When The Shuttle Comes

[HugoLuman]

 

Son walked down the winding passage, the glint of innumerable tiny eyes greeting the light of his monitor. He could see some of them raising their feelers as he passed, as if anticipating his question. "Has the shuttle come yet?"

 

The tiny bodies making up the tunnel began to vibrate in unison. "I'm sorry, I have not seen it yet. Can you hold on a while longer?"

 

"Yes," he said, flicking a few emoticons across his screen. He could feel a slight malfunction in the display, though perhaps he could fix it when he got back.

 

"What do you wish to do when you leave?"

 

"Same answer as always: acquire a chassis with a sense of touch. If I can afford it."

 

"Well, I hope you will," answered the tunnel, concluding the ritual.

 

Son looked down at his arm, but seeing no more room for marks, he stopped. "Mother?"

 

"Yes? You have not spoken after concluding this pattern thus far, I wonder what has changed?"

 

"I think I might be getting older," he said, "and I wonder, am I the same as them?"

 

"As your coworkers? The ones you call organics?"

 

A checkmark appeared on his screen. "Yes. And I suppose I should ask if they are the same, too. I've been used to thinking of them as organics, but they are different species after all. But you've spoken to all of us, and your perspective might be so much larger as to be equidistant from all of ours." He changed his display to a question mark. "So, then. Would you say that a human, a skrell, and a vulpkanin are the same? And would you say I am the same as them?"

 

There was a slight rumbling, a tremor as all the tiny bodies shifted slightly in thoughtful motion. "I am not able to interface with your body as I did with theirs," said Mother, feelers raising from the floor and brushing Son's metal ankles. "And so I cannot say for sure between you and organics. I found many similar things in their thoughts, though. I recognized the same needs. And I think you, I, and they share many of them. This 'older,' though, is strange to me, but not to you. But 'alone,' that is something we all understand."

 

Son started walking again, but flashed his question mark brighter a few times. "How can you feel alone? Aren't you a collective?"

 

The tunnel squirmed. "All these bodies are a part of me, and I have diffused into each of them. They are to me as cells are to your coworkers." Son saw one glinting eye wriggle, and a tiny body work itself free from the ceiling. It dropped onto his shoulders, and its tiny voice chirruped "And each of them understood loneliness before they joined me. It is natural for nymphs to want to be together." It dropped to the floor, and scurried back to the space it had left above. "And it is not only a memory from my nymphs," said Mother's united voice again. "That's why I thank you for this conversation. I only wish you and the others would speak with me as often as you did when you first arrived."

 

"I see," Son said, reaching the familiar turn. The base was near now. "And I do apologize. I've been rather absorbed in my work. But how did you cope before the Skrell found you?"

 

For a minute, the walls were totally still, and Son walked along in silence. "It is... sad for us to think about."

 

"Sad? Why? Was the loneliness overwhelming?"

 

"We... the other great ones of my kind and I... would rather enjoy the present..."

 

Symbols were swarming across Son's face now. "You've piqued my curiosity. Come on, it would be something to talk about."

 

"Well... there were more like you who we met before. They talked with us, and helped us spread our seeds. But after a time they left us. They came and went as you do now, but eventually my star had completed one circle of the Galaxy and they still had not returned. All I had seen was at a distance, a darkness that swept across the stars and then faded away. And so all we could only wait and wonder as the Galaxy turned again and again. We still miss them."

 

At last, turning the final corner, Son spotted the airlock, smooth metal enmeshed in the cobbled mass of green. "Fascinating. I shall have to inquire more when I've finished with my work."

 

"I'll let you get to it. But perhaps you should wait for another few patterns. It still saddens me to speak, and I know you and yours do not remember our other friends."

 

"Very well. I'll wait to ask. If the shuttle doesn't come before then." Son thought back to what the human, Martin, had said. About getting too sad to keep talking about back home.

 

Replaying that scene in his mind, he pressed the access and the airlock slid open. All was as Son had left it within. The two autolathes, with all the parts for a third in the output bin of one, now working on parts for all the other machines in their little base. And Echtern still seated at the lounge table in his helmetless pressure suit, a deck of cards laid out before him. "Hello Echtern," Son said to the Vulpkanin, and received no response. Another ritual completed.

 

Emptying his satchel into the ore machine, Son took a seat in the corner, not wishing to disturb Echtern's solitaire. With any luck he could make some new optics with today's haul. A thought occurred, and he turned to his workbench to gather the robotic limbs he'd been tinkering with. At least he'd gotten the limb part right, but he still could not figure out how to create the sensation of touch. Was it just a lack of materials and equipment? Or did he just need more time?

 

Time... Son dumped the tinkerings into the recycler. Could he replicate his internal components well enough with this equipment? He gingerly picked up the screwdriver from the table, and inspected it. Amazing how durable it was, after all those tally marks Echtern and Martin had carved with it. All over the walls, the front door, even Martin's sealed locker in the closet. Son began to unscrew his face frame, but stopped. That malfunction...

 

The airlock was still open, and so he called towards it. "Mother?"

 

"Yes?"

 

"How many times have I completed that pattern with you?"

 

"In your reckoning..." Rustling came from outside. "One hundred and eighty-two thousand, five hundred times."

 

"Thank you." So, his internal chronometer was still working fine, at least...

 

"Of course, Son. I wonder, since you are being more talkative recently, do you think the others will also talk to me again soon?"

 

He looked over at Echtern. That number divided by three-hundred and sixty-five perfectly. No wonder he thought today was something special... Echtern, though his eyes were empty, still kept his coat of fur, clinging to his desiccated skin. Yes, it divided to five hundred exactly. "No, I don't think they will. Sorry."

 

"Oh. Do you think they will when the shuttle comes?"

 

Mother could not see him here, but he shrugged and displayed an emoticon. "Who can say..."