Forerunner's Child (15) (Patreon)

Despite the urgency Kit felt, there was no way to speed the process. Her growing theory lacked the depth to share convincingly with Director Wren. The ermine was a good listener, but she wasn't going to take action based on half-formed ideas. Kit needed evidence.

Eventually, she got her chance to get it. A series of panicked messages from the head of Engineering. Before Kit could even read through them, her bedroom door buzzed.

Kit snapped alert, sitting up from her desk. She’d been staring at her own little bank of screens for the better part of several hours, until the technical diagrams and readouts there all smeared and blurred together.

She glanced backward but found Jay’s desk empty. His bed might not be, but she doubted that part. Though no discussion on the subject had ever taken place, the two now had an unspoken agreement that they would always sleep at the same time. Two beds worth of blankets and pillows were more comfortable than one, after all.

The door buzzed again, a little higher pitched, and more insistent. Kit stood, zipping her jumpsuit back up to the collar. “I didn’t know that locked.”

“It does not,” Forerunner said. “Bells and signals are typically unnecessary. However, the one outside is… unable to reach the handle.”

That got her attention. Kit jogged over to the door, cracking it open with one hand. She wouldn’t have seen anyone, if she wasn’t already looking down.

Not some crawling escapee from Remedial, as she first feared. The one waiting was somehow even stranger.

An animal scampered in through her front door, a brief flash of orange and white and black. They brushed against her leg, then they were past, circling energetically through the space before hopping up onto Jay’s desk.

Kit knew homeworld animals better than most of the locals probably did. But despite her time thinking of some of her friends as “foxes,” she hadn’t expected a real one to come through her door.

The animal dropped something from its mouth, then sat up on its haunches, tilting its head around the room. “They stuck you with the mouse? Thematic. You should improve your living quarters when you have the time.”

“Maddie?” It was her voice, anyway. Not distorted by an animal mouth and strange vocal organs—more like a speaker, placed more or less in the right position.

Kit shut the door, then made her slow way over. The fox had left a little trail of dust on the soft floor, which was typically immaculate. Worse, some of that was all over Jay’s desk. The mouse would not be happy. “My side is over here,” she said, crossing the line in the carpet deliberately. “He doesn’t like it when I touch his things without permission.”

The fox shrugged, shaking loose another few pebbles. “Naptime is over, squirrel. It’s time for you to join Engineering. I brought your uniform.”

Kit crossed reluctantly, then picked up the opaque plastic sleeve. But that couldn’t hold her attention half as well as the animal.

Up close, the illusion of the fox’s construction broke down. It might be shaped like the real thing—but those joints were much too sharp. The rich oranges and reds of its coat weren’t just dusty with bluish sand—they were also slightly shimmering in Jay’s lamp.

Not the real fur that residents had on their ears and tails—this was the same stuff their toys were made from. Worst by far were the eyes—unmoving, plastic lenses, with the faint reflection of a sensor underneath. She didn’t blink. “You turned yourself into a robot?”

The fox laughed, throwing back its head in toothy, animal amusement. And at the same moment, giving Kit another view of how skin-deep the illusion actually was. No throat, just rubbery plastic for a tongue and some red fabric.

“Not a robot. A… toy.”

“I didn’t turn myself into anything,” Maddie said. She stood, hopping down into Jay’s chair. “Open that and get dressed, Kit Red Squirrel. The Institute of Perpetual Luminescence has been waiting a long time to get answers about your ship. We’re all tired of waiting.”

Kit wedged her finger under the envelope, peeling it open. There wasn’t much inside, nothing like a uniform. An oversized hair bow, admittedly in her favorite shade of green, with a slight heft to the bow and a little metal plate tucked underneath.

“You keep the bodysuit in here for your EVA gear, right? Get it on. Leave the bow for last, you’ll see.”

Kit set it down, then unzipped her jumpsuit. “I’ll be up there alone, won’t I? Though I appreciate the bow—the color is perfect.”

The fox followed her, her movements a strange average of natural and artificial. These were no scripted animatronics, a real person moved that body. Even so, far less than the Institute’s technical might had created it. This was more like… someone’s hobby project, complete with rough edges and cost-cutting. She nipped at Kit’s leg, tugging on the jumpsuit fabric. Not hard—but those teeth were sharp. “Hurry! We have to get out there before sunrise!”

Kit hurried. She left the jumpsuit and everything underneath in a rough pile on the floor, then replaced it with the sophisticated weave of sensors, life support, and protective coating that made her base layer.

“Bow next. That metal part should be as close to your scalp as possible. When it switches on, it goes tight, so don’t get too much hair underneath. It hurts.”

“Your bow…” Kit took the new one in both hands, turning it over. “One of these?”

“Fully waterproof, antimicrobial, and more resource-intensive to produce than any system other than your antigrain reactor. Put it on.”

Kit scampered into the bathroom, where she had the benefit of bright lights and the proper tools for the job. A huge bow like this was a little childish for her tastes—but there wasn’t much she could do about that. She couldn’t fight her reflection forever.

“Why are you giving this to me?” Kit asked, a brush in one hand and a few plastic bands in the other. “Everyone always says how ignorant I am. You’ve all got a million degrees and a thousand years’ experience.”

“You would think that.” The fox followed her to her bathroom door, settling down just outside it. Despite her impatience, even Maddie understood the importance of making the bow look nice. She took the time to make it in Kit’s favorite color, which helped. “Believe it or not, you know more about today’s job than anyone else in the Institute. And going out in general…”

She hopped up onto the counter, knocking over Kit’s organized tray of clips and colored bands. She looked down, then seemed to forget, meeting her eyes. “It’s not just the evals. Those are great… courage, initiative, resourcefulness… great. But all the information you’re missing—maybe this helps. It should dull the blow enough that I don’t worry about you rupturing a life support line or igniting our gas reserves. If it works.”

Kit lowered the bow carefully into place. The metal contacts reached for her scalp, as though drawn there by unseen magnets. As soon as it touched, everything got cool, as numb as her teeth during a visit to the dentist. A few drops of fluid oozed out from underneath, and it was done.

“Connected. How’s it feel?”

“Nothing,” she admitted. “I think it leaked.”

“Nah, you did. Should dry that blood off while you’re in here.” She hopped back down, resting outside the bathroom. “I’ve experimented with this interface before. Almost all the full templates can’t do it. They get all sick and confused and stay that way for days. But you—you don’t have that problem. Don’t let them tell you to be taller. Reaching the top shelf is not worth everything it costs.”

Kit used a damp rag around the bow. Sure enough, some of the creamy blue liquid that passed for her blood had dribbled out from her new accessory. She dried it as best she could, then finished getting her hair into place. A little ponytail, with her new bow attached and visually holding it together.

It wasn’t actually attached—a red elastic band did the hard work. Kit wasn’t putting tension on something connected to her head. “It’s a brain interface,” she said. “The way you’re controlling that body.”

“You don’t have a brain, but—otherwise, yeah! Right now, I’m thinking of it as information delivery. Sensor overlays, direct communication. Can’t test it yet, wires still going in. Little while, you’ll see. And down the road—maybe I’ll make you a drone of your very own.” She rested briefly back on her haunches, one paw on her chest. “It wouldn’t have to be a squirrel. But it would be quite thematic if it was.”

“That’s why you’re dusty,” Kit guessed. “You were on the surface. Is this stuff safe?”

“Perfectly. The blue comes from sodalite mixed in with the silica. Just don’t leave it on your skin when you take a long nap. Rash gets awful.”

Kit jumped sideways, away from the trail of dust on the floor. But going barefoot everywhere meant it was probably all over her at that exact moment.

“Kidding! It’s just sand, squirrel. Deep breaths. Can’t have you going Remedial before we get our answers.”

Kit let go of her tail. “I’m not crazy. Despite the way you all act. Where I come from, it’s polite to tell someone you’re gonna stick needles in their brain.”

“I already said, you don’t have a brain. Those things were way too delicate. Shock, heat, radiation… we can’t be losing residents because someone has a minor accident!” She spun around in place, then stopped directly in front of Kit. “I’m already in Engineering. Rest of the team is on their way. Kinda… forgot to make the presentation for this shift.”

Kit dropped to one knee in front of the fox, confused. “So, we’re not starting now? I thought you said…”

“Racing the sun, right. We’re starting. I just need to… throw something together. Carry me while I work, okay?”

The fox didn’t wait for her response. She dropped low, curling around herself in a tight ball. Then she closed her eyes and started to snore.

“When you leave, I will repair your quarters,” Forerunner said. “Your work is more important.”

Kit stood up, circling around the animal. “Am I gonna… wake her up?”

“Maddie has disconnected from the drone. It will remain in this state unless reactivated or damaged.”

Good enough. Kit lifted it carefully, holding the fox against her chest. It was heavier than it looked; on the edge of what her body could comfortably lift. It’s an adult fox, she realized. With enough battery power to last for days, apparently.

More of that blue sand got onto her skin. At least it didn’t have real claws.

Kit made her way out into the hall, then followed the little flashing lights to the central dome. Whatever worries she had about making it through the tunnel with her cargo were quickly resolved when a side door opened for her, diverting Kit to the familiar hallway leading to the ring.

A rabbit stopped as she entered, adjusting his glasses. He squinted down at what she was carrying, expression as flat and unreadable as ever.

“Maddie wired you for direct interface?” He nodded at the bow. “That’s fragile equipment, squirrel. Can you handle it?”

She followed him down the hall, then out into the uncomfortably huge cavern beyond. There was already a car waiting—one of the smaller ones. She clambered in first, settling the fox down on the empty seat beside her.

“You’re… Abel, right?” She crossed her legs, resting her tail in her lap. “I don’t think we got to talk much.”

He took the opposite seat, and they started rolling. Not the same way as last time—the car diverted through another passage, then a faint hissing sound echoed from the air conditioner.

“Entering depressurized section. This vehicle cannot be stopped or diverted until we return to a safe tunnel.”

“We know,” the bunny groaned, huge ears flopping sideways.

“She does not,” Forerunner said. “Kit has not yet visited the primary workshop.”

“And Maddie assumes she’s not going to lose coherence the second she activates the interface,” Abel said, annoyed. He turned sideways, pulling his legs up to his chest and pressing up to the window. “This seems like a great use of resources.”

They passed through what was obviously a vehicle airlock. A real one, considering the time they spent waiting in the intervening space. Then the door opened again, and they were rolling.

The glass turned opaque, the headlights went out, and they were driving through total darkness. Up a ramp, then along a gravel road.

Kit balled one hand into a fist. “I know I’m not as smart as you all,” she said. “You don’t have to be mean.”

“Smart.” He turned, tapping his head with two fingers. “Intelligence is an oversimplification. If that were your deficit, your template would’ve corrected it.” He closed his eyes, stretching out in the alcove behind the seats. “We’re not personas—can’t just connect us to new information and suddenly we get it. You’re too young to be doing any of this. It’s irresponsible.”

“Am not!” She sat up in her seat, glaring. “I’m the same age as you.”

He rolled sideways, putting his back to her. That only left a little black tail tipped with white emerging from his lab coat. “No. Your template is the same height. Might as well brag that your hair is longer, or your tail is bigger. Means about the same for your qualifications.”

Kit sat up as tall as she could, holding her tail behind her, with both hands flat in her lap. Her shimmery dress couldn’t be helped, but she could still overpower it with a little determination and confidence.

“Before you woke me up, I was… trained, qualified, confident, and mature. Under this fluff and these freckles, it’s still true. I can do anything the Institute needs me to do.”

The bunny looked backward at her, then tumbled into his seat. He squeaked on his way down, then righted himself hastily. He adjusted his glasses, straightening them on his nose. “I’ve already been outvoted. You’re a danger to yourself and others. It’s not your fault, I don’t blame you—it’s just your reality.”

The car rumbled and shook as they passed into another metal doorway and hissing echoed through the windows. The glass turned transparent again, showing an airlock identical to the first. “You think I belong in Remedial?”

He nodded. “A century down there at least. Another fifty or so years on maintenance and logistical duties. After that… maybe we talk Engineering. Then I wouldn’t worry about the other residents taking advantage of you… or your recklessness getting any of us killed.”

They rolled a little further—into another oversized cavern covered in tubes and pipes. Finally, they pulled into a little parking lot, joining a few other waiting cars. The doors opened, and Abel was the first out.

“Be careful, squirrel. You might be up here with the rest of us, but you’re playing pretend. Try to remember: the danger is real. Even humans can die.”

Kit definitely didn’t stay in the car for a few minutes on her own. She didn’t cry either, not even a little.

But then the fox opened her eyes again, stretching out on the seat. She looked around, before her eyes settled on Kit. “Squirrel? Abel said you were here. If this is a clever plan to buy me a few more minutes, you’re killing it. I’ll give you an extra cookie after the shift.”

She hopped up next to her, nudging her head up against Kit’s arm. The effect would’ve worked a little better if she was a real animal, with the warmth of a living thing. But it was still soft enough to make her sit up.

Kit shook out her hair, then reached down to pat the little robot. “Abel says I don’t belong out here. Is he right?”

The fox tilted her head to one side. "You don't need his permission. Forerunner approved. I approved. You want a certificate?"

The fox hopped down, brushing past her leg, then lingered by the ramp. "Too bad. You're wearing it already."

Kit stood, letting her tail wrap around her as tight as it would go. If it made her look a little silly—she couldn't really get sillier. "Is there any frosting on that cookie?"

"For the Institute's fourth resident to work the interlink? Absolutely. You can even have sprinkles."

Kit didn't care about sweets. Obviously not—they were wasteful, empty calories. But if a department head thought they were a compelling offer, maybe she knew something Kit didn't.

She followed the fox out into the tunnel, careful not to step on the drone by mistake.

"Now, pick me up again. You'll see my charging bed on the conference room table. Leave me there. I should have enough voltage after the meeting to go out on your inaugural mission."

The fox didn't curl up carefully this time—she stopped in mid-step, lifeless and frozen. Kit stopped beside it, scooping it back up. The faux-animal still moved when she nudged it, letting her cradle it like she might with a cat. A cold, dusty, unbreathing cat. But the same idea still applied.

Kit passed through another airlock door, and she reached a familiar sight: a decontamination chamber. Dozens of little nozzles and spouts pointed in at the walls, with lockers and cubbies to store her stuff. "Place the fox in one plastic tub, your clothing in the other. I’m certain Maddie got surface sediment onto the skin underneath. Do not attempt to remove the ribbon.”

At least future humans had faster sterilization procedures. A brief rinse with dry chemicals, then a short walk through blades of air for any particles. That part of the procedure was actually welcome, since it meant getting rid of all the fox dust.

Her suit waited on the other side, emerging from another complex machine with the sleeping fox. Both smelled a little like fruity shampoo.

"No sterile zip up?" she asked, once she was dressed again. She slid open a drawer, expecting to find folded plastic jumpsuits—she found spools of colored ribbon instead.

"No. But there are glasses on the shelf above that one. Just remember to take them off before sealing your helmet. Assuming, of course, the interface does not instantly incapacitate you as soon as Maddie activates it.”

Kit obeyed, and followed Forerunner's instructions to the tub of glasses that would fit her best. She slipped them on, tucking the thick black arms under her bangs. When she let go, the arms contracted, putting faint pressure on her head. Enough to keep them from falling off without ears to rest on, anyway. "We need these?"

"Eyes are complex organs. If you damage one, it will take some weeks to grow a replacement. Prevention remains superior to treatment."

Kit scooped up the fox, finding its fur convincingly soft and dust-free. Did you just make me carry this so I would clean it for you? "I don't need sterile jumpsuits and hairnets or whatever?"

"You are not making processor substrate. But if you ventured to the surface while dirty, you would likely return with painful blisters.”

"Oh.” Pause. “Are there drinks in there too?"

"I sent a few packets of the watermelon flavor to Maddie's fridge. Also, look down. Those shoes are your size, put them on."

She did, and finally the door clicked open, letting her into the workshop.

The space was enormous, easily as large and open as the central atrium. But this was a single enormous space, broken only by a huge dome in the rock overhead. Skylight? But she saw only blackness through it right then.

Dozens of gigantic, loud, and complex-looking machines took much of the space along the walls. Some were only accessible by a maze of catwalks and hanging stairs, with lots of fences and yellow tape warning no one to pass.

Kit continued through it—through blocks of metal stacked on pallets, huge bundles of little white beads, and open bins of scrap metal. She lingered by one, eyes catching on a bit of tape hanging from a twisted support strut.

The logo was faded by the passage of incredible time, yet still instantly recognizable to her. The Slipstream Project. She stood up on tiptoe, just so she could touch it.

Her eyes watered all over again, and she inhaled sharply. "M-my... that's my..."

"Your ship," said another voice. Forerunner, but closer than usual. Kit looked up and saw someone beside the huge plastic box. Someone twice her height. It was made of crude white plastic, with all the detail of a clothing store mannequin.

Whoever built it didn’t care about looking human—or rather, made deliberate choices to avoid it. It had no head, no suggestion of sex or age. Except of course, that it sounded like Forerunner, and was more than twice her size.

"These fragments came from the gantry ring. Our lack of atmosphere meant minimal damage on reentry—but the impact disintegrated much of it. I have not yet identified this material."

Kit backed away from him—this him, anyway. There were a dozen others, maybe more. They moved along the upper walkways, pushed carts and wheeled materials through other sections of the workshop. Wherever yellow tape on the floor warned Kit not to go, she found these almost-person machines. Still working, despite considerable wear and tear.

She might've stopped right there to ask more, but something else caught her attention. Fifty meters down the workshop, a heavy cargo crate hung suspended by several industrial grips. The crate had as much wear as the scraps, its neon yellow paint scratched down to silver in places and covered with little craters and impacts in others. Even so, the words survived.

ISS Aether

Commissioned December 1st, 2145

"It's... how is..."

Forerunner's robot approached from behind her. Or maybe it was a different body, she had no way to tell. He dropped to his knees, opening both arms expectantly. "Here."

Kit passed him the fox—then broke into a sprint. She reached the container in a few seconds, though it was suspended too high over her head to reach. She circled around, to where a series of boxes and ramps and work lights surrounded one side.

Past it were more people—a smaller section in the center of the workshop, a temporary building standing awkwardly in the gigantic space. A wall of windows showed her the other Engineering residents were inside, gathered around a conference table. Kit didn't even look at them. She hurried up the ramp, passing discarded cutting equipment and into the container. There were more lights on the inside, angled perfectly at the craft.

In her time, it was among the most advanced little reentry vehicles ever made. Unlike the Aether, this vehicle was smooth and aerodynamic, with stubby wings and an actual window near the cockpit.

She walked all the way around, nudging the little support struts attaching it to the container. Their release mechanisms were blobs of misshapen metal and plastic now.

But someone had already opened it. Its smooth body had a fresh coat of scrapes and dents near the landing ramp. She circled around to it, peeking up inside.

"The organics were all rotten," Forerunner said. "Your body could not digest them regardless."

A dark rectangle still lay there, folded and strapped. Kit hopped up the gap, then rested her hand against the hood.

"I wonder if it still works."

"It looks like you could roll it right out."

Kit turned and found Kaden standing near the opening. He was panting, his hair a little out of place. "That was the idea. No one knew exactly how long I would be on my own. It had to be built to last."

She let go, then backed away. The airlock leading to the cockpit was shut tight. Even if it wasn't, Kit couldn't reach the rungs of the ladder up to the crew area. There was no point forcing it right now.

She hopped back down the ramp. "How much of my ship is in here?"

The fox closed the distance between them in a few steps. Kit half-expected him to take her wrist and drag her out, but he didn't.

"More all the time. Forerunner takes lots of pictures and sensor readings before melting anything down, though. If we can learn anything from these old designs, we won't let it go to waste."

Melt it down. Kit nodded awkwardly, taking her tail in both arms. "You're gonna... destroy it?"

"Recycle," Kaden said. "But the crew section is intact. There was some conversation about turning it into a museum. You're probably the best person to decide. Is it weird and gross?"

She turned her back on the rover. "This part isn't. No corpses in the lander. I never made it to my destination."

Kaden nudged her shoulder, urging her out. It didn't take much force, really. Once she was moving, Kit hurried away from the lander.

She couldn't escape the other bits and pieces of the Aether. Forerunner had it sliced into sections of about the same length, before feeding each piece into a sturdy cart.

Suddenly she had a good idea where those metal bricks came from, and why Forerunner had so much of its attention and resources all focused on the workshop.

They reached the glass doors of a much smaller, inner section, tucked up between other oversized bits of equipment.

From the outside, the absurd scale of it all came into sharp focus. This little building had windows on three floors, furniture, and a few climate control boxes on the outside, and they still tucked snugly under the catwalk overhead.

Kit stopped in the open doorway, staring up at the stone ceiling high, high above. "It's like a..."

"Comfortable?" Kaden finished for her. "Efficient? The office has its own air supply. Spent a few weeks living in there with Maddie when the salvage operation first started. We had to build a whole new intake system, and she wanted to watch."

"Kit." Something approached from the shadows, holding the fox in its mechanical arms. Forerunner dropped to her level again, offering the drone. "Here."

She accepted the animal, then hurried inside. Kaden was right—this was an airlock, though the inner doors were already open.

Once she rounded the corner, it was like stepping back into the world she knew. The ceilings were back to full-template sized, instead of giant. What looked like a window from the outside was actually a screen from this side, wrapping all the way around the conference table.

It projected a view she should’ve recognized, because she'd spent months watching its assembly. Granted, the Aether had been in orbit then, not resting on a vast expanse of blue sand, ice, and rock.

The warp ring was severed cleanly where the belly touched down, with glittering fractures spreading like a spiderweb from the point of impact. Several flatbed industrial crawlers rested beside them, along with diggers, lifters, and cranes. Before her eyes, little white figures scrambled over it all, spreading a heavy black tarp over the machines.

They did say something about protection from the sun.

Several of her new friends were inside—Rich the snow leopard, with three portable screens around his desk and something like a breadboard covered in little clear wires. Pat and Sawyer were here too, near the other side. Pat had a single screen in front of her space, the glass surface blank.

Sawyer had a little more, a few bits and pieces of half-assembled plastic and metal. Despite their rough ends and broken pieces, Kit knew what she must be looking at. More salvage from the Aether, disintegrated before her eyes.

Another door opened as they came in, emerging from the screen long enough for Maddie to appear. Kit caught a brief glimpse of a smaller space with an even lower ceiling and plush carpet, then it sealed behind her.

"Got her? Perfect timing. I was just... finishing my notes for today's standup."

She stopped by her seat, tugging on her dress.

Everyone else wore heavy jumpsuits, made from rugged fabric strong enough to protect against damage. Maddie was the only exception, wearing a silvery dress of woven metal, much too thin to offer any meaningful protection in an industrial setting.

Now that Kit knew what she was looking for, her eyes lingered on Maddie’s oversized hair bow. Exactly the same size as the one now physically attached to her scalp.

Maddie pointed at something in front of her seat, expectant. "She will need to charge. The meeting should give her enough energy for our trip."

Kit circled to the indicated place. A fluffy pet bed took up much of the space, with naked wires snaking out from holes in the fabric. Kit deposited the fox carefully inside. Without prompting from her, she shifted and curled around in the bed, until a faint metallic click echoed from inside.

"Didn't drop me, did you?"

Kit shook her head vigorously. "Course not."

"Good. She bites.”

"Still think this is a mistake..." Abel said, tapping a pen impatiently on the conference table. "That hardware could’ve gone to someone else. Anyone in this room would’ve made better use of a direct interface.”

"Already implanted," Maddie said. “If you’re brave enough to try one, we might not have to worry about material shortages for much longer. You want to be first, Abel?”

He shifted in his seat, finally looking away. “I couldn’t pull off a bow anyway.”