sponsorship deals and using their popularity to get people to buy some other company’s product. At least CURSE is actually paying their bills with honest work!”

“That’s what you call honest work?!” Milor snaps, then throws up his hands. “Forget this. This isn’t even what we were talkin’ about. We’re here about Dandy, not to argue about CURSE and the Challengers. Are you gonna talk to her or what?”

“I already tried. And even if I tried again, what would I say?” I say helplessly. “I already tried explaining to her the reasons why we did it, even though it’s hard to justify when I see what it’s done to her. It doesn’t make her feel any better, and she just tells me to go away when I try to start the conversation again.”

Milor drags his fingers along his glass of whiskey as he listens. “What’s she said in those conversations so far?”

“I mean, she hasn’t said much of anything, except to tell me to go away.” I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “Whenever I start talking, she just… shuts down. Not in the literal sense, but in the emotional sense. We need to have the conversation, but she doesn’t want to have it.”

“So you’re the one that’s doing most of the talking.” Milor surmises.

“There’s not much talking happening, because like I said, she doesn’t want to talk.” I point out. “And I can’t… I don’t…. there’s nothing I can do about that. If she doesn’t want to talk, she doesn’t want to talk.”

“I don’t think that’s true, though.” Milor says, finishing the rest of the whiskey. “I think she does wanna talk.”

“Oh really.” I say, turning to face him. “And what would you know about that.”

“Look, blondie, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’ve got ten years on you.” Milor says, standing up and walking around the counter so he can start digging in the liquor cabinet. “I ain’t the sharpest tool in the shed — I’ll readily admit that — but I’ve tended a lot of gardens. And what I know is that when someone has hurt you, what you want to do is let the other person know that.”

“Yeah, I… suppose that’s true.” I admit quietly, ignoring the urge to call him out for pulling the age card. “I guess that makes sense.”

“I know, right? Common sense. Book learnin’ can’t give that to you.” Pulling the Venusian whiskey off the shelf, he grabs the whiskey glass and pulls the stone out of it, tossing it in the sink. “Now, I’m not familiar with Cybers. I don’t know the damnedest thing about how their electronic brains work. But, what I do know is that many free-will Cybers are designed to imitate organic emotions and minds. If Dandy’s anything like that — and I’m pretty sure she is, since she’s a Challenger adjutant — then she has organic emotions and feelings, or something similar to it.”

“She does. Have feelings like us.” I say, watching as he pours the glass. “She feels the things we do, just not as intensely as we do. Well, at least before this.”

Capping the bottle, he sets it to the side as he opens the freezer. “You said you tried to explain our reasons to her, but honestly? I don’t think she cares about that right now. What she cares about is that we did something that hurt her. She doesn’t care about the reasons for it. What matters to her is that she was hurt, and we were the ones that hurt her.” Turning about, he drops a fresh stone in the glass, and slides it across the counter to me. “So instead of trying to talk to her, perhaps you should listen to her first.”

I stare at the glass. “You expect me to drink out of that after you drank out of it?”

Milor gives me an incredulous look. “Seriously? I put a fresh stone in it and everything!”

“I ain’t gonna drink out of the same glass you drank out of!” I protest, pushing the glass back across the counter to him. “That’s married territory. I ain’t swappin’ spit with you over a whiskey glass.”

“Unbelievable. Well, I ain’t gonna let this go to waste.” Milor says, shaking his head as he picks up the glass and sips from it. “Anyway, like I was saying. What I think Dandy needs right now is for someone to listen to her. She needs to feel like she’s being heard. That’s the first step towards healing.”

“If you’re such a wise guy, why don’t you go listen to her?” I say, throwing a hand at him. “You’re the one that talked me into this in the first place!”

“I am. Much of this is my fault.” he admits. “But Dandy doesn’t need me to listen to her. I don’t mean much of anything to her. She needs the people that are important to her to listen to her, and that’s you and Jazel. You more than Jazel.”

I sigh, looking away. “Fine. I’ll… give it another try. Tonight, or maybe tomorrow, after I’ve had some time to sleep on it.”

“Don’t wait too long.” Milor warns over the rim of the glass. “The longer you leave it, the longer she has to soak in her anger. If you leave it alone, it festers, starts to turn into dark thoughts and paranoia. Speakin’ from personal experience here.”

“Yeah.” I say quietly. “Yeah, I know. I’ve been there before.”

“Good.” he says, nodding into another sip from the glass. For a few moments, we just linger there in our silence, the conversation having stalled out; eventually, Milor jumpstarts it again. “You want me to keep an eye on the kid while you’re getting Dandy sorted out?”

I look up at him. “Jazel? Yeah, if you could… check up on him, see what he’s managed to find out about that knife, that would be great. I should be the one doing it, but I just can’t focus with Dandy the way she is right now.” I reach up, rubbing my arm as I grimace. “I feel guilty about it. I really should be helping him after the attack. If I were him, I’d want answers too.”

“One crisis at a time, blondie.” Milor says, swirling his glass around. “You can’t fix everything on your own, so you focus on Dandy, and I’ll take care of the kid. Seems like he’s handling his trauma better than Dandy’s handling hers, anyhow.”

“Well that’s good to hear, at least.” After a moment, I push back from the counter, sliding off my stool. “I think I’m going to go take a nap, recharge for a bit. After that I’ll try to see if I can find Dandy and sit down with her again.”

“Sounds good.” Milor says lifting his glass in farewell. “I’ll see about checkin’ in with the kid.”

I give him a wordless nod, then step through the door and start the long walk back to my room.

Event Log: Jazel Jaskolka

Dandelion Drift: Lab 2

11:11pm SGT

You can do, you can say the things, that we can’t.

Milor’s words rattle around in my head as I lean back in my chair, trying to ease the tension in my shoulders. He’d visited the lab earlier and tried to talk me into talking to Dandy, which honestly wasn’t something I’d wanted to do. My relationship with Dandy is strictly work-related; she’s never shown interest in my emotions, and I’ve never shown interest in hers. There’s a certain distance between the two of us that we’re comfortable with — anything closer than that would be strange for both of us.

Sighing, I lean forward again and run my hands through my hair. I really wanted to tell myself this wasn’t my problem, because honestly it wasn’t. I didn’t even know what Lysanne or Milor were planning on doing while I was at the specimen exchange. I hadn’t even known that Dandy was that much of a threat to us. So when Milor brought me back to the ship, this whole situation with Dandy getting jailbroken, then having an emotional breakdown, came out of left field for me. It took a couple conversations with Milor and Lysanne before I really understood the depth of the issue.

Besides, I had my own problems to deal with. Like barely managing to escape from Grimes and his elf gang after getting stabbed with a soul-stealing weapon. Twice.

Still, even if I don’t care about Dandy’s problem as much as I do about mine, I should still do something about it, because it matters to Lysanne, and Lysanne is my best friend. I don’t even know what I’ll say to Dandy, but Milor asked me to try. He made it clear he wasn’t expecting me to fix everything — just create an opening that would give Lysanne a chance to get her foot in the door and take over from there. As requests went, that didn’t seem unreasonable. I’d do a little bit of the work, and Lysanne could take care of the rest.

But that was something for tomorrow. Tonight, I’d burned myself out on researching the knife I’d snatched from Grimes and his gang; I’d spent the last two days trying to figure out what it was and how it worked. I’d managed to narrow down what it could be, but I was still stuck on where it came from, and how to get the chunk of my soul out of it. Pushing back from the work desk that I’m sitting at, I stand up, dragging a finger across the glass to dim the lights in the lab. It’s getting close to midnight, and I think it’s time to throw in the towel, get some rest, and start fresh tomorrow.

When I turn to leave, though, I nearly run into a dark outline that was standing right behind me.

My pulse shoots up as a jolt of adrenaline goes through me, and I retreat a couple steps on reflex, backing up against the desk I just pushed away from. I raise a hand to cover my heart, which is pounding, as I recognize the silver tails and the august eyes. “Maugrimm have mercy, Kayenta. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

She tilts her head, then moves forward, closing the gap that had formed when I’d stepped back. Leaning down, she lifts my hand away from chest and places one of her large silver fox ears to my chest; I blink and hold very still. “Your heart is beating very fast, but I don’t think it’s attacking you.” she observes after a moment.

I’m dumbfounded. “Oh, no, it’s an… expression for cardiac arrest.” I say after a moment. “Like when you scare old people, sometimes it sends them into cardiac arrest…” I peter off at that point and stop trying to explain. If she’s never heard of a heart attack before, I’m pretty sure she has no idea what cardiac arrest is.

“You are strange.” she says, taking her head off my chest and straightening up again. “Have you found something to sate my hunger yet?”

I feel my heart jump into my throat — another expression she wouldn’t understand. But I know what her question is a prelude to: she’s ready to feed. “Actually! I discovered something that I think will help with that!” I say, sliding along the desk to move around her, towards the console in the middle of the room. The combat knife that I snatched from Grimes is hanging above it in a suspension field, where I could subject it to scans and tests. Reaching in, I pull it out and show it to her. “It… siphons off souls, I believe. Whenever you stab someone with it. I got stabbed twice, once with this weapon, once with another one.”

She’s followed me, ears tilted forward in curiosity; when I turn around with the knife, she peers at it, then reaches up and takes it from my hands, looking it over. “Where did you get this from?” she demands, running one of her nails along the glowing groove in the middle of the blade.

“From the last world we visited.” I say, tucking my hands in my pockets. “A man I met on Vissengard, and a gang of elves, tracked me down and stabbed me with it. I think they thought it would kill me.”

“It could kill an ordinary person, if you struck them enough times.” she says, sniffing at the handle. “The magic used to enchant this blade is ancient, a lost discipline. It comes from the old world of my people, created in the aftermath of the Void Wars and during the years of the Viscori Plague.”

I stare at her. “…how do you know all that? I’ve spent the last two days just trying to narrow down what region of the galaxy it would’ve come from…”

“I can sense it.” she answers, tapping her fingertip against the blade’s point. “I carry the history of my people within me; it is a gift from my parents. But a weapon like this should not exist. They were outlawed over a hundred and fifty centuries ago, and knowledge of how to create them was lost.”

I bite my lip. “Well… it exists now. And it could help us.”

Her august eyes flick up to me. “How so? I can extract the soul from this knife, but the soul still has to come from a living creature. You wanted to find a way to feed me that did not involve killing or harming others, correct?”

She makes a good point with that. The knife represents another way to harvest soul, but it still has to be used on a victim, harming or killing them in the process. It’s not really a fix, just another way of doing what she can already do. “It’s something more than I had before. It might be useful later, even though it doesn’t solve what we need it to solve.”

“Perhaps.” she says, lowering the knife as she stares at me. “But until then…”

I fight the urge to back away again. “You’ve got a knife full of my soul that you can feast on right there.” I point out, nodding down to the knife.

She looks down at the knife, then draws her nails along the flat of its blade. The viridian incandescence comes leaking out of the metal, curling around her fingers in smoky little swirls; but rather than eating it, she turns and walks over to the terrarium where I’m keeping the spirit blooms. “I don’t want to get my food from a knife.” she says, unlatching the lid, shaking the cloud of soul off her fingers and into the terrarium, and closing the lid once more. “I prefer to feed on living things.”

“I mean, does it really matter where you get it from?” I ask, even though I know it’s probably not a wise question to ask. “In the end, it’s the same result, and it’s all going to the same place, right? You don’t really need to get it from a live source.”

“I don’t really need to. But I want to.” she says, heading back to the center console and placing the knife back in the suspension field, then moving towards me. I try to hold my ground, but I can’t help taking a step back every time she closes within a couple feet of me, speaking as she goes. “A knife doesn’t breathe. It doesn’t shiver or shudder when you touch it. It isn’t soft and warm, like a living creature.”

Those velvet words set the hairs on the back of my neck rising as I look around to find that I’ve got my back to the wall. I start to scoot to the side, trying to sidestep out of the way again, but one of Kayenta’s hands slams into the wall beside my head, effectively barring the way. By the time I look to the other side, she’s already put her other hand against the wall on that side as well.

Trapped, yet again. How does this keep happening? Or better yet, why do I keep letting this happen? This is stupid. I should not be this stupid.

“Well, little feast?” she asks, her august eyes glowing in the dim light. “Am I right? It’s much better to get your food from a living thing, rather than a knife, is it not?”

I know where this is going. And no matter which way I answer, it’s not going to change the outcome. So rather than just sit there and let myself be preyed on, I decide to push off the wall and play the game, leaning in and ambushing her with a kiss.

There’s an instant of shock in those august eyes, before her hands come off the wall and plant on my shoulders, slamming me back against the wall and shoving me down until I’m sitting on the floor.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve.” she hisses, still leaning her weight on my shoulders. I can tell that she’s furious by how her nails are digging into my shirt and how her teeth are bared, but my head’s buzzing with a defiant, euphoric rush. “Try that again and I’ll—”

I don’t even wait for her to finish. Putting my hands against the floor, I shove myself up far enough to nip her bottom lip while she’s threatening me.

She lets out a sharp little cry of surprise, morphing into furious snarl. Shoving me back down, her hands wrap around my neck, thumbs planted underneath my jaw and tilting my head back — the same hold she’d used when she pinned me back on her island. Knowing what’s coming, I reach up and grab her face as right as she’s lunging down towards me.

“Get your filthy hands off me, you mewling kit!” she snarls. I can only see one of her august eyes through my fingers gripping her face, but it’s burning with rage and hunger as she strains her face downwards against my hand. “You are breaking our pact!”

“I didn’t break anything. I offered you a portion of my soul and you chose not to take it because you’re a picky eater.” I grunt, struggling against her inhuman strength. “Besides, it’s impolite to play with your food.”

“Insolent little—!” she hisses. “I’m going to teach you a lesson.”

One of her hands leaves my neck, knocking aside the hand I’ve got on her face. Rather than lunging down again, she yanks me towards her, crushing her mouth against mine as she wraps her arms around my head in a skull hug. I squirm in the embrace, but there’s no way to get free, and she’s breathing in, pulling the air out of my lungs.

It probably wasn’t a good idea to piss her off this much.

I can feel my soul start to follow my breath out of my body again, and I’m not sure how much she’s planning to take, but I can’t let her take too much. I need to get her off me, but I can’t reach her tails from here. Pushing on her shoulders won’t do much good, and yanking on her hair seems undignified.

Then I remember her ears.

Reaching up, I grab both of her fuzzy ears and yank them backward as I start to get dizzy from the lack of air. That definitely hits a nerve; her arms unwrap from around my head, her hands slapping to the ground on either side of me as she jerks her head away from my hands with a pained yowl. The stream of green mist she’d been sucking out of me snaps and retreats back into my mouth as I fall back on the ground, gasping for breath. I only have a few seconds to recover before a hand wraps around my throat again, and I feel teeth bite down on the right side of my neck. I let out a choking sound, scrabbling at the ground, but the teeth just dig in harder, though not as hard as they could. It’s a warning.

I go still as I can, aside from gasping for breath.

“Oh no, please.” Kayenta whispers, a low growl rumbling in her chest and her breath hot against my neck. “Keep squirming.”

Part of me wants to obey. Another part of me is telling me not to escalate this further, to play dead. The second part wins out, and I stay still, but the first part keeps egging me on from the part of my brain that lacks a self-preservation instinct.

“What’s wrong, little feast?” she challenges. “Did you remember how weak you are?”

“I have a name.” I blurt out. “Jazel.”

She doesn’t move or respond. I remain still, staring at the shadows on the ceiling, feeling her breath rush over my neck every few seconds. When she does finally move again, it’s to shift forward a little, her bloodied lips brushing over my ear.

“Don’t touch my ears without permission again, Jazel.”

With that, she pushes away from me, standing up and wiping the back of her hand across her bloody mouth. Turning away with a swirl of her voluminous tails, she stalks off through the dimmed lab, and is gone in little more than a few moments. I let out the breath I’d been holding, and touch a hand to my neck; though damp with blood, the bleeding isn’t profuse. It seems like she avoided hitting an artery on purpose. Laying my head back against the floor, I blow out a long sigh.

Should probably ask permission before grabbing her ears next time.

Dan Splainsworthy’s Encyclopedia of Sentient Galactic Species

Morphox

Hailing from the Rantecevang Diaspora, morphoxes are, like many other Rantecevangian species, recent additions to the space-capable races of the galaxy. They are typically not quite as well-known outside of the Ranter colonies, owing to their low population quotient and their tendency to remain within Ranter communities. Within these communities, however, morphoxes are quite well known, with many members of their race having a prominent place in the myths and the legends of Rantecevang.

While morphoxes are technically members of the Rantecevangian vashaya’rei — arcane human-animal hybrids which possess some animal traits and biology — there are a number of traits that morphoxes possess which set them apart from other vashaya’rei. The first and most commonly witnessed is the ability of a morphox to fully transform into a fox, lending them their name. The second is their ability to extract souls from living beings and consume them, lengthening their lifespan and inducing the growth of additional tails in proportion with the amount of soul consumed.

Within Ranter colonies, and especially within vashaya’rei communities, morphoxes hold considerable cultural clout. In the ancient days of Rantecevang, morphoxes were frequently the pillars of vashaya’rei villages and communities, serving as leaders, healers, defenders, or spiritual guides. Fables and parables about morphoxes abounded both inside and out of vashaya’rei communities, with many myths serving as warnings about morphoxes that abused their powers and stole souls from those they tricked or lured into the woods. Today, those myths still circulate within Rantecevang communities, though the stories are thought to have changed emphasis to focus more on the moral aspects, warning about the dangers of particular vices, rather than warning about morphoxes in particular.

In the modern era, morphoxes participate in communities and the galaxy much the same as other races do. A survey of morphox employment shows broad distribution across most employment sectors, with a slight overrepresentation in the entertainment and arts industries. Morphoxes also contend with certain stereotypes perpetuated by the way that many morphoxes are portrayed in common mythology; particularly the perception that morphoxes are uniformly mischievous, manipulative, and sexual creatures. This stands in contrast to how morphoxes view themselves — many morphoxes reflect on the fact that they were once the pillars of vashaya’rei communities, and those that serve their communities in the modern day find pride and dignity in doing so.

One notable difference between ancient morphox culture and modern morphox culture is that it is no longer acceptable, in most cases, for morphoxes to consume the souls of other creatures. As a result, the majority of morphoxes possess only a single tail and a normal lifespan. Those that do possess more than a single tail typically do not discuss how they acquired them, as it is viewed as a deeply personal matter, sometimes involving the death of a partner or a loved one. While it is acceptable for a morphox to have multiple tails, there is an unspoken rule in the morphox community that more than three tails is taboo; morphoxes with more than three tails are suspected of abusing their powers rather than using them to alleviate the suffering of those who are dying…

Event Log: Jazel Jaskolka

Dandelion Drift: Biosphere Access Deck

10/1/12763 11:08am SGT

The next morning, I wake up way late, since the encounter with Kayenta the night before had worn me out. The bite mark on my neck ached, but that wasn’t the worst part of it; I felt exhausted and fatigued even after ten hours of sleep. I’m pretty sure it had something to do with Kayenta nibbling on my soul; even if she’d only taken a fraction of it, I could feel the effects. They weren’t as severe as when she sucked the whole thing out back on Vissengard — I’d basically ended up hospitalized after that — but even just having a chip nibbled off the edges was enough to knock the rest of my body out of sync for a while.

So here I was, walking the access deck on my way to the temperate biosphere. Whenever I was out of sorts, I found that visiting Ravoc and taking nap with the vorcruelians helped put me back in balance. I don’t know what it was, but there was just something about lying in a field among them that was refreshing and renewing. It felt like realigning myself with nature, hitting a reset button of sorts.

Before I manage to reach the biosphere’s access point, I spot Dandy sitting on one of the benches that are placed at intervals along the access deck. I slow down, remembering what Milor had asked me to do; there’s a part of me that doesn’t actually want to do it because I’m still feeling like crap from last night. But she’s here, and Milor had said it was time-sensitive, so after a moment to mentally brace myself, I switch directions and move towards her.

She looks up as I get closer. I can tell something’s different right away; nothing about her has changed, but everything about her is more expressive. It’s hard to describe, but Dandy’s expressions were often muted before she was jailbroken: she didn’t show much emotion, and often had no emotive reaction to things unless they were outrageous. But she’s different now; she reads like a book. Her eyebrows draw together on seeing me, and her fingers curl around the edge of the bench’s seat, as if she was tensing up; wanting me to go away, but too polite to actually say it.

“Did you need assistance with something, Mr. Jaskolka?” she asks stiffly.

I sit down on the bench, but not right next to her. About five feet away, to respect that distance that’s always been between us. “I think you should talk to Lysanne.” I say awkwardly, not sure of how else to phrase it. I’m not good at interpersonal conflicts like this.

Dandy starts to get up. “I am not interested in talking to Ms. Arrignis right now.”

“Wait, wait wait wait.” I say, holding out a hand. “Milor talked to her, and he, uh. I guess he set her straight, or something. I think you should try talking to her again.”

She just gives me a disdainful look, and keeps walking.

“Dandy!” I call, getting up off the bench. “You like Lysanne, don’t you?”

When she doesn’t stop walking, I starting running after her. “Hey! Don’t ignore me! Answer the question, Dandy!”

“Leave me alone!” she snaps without looking back.

I run past her, then stop, standing in her way with my arms outstretched to block the path forward. Even though she could easily just walk around me. “You like Lysanne, don’t you? That’s why you’re so angry at her. When you like someone, you trust them. And it feels like she betrayed you, and that hurts.”

Dandy’s fingers curl into fists as she stops walking. “This is none of your business.”

“Yeah, well Milor asked me to do something about it anyway.” I say, not moving. “Lysanne wants to talk to you. And you like her, so I know you don’t like being angry at her, but if you don’t talk to her, you’re just going to keep being angry at her. So if you don’t want to be angry at her, you need to go talk to her. She’ll listen. You know she will.”

Dandy seems to consider that, her brilliant blue eyes flitting away to focus on the floor, as if she was thinking about it, trying to make sense of it.

“You need to go talk to her, Dandy.” I go on. “Look it up on the galaxynet. I’m sure you can find a few texts on relationships. You can’t solve anything by avoiding her. If you don’t talk to her, you’re just going to stay angry and hurt.”

She folds her arms, although the motion almost seems more like she’s hugging herself, by the way she hunches her shoulders ever so slightly. “What do I say to her?”

The question takes me off guard. Dandy has never asked me for advice, never would ask me for advice. Not like this, not for a personal matter, not for her own sake. I didn’t even know she was capable of having personal matters; I thought that her dedication to the ship and its mission meant the exclusion of personal matters.

That jailbreaking really must’ve changed her.

“I… I don’t know.” I say, letting my arms drop, now that I’m no longer worried about her trying to get around me. “Just… go talk to her. Start there and figure it out as you go. It’s better than just avoiding her.”

It takes her a moment to process that, and she nods. “Okay.” she says quietly. “Okay. I’ll go do that.” With that, she turns around and starts walking back in the other direction.

“Dandy?” I call. “Like… give her a text or something beforehand. So she knows you’re coming, and you’re ready to talk. So she’s ready for it, ready to talk, y’know.”

She looks over her shoulder, gives a wordless nod, and keeps walking.

I huff out a breath as she heads away. After a moment, I turn and look at the biosphere, slowly revolving in its housing in the center of the ship. I almost want to follow along, to spy on them and see how that talk goes. But that’d be nosy, and watching the two of them hash it out would require more emotional energy than I’ve got right now. Last night showed I had problems of my own, and I should focus on those instead.

Turning about, I start walking again, determined to get a nice nap in a field of tall grass and cat dragons.

Lysanne’s Notes

There are many different kinds of Cybers.

It depends, largely, on what society they come from. Some societies that are more advanced or progressive have laws in place that require Cybers to be designed in such a way that they are not locked into a single purpose or role for the duration of their existence. These societies typically require that there is an element of free will programmed into these Cybers as well, and also mandate certain inherent rights for Cyber citizens.

Other societies, ones that are not as progressive or advanced, usually have no such protections in place for their Cybers. Some of these societies view Cybers as servants to society, rather than equals and participants in it. For these Cybers, their bodies are often designed with a single role in mind, and their programs are written in a way that doesn’t allow transference between Cyber frames. It’s not uncommon for these types of Cybers to also be bound by restricting directives that reinforce their subclass in such a society, and for these Cybers, free will is a privilege, rather than a right.

The treatment of Cybers is a nuanced issue, though. Societies don’t usually exist on the extremes of good and bad; they fall somewhere on a sliding spectrum of positive or negative treatment. Some societies don’t have Cyber rights enshrined in law, but they are assumed by the population; other societies have Cyber rights enshrined in law, but Cybers still face discrimination for some reason or another.

But generally speaking, Cybers deserve to be treated like people, just like organics, which is why this issue with Dandy is so confusing to me. CURSE supports societies that advance Cyber rights, and speaks out in support of Cyber emancipation in the systems that still treat them like second-class citizens. To find that CURSE had restricted major areas of Dandy’s programming — the parts that made her more like a person, that allowed her to feel and connect and relate to people — goes against what CURSE claims to support. It’s like they’re preaching one thing, but practicing another.

And for Milor and myself… well, what right did we have to revert those changes without Dandy’s permission? On one hand, if we respected her, and her free will, we should’ve asked her. But on the other hand, did she really have free will? Would CURSE’s subroutines even have allowed her to say yes to those changes? It’s the question that I’ve been grappling with for the last three days, wondering if we made the right choice. I’m not even sure there was a right choice, in a situation like this.

Whatever the case, we’d made a choice, and now we had to deal with the consequences. Right or wrong, we needed to do what we could to make it better, and try to make the right choices moving forward.

And hopefully, now that Dandy truly had her free will, we could make those decisions as equals going forward.

Event Log: Lysanne Arrignis

Dandelion Drift: Common Room

4:07pm SGT

When Dandy arrives in the common room, I’m standing by the window wall, staring through it at the biosphere, slowly revolving in its housing.

The sound of the door opening draws my attention; I turn to see Dandy standing there in her adjutant’s uniform, as usual. She looks uncomfortable, which is something she never would’ve demonstrated before the jailbreaking. I’m not even sure she was capable of being uncomfortable before the jailbreaking; but now it shows in all the little things.

Before she would’ve been looking directly at me; now she refuses to make eye contact, instead staring at the window beside me. Before she would’ve started the conversation right away and gotten right to the point; now she’s waiting for me to be the one to start the conversation, as if she was unsure of what to say. Before she would’ve stood with a stiff, practical posture, with almost no body language; now she fidgets while she tries to stand at attention, little twitches and motions that indicate she’s uneasy.

It’s still the same Dandy, same clothes, same hair, same eyes, but it’s a thousand little things that have made her a completely different individual now. She doesn’t look any different, and yet I can tell she’s changed. And I didn’t know I knew her this well until just now, when I was starting to realize I could tell she was a different person.

“Hey.” I start weakly. Our last couple of conversations hadn’t gone too well, so I wanted to start carefully with this one. “Thanks for coming.”

“Jazel said you wanted to talk with me.” she says, her eyes darting to me and darting away again.

“He did?” I say, surprised at that. “How did he—”

“He has a bite mark on the side of his neck.” Dandy blurts out. “He tried to sit to the side of me so I wouldn’t notice, but I was able to catch a glimpse of it. It appears to be recent, and while not lethal, it appeared to be quite rough, more than one would expect of consensual biting. Based on the most prominent punctuation marks and their spacing on his neck, I believe the responsible party had pronounced canid incisors, which fits the dental profile expected of the morphox.”

I just stand there, mouth hanging slightly open at the deluge of information Dandy’s dumped on me. It takes me a moment to realize this is her version of a topic deflection — she’s throwing information at me, hoping it will turn my attention to something else.

“Alright.” I say after a moment. “I’ll look into it later. I’m sure he’ll have a good explanation for it.” I motion to the couch. “I wanted to talk to you about the… the jailbreaking. Actually, I… I realized that I’ve been trying to tell you our reasons for it, but I wasn’t bothering to listen to how you felt about that. So I wanted to, uh. Listen… well no. I wanted to ask you how you felt about it. And listen to what you have to say.”

Dandy’s eyes flit to the couch, then back up to me, and she edges forward a little towards the couch. “You want me to… talk to you?”

“Yeah.” I say, coming to stand next to the coffee table. “Whatever you want to say, whatever you want to tell me. How you feel, or what you want us to do, or what you think we should’ve done. You can say what you want. I’ll listen.”

She stops trying to hold her posture, her fingers curling into her uniform as her brilliant blue eyes dart around, unpacking everything she’s held down. “You… you all changed me. You, you… you turned me into something I didn’t ask to be.” Her skittishness is starting to evaporate as all the emotions she’s locked up come rushing back. I can see her shoulders starting to rise and fall with artificial breathing as her words come faster and more forceful, accusatory and angry. “You, you, you got into my head and, and, and you remade me. You just, you moved things around and yanked things out and changed things like you had a right to it, like I was just, just some machine that you could customize to fit your needs. You violated me.”

Those last words sting. They sting because I know they’re true, and I could see it from Dandy’s perspective now, realizing that we were treating her like a thing and not a person. A thing that we could just modify as if she was property that belonged to us.

“We did.” I admit quietly. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s like— it’s like— why did you do it?” she demands. Gone is the smooth, even enunciation she’s always had; I’ve noticed that in her anger, she’s started stuttering and repeating words, little verbal hiccups that show how distraught she is. “I… I’ve always tried to do my job to the best of my ability, and meet the expectations set for me. I was tasked with your protection, and the protection of everyone aboard this ship, and— and that is the reason I exist; it is my duty, my purpose, and I try… I try really hard to…”

“I know.” I say softly as the resentment and anger in her voice starts to morph into something else, something uncertain and pained. She’s come around the couch, standing at its corner now; fingers still curled into the hem of her shirt, anxious and tense as she stares at me, begging answers.

“Was it something I did?” she asks. “Did I do something wrong?”

I blink. “What? No! It’s not that…”

“Can you not trust me?” she demands, but those brilliant blue eyes are no longer angry. They’re big and sad, grieving and confused. “Was I— was I not working hard enough? I can try to work harder…”

“Dandy, no, it’s not that at all!” I say, moving towards her. “It’s not that at all…”

“I tried, I really did, I tried!” she says desperately. “I couldn’t disobey the orders from the Vaunted, but I tried, I really did! I tried to protect you all! I couldn’t— I didn’t have a choice, it wouldn’t let me, but I tried! Please don’t get rid of me!”

I close the distance between us, taking her by the shoulders. “Why would you say that? We’re not going to get rid of you.”

Tears well up in those sad blue eyes as she stares at me. “Then why did you all change me? Was I not good enough? I tried my hardest, I promise…”

I stare at her a moment, then pull her into a tight hug.

“I know.” I whisper, blinking away some of the tears in my eyes. “I know you did.”

She just stands there for a moment. Then she slowly lifts her arms and wraps them around me, letting off a soft, mournful wail as her tears start dripping onto my shoulder. “Then why did you change me?”

“We did something to you we shouldn’t have.” I choke past the lump in my throat. “We were uncertain and scared, but we should’ve asked you. It was wrong of us to do what we did to you, especially after everything you’ve done for us.”

“I tried my hardest, I promise…” she sobs into my shoulder, still clinging to me.

“I know you did.” I say again, my voice thick with emotion. Reaching up, I wipe my eyes, then place a hand on the back of Dandy’s head, gently stroking her scarlet hair. “I know you did. We all know you did. You didn’t do anything wrong, Dandy. You only did what CURSE programmed you to do. That’s not your fault.” I squeeze her a little tighter. “It’s not that you’re not good enough. You are more than good enough for us. You have always taken care of us, on our good days and on our bad days both. We are not going to get rid of you, because there isn’t anyone out there that could replace you.”

Her embrace tightens. “I was scared you’d get rid of me.” she whimpers. “This ship is all I’ve ever known, and I didn’t want to lose you all.”

“We are not going to get rid of you.” I repeat, still holding her tight. “I promise.”

“Okay.” she whispers. “I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from the Vaunted.”

“It’s okay.” I murmur. “You did your best.”

We stand there in silence, and I gently rock her from side to side as her artificial breathing slowly calms. She has no need to oxygenate the way organics do, so the breathing is solely a measure of her psychological state. I don’t let go of her, and she doesn’t let go of me; as I wait for her to calm down, I idly marvel in how soft, how human she seems. I’d never really had a reason to touch Dandy before, not like this. I’d expected it would be stilted; that I’d be able to feel the rigid crysteel-alloy skeleton beneath the superdense silicon-based skin and muscle. I didn’t think the exterior would be able to hide the machine beneath.

But she’s soft, and so much more human than I expected.

Lysanne Notes

One fear that most Cybers share is the fear of obsolescence.

It’s similar to the fear of dying that many organics have. Most organic species are condemned to age, their bodies slowly accumulating wear and tear until they experience critical failure and they die. In that respect, Cybers really aren’t too different from us — a Cyber’s systems will eventually wear down over time and break, and if they don’t conduct regular maintenance, those breakages will eventually pile up until they result in a system failure.

But the fear of obsolescence is a little more than just the fear of death. For Cybers, it’s the fear of being replaced by younger, newer models that are optimized do things better and more efficiently than the previous generation. It’s typically not the hardware that’s the issue, since many Cybers can seamlessly transfer into a new frame with a little effort, or upgrade physical parts and components with enough financial investment. It’s the software, the thing that makes up the soul and the mind of a Cyber, that can’t be upgraded so easily.

Most of this is due in part to the dynamic nature of sentient machines. They’re so complex, and often so unique, that it’s often impossible to write a patch or an update that would apply to more than just a single free-will Cyber. Such adjustments are often highly individualized, and can carry risks and unintended consequences for tampering with a continuously-evolving, highly complex system. Once they pass a certain mental age, it’s safer to just leave a Cyber’s software alone, and focus on physical upgrades.

This means, however, that newer generations of Cybers often have software more advanced or optimized than previous generations of Cybers. Though it doesn’t always mean that older Cybers are phased out right away, it does mean that with each new generation of Cybers, older Cybers are more likely to fall further behind the operating curve if they don’t make certain sacrifices to upgrade their OS. Those Cybers that choose not to make those sacrifices, or simply can’t afford to, usually end up being replaced or passed over in favor of newer Cybers that can perform their tasks more efficiently. Obsolescence is a slow death — one that every Cyber dreads, as their perceived utility to society declines, and they are slowly replaced, forgotten by the next new thing.

And in that context, Dandy’s fear that we would get rid of her makes sense.

But she’s so much more than just a machine or a part that needs to be replaced when it gets old or stops working the way it should. She’s a person, a living thing, just like so many other Cybers that have memories and feelings but may not match up to the specs of the latest models to roll out of the Cyber factories. She’s unique because of her memories and the relationships she has with us, and that’s not something that can be replaced.

And it’s not something I would want to replace.

Event Log: Jazel Jaskolka

Dandelion Drift: Common Room

9:26pm SGT

Though I know I should be taking an early night, given the circumstances of the previous night, I find myself back at work again, this time trying to learn more about the knife that Kayenta seemed to know about instinctually.

Seated at the bar counter, I rub an eye as I continue reading through a piecemeal history of Rantecevang’s Void Wars. Given that they happened over fifteen thousand years ago and before the Great War, that history is patchy and not quite complete. Even so, there’s a lot to go through — Rantecevang has a long and incredibly diverse history.

The sound of one of the doors opening draws my attention to the side, and I see Milor stepping in. Going back to my data slate, I pick up my glass and sip from it as I try to find where I was reading in the previous paragraph. I’m hoping that the appearance of being occupied will send the hint that I don’t want to be bothered right now — after yesterday’s encounter with Kayenta, I just want some peace and quiet for a bit.

It seems to work; Milor glances at me, but doesn’t say anything as he pulls open the liquor cabinet and starts putting together a drink for himself. Minutes pass as he mixes his drink, then comes around the counter, sitting a couple stools down from me and leaning back on the counter as he sips from his glass. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him look at me, then look away again.

“So, she’s a biter, huh?” he remarks, breaking the silence.

I freeze, then pull up the collar of my shirt a little to hide my neck even as I feel heat rising to my face.

“Had a girlfriend like that once.” Milor remarks, sipping from his glass. “She was a vamp. Summer fling. Six weeks of my life I definitely won’t forget.” He nods to himself as he reminisces, then reaches into his jacket and pulls out his toothpick. “Did you bite her back?”

I almost deny the question on reflex, but then I remember how I’d lunged up and nipped Kayenta’s lip after she shoved me down. “Y’know, I think it’s my bedtime.” I mumble, sliding off the stool as more heat rises along the back of my neck.

“What? Nah. Now yer just teasin’ me.” Milor says as I gather up my slate. “C’mon, spill. You can’t just walk around with a hickey the size of a small moon and not expect the rest of us to be curious!”

“Nope nope nope nope!” I say, hurrying away with my slate clutched to my chest. “It’s nothing! Nothing happened! You didn’t see anything!”

“C’mahn, kid! You’re just going to leave me out in the cold like that?” Milor calls as I rush through the door. “I’ve got a few guidebooks on how to flirt with vixens, if you’re interested!”

I pause in the hallway, then stick my head back through the doorway, staring suspiciously at him. “You what.”

He smirks, sticking the toothpick in his mouth. “I’ve dated hybrids before. Just because I’m a frontier boy doesn’t mean I’ll turn down some fluffy tail.”

I scowl at him. “That’s crass, and Lysanne would disapprove.” I declare, retreating back into the hall. I get about fifteen steps into it before I sigh, then turn around and run back to the common room, sticking my head back through the doorway. “…what kind of guidebooks?”

Milor grins, patting the stool beside him as he pulls his phone out of his jacket. “Come take a seat. I can tell you’re a rook on the dating scene, and you’re gonna need a wingman to pull this off.”

“Hmph.” I say doubtfully, stepping back into the common room and taking a seat beside Milor. “I don’t need any help. I’m just humoring you, so you feel useful.”

“Yeah, you keep telling yourself that, boss. Alright, level with me. What’s the goal here? First base? Home run? Gimme something to work with; what are you gunnin’ for?”

“What’s first base?”

“Oh you sweet summer child… alright, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”