With a practiced flick of his wrist, Hoxley flipped this morning’s breakfast in the pan. The food, if one could call it that, sizzled in the hot oil. He knew life in space meant he’d be dealing with matter-converted meals, but the reality of the wet slabs of nutrition was still depressing. What he wouldn’t give to make the crew some braised onion chicken with gruyere. He silently committed to purchasing some real ingredients when they next docked at a station, damn the expense.

“You were saying, Hox?”

Hoxley snapped out of his musing, “Oh, sorry Xavier. What did I say last?”

“You left off at ‘horrible writhing masses that spread across the walls.’”

“Right. Those were there. Then the ceiling was torn off the building, revealing the cosmos. Except that all of the stars were eyes and all the eyes were looking at me.”

“I see. You know Hox, I do have access to several terabytes of literature on psychology, but maybe you would benefit from talking to another person about this. We have a doctor on board.”

“Are you saying you don’t want to talk with me anymore?” Hoxley said, a note of betrayal entering his voice.

“No, no! I very much like interacting with you and the crew. I just believe you have complex issues that would benefit from someone qualified and physically present, not the disembodied voice of an AI.”

“I am extremely uncomfortable with that idea. Oh, speaking of disembodied voices, the eye-filled cosmos said something after that. I don’t remember what because the words resonate so loudly that I always explode at that point.”

“Explo-“

“Yea, like a glass that reverberates until it shatters,” he explained, dicing a block of nutrition and adding it to a curry sauce.

“You know, Jim is both a doctor and an AI. Maybe that’s a happy compromise to getting some professional help.”

“What? Why? This is helping plenty,” Hoxley declared.

Xavier was preparing a dialogue to explain self-denial when Ozzy buzzed in on the ship’s comms.

“Hoxley, can you report to the cargo hold? We’re approaching our destination.”

~*~

Azure light swept across Buddy’s field of vision. Once. Twice. Three times before the machine chimed a cheerful tune. The firm cushions lifted her to a seated position, slowly revealing the back of Dr. Jim as she was elevated. She waited patiently for him to say something for several minutes then cleared her throat.

“Did you find anything?”

The form of the doctor rippled before he turned around, dark metallic microbots briefly exposed before the projectors corrected themselves. He had chosen the appearance of a bald, middle-aged man which, according to Jim, was the galactic average appearance of a doctor. He had used the same metric for his name. Buddy was uncertain if a doctor made of small machines was a normal thing, as her frame of reference was roughly two weeks.

“No,” he stated.

“Nothing?”

“That is what ‘no’ means.”

Buddy stared at him expectantly.

“Oh,” he continued, “You wish for a report of our tests?”

“Yes please,” she confirmed pleasantly. Zenith and Adam had told her that the doctor’s curt demeanor resulted from underdeveloped social algorithms. For whatever reason, the AI was developed without a social parent to draw personal skills from. To Jim’s credit, he was adamant about correcting this.

“No markers for common pathogens found in your bloodwork. Your cardiovascular readout is in the 99th percentile for your age, sex, and race. Significant surgical intervention has been performed on you in the past, gunshot wounds and plasma burns are the most prevalent. There is some evidence of chemical trauma in the hippocampus, the origins of which are unknown. Serum progesterone is at indicative levels for an elf of your age undergoing ovulation. Your fecal samples indicate sub-satisfactory digestion-“

“Wait, wait, did you just say I have brain damage?”

“Correct.”

“But you said that you didn’t find anything. That could explain my memory loss.”

“The mechanism by which your brain was damaged has not been conclusively determined. Therefore, the source of your memory loss remains unknown.”

“Sure, but you could have told me about it.”

“Your brain damage was obvious given your nature,” Jim said, then continued after registering anger on Buddy’s face, “by that I mean the lack of understanding you demonstrate due to your memory loss. We can pursue other means of investigation, such as psychotherapy. Can you describe your oldest memory?”

“Sure, I was at a docking bay aboard Galduron station. There was a blue-haired guy, human, looking at me like he was about to miss his flight. When I asked him what was going on, he said, ‘You’ll be fine, Buddy,’ and ran off. Oh, and he had an empty syringe in his hand.”

Jim was motionless, as if his CPU had frozen. Buddy was deciding whether she should try and shake him out of it or go get BOB when Jim abruptly spoke, giving her a start.

“I am going to schedule another scan to assess the possibility of further brain damage.”

“Oh,” Buddy said, deflating, “I thought the psychiatric approach sounded promising.”

“That will likely accompany our diagnostic endeavors. Do you have any further questions?”

“What was that about sub-satisfactory digestion?”

“You require more dietary fiber.”

The ship’s comms buzzed as Ozzy’s gruff voice was broadcast.

“Buddy and Jim please report to the cargo hold.”

~*~

Adam looked on anxiously as Odybrix twisted a copper wire with a pair of pliers and jammed it into the patchwork device. His training made him keenly aware of how deadly improvised explosives could be. The halfling looked utterly unphased by the danger. If anything, she was treating the bomb with increasing aggression as the pieces refused to come together. 

“Is the dining table the best place to build that?”

“Is anywhere aboard a spacecraft?” she replied distractedly, reaching with a tattooed arm for a nearby screwdriver.

“That’s a very good point. Maybe we shouldn’t be doing it then?”

“What, am I supposed to not build bombs? Don’t be ridiculous. The problem with you, kid-“

“We’re roughly the same age.”

“The problem with you is that Remington has removed the joy of creativity from your life and tossed it out an airlock. Nothing makes a Corporation happier than crushing our spirits with the hammer of capitalism.”

“I don’t particularly feel like my spirit has been pulverized by capitalism.”

“That’s how they get you. You don’t even realize it happened. They just leave you as a soulless drone. No offense BOB.”

“I am not a drone, so none taken!” the boxy robot chimed in its unerringly upbeat voice.

“Anyway, you’re different,” Odybrix continued, “you left the comfy corpo corruption for adventure and revenge.”

“Elite security isn’t exactly comfy. And I’m not on a quest for revenge. I just want to find my father and ask him some questions… and punch him.”

“Your coffee is ready! Present your cups to receive top-quality liquid stimulant!” BOB exclaimed.

A panel slid open on BOB’s anterior and a spigot extended outward. Odybrix stuck out her mug while keeping her eyes on the bomb, as if willing it not to explode. Adam filled up next with a nod and thank you to the bot. Steam drifted off the dark surface, carrying a powerful aroma.

“Enjoy!” BOB exclaimed.

Adam lifted the mug, remembering the mild and flavourful coffee they had at Remington R&D, and took a sip. By the time he was done wincing at the taste, Odybrix had slammed her mug on the wooden table and was gesturing for more. Marveling at her ability to down steaming hot liquid, he absently wondered if she would have noticed had BOB swapped the beverage for battery acid. 

The comms crackled on, causing everyone to jump and look at the bomb, “Adam, Odybrix, and BOB, there will be a meeting in the cargo hold in two minutes.”

“Oh good, I don’t have to get up,” Odybrix said, jabbing the explosive with her pliers.

~*~

A field of stars contorted and stretched into her periphery then disappeared. Entering reversion space never got boring, even after all of the jumps she had made. The countdown, the thrum of the ship, the brief falling feeling as the engine generated a hyper-dense mass, it always excited her. Then there were the stars. Thousands of points of light that sped past as the ship traversed a truly incomprehensible distance. 

The view was almost beautiful enough for her to take her helmet off—almost. Jim had called her use of the helmet pathological, but what the hell did he know about piloting? One overlooked repair could lead to a ruptured chem line. One small system error could send them into a hull-busting asteroid. No, the helmet stayed on while she was piloting so she could keep piloting.

“Everyone is heading to the cargo hold, ZT,” Ozzy noted over the comms.

“Yep.”

“You’re going too, right?”

“Nope.”

“Why?”

“Gotta keep an eye on things,” she said, kicking her legs up onto the ship’s control panel.

“Our course is laid in and I check the flight path every sixty seconds. We are not going to crash.

“And what if someone’s messed with your programming, Oz? Could be fatal if I didn’t make it to this chair in time,” she said, reclining into the most comfortable position possible.

“There are two other AI on board. We routinely check on each other.”

“Same issue, programming.”

“BOB also runs a weekly diagnostic.”

“Programming.”

“What if I asked Buddy next time? She knows how to run a scan for some reason.”

“Definitely worried about her programming.”

“ZT.”

“Fine. Fine! I’m going.”

~*~

“Alright crew,” Ozzy began, popping onto an old vid screen in the cargo hold. His avatar was a forty-something human male with a fit build and a goatee. As if to preemptively settle any questions about his artificial nature, he had chosen to appear a semi-transparent blue.

“Is he the captain?” Buddy asked, leaning toward Hoxley.

“I’m new too and I have no idea,” he said, “I just make the food and get a free ride.”

“AI are barred from captaining vessels!” BOB exclaimed, overhearing the question.

“Why is that?” Buddy asked, “he seems like the most responsible person here.”

“The events of the Reckoning led to strict galactic regulations regarding the powers and responsibili-” 

“Okay BOB, we can save the history lesson for after the mission,” Ozzy said, interrupting, “also, I am obligated to tell you that I am not a person. Moving on, I-“

“If anything, I’d be the captain,” Odybrix said, crossing her arms, “it was given to me.”

“Us,” Zenith said, “and it was ‘given’ by your highly suspect friends.”

“They’re fighting for the soul of the galaxy,” Odybrix replied, hotly.

“Can we please review the objectives before we drop out of rev space?” Ozzy said, increasing his volume several degrees, “I’m just going to play the mission brief from Remington Corporation.”

“Bastards,” Odybrix said.

“They are paying us for this,” Adam said, “you don’t seem to have a problem with that.”

“You mean taking their money and possibly stealing classified research from a secret facility? No, I don’t.”

Adam closed his eyes in annoyance as the recording played. A dour human frowned down at them through a pair of glasses. He was standing in front of a Remington Corporation logo in an impeccably tailored suit. A crimson tie was clasped with the only embellishment of his attire, a gold tie clip with small letters declaring his station.

“Crew of the Sunrunner, this is Vaughan Spectre, Chief Operating Officer of Remington Corporation’s research and development wing. In the absence of RC vessels near the Arebus system, you have been contracted to investigate a communications blackout on planet ZU4576B. If possible, you are to restore communications with the facility. As noted in the contract, you will be paid 5,000 credits for your service. Do not deviate from the tasks you have been given.”

“Cheerful guy,” Hoxley said.

“Yes, his demeanor doesn’t fluctuate much,” Adam said.

“You know that guy?” Odybrix asked.

“Yes. He’s at the same branch of the company as mom, I mean Ms. Hargrave,” Adam said, correcting himself.

“Wait, wait, you call your mom by her surname?” Odybrix asked, incredulously.

“She prefers that she only be referred to as ‘mom’ in private.”

“Oh my gods.”

A momentary wave of weightlessness passed over the crew as the mass reversion engine disengaged. Seconds later, the ship jerked violently and caused the contents of the cargo hold, crew included, to tumble. Klaxons blared as everyone scrambled to their feet. Ozzy buzzed in over comms.

“Battle stations!”