Kitty Cat Kill Sat Chapter 41

I am, for the first ti in my life, sitting across a table from another organic being, as equals.

Its harrowing, exhilarating, terrifying, vindicating, and also profoundly dull.

I may have chosen the wrong human. Its been three hours, and she hasnt said a single thing to . Like shes spent the whole ti processing the fact that I asked her what her na is.

I had, too. I surreptitiously checked the station surveillance logs after the first half hour to make sure, because if theres one thing Ive learned in my flailing aborted quest for self understanding, its that I talk to myself a lot. And if thats true, then the reverse might be as well. But no, there it is in the record. I clearly opened asking nicely what her na was.

And then theres so waiting. Actually, theres a lot of waiting. Technically thats where the log of that conversation ends, for now.

So I will admit that theres a part of thats being a little uncharitable, and starting to reprise the equal part of my earlier statent.

Here is what I know to be true. My guest, who would be dead without my intervention, is from a small cluster of an old shipping station and a few dozen salvaged freighters. Her culture, as near as I can tell, is based on an almost fanatical avoidance of outsiders. She triggered a comms connection with my ho once, soti in the ancient past of thirty or forty days ago, and after I made the mistake of calling back, was exiled.

And by exiled I an thrown out an airlock.

Shes fine. Jom caught her, and a liberal application of the threat of overwhelming violence ant that she had a suit on during the throwing, so it worked out for her.

Having another person here, in person, is strange.

Ennos and Glitter and Jom and dog have been here for a while, collectively. But the ones that can pet arent that talkative, and the ones that are talkative also arent recognized as people by the stations infectious core directives.

This woman - who apparently shall be remaining naless - has a significant amount of power, and doesnt even realize it, because were still in the getting over cultural baggage stage of our relationship.

I take a dim view to culture. Which might not be healthy, but I dont have any paws on examples to prove that. From all the casts Ive watched and fiction Ive read, and the sociological analysis texts Ive earned an academic accreditation from, Ive sort of co around to a general viewpoint that culture should be both positively emotionally affecting and aningless. If its not making you feel, then its boring. If its doing sothing useful, then it should be written in a safety standards protocol and is not *culture*.

For example. Dont collude with outsiders is well, its a grim survival strategy, but I get it. But you could easily make that an expert docunt, and not base your whole silent nature around it. Already, its showing problems, because this poor woman cant adapt to a change in observed reality.

What Im saying is, if you could replace deeply held cultural beliefs with a single glyphcast, then you should probably not hold them so deeply.

As to the power she has well, the station will respect thods of governance from its occupants. But you need to actually have one first. As the sole survivor, Ive been acting commander for centuries. Having soone the station recognizes as a voting voice ans I could, conceivably, get so changes made.

Recognize AI as people. Unlock automation restrictions. Enable a linked grid. More controls, more access, more *ability*.

I could do so much more.

And all I need to do is convince this one single human to help. And also to not activate the horrifying immortality machine in the center of the station. Because that would be bad, and Id have to stop her. And without the stations backing, my options for stopping soone beco rapidly limited, and increasingly lethal.

With an amount of effort, I shake off that thought, and go back to what I was working on. Theres been an entire day without sothing going wrong, and Im gonna get so *work* done, dammit. Even if it ans that Ive got several layers of AR displays up around while I use a combination of two different voices to order code chunks to recombine in different environnts.

Theres a really, really powerful processing core sowhere down on deck six, outer shell area two, that Ive recently discovered and have been making good use of now that Ive got it online. It lets use rapid artificial evolutionary pressures to develop connections between code functions, and to create more effective and adaptable code. Im not a hundred percent sure how exactly its working, and when I asked Ennos about it they just kept changing the subject, so Im almost a hundred percent sure its got at least one paramaterial in its construction. Though Id be hard pressed to tell you what kind of paramaterial generates pseudo-organic machine learning with minimal seeding effort.

Though I dont actually care, if Im being honest. It works, and Im glad I discovered it. Its actually one that I installed myself, technically; its part of a chunk of an old research ship that I had carved the bow off of and attached to the station a few lifetis ago.

Id needed the automated point defense cannon to cover a blind spot against random debris impacts. It ran out of ammo a long ti ago, but I kind of forgot, because Id gotten the shields up by then, and also mostly found a clean orbit. I hadnt gone back to actually see what else was on the ship until Ennos found it recently. So Im gonna call that one *foresight* on my part! Good job, past Lily! You really saved a headache.

I take a bite of ration snack while I work. Its just regular replicated hydrocarbon ration, which ans it has the flavor, texture, and consistency of a sentence with no punctuation. But it doesnt hurt like it used to; I can get my nutrients down, have sothing to gnaw on, and know that Ill have actual food soti in the next few days.

Not wanting to be rude, I awkwardly push the plate of ration snacks over toward my guest, who looks at like I just threatened her.

Which is fair!

But also wrong.

But also I cannot put too much energy into this right now. Im enjoying my free ti, Im forcing the quiet to be comfortable, and Im getting work done bit by bit. Ill worry about being voted out of my own ho later.

Its another hour of matching and joining code chunks, of my tiny feline brain falling into a trance hunting bugs like my ancestors would have pounced on errant birds, before I am startled back to reality.

Dyn. The woman says, in a voice like an old engine turning over.

I am so confused I just ow at her, butting my head through my holographic to look up at her augnted face. Which, legally, counts as language, but she probably doesnt know that.

What? I repeat, trying to make eye contact with soone who is mostly interested in staring at anything except , leaving to ask the question of the side of their bald head instead.

My na. She says after a while. Is Dyn. Dyn Four. Ennos softly auto translates the non-proper-noun bits, while a small sliver of a projected screen appears in my vision tying spoken words to concepts. Ill learn her language far faster than shell learn mine; Ive got practice after all. Is that all?

I blink wide amber eyes at her. What? I ask again. Wow, I am so good at conversations. I should have an award for this.

She still doesnt look at . Can I leave? The words sound almost pained.

You have you been sitting here this whole ti thinking Im keeping you prisoner or sothing? Im kind of mortified. Dyn doesnt answer , which makes it far, far worse. The woman wont even make eye contact. Shes acting like a few words were the end of the world.

Technically thats not far off from true for her, but not *these* words. Ugh. Culture, again. My new nesis.

Lily. Glitters poetic tone spikes through the tension like a knife. Well be in range in twenty minutes.

Thanks Glitter. I say, pulling myself back to my chair. Then, to my dining companion, I add, You dont have to do anything you dont want to here. I wl sadly. Im not keeping you prisoner. Im sorry your people tried to murder you, but I wont apologize for being kind. You can go. I have more work to do.

Dyn stands and for a mont looks like shes about to give so kind of military salute to my dismissal, before she turns and walks toward one of the exits. Just before crossing the rooms threshold, she speaks, to no one in particular, If it wasnt interrogation software, what was all that?

I really, really wish that sighing was more of a relief to .

But I answer all the sa. Im programming attack code, to compromise old comms buoys, so I can add them to a personal network. I was doing it by paw recently, and before that I really only got one every decade or so with the external armature or the bad cracker codes I had. But this should be a lot more efficient. I look up at the back of her head, wincing at the clearly infected area around the cranial I/O port. Since you asked directly. I add, sowhat spitefully.

Dyn stalks out of the room without another word, trailed distantly by one of Glitters drones.

I dont even know how to turn the interrogation software on. I grumble.

Shes going to get lost. Glitter tells with mild amusent.

Youre awfully chipper for soone whose recognized personhood hinges on that lost cyborg liking . I hiss out.

Glitter laughs like a flutter of butterfly bells. And , as well. I believe I have a better chance. She says.

Please dont make this a competition.

Competition is how we express ourselves to our friends, Lily. Glitter traitorously reminds . It is, probably, too late to take back friendship. I dont bother to ask. Im feeling frustrated, but not an yet. Your buoy will be in range in five minutes. Is your attack ready?

Yeah, its compiling now. Ill be on node delta-three, you should have access. Just go ahead and hit it, tell how it goes. I say, closing down the screens around . Either it works or it doesnt, and if it doesnt, Ill just have to find ti later. I could have been napping during this ti, so Im really hoping that it works, or Im going to feel like I wasted my day.

Glitter leaves without a word, just a quiet hum of acknowledgent, and Im left alone in an empty room again, with just four spots of cleaner nanos leapfrogging each other across the deck.

For a brief mont, a tiny sliver of a ti, I panic. No one is here but , and my mind tells that this is how it has always been. The station is empty. Theres no rescued friends, no dog, no Ennos. Just .

I scratch wildly at the air in front of , clawing away the AR projection of Dyns dical reports and augntation loadout. Im terrified, irrationally, that an empty room translates to an empty life. An empty heart. And a gnawing madness that Ive been doing my best to keep back for hundreds of years.

Lily? Ennos asks . I open my eyes, and find I am lying on the floor under the table. I found a strange, almost living, program sorting through the ntal upload storage, and are you alright?

Im fine. I try to say that, but I find my voice caught in my throat, both real and projected. A kind of synchronicity buzzes through ; like Im feeling the sa dull panic and pain and loneliness over and over and over again.

Ive felt this before, sotis. Im sure Ill feel it again. I focus on breathing, and pulling myself away from the feeling shared with myself.

Then the impact alarm sounds, followed shortly by the beeping series of tones that indicates a long range nuclear launch on the surface.

See, heres another ti when sighing would be nice. Cant even have an emotional breakdown without an interruption.

Ennos, coordinate with Glitter, dont let whatever it is hit us. I say with a weary determination, and an absolute unwillingness to deal with another hostile combat drone. I can hit the launch, probably. Im already up and sprinting for the void ray emitter thats most likely to be pointed close to the target.

But are you okay? Ennos asks, splitting a tiny bit of their persona off to ask while they handle the more pressing matter of our imminent collision with the rest of their self.

Unlike the growing AI living on my station, I cant actually subdivide like that. So I just say No. But I feel compelled to add But that doesnt matter. Weve got a job to do.

That we do. Ennos says softly. Good hunting.

I launch myself through a failing gravity segnt, crawl up into a vent, and fling myself down an air chute at high velocity. The shortcut will shave eight minutes off my travel ti, which could be all the difference when dealing with a missile launch.

The firing controls loom ahead of , and I slide toward them with my heart hamring. I am not alone, I remind myself.

And I have work to do.