Without mincing words, the old spaceship was a wreck. Salvageable, probably, but the years and prolonged exposure to a biosphere had done it no favors, other than some unplanned garden space.
Strange architecture, too. Sure, it had the efficiency all spaceships needed, but it had a clearly defined bridge, sides puckered with docking ports and barbettes, and far too complex of a shape. Even through the damage, the knife-like profile was obvious.
It was too big for a shuttle, but you just wouldn't build a modern, large spaceship like this. The geometry was too harsh. Where was the space-filling, the ellipsoids and spheres which exploited every cubic meter of the warp envelope's space?
That meant it was… old. He couldn't be sure how old precisely- history was never his strong suit- but hysterically so.
He had a sinking feeling the ship had long since been picked cleaned, but it would probably be worth investigating.
Of course, it seemed to be a warship, what with the armor and the guns. You just had to ignore the animals and plants that had appropriated it. The paint had long since given away, but whatever alloys or laminates composed the hull remained strong. Well, except for where attacks had broken through.
Well, lucky him. If it has crashed complete and whole and nobody had left a door open, he would have been in a real spot. Now his biggest worry was the jagged edges of the great hole in the ship's flank. After clearing the foliage away, getting inside was just a matter of carefully stepping in.
Plants had invaded the inside as well, spreading as far as the sunlight coming from the hole permitted. He pulled out an electric lantern and walked down the halls, leaving the greenery and natural light behind.
The insides were mostly plain grey, although there was the occasional stripe of pale green for taste. The halls were mostly empty, barring dust and the occasional sign of some brave animal's expedition inside. (Some tightass captain was rolling their grave at the thought of rodent droppings in their ship.)
The first room he found was a magazine. Seeing that it was most certainly not empty, he shut the door as best he could. He wasn't sure if explosive rotted or went bad, but if it didn't…
Crew cabins were empty, although whatever synthetic fabric had composed the bedsheets simply refused to rot away. He grabbed some, figuring it might sell well. Old uniforms that were fairly comfortable, quite durable, and completely unrecognizable were another nice find.
The bodies that should have worn said uniforms were nowhere in sight, which was odd. They'd take that sort of stuff with them if they left for greener pastures, right?
He found little to explain the mystery, not even in the bridge, where banks of terminals sat, dead and impotent.
Downstairs there was a simply monstrous engine room, of a make he couldn't dare say. Long and cylindrical, although you could barely make the shape out with all the piping and wiring ringing it. Dials and gauges all sat at zero behind yellowing glass, above the occasional lever and button.
Amid that, there was something that stuck out, quite literally. A sort of tray, where two cylinders- each about the size of a man's thigh- sat. Fuel cylinders, maybe?
The cylinders themselved might be worth something, but he was feeling curious. With a mighty push, he slotted the tray in. Other than a satisfying click, there was no reaction.
A button press loosened the tray so he could pull it out. The cylinders could probably be reused somewhere. Metal seemed strong.
Looking around with the lantern, he spotted a few more of them. Quite a few more, actually.
Well… something here would probably sell well. He had time.
To his everlasting shock, after a few tests, a pair of cylinders worked. After being slid in, the engine gave a healthy hum, before dim lights flicked on.
"Holy shit." He gasped. It was back on. And if there was one place to check now…
He dashed towards the bridge, listening as the ship suddenly came alive with activity. Running past a breach in the ship's side, a broken pipe gushed liquid.
Finally, the bridge, where a single screen was on, a halo of blue light around it. There was nothing on it barring a silver logo he didn't recognize.
"Are you the one who refueled me?" A voice came from the console, artificial but so close you could almost think it human.
"Yes."
"Thank ye kindly. HMS Glasgow, at your service."
"HMS?"
"Her Majesty's Ship?" The voice clarified, some robotic analog of worry seeping in.
"Who's Her Majesty?"
"Oh lairdie," the voice synthesizer could simulate dismay remarkably well. "Whose jurisdiction are we in?"
"Confederal Republic of Orion's Belt?" He answered.
"With all due respect, you sound unsure…"
"Lots of coups recently, miss. Plus, the government doesn't really have the money to visit often."
There was a moment of silence. "Are you familiar with Azur Lane?"
"I thought that was a myth."
"It isn't. Assuming I'm one of the only ones left…" the sadness there hurt to hear, "I have the authority to press ye into duty."
"Press me?"
"I have a mission to fulfill, and your help is my best chance of fulfilling it."
"And what do I get out of it?"
"A ship."
"Sweetheart, your ship-"
"Can be repaired. Some of the Von Neumann machines work, so with some rare metals…"
"Von Neumann machine?"
"You don't know…? Ah, pardon. A machine that can make copies of itself."
"Nanomachines?"
"Aye. If you'd help me… the universe would owe you a favor."
Did he really buy the whole story about saving the universe? Not really. She had clearly failed last time, but the universe was here regardless.
Still, a way off the planet sounded very tempting. Tempting enough to maybe spend some time indulging a nutty AI.
"Your name!" It cried. "I need it for the records!"
"Everyone calls me Gus. But for your paperwork, it's Gabriel Grissom."
"I've got all the biomatter I could possibly need here." Glasgow informed him. "However, some gold…"
"That's easy."
"Easy?"
"One of the mining corps cracked an M type with enough gold to gild your entire ship."
"Ah."
"How long is your power going to last?"
"With low consumption, I should be able to get a generator up."
"I could grab you something…"
"I appreciate it, but ye don't have the power I need, Mister Grissom." She- the console- sighed. "My sisters would handle this better…"
"Anything else for the groceries list?"
"News, if ye would be so kind."
At first, he had thought it a simply monstrous swarm of gnats or some other bug, but as he approached, he saw them glint in the sun like metal. Glasgow's promised nanobots had made their appearance- after chewing through a piece of gold- and any doubt he had had long since vanished. Along with any vegetation within two hundred feet of the ship.
"What did those plants do to you?" He asked, looking down at the console. At Glasgow. (He had come to associate her with the logo, really.)
"Did you see what my ship looked like before?"
"Right. But if you're going to genocide the plants, maybe do it towards the west? Can't have people finding you."
"I just figured carbon laminate would be best…"
"No, it's a good idea! Just mind the place, is all."
"Yes, sir."
"Sir?"
"I- uh, need to give my processors some downtime!"
As time went by, the worst breaches in the ship's sides were mended, replaced by thick layers of laminate and even the occasional spot of metal, as the swarms of nanobots bored deep into the planet. Almost anything she needed, she could make with enough of those little blighters. (Helping her had proven a very good investment.)
Well, almost anything. Her biological samples had long since rotted away, leaving her life support abilities a little lacking. She had picked up strands from the lesser plants and animals that crept in her jungle surroundings, but that wouldn't work out for him, now would it? Well, she refused to feed him a diet of rat and boiled fronds on principle, so he went to get samples, mostly just the usual foodstuffs. Mostly.
"What, do you want to make Gus-burgers?"
"I want to be able to treat you properly, if something should happen…" How could he resist a plea like that?
"Would blood work?"
"Just buy a swab." Glasgow sighed. "What if you get infected?"
"I've always been very healthy."
"Maybe it's your mental health I need to worry about."
--
The bio-vats were one of the last features to really come into place- they needed power and water and the whole deal to work properly, after all.
"You think anything's fermented into a vintage down here?"
"Navy regulations don't allow alcohol."
"Right." He sighed. "Could you whip me up a drink before we go on our voyage?"
"I'll consider it."
"And here I thought I'd have to smuggle my own stuff on board."
"I'm going to pretend that was a joke."
"Brilliant sense of humor, remember?" With that, he opened one of the vats that would- hopefully- be used to provide all sorts of foodstuffs and medicines. As one of the larger ones, it was deep enough to hold him two times over.
"Mind yourself when cleaning the vats, please. It'd be easy for ye to fall in and hurt yourself."
"What do you think I am, a kid?"
"You're important to me- ah, my mission!"
"Right." He carefully leaned over the tank. There was some sort of blackish crud on the bottom of the tank. A spray of water barely affected it. "Couldn't you use the drones to handle this?"
"All tied up printing new engine parts. It's looking to be our main bottleneck."
"Couldn't you… make more?"
"Not without cannibalizing critical parts."
"Our glorious vessel."
"Work hard, and maybe ye get to call it 'ours'."
"Mutiny." He grumbled.
Unfortunately, the engines were that perfect mix of fiendishly complex and highly damaged; the ship had apparently been retro-thrusting the entire way down, desperately fighting gravity, but that meant it landed directly on the engines. Massive excavation was required to even get started…
Now a delicate collection of trellises and scaffolds kept the ship stationary as the bulbs of the engines grew like monstrous flowers. Once, Glasgow had described their use in battle- the black bell growing hotter and hotter under constant thrust until it glowed red-orange, like a great hand desperately trying to hold some light that was so terrible, so brilliant it went through. Streams of white-hot starstuff at her tail, guns firing rapidly until the whole ship seemed stovetop hot.
("I'm not gonna get cooked alive fighting with you, am I?"
"I'll do my best to protect you.")
At this point, he had basically moved into the Glasgow full-time. The food wasn't great- although she swore up and down she was just working out the kinks in the vats- but it wasn't any worse than back home. Glasgow seemed rather embarrassed by the process, not letting him anywhere near. Still, free food was sufficient reason to suffer it.
It wasn't too bad of a view, sitting on top of the ship and watching the sun creep under the horizon. Everything he had ever known had been under that glowing star, and yet he was getting ready to leave… The thought was a little tragic, but some part of him was excited. Finding Glasgow, his ticket off the planet, was a tremendous stroke of fortune.
Polishing off his dinner, he stood up and walked across the ship's top, weaving between point defense guns and the now pristine turrets. Toward the bridge, he slipped inside through the airlock.
The insides had improved quite a bit since his first entrance. No holes in the walls, all the lights functioning properly, all plants relegated to the role of decor, and wiring up so Glasgow could talk to him throughout the whole length of the ship without having to treat it like a phone call. Speaking of…
"Could you come down to the bio-vats?"
"Sure thing." He knew the way now, having long since passed the need to be coached through or guided by colored lights. "You finally ready to show me whatever you've been cooking?"
"Aye. I hope ye like it…"
Huh. That was a little… bashful of her, wasn't it? He had gotten used to unusual expressions of emotion from the cruiser- it felt a little gross to just call her that, like she wasn't his friend- but this was a bit further beyond.
The vats had acquired a bit of a smell, just due to the natural operations of algae and bacteria, but he could see the obvious utility. Most of the vats were closed, their glass lids only giving him the faintest peeks at the churning goo inside, but one was open. Curious, he walked over and looked down…
To see a pair of green eyes staring back.
After falling on his ass, he got up and helped the girl up. Helped Glasgow up. Because of course, it was her, even if in a biorobotic body.
"But why a maid outfit?"
"It was my previous outfit. Before the crash."
"Why the first time, then?"
"Something about morale?" Glasgow said, her cheeks flushing.
"Makes sense." He nodded.
"Hush now! I just figured we needed an extra pair of hands!"
"In your current state?" She was still getting used to her new body, struggling to stand or walk without his help.
"I'll be on my feet soon enough." She fell silent for a moment. "Master."
"What?"
"Sometimes… it was what I called my commanders, before. We all got rather into it."
"All who?"
"The, ah, maid corps."
"You screwing with me?"
Engines were done, flight checks completed. Glasgow had gotten comfortable in her new skin, and had filled the vats to bursting with biomatter. Enough hydrogen had been processed to get them to the good asteroids.
There were no more reasons to wait.
With a terrible, almighty roar, a wave of fire bloomed behind them, incinerating plants and flattening trees as it lifted off the ground, gaining speed.
The small clearing the ship was in shrank and shrunk until it was a point in a near endless sea of green and gold. A ribbon of blue was parallel to their travel, curving by little settlements until it spilled out into sea, a tremendous expanse of black that curved ever so slightly at the edges.
When the thrust finally ended, there was a sudden feeling of weightlessness. He grinned. This was space.
"Glasgow, what's next?"
"A few minutes to reach our apoapsis, and then we circularize, head for the asteroids."
"Great. We repair ourselves all the way and then…"
"We start tracking other wisdom cubes. Rebuild the fleet. Protect the universe."
"All in a day's work."
"A day's work for our noble Commander."
"I thought I was master."
She blushed. "Not on the bridge, I'd think."
"Then, ah, do the thing."
"We burn in four minutes, Commander. Then you can take a rest as we transfer."
"Can I get a cup of tea?"
"Tea substitute." She sighed. "I'll try."
This is what I get for reading make your own spaceship CYOAs instead of writing
Anyways, I have another fic in the wings regarding Glasgow, which is set in the Victorian era. I want to do a maid x master sort of thing, but I also want to show how living conditions for maids were bad, but reveling in it would distract from the romance, etc.
As I was writing this I saw Glasgow was in Haar. Dawg. Seeing the other ao3 fic about her death made me sad but the Haar? :(