Forerunner's Child (26) (Patreon)

The windows opened, revealing amber lights of a tunnel packed with other transports. But there was no one else down here—no motion, none of Kit's new friends. No rescue.

Wren straightened, looming over Kit with all her greater age and size. But more than either, she had authority. "Forerunner, manual evaluation of colonist Kit Red Squirrel. I find a reduction of her template to 30% and placement in Remedial a requirement to preserve her mental and physical well-being."

Kit sank into her seat, wrapping her arms as tight around her tail as she could. That was it—Forerunner didn't even need to bring her to a machine? He could change her body right there, and there was nothing she could do.

Fear raced through her—fear of how little she might remember, of what part of her might even be left after such a radical transformation. But despite the confidence on Wren's face, Kit felt nothing. Her insides didn't turn to jelly the way they had when she first woke up. Parts of her didn't melt away.

"Evaluation overruled," Forerunner said. "Your judgment is erroneous. This colonist shows emotional distress commensurate with the difficulties she experienced today. I detect no signs of decoherence. She is not a danger to herself or others."

Wren gasped. She spun in place, glaring at every screen and camera in the room. When she spoke, each word was low and deliberate, her sharp fangs bared. "I. Know. That. This is a punishment, Forerunner. We're protecting the integrity of this colony."

"This colonist retains her faculties," Forerunner said, as flat and emotionless as ever. Or—maybe not. There was something there, a hint of satisfaction. Kit let go of her tail, then sat up. Wren didn't have all that power over her—the persona did. Without it, what did the ermine have? Eight centimeters, and a few sharp teeth. "She must therefore consent to any modification of her cognition. My authority to make unilateral revisions ended when she became conscious."

Wren squealed—somewhere between frustration and fear. She backed away from Kit, towards the rear doors. They didn't open automatically the way they usually did. "Forerunner—every resident on Mara is waiting to hear from her. If she walks into that sleepover... she'll tell them. We'll lose this generation like we lost the others. We can't let that happen! I won't watch them die again!"

Wren reached the door, then shoved up against it with all her might. The metal latch groaned; her legs strained—but it held.

"We don't know that will happen," Kit said. She stood up, holding her tail high. Not enough to look bigger than the director, but it still helped. "You said it yourself—the Institute is family now. Knowing how scary or helpless things look won't make us give up."

Wren spun on her. She crossed the room in a second, so fast that Kit raised her arms to protect herself.

But the director didn't attack. Even now, with tears of her own streaming down her face, Wren only held her arms and pleaded. "You can't tell them, Kit! You have no idea... no idea how hard..." She whimpered, and her voice broke into sobs.

"All this... time... all these years... alone. Keeping them working... moving the right direction. Being there for them. Every night, every day." She wasn't attacking Kit—Wren held onto her like a toy, sobbing onto her chest. "I watched them give up... felt what they felt... but I had to stay. Carried them down one after another. But I had to go back... up the elevator. Back into my office."

She whimpered, her words dissolving beyond comprehension then. The director built a whole colony on a lie. She rewrote their lives, one piece at a time. "I can't… see them die... can't see them give up. D-don't... don't... don't..."

Kit held Director Wren the way the ermine had first held her. "I think maybe... you've done this long enough, Wren," she whispered. "I haven't known them as long as you. But I care about them too. I'll keep them safe."

The director... melted. Not just her emotional confidence this time—her suit fell away, along with thick chunks of something white and thick blue slime. Shock overcame horror as flesh dissolved from before her touch, then reformed into something smaller. Kit held on, held on until the ermine stopped squirming, and her hysterics turned to steady, desperate cries.

"Evaluation complete. Director Wren has failed cognitive decoherence metric epsilon. In sabotaging the rover, she put her own life and another colonist at risk, causing an accident that could’ve resulted in multiple fatalities. Provisional reassignment to 30% template complete."

Kit blinked, looking down at the ermine in her arms. Wren's bodysuit still clung to her, though it was so loose only the blue blood kept it sticking to her. Kit tugged it free, then held the child up by both arms. 

She still had Wren's white and black hair, now longer than her whole body. Wren's spindly build, as tall and stretched as an ermine. A pair of huge blue eyes watched Kit now.

"Cold," Wren said, her voice very, very small. "Why cold?"

Kit moved without thinking. She took a towel from the shelf, wiping away all the bits and pieces of... the rest of Wren's body. 

Best if she didn't think about that too much, or else get sick and drop the kid. 

Soon enough she had the ermine dry. She took her squirrel blanket from the shelf, then wrapped Wren up tight.

"Sorry," Wren whispered, trying and failing to look at Kit for very long. "I just... didn't mean it."

Kit held the bundle up against her chest. "It's okay, Wren. You don't have to worry anymore."

She hushed the child, wrapping them both in her tail, and rocking her back and forth until the ermine's eyes closed, and she drifted off.

Kit might've stayed there forever, too shaken and overwhelmed to make it out of the transport. She did not get the chance. "Kit Red Squirrel," Forerunner said. The lights came back on, both in and out of the transport. "I find myself without a Colonial Governor. I hope what you told my last one was more than empty compassion."

"That depends, Forerunner. Will you make me run the colony the way Wren did? Do I have to keep lying?"

Wren didn't stir. Both arms wrapped around Kit's neck, holding tight, breathing slow and relaxed. 

"I require that you respect the founding principles of the Pioneering Society. You will act to protect your colonists, preserve their survival, and develop their home. You will take whatever actions you believe are required to guarantee the endurance of Mara colony. Within those constraints, I will obey your instructions as I have obeyed your predecessor."

Not an answer, but also not a denial. "I can do what I think is best," Kit said. "You won't make me do things the same."

The doors opened, into the air of a familiar tunnel. "I will not. However, I encourage you to consider carefully before you tear down what she built. The resources we control are limited. None of those constraints are gone because you are the director."

"I know." Kit walked slowly, cradling the resting ermine in both arms. "I won't make any decisions alone. There's a whole colony here—all smarter than me. We'll decide together."