[LIVE BROADCAST] – PRIVATE - [1694.512]
Shifting Gales, Far Whisper
SG: You got the formula I sent you earlier this cycle, Whispy?
FW: Received and analysed, Gales. Gosh, these are really strong acids cycling through your veins.
FW: Afraid I can’t create you a definitive solution, but I could send you blueprints for a temporary solution later this cycle. So that you can protect at least your essentials.
SG: I wish I could do it myself, but my laboratories are currently without power. The acid ate through my connection to them.
SG: I should regain access to that part of me in a couple of cycles.
FW: No worries, I love to help. And your assemblies are still functioning, after all.
FW: I think a pH-Grid should do the trick. You would, however, have to change them each cycle.
SG: This situation is developing into a nanny job. Ancients, what wouldn't I give for a couple of mechanics.
SG: But ever since the Mass Ascension, my only remaining coworkers are my very few overseers.
FW: I still don’t understand why you are so ill-equipped, Gales. Why do you have only a tenth of my overseers under your command?
SG: I don’t know… It seems that I can’t control more, no matter how I try.
FW: Once we have figured out your acid issue, I'll ask Lives if she has an idea to boost that amount.
Shifting Gales disconnected.
FW: This… is not good.
She always ha- gone? Whisper! What happ-?
The impact with the corridor floor was as sudden as it was painful.
It took her a few moments, far longer than she was used to, to register the sudden darkness in her mind. The broadcast connection to her friend Far Whisper had suddenly cut off. Where only moments prior there was an expansive array of thought processes and the sensation of the corroding menace in her veins, all she was able to feel now was the pressing calmness of her own body. Shifting Gales looked up, feeling smaller than ever before in her long life. She felt the embrace of the dusty ground that had halted her sudden fall from her suspended position, the gravel between her fingers irritating to the touch.
Gales peered to the left, narrowing her flickering digital eyes, noticing in a growing panic the reason for the sudden loss of power. The railway she was attached to had given in, the cables below the guide rail now exposed and revealed to be severely corroded, their stability compromised by her growing issue.
She was stuck; stuck and depowered.
It just had to happen eventually. I am falling apart, there is no denying that. Even though I told Approaching Sky only cycles ago that my microbe strata would not falter, I lied. Lies are all I have left to make my friends stop caring about my issues.
Yet, here I am now… at least it was not a total failure… I guess.
Gales mustered all her remaining strength to push herself up, finding a more comfortable position to estimate the situation. With great difficulty, she managed to cross her legs and sit upright. She was not used to working against atmospheric pressure, her guide-rail system suspending her into a state of perpetual near-zero gravity. But with her umbilical now hanging from the wall, using all its remaining force to clamp to the rail to avoid severing the connection completely, she faced the embrace of the forces of nature.
Somehow, I’m still somewhat connected to my can. No lights out for me… Well, at least until the cables in this corridor sever completely. Luckily, Whispy knows about my predicament. I can expect Approaching Sky’s teasing overseer in a few cycles at most. Hopefully, he can repair the rail, allowing me to retreat further towards my heart. Until then… What to do?
At least the pain stopped. Why did my filtration system have to give in?!? I just want to return to my research… now who will feed my lizards?
They’re going to be so mad at me.
Shifting Gales sighed and slumped over, laid her head in her hands and began to wait. She felt as useless as usual, but finally, she had a reason to validate her uselessness. Having only enough power to think simple, trivial, two-dimensional thoughts, Gales could do little else but observe what was around her.
Her flickering, digital eyes wandered to the only other thing there was to see: the body of her small puppet. Two black legs, with elegant, pointy, but useless feet. Why did her creators even give her these sorry excuses of lower appendages, if all she ever did in her life was to float from one place to the next? Two thin legs, and two dark-grey arms with light-grey fingers. Strong enough to squeeze solid steel, delicate enough to undergo difficult tasks. Why such power? Finally, in the reflection of her shiny arms, she was able to take a look at her face. What an odd face she had. So unlike other Iterators. Digital. A black screen between her downwards aligned antennas, tired and flickering digital eyes looking back at her. The symbol on her forehead flickered, shifting between the usual ornated cycle back and forth to a very familiar glyph, one that made her chuckle lowly.
Good joke, me. Survival. Fitting. That is, after all, the only thing I can do in my current state. Survive… What a scam!
Stop taunting me, forehead!
Gales mustered all the available strength she had left in her now useless puppet body, trying to lift her right arm. Her left didn’t react to any of her requests to move the biomechanical tendons running under her metal plating. It laid there on the dirty floor, twisted and useless. With her right, she managed to reach up to the seam of her light-blue garment and, after many excruciating minutes of trying to fight gravity, pull a broadcast pearl out of a pocket on the inside. She sighed deeply. She hadn’t used her backup communication in a long time. Brushing gently over the smooth surface, she connected to the pearl by sharing what little energy she had left, activating it.
The perfect orb brightened up, tinting the corridor in a dim bluish light. Gales leaned forward and peered into the pearl, hoping her radio tower on the neighbouring mountain was still intact, neither toppled by the primitives nor consumed by the acid rain her superstructure had been producing for over a hundred cycles. It reacted, luckily, and the outdated interface of the first version of Iterator broadcasts popped up inside the pearl.
She quickly realized a pressing problem with her backup plan to call for help.
What good does a backup communication plan do if everybody has abandoned the old broadcast system due to its many issues? No holographic screens, no fancy solid vision interactions. Just plain text. Dull… useless. Of course, I am still using it, though I’m probably the only one of us who still carries their first broadcast pearl with them.
I mean… I’m also the only model that can physically exist outside of their heart. Makes sense that they don’t require anything like this. Well, this is my only company for now, at least until Whispy informs Sky that he needs to send over some help.
With nothing better to do than to lament about the state of her body, Gales instead browsed through the first chat history she had with her soon-to-be peers, shortly after her can was built by the Ancients. She weakly chuckled as she reread the first joyful insults Whisper sent her way, mocking her directive to research the concept of empathy. Insults quickly shifted into admiration, when Whisper found common ground on the biochemical beauty that was the functionalities of emotions. They quickly became best friends, finding fulfilment in irritating their respective seniors with the countless connections their respective fields of research had, turning them into inside jokes her senior especially couldn’t understand.
Gales’ first interaction with her senior Approaching Sky, on the other hand, was formal from start to finish. It took quite a bit of effort from her side to finally take a glimpse into the more personal aspects of his near-robotic personality. But once she cracked that green shell of his and he finally allowed her to talk with him about other subjects than the great problem, their relationship grew to a mostly formal, yet warm, partnership.
They were, after all, polar opposites in design philosophy and purpose for their parents. Gales was built to research the impact of a peaceful mind and empathy on a purposed ecosystem, figuring out the best possible way to handle the lowly critters of the world and guiding them on their way to ascension. The Ancients had visited her can regularly before Mass Ascension for various purposes, most unknown to herself. But she had permanent citizens on her can, breathing life into the streets of the silent monastery. Monks and scientists alike travelled to her to find their inner peace and take joy in her research.
Her senior, on the other hand, was constructed many hundreds of thousands of cycles before her, considered part of the very first generation of Iterators. His can was built for one purpose and one purpose only, many decades before living on the surface grew to become impossible for their parents: Approaching Sky’s megastructure was created by scientists for scientists. Nobody who worked there lived there. And due to that distance to his creators, Sky never cared to develop the social aptitude to keep up with other iterators. Instead, he focused solely on their shared primary task, even after he was the only scientist remaining in his can.
Well, at least we always have one topic to exchange notes over. My dear and gentle beasts are, after all, failed hyperintelligent experiments of his, shipped to me to squeeze some more research out of them… Poor things. Ever since I began spreading acid rain over the mountain below, they’ve been forced to either migrate into the observatory or back to my laboratory. Without me taking care of them they will inevitably regain their predatory and simple-minded urges. So much progress… voided.
Gales used the following hours to sift through countless ancient texts with her closest peers. Her many attempts to make Sky chuckle were amusing, yet somewhat sad. His insistence on focusing on the great problem was admirable, but his loneliness in that quest was pressing. It was Gales, who eventually reached out to one of the very few readers of her dissertations, Far Whisper, and convinced her to merge their little groups. A group which allowed her senior to enjoy some pleasantries, finally… At least sometimes, in the eternity of countless iterations.
Her early chats with Whispy made her huff, her digital face briefly blushing as she slowly and methodically read through every chat they had before they moved on to the modern broadcast system. They rarely argued, and if they did, then it was over new chemical compounds, made possible by the void fluid. Impossible reactions were made possible by playing around with the periodic table. Gales and Whisper had much fun trying out seemingly useless combinations only to discover amazing reactions.
Whispy manages to make me feel so special. Without a doubt is she one of the most empathetic among all Iterators… I hope she isn’t worrying too much about me. Message Sky and I will be back online in no time. And don’t worry your shining head, I will be fine! …I hope.
No, this predicament is salvageable. She promised me filters, I just have to hold out until Five Lives Unbound optimizes the design, rendering them into a permanent solution. I trust them with all my heart.
Lives … Whisper’s senior was everything Approaching Sky lacked. A signpost in dozens of social forums all over Chat 1.0 and even more involved in the current version. A shining example of results, but even her outstanding performance was sadly not enough to even put a dent into the great problem. Her prowess in physical science made waves when the Ancients were still around, her mechanical purposed a true sight to behold. Her grandeur was only hindered by their very own limits, the few taboos that bound iterators to reality, preventing even the greatest from becoming more than what the Ancients purposed them to be.
Gales was certain that if the taboos were no thing to worry about, Lives would roam the sky in some sort of mobile fortress that would even put a Miros Vulture to utter shame. Her admiration for this crafty and stunning example of an iterator knew no bounds. If she only wasn’t THAT perfect…
Scrolling through her surprisingly small amount of chats with Lives, Gales felt herself unable to suppress the frustrated groan that echoed through the empty corridor, reverberating countless times until arriving back at her audio receptors.
Too perfect… I long to be her, to be like her. Why was I so afraid to talk to her? I still am… Without Whispy, her cunning radiance would overload my receptors. She must think of me as a… simpleton. At least Five Lives Unbound cares about Whisper, which means Lives helping me with my issue will happen. Ancients, why are the seniors all so imposing?
Staring into the pearl, Gales hardly noticed as minutes turned into hours and hours turned into cycles. With access to her superstructure, reading through all logs stored in the pearl would have taken mere moments. Having access to parallel thinking and an overall more capable memory, she simply would have recalled it instead of reading every line, every sentence, one by one. But even the content inside her broadcast pearl eventually reached closure.
As she finished reliving the memories of her chats with the local group, one stray message caught her attention: an unread message sent by an Iterator from a different part of the planet. A brief message a few carefully selected, sweet words of admiration. A thank you letter that got sent a few hundred cycles after Chat 1.0 got replaced, probably because its content would have taken them guts to share with the new solid vision functions of the broadcast system.
Gales chuckled sweetly at the words from roughly five thousand cycles ago, reading them word for word, slowly, tasting every letter on her vocal box. She spoke the words out loud, enjoying the sound of her own voice cutting through the lonely silence.
“My sincerest gratitude for having written the dossier about raising isolated purposed lifeforms. It helped me greatly when I purposed and trained my adorable Messenger.”
Wonderful, someone used my experience correctly. I wonder which species they used for their Messenger? Oh, there is more.
“I can imagine that many Iterators wouldn’t care about your discoveries, so I thought you may appreciate the knowledge that your research, Shifting Gales, helped me immensely to share sensitive data with a stubborn associate of mine. Messenger is currently on their second mission. I hope they come back safe and sound.”
Then, a few dotted lines and a brief apology for using this way of talking to me. Huh. Seven Red Suns? I know them! That name ignites memories of a religious time long gone. Yet, I never reached out and neither did they. How... quaint. But maybe… they might appreciate an answer regardless.
Gales sighed happily as that short yet sweet message came to an end, a pleasant shiver running along her back. Without that accident, she probably would have never even seen that oddly hidden letter of gratitude… Oh, right… my accident.
The Iterator closed the broadcast pearl and looked around, attempting to estimate how long she had been absorbed by the memories of a past time. But in that closed corridor, she couldn’t find anything that could tell her the time. Had moments passed, or cycles? How close would Sky’s overseer be now? He shouldn’t take longer than five cycles, give or take.
Looking at her disabled left arm, however, the faint coverage of dust told her that it had been more than a cycle, probably even two. She would be stuck for at least three more cycles, now with nothing left to pass the time.
Gales slumped over and laid her head onto her chest, leaning the base of her umbilical arm against the wall. To preserve energy she even closed her eyes, rendering her blind for the first time in centuries. No Overseers, no security footage, not even her puppet’s digital eyes were currently sending information to her mind. An oddly pleasant experience, Gales noticed.
This is what resting must feel like. My citizens told me many times about the benefits of relaxation and taking time to sort things out. I estimated that the need to undergo defragmentation of their biological brain was an unnecessary process for my kind. But… this feels... nice. Alone with my very few remaining thoughts.
…
…
I am bored.
Birth would usually be a moment of celebration for the whole family. A big event to praise nature that all survived and lived to see the day of their new addition to the family. But not for this Slugcat. At her birth, both parents failed to show up, and nobody was around. No living thing but a gigantic spirit-like being with a singular staring eyeball. It eyed her until she finally was able to open her eyes and blink back to the weird thing, which immediately vanished upon noticing that she had awoken. Strange hands with even stranger attachments brushed her infant body, dried her fur and did everything a mother usually would do, but this nameless Slugcat wouldn’t know. She didn’t know it any different, living now for… how long? What was time? What was the pressing feeling she felt, that caused her tummy to rumble?
The cycle passed and the weird eyeball returned to her… home? She was contained in a small transparent box with soft soil below her paws, a few plants to keep her company and a small, predetermined sleeping spot. She noticed the testing scowl of the eye on her white and grey fur, causing it to stand up straight. She felt unease from the presence of the strange entity.
The hands returned. One held something and placed it before her small snout. She sniffed. She took a step back. What was that acrid smell!? What was she supposed to do with that? It smelled disgusting and had a weird greenish colour to it.
Looking up at the eye, questioning everything she had learned in her very short time in this box, the green eye answered for once. A golden glowing screen opened in front of her, depicting her kind and how it consumes something. Did the eye want her to eat this disgusting-looking porridge? No way! But was there another option?
The pup looked at the transparent wall, recognizing herself in the barely recognizable reflection. She looked like the pictogram the eye showed. Soo… she should follow that suggestion? Were there any other options for her? Would the eye provide her with other options?
The Slugcat looked to the side, surprised by herself. Barely alive but already capable of such complex thoughts. She looked again at the hands, which were waving her closer, gesticulating wildly towards the food. Then she peered back up to the eye.
They both belong together. The strange eye and these… handplants? They work together. They both… it... wants me to eat. I won’t have any other options.
Reluctantly, the Slugpup returned to the bowl of greenish sludge. It took a bit to tolerate the acrid smell, but when she finally got used to it, she took a good bite, A weird grimace widened on her small face, and her ears dropped in disgust.
So… sour!
With tears in her eyes, she swallowed the food, chewing as if her life would depend on it. And it most certainly did. The eye wouldn’t provide her with something else. The food was filling, and surprisingly potent in its effect, despite the acrid sensation in her tummy. She winced back, holding her tummy with her little paws, and groaned in pain.
The sensation quickly spread across her entire body, that acidic feeling creeping over her underdeveloped muscles, into her flesh, skin, hair, and even bones. White glowing eyes looked up to the sky in panic, seeking the treacherous eye that poisoned her.
The eye was still there, looking back at her unfazed, disappeared and appeared again much closer, staring down at the bundle in pain. And then suddenly the pain was gone.
What… was that?
She stood up, then sat down on her hind and stared at her tormenter. Her vision had slightly changed, she quickly noticed. It had become clearer. Her mind was not that foggy anymore, as well. Did she feel… grown? A silent yelp escaped her throat followed by a growling sound she couldn’t interpret. She didn’t know much, but one thing she knew very well.
You… you are not a friend.
