Yeah I know neither of those is a word. I also know that they are now. If you make up a word and others know what the hell you mean by it, than by definition its a word.
Ok, so maybe it still isn't a goddamn word, 'cause I don't know what the hell I'm talking about.
Couple of people mentioned that things seem to have stagnated with Dib, and I can only ask why they think that is? With such a small cast (my budget is very tight, so sue me) things of necessity focus on the minutia. The plot is spinning up into endgame for this story, but fear not, I have-est me plans for a sequel, once this arc is completed, and there's even a plan for a sidestory/project set in the Going On continuity. Far too many people have sent me email about a certain Black armored, pale Irken Tactics Officer, and so I began to wonder what his story really was.
Then Ninkira blew me away with her artwork and I said, Hell... why not make a fancomic of it?
We'll see.
Well, enough of my rantings. Enjoy the delicious meats of my brains. Mmmm brain meats.
"All these tears that I've cried. You must be tired of taking care of me but... It's what you do best, and I'm a liar, 'cause really it's what I need. And I thought that I found myself today. And I thought that I had control. All the chains in my life just fell away. For a moment I didn't need you. Someone like you, someone like me. Maybe, it's chains that set you free. Free... And I thought that I found myself today. And I thought that I had control. All the chains in my life just fell away. For a moment I didn't need you." -Smile Empty Soul, Finding Myself
I am bone-tired, and cold. Night has arrived, and I take this opportunity to turn stinging, tear-wrung eyes to the horizon. The smoke of a thousand trashfires eternally burning on this alien world send pillars of smoke upward to hold up the sky. I don't know if the sun actually is blood red, or if it just looks that way filtered through the miles and miles of gunk choking the air between it and my eyes. It ripples in the distance, slowly, imperceptively sinking down past the horizon.
Its light falls on the pillars of smog and smoke and the chemicals in them react differently in each case... here a brilliant purple... there a dingy yellow, spots of gold and crimson, even a bit of lime green. The illusion of serenity, of peace, is breathtaking.
Sunsets are the only thing that make this planet pretty... even for a moment.
I turn my face away from the fading light and look over the bundle in my arms. She shivers, miserable, but every time I try to release her, her grip tightens on me. My position should be uncomfortable, hell, it should hurt like hell, but strangely, I feel no pain.
Have you ever been dosed up with novacaine in preparation for dental surgery? Ever run your hand over your cheek and marveled at how strange it felt to feel something that's yours and yet not feel it at the same time?
When it's over your whole body, it stops being an interesting sensation.
It starts being... Really. Fucking. Scary.
Here we are, the two of us. What a fucked up pair we make. Her, badly injured, an injury sustained saving my miserable life, I might add. Of course, this wouldn't be the first time, for either of us, and who's keeping track anyway? Me, naked.
Yes, naked.
What, you think I took the time to put on some damn clothes before I went to see if she was ok? Hell no! Didn't think about it for a second. I barely had the presence of mind to dry myself off first. I wasn't THINKING about modesty at the time. Honestly, I wasn't thinking about much at all. Now she won't let go of me, and I don't have the heart to make her let go.
Words... words just won't come. Every time I start to say something I think... just a couple more minutes. She's earned it.
Hell, while you're bullshitting, if she wanted to stay like this forever, she's earned it.
It is a ridiculous position to be in, especially on an inhospitable, alien world. Of course, I can't really CALL it alien anymore, can I? How long do you have to be stuck somewhere before it starts being... home? It doesn't matter that I don't want this place to BE home, that I'll never really accept it, in my heart, as home.
Sometimes you have to accept things you don't like.
I was 14 when I crashed here so long ago. I destroyed my first (and probably only) Irken Encounter team when I was about 19. For the last 2 years, at least, as far as I can figure it, I've been living here, with Vic. I KNOW I'm actually older than that. I KNOW the days are longer here... the seasons are not like earth's. I have no way of keeping earth accurate time.
I figure, I'm probably about 24 years old. Give or take a year.
Which means I've spent 10 years on this dirtball. That's an accomplishment, right? 10 years stuck on a planet where every advancement I make, every comfort or amenity I can wring from this place was built or scavenged with my own two hands.
I couldn't take it alone. I wouldn't have lasted this long. I know that now. Actually, subconsciously, I knew it then, when I first looked at her hanging upside down in my trap and thought to myself, it'd be a mercy for her if I bashed her head in with a rock.
Who benefits more from who? Who gets more out of this oddball partnership? We've traded positions so many times... Captor, captive. Teacher, student. Doctor, patient...
Friend...
Maybe... more?
I don't know anymore. I used to think the concept was just plain WRONG. In a way, I still do. She's not human. No matter how much she learns about humanity, no matter how... intimately, she learns about the human condition, she'll never be human. I wouldn't want her to be. I want...
Aw... fuck. I don't know anymore.
I... really lost it back there. I didn't know who I was for a while. I told myself, when I first got stranded here, that I was never going to give Zim the satisfaction of knowing I was too weak to live on my own. I was never going to kill myself... suicide was not an option. After all the shit I'd been through, I'd come through stronger... with a few dings here and there, a few mental dents, if you will, Gaz nonwithstanding...
I haven't seen her in a while. I don't... really miss her. Well, I miss Gaz, but not the Gaz in my head.
Something else I'm no longer sure about.
I was broken. That machine in there, it broke me. Broke me like a child breaks a toy. All the bullshit, all the semantics and tough guy antics aside, I was willing to take ANY way out. I was already mentally GONE. Demons? Devils? Hell?
It might surprise you, (But if it does, you haven't been reading this very long, have you?) to learn that despite my paranormal leanings, on the subject of religion I was the world's worst skeptic. So much about the concept had to be taken on faith, because the logic of it was just plain looney to me. I guess I question too much.
Hell? What use would a loving God have for a place to eternally torture people?
It just didn't make sense to me.
Still, take away everything else, put a man in a situation where there is no way out, take everything from him, give him nothing but pain, and his last thoughts are invariably the same.
God, please, get me the FUCK out of here.
She had to broil her arm to break me out of it. I was just sort of walking in a haze... a bad dream. I was going to get out. I was going to end it.
She brought me back with a whimper.
I AM back now, I think. I don't know how I'll face the machine again. I don't know HOW Vic's pain brought me back to myself. Maybe... maybe I wasn't broken, maybe just bent.
Heh. Yeah, bent. Like a horseshoe.
Fuck... I'm going to have to face it again. The thought sends dread coursing to the pit of my stomach. My bowels threaten to loosen just at the concept of it.
You want to talk about humiliation? About degradation? Have you ever been so scared of someone the THOUGHT of confronting them makes you want to shit yourself?
Still, I DO have to face the machine again. I WILL face it again.
For her.
It's time. I have progressed past the point of hesitating to continue because I don't want to disturb her, and have progressed into the realm of hesitating because confronting the machine scares the shit out of me (almost literally). I look down at her again and sigh.
"Vic?"
"Mmmm." Her grip tightens a bit.
"Vic, we need to fix you up. Come on."
"Don't... leave me, Dib. I-"
Contractions. Fuck. She's really in a bad way, if she's talking in contractions.
"I'm not leaving you, Vic. Your arm needs to be tended to."
"But..."
I sigh. "I'm... better now. Really. Although I am starting to get a bit chilly. I'm surprised you haven't cut yourself on one of my nipples yet."
That jerks her out of her half comatose state. She looks up at me, blinks, then her face turns a much darker shade of green and her antennae curl in tightly against her head. She eases her way out of my lap, the blanket unwrapping itself as she does so.
It sticks to her injured arm. She winces as it pulls itself free.
The blanket, not her arm.
It takes me about five minutes, as both of my legs have fallen asleep, but after several embarassing false starts, I manage to stand up. I hunt around for my clothes, most definately NOT paying attention to her as I do so, as though ignoring her while I'm naked makes it alright.
I find them. The shirts ok... a little bloodstained, but I'll live. The pants are full of shit. They stink. I take this opportunity to wash them out thouroughly, and put them back on wet.
I'd rather be damp then run around with old shit leaking out of my pants legs.
Well of course I go commando... you think my single pair of underwear lasted 10 years?
I turn back to Vic, and she hasn't been idle. I keep forgetting she damn near carries a surgical hospital on her back. She has wrapped her arm in bandages and put it in a makeshift sling. I regard her as she methodically checks herself for further damage.
She sways a bit on her feet and puts her arm against a nearby pile of scrap, regaining her balance.
"Vic... are you alright?" I hope she isn't going to collapse on me... I don't know how well I'll fare against the machine alone.
"I... am fine, Dib. I gave myself an anesthetic. My head just feels.. a bit cloudy is all."
I raise an eyebrow. I put a hand on her forehead. She blinks.
"You DO feel a little hot... Are you sure you're ok?"
She raises one antennae and looks at me oddly. "And you know this is not just a natural temperature difference between Irken and human physiology because...?"
I blink. "Well, Er..."
She smiles, slightly. "Leave the medical problems to the medical drone, Dib. If I say I am fine, I am."
"Fine!" I snap.
"Yes." She blinks.
"No, I was agreeing with you." I say, somewhat exasperated.
"Of... course... you were?" She says falteringly, sounding somewhat confused.
I sigh.
After a moment of introspection I turn to the dark hulk of the dreadnought and regard it with a look equal parts morbid fascination and dread. It doesn't LOOK any different. There's no way of telling from out here that a malignant intelligence that gets its kicks out of torturing helpless aliens resides inside. She notices my look and puts her good hand on my forearm. I blink out of the daze I was in and stare at her curiously. Vic is not a touchy feelly sort... in fact, she kind of shieghs away from physical contact.
She mets my gaze and shakes her head.
"You don't have to, Dib."
I sigh and look back at the dreadnought. "Yes I do. All my stuff is in there. Hell, sooner or later it's going to rain, then we won't have a choice."
"You don't HAVE to do it so soon."
"Vic, this isn't one of those things that's going to get better with time. While I'm pissing around out here, who KNOWS what it's doing in there?"
She tugs on my forearm. I look away from the dreadnought, back to her. Her expression is deathly serious.
"I don't..." she closes her eyes for a moment, then opens them again. "I will not lose you."
Again, strange. For a moment I can't even give her a response. It's not often that Vic speaks so firmly. Where I'm concerned, I can count the number of declarative statements she's made on both hands.
Apparently I'm forgetting something. Apparently I'm not the only one who came out of this thing changed. I start to make a joke, start to do something to relieve the tension, as I've done a thousand times before, then something in her stance makes me stop.
I look at her. I REALLY look at her, like I'm seeing her for the first time. At first glance it's the same old Vic, small, looking out of place... alone, cringing a little. As though the world were going to sucker punch her if she took her eyes off of it for a second.
Only... this isn't the Vic I KNOW.
Rather, it isn't the Vic she lets me see.
She's afraid, but she isn't afraid for her. Or maybe a better way to put it is she is afraid for herself, but BECAUSE of me.
Not OF me.
She isn't giving me a way out, knowing that I'M afraid.
She isn't giving ME an excuse.
She's afraid FOR me.
For a moment I'm speechless, and then I know what I have to do. It sounds ridiculous, but it all becomes clear. What it means, what it WILL mean, I... we, will deal with later, but right now... right now is what's important.
I crouch down and look her right in the eyes. Our faces are maybe a foot apart.
"I'm sorry, Vic." I say, sincerely.
She blinks. "Why?"
"This isn't about me. This isn't about how I feel, and how I'm going to manage. This is about us."
She is quiet... transfixed.
"All this time... I just sort of took for granted, that I had to protect you. I don't know why I started thinking about you before I started thinking about myself. I guess... I guess for so long, I've been thinking that I don't really matter." It sounds strange, putting these feelings into words, but as I say it, I realize it's true.
She opens her mouth to say something and I shake my head, taking her shoulders with my hands.
It takes me a moment to continue, takes me a long moment, to reason out what I want to say. When I do say it, it comes out hoarsely... like it hurts coming out.
"It hurts you... to think that I might be in pain."
Her brow furrows.
"I'm sorry I hurt you, Vic. I promise that... that as long as we're together in this, I'll live for you."
I squeeze her shoulders. Not hard... just... hard enough.
"You have to promise me the same."
She looks down, shaking like a leaf. I know this is hard for her. She doesn't assign herself much worth at all. Add to that this crazy human just keeps putting her in places, emotionally, that she doesn't want to be... that she was never meant to be...
I wouldn't blame her if she told me to fuck off.
I wouldn't blame her a bit.
She looks up at me. "I do not... know WHY you want me to-..."
"Vic..." I start. This time she shakes her head.
"I don't know why I am important to you, but I... I know that I am."
She looks up, and it's THERE. I don't know what IT is, but there is an emotion in her opague, hard to read eyes that holds me spellbound for a moment.
It is... for lack of a better word... Love. She wouldn't understand what I meant if I told her I...
She wouldn't understand, but sometimes you don't have to understand.
"I promise, Dib."
I let go of her and stand up. I turn to the dreadnought and square my shoulders.
"Let's show this bitch who's boss."
Of course, it might have been more impressive if my voice hadn't cracked at the end.
The pain in my arm has died down to a dull throb. The last thing I want to do at this moment is confront what I am rapidly coming to realize is an unstable SIMA. SIMA are a necessary evil onboard Irken fighting vessels. At first glance they would appear to be completely superfluous, completely unnecessary. In actuality, nothing could be farther from the truth.
Consider if you will that in the course of combat in space a several hundred feet to miles long fighting vessel is constantly monitoring it's location in relation to space, its location in relation to other ships in its fleet, its location in relation to its enemy, its location in relation to the enemy fleet, its location in relation to the inevitable bits of debris, discerning the difference between said debris and enemy weaponry, decoys, fighters, etc. The status of every system, the status of every system in its fleet, the status of enemy systems, the status of every ship in the enemies fleet, and the attempt to garner more information from sensor sweeps, fighting to get through countermeasures, counter countermeasures...
So much information constantly changing and updating would require a bridge crew of dozens just to keep up with the rapidly evolving scenario. Some of the ancient dreadnoughts had enlarged bridge compartments as a result. Unfortunately this meant that the enemy immediately knew the most critical location on the ship to target, and a direct hit on such a section meant that the ship in question was effectively destroyed.
So the Irken empire, with the help of enslaved Vortian scientists, made advancements in artificial intelligence. The first SIMA, or Shipboard Interactive Machine Avatar, was born. Capable of instantaneously taking millions of variables into account, weigh what information was immediately relevant, and display the information to the now immensely reduced bridge crew, the SIMA was the pinnacle of Irken accomplishment... through the use of unimportant intermediaries, that is.
It was a dismal failure.
The Irken and Vortian scientists failed to take into account the paranoid and largely xenophobic Irken military elite. When the first SIMA was introduced into Irken battle technology, and the Irken soldiers were told that they would be deferring all decisions to an alien artificial intelligence, the Irken military largely distrusted the system. They second guessed and checked up on every bit of information the SIMA relayed to them, leading to an abyssimal trial run resulting in the complete destruction of the test fleet.
The project was due to be scrapped when a single Irken scientist came upon the answer, quite by accident.
This unnamed Irken scientist had discovered that the SIMA construct was a remarkably interesting personality construct. By adjusting certain variables in the Construct Persona Matrix Unit (CPMU) the scientist was able to emulate several superior's personalities with his test SIMA. Apparently this was done for the purposes of ridicule and self-amusement. In fact, when tied into a specially designed holographic imaging unit, he was able to fool several coworkers into believing they were receiving orders from their superiors.
After the unnamed scientist's... removal, the program was installed in what was to be the first of what is considered to be the modern style of Dreadnought, The IES Immense, and test trials went underway.
It was a complete success. Despite knowing that there was an AI controlling nearly every function on the ship, the bridgecrew and military were able to identify with the AI as an Irken, and therefore found it trustworthy.
Hence the modern SIMA construct. What we were facing was not the most advanced, state of the art, modern Irken SIMA. What we were facing was a second generation AI, with, I was beginning to suspect, several unauthorized modifications, in addition to a severe case of memory corruption. When a SIMA has experienced a critical level of shipboard damage, one that results in power loss, or CPMU damage, it goes into a sort of "Safe" mode in which the damaged sectors or memory lattices are excised from the operating core. The closest I could come to describing what this means in physical terms would be the equivalent of a stroke or some form of brain damage.
The end result? A dangerously unstable, brain damaged SIMA construct in marginal control of a still powerful, if crippled, Irken Dreadnought.
I have a sudden desire to go run and hide, but I will not.
Dib... needs me to be here.
I do not know why he has a sudden need to confront his tormentor. I...
No, that is not right. I DO know why. He is doing it for me. The thought of being caught out here, unprotected in the rainfall this planet regularly receives sends tendrils of fear into my very being. Still, though I am not familiar with human mental health, it strikes me as unwise for him to confront such a thing right now.
For one thing, we cannot do without the ship's SIMA. While the intricacies of space combat are not something we are likely to encounter on Dirt, for obvious reasons the Irken CPMU is directly tied into the power core. The premise being that if the power core of a ship were damaged enough to stop working, the ship was already beyond salvaging anyway. The last thing to go on an Irken Dreadnought is the AI. It was now in complete connection with the new power core, removing the power core and returning the dreadnought to its unpowered state would be impossible without the AI's acceptance, and this is counter to its core programming. Destroying or removing the SIMA was equally impossible... without removing the power core.
If we are going to continue using the Dreadnought, we are going to have to come to an agreement.
Dib stops just outside the airlock. His expression is haunted. He begins to tremble, his hands clenched into fists.
I have to do something.
I reach out and take one of his hands. He starts as though he had forgotten my presence, then smiles softly, his expression somewhat guilty.
"Sorry, Vic. I didn't think it was gonna start so soon."
"Dib..." I start, unsure of how to word this.
He raises an eyebrow. "Mmm?"
I squeeze his hand. "You have to understand, this is not a person. No matter how advanced it is, it is only simulating emotional responses. It can only do what it was programmed to do."
He blinks. "I don't understand..."
I sigh, looking away. "What I mean is, what... what it did to you, in there... it did not mean anything personal by it. It was not being cruel, or capricious. It was following its programming."
His face clouds up and he looks away sullenly, his expression haunted again. "Bullshit. Vic, you weren't in there with it. You didn't hear it. Something I said in there... angered it. It... SHE... WANTED to hurt me... I think she wanted to kill me. I made her... HURT, I think, and she was paying me back for the favor."
I shake my head. "IT Dib. It. IT was only acting out a logical chain process based off of your reactions. Your emotional responses evoked specific reactional responses, but there was no malice behind-"
"Vic, how complex does a simulation have to be before its real enough not to matter? It felt REAL to me, it felt like it was responding emotionally to me... Even if, ultimately, it was just some sort of program running its course, she was real to me." He chuckles bitterly.
"It passed that Turing test."
I frown. "Excuse me?"
He shakes his head. "Not important. The thing is... Whether or not it meant anything by it, whether or not I can forgive and forget, it doesn't matter. I KNOW we can't shut it off. I don't like it, but..."
He straightens. "I don't have a choice. I'll have to learn to live with it."
I turn to the airlock, and take a deep breath. "Dib..."
He tightens his hand in mine. "Yeah?"
"I won't let it hurt you."
I can hear the smile in his voice. "I know you won't."
The lock opens with a slow grinding sound, and the internal lighting flickers on with almost painful slowness. We step inside, and the outer door closes behind us with nerve jarring finality.
It is quiet, save for my ragged breathing. I force myself to become calm. Hold it together, Dib...
The inner lock opens and the hallway lights up, much quicker than the airlock did. A camera or something focuses on us, the lens irising tightly to focus in the view.
I grin at it fiercely to hide my fear and flip it off.
If a sensor could look irate, this one would.
"SIMA?" Vic intones, ignoring my antics.
"YeS, TaLlEsT?"
I frown. "Tallest? What does she mean by-"
"SIMA, what is my current authorization level?"
"YoU aRE RegISterED aS TAlLEst VicTOriA, AUthORIzatIOn CoDe 24601-11B. YoU ArE CUrREntly In FULl ComManD oF ThiS VEsSel. ALl Of Its CREw LIve tO SerVe YoU. LoNG LivE The IRkEn EMpIrE!"
I frown, hiding my rapidly mounting terror with mocking scorn. "Kiss ass."
"Dib..." She hisses warningly.
I manage to look sheepish. "Uh... sorry." Then I frown. Something is not right about all of this.
"Wait a minute, Vic... I didn't change your status, why would it think you're a Tallest?"
She frowns. "SIMA, is there a Medical Drone Vic registered as crew?"
The SIMA is silent for a moment, then breaks the silence with its static hissing voice. "A MeDIcal DRonE VIc WaS rEGIsteREd SevERal TimE UNitS AGo. ThiS ReCOrd WaS In ErroR, As An IrKEn SHiP oF ThE LiNE CANnoT Be IN SeRvICe WIthOut DireCt AuthORITy FroM A REgiStEred CrEw TalLEst ComPleMEnt, As WelL As A SUBComMaNDer. IrkEn HigH ComMANd iS InCApAble Of MAkinG aN ErrOR, ANd iT wAs AsSumEd ThaT dAta ENtry WAs iN errOR. MeDicAL DroNE ViC's StaTus Was CorREcTed to TALlesT RanK."
Vic blinks, as though she's having trouble processing what this might mean. I, on the other hand, am quite familiar with institutions who believe themselves incapable of making mistakes.
I put a hand on Vic's, shoulder. "Congratulations on your promotion, Vic."
Vic starts, then turns to me with a disturbed look in her eyes. "It is not possible. Things like this do not happen."
I wince. "Yeah... well, about that... I doubt anybody has ever hacked an Irken network before... so according to an AI... especially an older one with a few screws loose... there's no such thing as an unauthorized process."
Vic shakes her head vehemently.
"But I am short!" She says desperately.
"You're the tallest Irken I've seen around here." I say blandly.
"ThE FilThy SlaVEbEasT iS oF CoURsE CORrEct."
I bristle at this. I got enough of this crap from Zim, damn it. I'm not gonna let this tin can push me around, terrifying me or no.
"Hey! I am not filthy!"
"By DefINitIon YoU ARE FiLtH, AlIEn."
"Enough of this! Computer, I forbid you to continue to use insulting labels to refer to Dib. His status is to be formally recognized as SubCommander. Do I make myself clear?"
"TaLLEst, He IS NOt An IRkEn, HE-"
"Are you accusing me of making a mistake?"
The computer was silent at this.
"Well?"
You are probably wondering what I'm doing this whole exchange. The answer is, apparently, trying to sweep the deck with the bottom of my jaw. I saw this ending alot of different ways, up to and including a fiery, Dib vaporizing explosion, but watching Vic stand up for herself is akin to watching...
Hell, I can't think of anything that it's like. I stand in awe of her. All I can do is watch. She has the damn computer twisted around her little insectile finger.
I am so turned on, I think I might faint.
Hmm... closet submissive? Naw... just proud.
I think.
The SIMA grudgingly answers her. "By DefINitioN, yOu ArE IncAPabLe oF MistakE. BuT... An AlIEn CanNOt BE A SuBCoMMaNDer, AnD tHe PosItioN Is ALReAdY FILleD."
Vic frowned. "Who has filled the position?"
The computer started up immediately. "THe PosItiOn Of SuBcOMmAnDer Is CurRENtLY OCcupIEd by TAl, IdENtiFIcaTion NumBer 10902-4G."
I scowl. "I told this stupid thing that guy is-"
Vic puts up a hand. "Shh..." She hisses. "Remember... unstable computer... don't push her buttons. Your "hacking" has given me an idea. I repair things, Dib... and that is mostly logic... I will force her into accepting you logically."
I sigh. "Yes, my Tallest."
She scowls. "Do not do that."
She turns to the camera again. "SIMA, logically speaking, if I am incapable of a mistake, than by designating Dib as Subcommander, he must therefore not be alien."
SIMA is silent for a moment, then speaks up. "LogICaLLy SPeaKinG, ThE PosItIOn oF SuBcOMManDer CanNOt Be FiLLed tWicE, aNd SuBComMAndEr TaL HaS NOt BeEn RelEiveD oF DuTy."
"That would intuit that I am making a mistake, and since I cannot make a mistake, than Subcommander Tal MUST have been relieved of duty, freeing the position."
"NO SuCh ActIOn IS On ReCORd. NoR HAs SUBCOMmANdEr tAL BEEn ReCoRdeD As MisSing."
"But he's not here, meaning the position of Subcommander belongs to Dib, and because he's the Subcommander, he must also be Irken."
SIMA was silent for a moment, then continued. "SuBComMaNDer Tal IS NOt On RecORd HAs HavINg LEFt, thE PosiTion Of SUbCommANDer CanNOt Be FIlLed By Two INDivIDuals..."
A creaking noise, then a burst of indefinable static. Both of us jump.
"Great... I think you broke her." I mutter.
Vic starts to back up. "We might want to vacate the premises..."
The static stops after a moment. Vic and I look at each other.
I look uneasily at the camera. "This is your show, Vic... you talk to the crazy bitch."
Input.not.recognized.error.position.error.subcommander.dib.error.subcommander.tal.error.logical.query.subcommander.tal.end.tenure.error.subcommander.tal.end.query.
-No. It's not possible. He wouldn't leave me. I am so confused... this Tallest hurts my head. I will not accept that he is gone.-
-Tal.-
subcommander.tal.error.dib.error.tal.error.dib.error.query.subcommander.tal.position.subname.dib?.
-YES.-
"CoMMAnd RecOgnIZed. SubComManDer StAtus ConFirmEd. RegIStry oF ALterNAtion UPDateD."
Vic and I breath a sigh of relief.
Then she blinks.
"Um... SIMA, define alternation..."
A cold chill rushes up my spine. Like someone just did backflips across my grave with a goose under each arm.
Uh oh... what now...
"LOgIcAL ErRor WaS DetEcteD. PosItioN CannOT BE FiLlEd TWiCe. PoSItiON oF SUbCOmMAndEr MusT BE FilLEd FOr IrkeN DreAdNought To BE IN seRvICe. SubCOmMAnDer TaL HAs HAd No CHANgE In STatUs, THeRefoRE TaL's RegiStry MUsT BE iN ERRor. ProFiLE FoR TaL haS BEEn UpdATEd WItH New PaRAMEterS, aND INdiViDUAl HAs SIncE BEeN LocaTEd."
Vic blinked. "Located where?"
"CORriDor 11-4, AirLock ENtry 31."
Vic winced. "Computer... confirm status of Dib as Subcommander."
"ACkNoWlEdgEd." The camera focus downward, a pencil thin beam jumping from it. The beam bounces about for a bit in place, then widens out and forms that hated holographic image. She, in turn, turns to me and bows deeply.
"Welcome aboard, Subcommander Tal." She says. Amazingly, while produced in holographic mode, her staticky voice actually manages to sound... different. More hum... er, Irken. In fact, I could almost SWEAR she was flirting with...
Oh shit. OH FUCK!
She glances up and winks at me.
Oh look... the ceiling. How did I get to be staring at the ceiling? Oh now here's the floor. Hello floor-
"Dib! Dib!"
You're going to have to come closer, Vic. I can't hear you from all the way up there.
And I don't remember much after that. At least not for a long time.
A/N: Why yes, I AM on crack... however did you notice?