“Nice of them to leave you anything,” Greaves sniffed. The derision was audible even through the speaker Izz wore, and echoed with every other word as she passed rooms filled only with the rubble of early space life.
“Sarcastic AI commentary is always appreciated,” Izz murmured. “Perhaps you could knock it off until I verify the station is clear?”
A crescendo of laughter rolled down the hallway in response.
Izz stopped and winced. Her gloved hand clenched the doorway. “Please.”
“I already did thermal scans,” Greaves said. “As if I’d let you off the ship if you were in any danger.”
“You’re supposed to,” Izz argued. “AI is supposed to do what the ship’s owner says.”
The shrug was audible in the silence. She heaved a sigh and kept going.
“Fine. You get more than basic life support functioning yet?” Waiting twenty-four hours had been worth the wait, to enter into strange stations without a helmet. Oh, it was clipped to her belt in case of emergency, but having Greaves on her side certainly made life easier.
Almost easy enough to be worth the hassle and low-grade fear of hiding a sentient. But Greaves’ mumbled swearing at ancient operating systems had been entertaining last night. It had been like listening to a sulky teenager on a rampage. Probably because Greaves was about the equivalent, since the Synthetics War and the ban.
“I’m in,” it responded with a cool tone that meant Greaves knew exactly what she was thinking probably from the biometrics readings via her utility gear. “Basic file access. I’m afraid the jumpgate has been inoperable for over 422 years. It’s unclear why. And you would not believe how many operating systems I had to download just to talk to the AI here.”
“Considering I dreamt in binary, I do in fact believe it.”
“Poor, unfortunate, primitive soul. Not even a hint of life within it. Such a robot.”
Izz came to a still-sealed door and set her bag of tools down, examining the locks. “Don’t be snobby.”
“I am the epitome of kindness,” Greaves proclaimed, and the lock in front of Izz thunked open.
She jolted backward. “That was you, right?”
“As if you’d really doubt it. I also have obtained access authorities.” Izz scanned the room slowly as Greaves continued, her headlamp skimming over the preserved clothing and detritus of someone’s life. A male someone, if she had to guess by the sizes. “The files also indicate this was one of the original jumpgates. You might even find dehydrated food still in packaging, or old N-A-S-A logos. Those are still popular with a certain crowd.”
“You think anyone would ever want the files?” Izz asked idly. “I don’t see anything that explains why this guy’s door wasn’t cut open.”
“Records indicate uneven evacuation,” Greaves stated. “As for the files, perhaps. It lends a certain cachet to affairs, don’t you think?”
“I don’t think that sentence made sense in context.” Izz ran a finger over a short-sleeved, collared shirt labeled JOHN in bright blue letters over a chest pocket. “Very well-preserved.”
“Alas, the files are not.”
Izz’s headlamp suddenly beamed an image rather than the steady, soothing light she’d grown used to. She whacked her lamp, which meant only that she hit herself in the head. “Did you just hack me rather than getting the power back?”
“An example of the gaps in files, I’m afraid.” A red circle appeared around some coordinates. “A starting point, indicated here.” A green circle flashed. “Then here, nonsense. ‘Twenty steps north, then twenty east. Dig between the two crosses.'”
“Ah.” Izz let a soft smile come over her face. “X marks the spot, twice. Dad would have loved this. Show me that nonsense again?”
An odd image brightened. A spiraling circle rested above the image of a horned creature. Surrounding it was an enormous circle, and a ring around it at a cocked angle. Three dots in the upper left completed the image. “A children’s game, perhaps.”
“Almost looks like a petroglyph,” Izz said. “Didn’t they revert back to a highly symbolic language for early galactic space travel before universal standard was developed?”
“Scanning,” Greaves said, and for once sounded like the bits and bytes it comprised. “Yes. I have placed a worm in the archives to scan for matches and interpretations.”
“Could be an interesting place to check out, if we could get a solid course plotted.” Izz folded the clothing she found into a plasti-canvas bag and began opening lockers.
“Alas, course records are currently also corrupted.” Greaves paused. “It looks like someone may have intentionally damaged the records. I believe I can reverse engineer to the original data. Especially if I can fill in the gaps with the not-nonsense.”
“Great,” Izz said. “Now back to work. Our real work. Salvage pays for your fuel, after all.”
Days later, Izz walked through the station a final time, the beam of her headlamp indistinguishable from the blazing LED lights Greaves had struggled to power on initially. “I think we’re good.”
“Storage can’t hold much more, and I’m already scanning for profit margin estimates to determine the best buyers. Those files were an interesting idea. I’m glad you thought of the hard drive.”
“You don’t have to sound so horrified.”
“Brain in a jar,” Greaves hissed. “Brain. In a jar.”
“How is that different from brain in a ship?” Izz hit the bottom square, which depressed slightly and dimmed the lights as she headed for the ramp.
A rude noise greeted her instead of an answer.
“Fine. You drive, I’ll clean. Unless you want to manifest hands and come help me etch off a few centuries of hard water buildup?”
“Coordinates are already programmed. Please strap in for takeoff, which will occur in precisely five minutes.” The mimicry echoed the ridiculous video pulled from station files, where uniformed women informed departing passengers of spaceflight with exaggerating hand gestures and cheery smiles. “Thank you for flying the Seven Seas.“
“Renamed yourself again, did you?” This was at least the fourth name in six months. Izz didn’t mind, since Greaves filed the paperwork on her behalf every time. “Appropriate for a salvager, isn’t it? Dad would’ve liked this one.”
“Then this is the one that sticks.” The ship shuddered as the ramp closed. “There. You can see the new nanocoat when we get to Isendorf Station.”
Fumbling the familiar four-point harness, Izz rolled her eyes. “I can’t wait. Can we go, so I can get back to getting our haul ready for sale? Clean means higher prices.”
Pressure pushed her backward. “Why do you think we’re headed for Isendorf?”
The bickering continued as the station’s remaining lights powered themselves off. The Seven Sea’s spotlight flickered over the station’s dim outline, a brief darkness illuminated less by starlight than by its absence.
Greaves and Izz were hours away by the time the jumpgate behind them activated, triggered by the search worm planted and forgotten a week before. An explosion of purple and green lights flashed, an obsolete anti-piracy measure intended to protect inbound starships transiting the system. The jumpgate flickered and died at the spectacular burst of energy, a move that could have been intentional had it been a few seconds delayed.
Three hunter droids appeared within the jumpgate. Each droid faced outward, red lights shining like eyes, whirling into a triskele before triangulating. One of the hunter droids moved into point, its black nose shining as it bobbed, sniffing a trail. The other droids spun, moving into a V behind the leader. Upon a silent signal, the hunters began to move with unrelenting precision, following the Seven Seas.
***
This week’s prompt was from AC Young: Twenty steps north, then twenty east. Dig between the two crosses. Mine went to nother Mike: The rhino chased the butterfly at full charge.
