“Alred,” Goldie called out, looking up at the ceiling. “You there?”
He sent out his light projection. The miniature version, small enough to fit in her palm. He made it pop into existence in a shower of yellow and orange sparkles in front of her, floating in the air.
“Always here,” he told her happily, the limbs on his light form splaying out in display.
She started in surprise, laughing, before holding out her palm. She knew that the light projection was just that – a projection. It wasn’t his real body, just something for her to interact with
But interact she did. And he obligingly had his little mini-projection drop onto her palm. He even made it wobble like it was trying to find balance on the uneven surface. She laughed at his antics, and he could swear he felt his core sparking at the sound.
“Alred!” Garnet called to him from the galley. “The food synthesizer is making a funny sound.”
“One moment,” he told her happily, not bothering to summon his light form for this.
Food synthesizer system scan commencing... Blockage in fat synthesis chamber. Program suggestion: Heat cleaning. Heat cleaning commencing.
“What’s this word mean?” Goldie asked, pointing to a part on the screen in the med bay. He used his cameras to zoom on what she was pointing at, and had his mini-light form lean in and squint like it was reading.
Hull scan completed. Hull compromise – thirty-seven percent. Nano repair bots en route to port plate thirteen for diagnostics and repair.
Fat blockage melted. System reset.
“That phrase is pronounced ‘symbioelectro mapping’. It refers to the generalization of imprints through multiple imprint scans to create a multipurpose imprint that should work on most brains. This section is talking about how one imprint can impart knowledge to many brains, but also how some knowledge is invariably lost along the way,” he told Goldie.
“Synthesizer had a blockage. I cleared it. Should be good to go,” he told Garnet.
“Thanks, Alred!” The latter beamed happily, pressing against the synthesizer again to get it to make whatever she had decided to bring Vytln for third meal today.
Goldie was frowning at her screen in medbay. Trying to incorporate this new knowledge. She was still holding her hand up for his light projection, so he had it sit, using her thumb as a place to recline as she worked through this new information.
Hull damage diagnostics in progress. Estimated time to completion: One-quarter mark.
Alred kept his light form there for Goldie, a way to silently let her know that she still had the bulk of his attention as she worked if she needed it. But that was generally always true.She could never have all of his attention. There were hundreds, thousands of things to keep track of on the Humility.
Cleaning mist tank level – thirty-five percent. Running cleaning fluid recycler.
Cleaning bot – designation: Spot – stuck in the second side storage. Sending re-routing instructions... Acknowledged. Rerouting.
Landing shuttle engine charge – eighty-nine percent complete. Battery life – twenty-three percent. Deterioration increasing exponentially. Repair soon. Estimated life remaining: four tendays.
So many things he constantly had to be doing, as well as listening for his name from any of the crew that might need him for something. As Vytln did now, asking him to redirect power from the left engine compartment to the right so he could finish repairs on that side before they dropped out of their subspace swing and the engine had to be restarted.
In subspace, they weren’t actually moving, so the engine was turned off. Vytln often used that as a chance for maintenance. Though he had it under control, Alred couldn’t help but keep track of the various readings from the engine sensors telling him how many parts were close to death, how many weren’t sending signals any longer, and how many desperately needed replacement and repair. It was a lot.
Of all the bodies Alred had inhabited, the Humility really wasn’t the most up to date.
But it was still the best, because none of the others had Goldie.
He was obsessed with her. He knew that. Why else would he be calculating the pressure she must be exerting with her teethon her tongue as she bit it while thinking? Measuring the degree of tension in her jaw, her lower back, and the delicate muscles around her eyes as they squinted with fatigue. Her skin pallor was increasing by degrees as she got tired. But he could measure the rounding of her belly from the food he’d reminded her to eat just recently and that was satisfying.
“Alred,” Trove called to him from the rec room. “How much longer until we exit our swing?”
“Should be out by tomorrow. Why? You have an appointment with another brothel?”
Trove laughed. “Jealous?”
He was. Desperately. He’d forgotten what it was like to feel a female. If he ever knew it.
Alred had spent all morning trying to sift through the fragmented remains of his original memories. He had recalled them last night, but they were so old and corrupted and degraded, there was so much that was just gone. Memories he’d never be able to recover.
