The Restoration Protocol

32 || in.terference

Mariko opens her eyes to the sight of an unfamiliar place. She's not in the lobby, but the faint, yet still present humming of machinery assures her — at least mostly — that she hasn't left the aerowhale ship. She presses her palm against the cold metal surface of the floor beneath her, then struggles to get on her feet again. With her vision adjusting, it takes some time before she can fully focus on anything. Fuzzy outlines of bright computer screens and blue-light holograms illuminate one half of the room. The other sits in an untouched dimness.

After standing up, she wipes her palms anxiously against her vest, squinting at the large, rounded steel door just ahead of her. There's a panel extending from the wall beside it, just like the ones from the elevator she and her friends used earlier. In case she needed any further confirmation as to where she is. If only that fact could comfort her. But as her vision finally adjusts, she realizes there's no one here.

Mariko is alone in the strange room.

Gripping the straps of her backpack, she backs away from the door, soon to face the wall of computer monitors behind her. Some big, some small, some displaying nothing more than a series of ones and zeroes which travel across the screens at a fraction of light speed. It must all be self-operative, she thinks, as her head starts to spin at the sight of it all. Even with an array of buttons and switches covering the desk beneath them, no one stands by to survey what to Mariko's eyes look like complex, crucial calculations. She hesitates to touch anything. This must be the control room, she thinks. Careless intervention could be detrimental. But then again, so could blatant neglect.

With every ounce of focus she can muster, Mariko scans each of the monitors, one at a time. So much coding and formulas...she never liked algebra. But maybe it would have come in handy. She doubts there would be a manual anywhere around here. Especially if this place is run by nothing but robots and other automatic machinery — they would have no need of it.

Words, she scans for words, comprehensive words, anything she can grab a hold of and use.

Then she sees it. In the center screen, right in front of her face. Four words, next to an icon of a compass.

Destination locked: ATADON CRATER

"Ata...don...?"

It sticks a pin in her brain. She doesn't recognize the name, but it almost feels as though she should.

Atadon. Atad...on, nodatA.

No data.

As the realization clicks, Mariko hears a loud hissing noise from across the room. The door is opening, and it's only a moment before Soleil rushes in with a storm-like force. She stops abruptly as her eyes meet Mariko's.

"Mari!"

"Soleil..."

They meet each other halfway. Soleil's hands immediately reach for Mariko's shoulders, scanning the smaller girl's face for any signs that she may have been hurt. She finds nothing, but it doesn't satisfy her enough to dismiss the question preying on her mind.

"Mari, are you alright? What happened??"

"That's...what I wanna ask you," Mariko replies, hesitant. She also scans Soleil for any injuries. Aside from the apparent panic, she looks fine. But then again, she is an android...

"I don't really know how to answer that," Soleil says. She lowers her arms to her side. "You were with us one second and gone the next. I'm not sure how much time has passed. I...think I went offline briefly as well, but thankfully my system started back up on its own. I feel normal."