Carpathian Forty-Three

Carpathian Forty-Three - Part 21

"Stephen?" Voclain asks.

I see everything now, hear everything. The ship's systems report in, a sense of heat or cold across my body, whiffs of smells coming from the direction of minor errors. I don't know how Fort perceived the ship, but I am inundated by a synesthesia of input that isn't quite overwhelming.

The first few minutes were overwhelming, before my mind and implants worked out what input should go to what sense and what sort of filtering needed to be done so that the normal operations of the ship didn't overwhelm me. I adapted quickly, quicker than I assumed I would. Years on ships like Carpathian Forty-Three explained that. Updates to my implants helped too.

"I'm here Captain," I say.

My voice has the same neutral timbre that Fort had. It's not intentional. The emotional regulation the implants provide make our voices default to a hypnotist's drone. I could change that, if I wanted, introduce more emotion into my voice. I think I prefer it like this. It lets the crew know I'm not the same Stephen they know.

Voclain is floating at the 'standing' desk in their cabin in their underwear. Their hair is a mass of greying brown, a nebula of dishevelment around their wrinkled face. A week ago, I would have demurred seeing them like this. Now, I'm Carpathian Forty-Three's Operating System, seeing the crew in all states is expected. Voclain may have a momentary hesitation, I can sense just a hint of that, but the OS sees all, it's expected, even when the OS is a crewmate.

Rhianu sleeps in Voclain's wall bag, breathing deeply and steadily, shifting slightly as the bag cradles them in the zero gravity of Voclain's quarters. Their hair is pulled back into their typical ponytail, auburn locks streaked with silver float away from the bag, tracing slow chaotic shapes in the cabin.

"Settled in?"

"I suppose. We've segregated Miki's access to the simulator and ship's cameras when necessary. They're running the last five braking burns Fort executed in the simulator."

Voclain relaxes a bit, then tenses up slightly. There's a question coming. I notice more than I used to. I can see Voclain's temperature, the flow of blood just below the surface of their skin, subtle changes in respiration and heartbeat. It's like being on observation stims, without the side effects of those drugs.

"Did it hurt? I mean..."

"A little?"

There are a few ways to predict or interpret that question. I choose to answer for myself, for what I experienced. They could be asking about me or about Miki. I suspect they're asking about Fort. Normally that would be offensive, but I understand. Voclain has made decisions for the crew we didn't agree with, decisions that weren't easy for them to make, decisions that needed to be made. If we hadn't woken Miki, we'd consign all abord to death. If we did, we put Miki in a painful state of disconnection from a Chorus. They asked me to take over, reactivate my implants, connect to another mind in ways I had foresworn. Voclain is guilty, painfully guilty.

"The implants help. They tune neurotransmitters and hormones to provide an even emotional state. I don't like the situation, what's been asked of me, but I see it's the right choice. I saw that before we reactivated the implants. It was more difficult to work through those emotions before. It's easier now."

Voclain's body flushes slightly. It'd be barely noticeable without the ship's sensors. I made her more guilty for changing who I am, for letting the implants regulate my emotion, making me seem different.

"You've made the right decisions Captain. We can work out how we feel about them once we're all safe."

Voclain nods slightly and relaxes a bit, returns to as much of a captain's demeanor as they ever share with the crew.

"Status report?" they ask.

"Ships systems are operating at 87% efficiency. The primary source of degradation is loss of integrity in the quantum computer core and the ship's quantum operating system. Accounting for that discrepancy we are operating at 97% efficiency, with small errors in the drive module's tertiary command network and a malfunctioning display panel in the command module. I've created work items for Rhianu to address. I've dispatched repair instructions to The Twins so they're ready when Rhianu has time to address these issues."

I'm amused. I sound like Fort, or any other Ship's OS I've served with. I've fallen into that soft monotone all ship's OS's have. It's soothing, conveying information without expectation or inflection. It feels wrong, but I'm too medicated to work up indignation about it.

"We're fine, Captain," I offer, trying to add more emotion to my speaker synthesized voice. It sort of works.

Voclain smiles at that. "Good to know you're still in there Stephen."

They want to ask something else; I can see the expectation in them, the struggle, the indecision. If I were less patient, it would seem to go on forever. It's hardly a second. I am patient.

Voclain smooths their hair, taming the nebula around their head, pulling it into a loose ponytail. They secure it with a band from their desk. They're deflecting, doing something physical while deciding if they want to ask their question.

"Is there anything else Captain?" I ask. It gives them an opportunity to escape the question or prompts them to ask it.

"No, that's all Stephen," they say. They push off from their desk and float towards the bags secured the wall that house their clothing, a Spacer dresser.

"Good evening, Captain," I say.

"Good morning, Stephen."