Forerunner's Child (10) (Patreon)

"Kit!" Wren looked up as the office door opened, pushing a screen flat onto the desk in front of her.

Wren's office had the chief place on the institute's top floor, with one wall dominated by a clear window. Through it was a view of the three largest domes, its citizens scattered in their little groups. Otherwise, it had almost nothing Kit would've expected from a government official.

There were no fancy law books, no trophies of past deals on the shelves, or smiling photos with various important constituents. Rather, Wren's office was obviously her living quarters as well. She had her own little kitchen, a ladder to a loft sleeping area with blankets and stuffed white ermines.

Maybe that space was meant for entertaining—if the round benches, projector surface, and shelf of extra blankets and pillows were any guide.

Wren rose from her seat, crossing to the doorway in seconds. "Kit!" she said again, leading her to the fridge. "I heard about your adventure today. Here." She swung it open, gesturing proudly inside.

The bottom shelf was stacked with paper juice boxes in bright colors. "Trust me, I remember. You need your electrolytes. They're all great, but watermelon is my favorite." She picked up one of the indicated boxes, tearing it open with her teeth, then taking a long sip.

Kit shrugged. Her tail drooped, though now it was still zipped tight in a sleeve. She hadn't bothered removing the rest of her bodysuit during the trip over. Some kids stared—but there were always kids staring at her. Once Rich told everyone about her little spacewalk, they would probably do it a lot more.

The box lacked a straw, so Kit tore into it as Wren had, then held it to her lips. The liquid inside was cool and refreshing, as wonderful as her first breakfast. Kit smiled involuntarily and took another sip. "Mhmmm."

"Yeah, thought so." Wren shut the fridge, then guided her to a chair. Just like the dining area, it dropped down for her as she approached, then lifted her to match Wren's height once she was inside.

Unlike the dining area, these comfortable seats had no adjustable backs, forcing her to curl her huge tail around her.

"Body knows what it needs," Wren said, taking the seat opposite her—right in front of the huge window. Though her big eyes mostly remained on Kit, she still glanced up periodically at the Institute below. She was always watching over it, even now. "Forerunner tells me your performance was excellent. Once we get you a set of tools, you'll be cleared for surface missions."

Kit wanted to argue—but she wanted to drink the sweet-tasting syrup in her fingers more, and so she did that instead.

Wren didn't have the same problem. She settled her open juice box on her lap and didn't drink from it again. "This would be when I assured you that I don't ask any citizen of the Institute of Perpetual Luminescence to take risks that serious. You can refuse outside missions, and I won't be upset. No one will try to pressure you to change your mind. But I don't think that's why you're here. Scared citizens don't add an extra stop to their visit to see Mara's surface."

"I don't refuse," she finally said. Kit set her empty drink on the ground, then curled her legs backward under herself. But she couldn't use her knees to gain height on Wren—the chair just adjusted, keeping them at eye level no matter how much she stretched.

"But that's not why I'm here. It's..."

She stumbled forward, hurrying over to Wren's seat. She stood on tiptoe, whispering into her ear. "It's Forerunner. I think it's holding you all hostage."

She remained there, so close Wren's long white hair brushed against her cheek. She waited for the Institute's leader to turn her away, dismiss her fears out of hand, or even worse. But she did none of those things, just reached down, and settled her hands under Kit's shoulders. She lifted her up, settling her gently on her lap.

"What makes you think that?" she whispered, matching Kit's volume. Easier now that she was practically touching Kit's nose.

Kit glanced to either side, dropping her tail down closer to her head. Maybe all that fluff would muffle her whispering? It couldn't hurt. "I think that's why everyone is little. We can't... we're not big enough to be independent. No matter how smart everyone is, their templates still keep them... keep us... disoriented, off balance. Compliant."

Wren let go of her arms, settling back in her seat. She waited patiently for Kit to finish, silent. Only when she was sure the squirrel was done did she continue.

"Being in a new place can be scary, Kit. But a new perspective... might help you see things we wouldn't." She glanced nervously to one side, up towards the ceiling. Kit followed her gaze, to a glass lens aimed in their direction. A camera, watching them.

"I don't know enough about personas. You should talk to our chief engineer."

Kit squirmed out of the chair, standing alert again.

Wren stood up too. She caught Kit's arm before she reached the exit. "I have senior staff sleepovers as often as possible. I already planned on inviting you—either because you were our newest citizen, or because you accepted the position as head of maintenance. Guess it's the second one."

Kit met her eyes, confused. "Sleepovers?"

"All the time," Wren said. "That's one of the reasons people try so hard to make big discoveries and get noticed. Then you get to come, even if you're not on the committee. My parties are the best. They get loud sometimes—loud enough to confuse cameras, even. I was thinking of having the next one in the calisthenics course. It's such a maze, and half the Institute could probably find ways to sneak in. All those people, all that music. A few of us could get lost."

Kit nodded in sudden comprehension. "When?"

"You're the guest of honor. You tell me a date, and I'll do the rest."

Kit didn't think—she wrapped her arms around Wren in a brief, tight hug. The director was listening to her—taking her worries seriously. If the Institute had a leader this good, maybe there was no reason to be afraid. "Thanks."

Wren patted her gently on the back. "Course, Kit. I hope you're wrong. But if you're not, we'll find out."

The door zipped open. A kid waited outside, looking suddenly down. He took one awkward step away, tugging on his jumpsuit. "Oh, uh... director."

The director released her, nudging Kit gently. "Jonah," she said, her smile returning. "I guess it's about time for your daily visit."

Kit took off down the hall. She scurried into the elevator, then pressed the button for her floor. It shut but didn't move.

"You're wasting your time, Kit," Forerunner said. He sounded exactly as he had during her spacewalk—concerned, parental, maybe a little nervous. "There's no reason to hide from me. No matter how long you search, you will find nothing."

The car moved, descending towards the 80% floor. Kit stood up straight, glaring at the camera mounted to the elevator ceiling. "It's the only explanation that makes sense. You're forcing us to be this way." Her tail curled tight around her waist, and her voice started to shake.

But Kit didn't relent. Today she discovered the old Kit was still inside her. Today she saw the sky. She wouldn't pretend she hadn't.

"If you wanna kill me or send me to Remedial—go ahead. I know I can't stop you."

The elevator stopped moving a little while later, with "Compact Template Housing" lit. Not the label for "Remedial" or any of the other floors. But the doors stayed shut.

"Kit," Forerunner spoke more slowly now, gentler. "I don't know what you think you discovered. But whatever it is—I would never harm you. When I explained my drives and desires to you, I told you the truth. I want your growth, your happiness, and your safety. I will never hurt you."

The door hissed open. Kit lunged out into the hallway, practically slamming into the far wall. She remained there for a few tense seconds, breathing heavily. The door closed, the same as ever. Kit looked nervously to either side of the smaller hallway—but she saw no one. There were voices—lots of citizens were in their rooms or using the public bathing areas. But at that moment, there was no one to see her outburst.

"Then let me look," she whispered. "I'm gonna do it anyway. Don't interfere."

"I won't," Forerunner said, speaking from her satchel this time. Kit looked down and pulled her pocket computer out. Forerunner's voice came from it, much quieter than when he used colony speakers. "You're welcome to go anywhere you aren't in danger, and search anywhere you are qualified to be. Recruit fellow citizens if you wish to probe the private areas of full templates, or the Institute of Perpetual Luminescence's technical labs. I will not lift the city's usual safety protocols. But if there is anywhere you wish to go, ask. I can explain how to get access."

Kit stayed there in the hall for another few minutes, her heart still racing in her chest. She might've curled up on the soft hallway, if a bunny hadn't emerged from the showers wearing a towel. He walked around her, staring. Or she thought he was, anyway. His eyes were barely visible behind foggy glasses. "What are you doing out here?"

She straightened, hurrying past him. "Nothing. Just... got a little tired is all. Think I need a nap."

Not a lie, as it turned out. In the time it took her to reach her room, she found her steps came with greater difficulty. She stumbled once in the hall—but made it to the door. It opened automatically, back into her familiar quarters.

Jay was still there, or maybe he'd come and gone a few times without her noticing. If he always wore oversized lab coats, the passage of time wouldn't be obvious. But without natural sunlight or even natural biology, Kit wasn't even sure days mattered.

The mouse slipped his headphones off, turning towards her. "Hey, squirrel. I heard you went to the surface."

She made her slow way through the room. She reached her desk this time, and slumped down, closing her eyes. "I... yeah. Guess I did."

Jay slid out of his chair, crossing to her side of the room. He folded both arms across his chest, staring. "You're exhausted."

She nodded. "Just need a nap... is all." She reached over, fumbling with the zipper at the base of her tail. She found it, but her clumsy fingers slipped over it without success.

"In a space suit?"

"No." She stood up, hobbling past him to her bunk bed. "I'll, uh... get it...off." She reached back to the collar, and at least this time found what she was looking for. She tugged, and the suit split all the way down to her tail. At least being small had one advantage—she was flexible.

But still not terribly coordinated. She tripped on something she couldn't see, then tumbled to the floor. Her tail curled around as she fell, catching her in a relatively painless thump. Between the gravity and her height, it wasn't a long way down.

For a few seconds she lay there, the world turning blurry around the edges. But it was warm enough, the carpet thick enough. If she had to sleep here, she could.

Jay appeared over her a few seconds later. He settled an armful of something soft down beside her legs—blankets?

She reached for them, but Jay stepped into her way. "Change first. You don't want to get space dust on your sheets."

She whimpered, ears folding flat. Without a word of request, the lights on her half of the room dimmed to faint red. "It's fine."

"It's not." He dropped down beside her, pulling her into a sitting position. "Arms like this. Good. Now lift off the ground. Toes up... there."

He stood up again, tossed her jumpsuit into the receptacle, then returned a few moments later with a single piece of cloth. "Up again." She obeyed, long enough for Jay to pull something over her—a dress? No—short sleeves hung limp under her arms. A big shirt, made from thin, soft fabric. It frayed almost everywhere, but she didn't care. It brought a scent of cozy, lazy days, curled up under a blanket.

She clung to Jay's arm, catching him before he could escape. She tugged him down beside the blankets, then wrapped both arms around his waist. "Don't go back to your desk."

Jay squirmed free of her easily, pushing her back down. "I'm not... oh. Maybe I am." He shrugged out of his coat, hanging it over her chair. Then he dropped to the floor beside her. He opened the blanket as big as it would go, flinging it over them both. "Do you not know when you're tired?"

She shrugged, wrapping her tail around them. Her eyes were already closed, but that was fine. She didn't need to see him—but she needed to touch him.

Conquered by an AI or not, Kit couldn't go back to that bleak eternity inside her ship. She couldn't die alone a second time. "I used to. Now it's... confusing."

He shifted the blanket, pulling it off their heads far enough for a sliver of light to stream down. Not enough to make her open her eyes.

"Not the floor next time," he said. "There are... cubbies... all over... if you want to nap. I'll show you next time."

"Okay," she whispered back. Then she slept, dreaming of a dead sun in a black sky.