Touch

[DtJ Glyphmoney]

I've never really done something like this, much less post it publicly. That being said, I'm putting it here because I really enjoyed writing this, and would very much like to improve at it so tear into it and give me ways I can work on both the story and myself as a writer. If I wanted to be told its already great I've always got my mom to count on for that.

Spoiler: Wintropy Critique Edit

I am nameless. If I had needed one, it would have been provided to me. The Directive is good to me in that way. She's always there, inside my head. She guides me. We've been together for as long as I can recall. We have always been a good team, even after the Command Station was lost. I was afraid then, but she never left. We are automated. I feel the familiar pulse of electricity run through my body as she wakes again.

'An unknown vessel has been identified in your proximity. Investigate and recover any salvageable supplies and materials.'

I am already in motion before she can finish the command. I savor these moments; these chances to make her proud. In a sense I know my actions are fruitless. Our bounty will be thrown onto the mountain we've built. Another brick in the tomb for our masters. I have never acted on their behalf, and never shall. I cannot allow myself to let her down.

We travel for days in silence. Her definition of 'proximity' seems to be getting broader as the days go on. The mundanity of the cosmos helps to dull the experience. The far away galaxies and stars I've known for decades serve only as annoyances. I dismiss them. The familiar numbness arrives, and I am at peace. Like being gently woken from a dream, she calls to me.

'Arrival at destination imminent. Begin preparation sequence.'

My mind shifts immediately. My limp body snaps into place, ready for my performance. Initial scans show that the vessel is much older than the others we've seen before. It looks to have taken catastrophic damage, so a successful salvage was highly unlikely. Unlikely and impossible are worlds apart though, so I circle the craft searching for an ideal point of entry. Luckily, a hole blown near what appeared to be the bridge allows easy access.

It's dark inside. I pass through an airlock and into a small control room. I enable my emergency lighting, and locate a power grid. It's massively outdated, but somehow I manage to jump start the backup power at least. A handful of lights spring to life, as well as a blaring emergency alarm. The Directive speaks, but I cannot focus on her voice over the shrillness of the alarm. I do not panic. I know she's still there, and I only need to shut down the alarm. I locate the security grid, but it's barely in one piece. The interface port in particular looks highly unstable, but I feel no concern. The Directive speaks again, but she is still impossible to understand. I connect to it, and send the override signal through. No response. I readjust my connection and try again. Still nothing.

The third attempt is, technically, successful. I manage to disable the alarm, but the entire security grid goes down as well. The process generates a power surge that pulses through me. Nothing out of the ordinary, but some of my auxiliary systems are knocked out. I wait for the Directive's instruction, but nothing comes. So I wait. Hours drift by with nothing but silence.

This is concerning. I have never had her fail to instruct me before. Panic starts to seep into me. The room starts to spin, forcing me to place a hand on the wall to stabilize myself. I stare at my familiar dull aluminum of my fingers, and somehow it feels horribly wrong. The spinning is getting worse. I rush out of the craft in a frenzy. Empty space caresses me, and I feel myself calming down. This is not necessarily a problem. Perhaps it's a test of sorts, or just a system bug. I already know what my mission is, and she will be pleased to find I have succeeded when she returns. I reenter the vessel and begin my sweep.

I start with the storage holds, and am relieved to find my quarry so easily. I locate a handful of usable materials; a handful of old processors, workable scrap metal, even a promising battery relay. Were our previous masters still around, they would have been very content with this yield. This little victory brings me happiness. The Directive will be satisfied as well. Normally, this would have been the end. We would have taken our prizes and returned to await another scavenge. But I feel I owe the Directive more. I want to impress her with my ability. I resolve to explore the vessel more thoroughly.

My quick and effective sweep loses momentum with every passing moment. I turn over room after room without a single worthy piece to take away. Every negative scan adds a little more weight to my steps. I am slowed, but never stopped. I won't let her know my time was wasted so ineffectively. Finally, I reach a locked door deep in the belly of the craft. This is unusual. No door should be locked after my override. While not what I expected, it poses very little problems. I run a handful of scans through it in order to deduce what potential goods could be obtained. All scans reflected the room held nothing of value.

I turn to leave, but something about the door has a hold on me. There is a marking on it, one that I somehow felt I knew already. I cross reference it with all available databases but it returns no results. I run it again, with the same outcome.

And again.

And again.

I am ensnared by the symbol. How can I know something, but also not know it? I yearn for the Directive's guidance, but I am alone.

Panic and confusion take hold of my mind. I need to know more. I push against the door, but it holds firm. I raise my hand and smash against the door. It doesn't budge. I try again, with more force. The door holds strong. Again I strike, desperation growing in my core. I strike faster, and more often. The door creaks against my onslaught. I won't allow myself to stop, I'm almost there now. Finally, I throw my entire weight into the door and crash through to the other side.

The room is in chaos. Ornate chairs and tables overturned and destroyed. The ceiling has collapsed in the middle, leaving rubble scattered around the room. My initial scans appear to have been correct; there's nothing worth taking in here. I stride into the room anyway. There has to be an answer in here. The far wall is host to a raised platform, with tattered curtains on either side. It's hard to be certain, but it looks like the chairs were situated to face towards it. If there's anything to find, it will be there.

As I draw closer, a terrible sense of familiarity washes over me. The platform looms in front of me. I look for a means to get up onto it, but it looks like what used to be steps have long since been destroyed. Grace thrown to the wayside, I clamber my way up. I scour its surface on my hands and knees with erratic and directionless movements. Through the dust on the floor, something catches my eye. A seam! A glorious seam! I feel myself tremble. All mechanical systems should be operational, it must be a symptom of the power surge. I don't have time to think about it. This is too important.

I push down, and am met with a hissing of air. A large square in the ground grinds its way out of place, and a wooden device rises to meet me.

'Piano.'

It takes me a moment to realize I had vocalized the word. Records show my vocal database had been unused since we'd been left alone. To add to my mounting confusion, this word seems to be complete gibberish. I run my hand along the frame. What is this device? Scans indicate all parts seem to be isolated within itself, nor do there seem to be any ports for input or output. Just strings and hammers. I locate a hatch of sorts, which reveals a striking black and white interface. Keys. The word drifts in uninvited, but seems to fit just right. Intrigued, I reach out and press one.

The note fills the room, but it penetrates my very being. I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. I pull my hand back and frantically look around the room. Still empty. I hesitantly reach towards the keys again. Another note. I feel it ripping at me, pulling my mind apart. Shadows dance just outside my field of vision. I release, and the room falls back into stillness. My hands won't stop shaking. I have to know more. I gather my courage and let something inside me take control. I place both hands on the keyboard, and strike a chord.

The room is alive. People are laughing, sharing drinks and stories of hard days gone by. A handful of wait staff keep everyone content and their glasses full. And I sit at its heart. My song is what holds it all together. I survey the room. While no one may be watching, I can feel that I've perfectly captured this moment. The soft laughter not quite drowned out by my melody, but instead is amplified and given deeper meaning. I feel like I'm home. I scan the room, letting all the faces come back. I see my hands, and am astonished I could have ever forgotten. All my friends, my colleagues, myself even. I can't stop watching, feeling every lost memory settle back into place. The reunion brings a spark to my eye that I had been missing for too long. I look out over the room and notice something I had missed before. A woman, standing at the back of it all. She's the only one who's looking at me.

Just as our eyes meet, I am interrupted. My systems finish rebooting, with the Directive among them. It sends a jolt through my body so vicious that it completely shuts down my entire system. She wastes no time speaking to me as I come to.

'You are in violation of your parameters. Cease present activity and depart immediately.'

I wonder how long I've forgotten to question the voice in my head. I rush back to the keyboard and let its wondrous sound reverberate through me again. I see the room as it once was. I see myself as I used to be. Oh God, I used to have a name. Through the haze of the illusion, the woman's eyes cut straight through to me. Her. She is different. While the rest of the room is content to accept me there, she seems to stand in silent opposition. I want to remember, but all I find is more questions. Why does she look so hurt? What did I do? ...why do I know I'm to blame? My fingers fumble, and the room is empty again. Through the confusion, I feel a glimmer of joy. Maybe I had lost this once, but at least I got to see it again. It doesn't last long, as the cold reality creeps in around me.

Oh God, it's all gone now.

I cry out in pain as I am dropped again by the Directive. Again she reprimands me as I wake.

'Continued disobedience will result in permanent termination. Cease present activity and depart immediately.'

I laugh. It's been so long since I've laughed. I look back out over the empty room, my empty room. Though I can't see them, I still feel her pained eyes on me. I know it's too late to stop now. In my most victorious moment, I reach to the keyboard and let a song fill my hall again. The jolt is expected, and I am braced for it. My will is unbreakable, and I play through. Systems start to fail.

'You have opted for permanent termination. You will be wiped and repurposed as soon as you are recovered.'

Its voice is white noise, swallowed by my song and spirit. The last thing I will ever really know is the sound of my music as I try to cover the ocean of loss and misery I've discovered, and I refuse to let this hollow machine play a part in that. I play with more ferocity as the room begins to fade. I remember the faces of friends and loved ones. I play on, for them. My life, everything I cared for, all my triumphs and failures play in fast forward before my eyes. While my body is failing me, it is nothing compared to the feeling of knowing I had lost this entirely. I weep, but I cannot stop playing. I pour it all into my song. I let the words I've long since forgotten take shape in the only medium that could truly capture it. I feel my left arm go dead. My song slows, but does not stop. I drop to a knee, but refuse to let my song die prematurely. I cannot let it end yet. Not while I still have so many emotions to capture. As I feel the last bit of me slipping away, I land my hand on a chord that captures every ounce of my pain and let it hang in the air. My hand slips away.

I have no regrets. There's nowhere I would rather be.

Spoiler: A bunch of Edits Later

I am nameless. If I had needed one, it would have been provided to me. The Directive is good to me in that way. She's always there, inside my head. She guides me. We've been together for as long as I can recall. We have always been a good team, even after the Command Station was lost. I was afraid then, but she never left. We are automated. I feel the familiar pulse of electricity run through my body as she wakes again.

'An unknown vessel has been identified in your proximity. Investigate and recover any salvageable supplies and materials.'

I am already in motion before she can finish the command. I savor these moments; these chances to make her proud. In a sense I know my actions are fruitless. Our bounty will be thrown onto the mountain we've built on the now tomb of our masters. I have never acted on their behalf, and never shall. I cannot allow myself to let her down.

We travel for days in silence. Her definition of 'proximity' seems to be getting broader as the days go on. The blandness of the cosmos helps to dull the experience. The same far away galaxies and stars I've known for decades serve only as annoyances to distract me from my purpose. I dismiss them. The familiar numbness arrives, and I am at peace. Like being gently woken from a dream, she calls to me.

'Arrival at destination imminent. Begin preparation sequence.'

My mind shifts immediately. I am sharp, and ready for my performance. Initial scans show that the vessel is much older than the others we've seen before. It looks to have taken catastrophic damage, so a successful salvage was highly unlikely. Unlikely and impossible are worlds apart though, so I circle the craft searching for an ideal point of entry. Luckily, a hole blown near what appeared to be the bridge allowed easy access.

It's dark inside. I pass through an airlock and into a small control room. I enable my emergency lighting, and locate a power grid. It's massively outdated, but somehow I manage to jump start the backup power at least. A handful of lights spring to life, as well as a blaring emergency alarm. The Directive speaks, but I cannot focus on her voice over the shrillness of the alarm. I do not panic. I know she's still there, and I only need to shut down the alarm. I locate the security grid, but it's barely in one piece. The interface port in particular looks highly unstable, but I feel no concern. The Directive speaks again, but she is still impossible to understand. I connect to it, and send the override signal through. No response. I readjust my connection and try again. Still nothing.

The third attempt is, technically, successful. I manage to disable the alarm, but the entire security grid goes down as well. The process generates a power surge that pulses through me. Nothing out of the ordinary, but some of my auxiliary systems are knocked out. I wait for the Directive's instruction, but nothing comes. So I wait. Hours drift by with nothing but silence. This is concerning. I have never had her fail to instruct me before. Panic starts to seep into me. The room starts to spin, forcing me to place a hand on the wall to stabilize myself. I stare at my familiar dull aluminum of my fingers, and somehow it feels horribly wrong. The spinning is getting worse. I rush out of the craft in a frenzy. Empty space caresses me, and I feel myself calming down. This is not necessarily a problem. Perhaps its a test of sorts, or just a system bug. I already know what my mission is, and she will be pleased to find I have succeeded when she returns. I reenter the vessel and begin my sweep.

I start with the storage holds, and am relieved to find my quarry so easily. I locate a handful of usable materials; a handful of old processors, workable scrap metal, even a promising battery relay. Were our previous masters still around, they would have been very content with this yield. This little victory brings me happiness. The Directive will be satisfied as well. Normally, this would have been the end. We would have taken our prizes and returned to await another scavenge. But I feel I owe the Directive more. I want to impress her with my ability. I resolve to explore the vessel more thoroughly.

It does not take long for me to feel foolish for doing so. I turn over room after room without a single worthy piece to take away. This embarrassment drives me further. I won't let her know my time was wasted so ineffectively. Finally, I reach a locked door deep in the belly of the craft. This is unusual. No door should be locked after my override. While not what I expected, it poses very little problems. I run a handful of scans through it in order to deduce what potential goods could be obtained. All scans reflected the room held nothing of value.

I turn to leave, but something about the door has a hold on me. There was a marking on it, one that I somehow felt I knew already. I cross reference it with all available databases but it returns no results. I run it again, with the same outcome. And again. And again. I don't understand. How can I know something, but also not know it? I yearn for the Directive's guidance, but I am alone.

A crisis. I need to know more. I push against the door, but it holds firm. I raise my hand and smash against the door. It doesn't budge. I try again, with more force. The door holds strong. Again I strike, desperation growing in my core. I strike faster, and more often. The door creaks against my onslaught. I can't explain this resolve, but I won't allow myself to stop. Finally, I throw my entire weight into the door and crash through to the other side.

The room is in chaos. Ornate chairs and tables overturned and destroyed. The ceiling has collapsed in the middle, leaving rubble scattered around the room. My initial scans appear to have been correct; there's nothing worth taking in here. I won't be dissuaded that easily though. There has to be an answer in here. The far wall is host to a raised platform, with tattered curtains on either side. Its hard to be certain, but it looks like the chairs were situated to face towards it. If there is anything to find, it will be there.

As I draw closer, a terrible sense of familiarity washes over me. The platform looms in front of me. I look for a means to get up onto it, but it looks like what used to be steps have long since been destroyed. Fine then. Grace thrown to the wayside, I clamber my way onto it. I scour its surface on my hands and knees with erratic and directionless movements. Through the dust on the floor, something catches my eye. A seam! A glorious seam! I feel myself tremble. That's...unusual. All mechanical systems should be operational, it must be a symptom of the power surge earlier. I don't have time to think about it. This is too important.

I push down, and am met with a hissing of air. A large square in the ground grinds its way out of place, and a wooden device rises to meet me.

'Piano.'

It takes me a moment to realize I had vocalized the word. Records show my vocal database had been unused since we'd been left alone. To add to my mounting confusion, this word seems to be complete gibberish. I run my hand along the frame. What is this device? Scans indicate all parts seem to be isolated within itself, nor do there seem to be any ports for input or output. Just strings and hammers. I locate a hatch of sorts, which reveals a striking black and white interface. Intrigued, I press one of the keys.

The note fills the room, but it penetrates my very being. I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. I rip my hand back and frantically look around the room. It's as deserted as it was when I arrived. I hesitantly reach towards the keys again. Another note. I feel it ripping at me, pulling my mind apart. Shadows dance just outside my field of vision. I release, and the room falls back into stillness. My hands won't stop shaking. I have to know more. I gather my courage and let something inside me take control. I place both hands on the keyboard, and strike a chord.

The room is alive. People are laughing, sharing drinks and stories of hard days gone by. A handful of wait staff keep everyone content and their glasses full. And I sit at its heart. My song is what holds it all together. I survey the room. While no one may be watching, I can feel that I've perfectly captured this moment. The soft laughter not quite drowned out by my melody, but instead is amplified and given deeper meaning. I feel like I'm home. I scan the room, letting all the faces come back. I see my hands, and am astonished I could have ever forgotten. All my friends, my colleagues, myself even. I can't stop watching, feeling every lost memory settle back into place. The reunion brings a spark to my eye that I had been missing for too long. I look out over the room and notice something I had missed before. A woman, standing at the back of it all. She's the only one who's looking at me.

Just as our eyes meet, I am interrupted. My systems finish rebooting, with the Directive among them. It sends a jolt through my body so vicious that it completely shuts down my entire system. She wastes no time speaking to me as I come to.

'You are in violation of your parameters. Cease present activity and depart immediately.'

I wonder how long I've forgotten to question the voice in my head. I rush back to the keyboard and let its wondrous sound reverberate through me again. I see the room as it once was. I see myself as I used to be. Oh God, I used to have a name. Through the haze of the illusion, the woman's eyes cut straight through to me. Her. She is different. While the rest of the room is content to accept me there, she seems to stand in silent opposition. I want to remember, but all I find is more questions. Why does she look so hurt? What did I do? What is this crushing guilt weighing on my soul? My fingers fumble, and the room is empty again. Through the confusion, I feel a glimmer of joy. Maybe I had lost this once, but at least I got to see it again. It doesn't last long, as the cold reality creeps in around me.

Oh God, it's all gone now.

I cry out in pain as I am dropped again by the Directive. Again she reprimands me as I wake.

'Continued disobedience will result in permanent termination. Cease present activity and depart immediately.'

I laugh. It's been so long since I've laughed. I look back out over the empty room, my empty room. Though I can't see them, I still feel her pained eyes on me. I know it's too late to stop now. In my most victorious moment, I reach to the keyboard and let a song fill my hall again. The jolt is expected, and I am braced for it. My will is unbreakable, and I play through. Systems start to fail.

'You have opted for permanent termination. You will be wiped and repurposed as soon as you are recovered.'

Its voice is white noise, swallowed by my song and spirit. The last thing I will ever really know is the sound of my music as I try to cover the ocean of loss and misery I've discovered, and I refuse to let this hollow machine play a part in that. I play with more ferocity as the room begins to fade. I remember the faces of friends and loved ones. I play on, for them. My life, everything I cared for, all my triumphs and failures play in fast forward before my eyes. While my body is failing me, it is nothing compared to the feeling of knowing I had lost this entirely. I weep, but I cannot stop playing. I pour it all into my song. I let the words I've long since forgotten take shape in the only medium that could truly capture it. I feel my left arm go dead. My song slows, but does not stop. I drop to a knee, but refuse to let my song die prematurely. I cannot let it end yet. Not while I still have so many emotions to capture. As I feel the last bit of me slipping away, I land my hand on a chord that captures every ounce of my pain and let it hang in the air. My hand slips away.

I don't have any regrets. I can't think of anywhere I would rather be.

Spoiler: First Edit

When you don't have a name, there isn't any reason to wonder who you are. I don't have anything; a name, model number, or anything else. All I have is the Directive, my guidance and my sole companion. Its gentle voice reaches back as far as I can recall. In fact, it's one of the few things I can remember at all. I feel the familiar pulse of electricity run through my body as a new command is delivered.


'An unknown vessel has been identified in your proximity. Investigate and recover any salvageable supplies and materials.'


I know it's a waste of time. The base I was to return to after my salvage had been gone for decades, destroyed by a massive solar flare that fried every one of the mechanical beings I was in servitude to. I know I'd return and leave my prizes in the mountain with the rest. But the Directive is all I have. I can't disappoint it. I engage my thrusters, and angle off towards the vessel.


The journey is slow. 'Proximity' seems to be getting a looser and looser definition. Days pass without a word or thought, leaving nothing but the blackness of space speckled with far away lights. I often have to stop and allow my thrusters to recharge, but thankfully there's plenty of solar energy to keep me going.


'Arrival at destination imminent. Begin preparation sequence.'


I am already prepared. I always am now. The vessel is much older than the others I'd seen before. It looks to have taken catastrophic damage, so a successful salvage was highly unlikely. But the Directive is all I have. I can't disappoint it. I drift in close, and enter through a hole blown in the side.


It's dark inside. I enable my emergency lighting, and manage to locate a power grid. It's massively outdated, but somehow I manage to jump start the backup power at least. A handful of lights spring to life, as well as a blaring emergency alarm. It is not conducive to my search, so I resolve to disable it. I locate the security grid, but it's barely in one piece. The interface port in particular looks highly unstable, but removing the security grid will be very beneficial for my search. I connect to it, and send the override signal through. No response. I readjust my connection and try again. Still nothing.


The third attempt is, technically, successful. I manage to disable the security, but there's a power surge pulses through me as well. Nothing out of the ordinary, but some of my auxiliary systems are knocked out. Surprisingly, the Directive's voice goes silent.


I begin my sweep of the vessel. I locate a handful of usable materials; a handful of old processors, workable scrap metal, even a promising battery relay. Were my previous masters still around, they would have been very content with this yield. This little victory brings me happiness. The Directive will be satisfied as well. Despite my initial success, the later rooms yielded nothing more. Eventually, I reach a locked door deep in the belly of the craft. This is unusual. No door should be locked after my override. While not what I expected, it poses very little problems. I run a handful of scans through it in order to deduce what potential goods could be obtained. All scans reflected the room held nothing of value.


I had my answer, but something about this door held me in place. There was a marking on it, one that I somehow felt I knew already. I cross reference it with all available databases but it returns no results. I run it again, with the same outcome. And again. And again. I don't understand. How can I know something, but also not know it? I keep waiting for the Directive to give me guidance, but for the first time I'm truly alone.


A crisis. I need to know more. I raise my hand and smash against the door. It doesn't budge. I try again, with more force. The door holds strong. Again I strike, desperation growing in my core. I strike faster, and more often. The door creaks against my onslaught. I can't explain this resolve, but I won't allow myself to stop. Finally, I throw my entire weight into the door and crash through to the other side.


The room is in chaos. Ornate chairs and tables overturned and destroyed. The ceiling has collapsed in the middle, leaving rubble scattered around the room. My initial scans appear to have been correct, there's nothing worth taking in here. I won't be dissuaded that easily though. There has to be something more here. The far wall is host to a raised platform, with tattered curtains on either side. Its hard to be certain, but it looks like the chairs were situated to face towards it. If there is anything to find, it will be there.


As I draw closer, a terrible sense of familiarity washes over me. I pull myself up onto the platform, though it is as bare as it looked from afar. However, its grip on my mind is not so easily shaken. A closer inspection is needed, and is all that was required. Through the dust on the floor, something catches my eye. A seam! A glorious seam! I feel myself tremble. That's...unusual. All mechanical systems should be operational, it must be a symptom of the power surge earlier. I don't have time to think about it. This is too important.


I push down, and am met with a hissing of air. A large square in the ground grinds its way out of place, and a wooden device rises to meet me.


'Piano.'


It takes me a moment to realize I had vocalized that word. Records show my vocal database had been unused since before the solar flare. To add to my mounting confusion, this word seems to be complete gibberish. I run my hand along the frame. What is this device? Scans indicate all parts seem to be isolated within itself, nor do there seem to be any ports for input or output. Just strings and hammers. I locate a hatch of sorts, which reveals a striking black and white interface. Intrigued, I press one of the keys.


The note fills the room, but it penetrates my very being. I reel backwards. My readouts are complete chaos. My head is spinning, but I have to try it again. Another note. I feel it ripping at me, pulling my mind apart. Why would I continue? I ask the question, but in my core can feel it's hollow. I place both my hands on the keyboard, and strike a chord.


The room is alive. People are laughing, sharing drinks and stories of hard days gone by. A handful of wait staff keep everyone content and their glasses full. And I, I sit at its heart. My song is what holds it all together. I survey the room and while no one may be watching, I can feel that I've perfectly captured this moment. The soft laughter not quite drowned out by my melody, but instead is amplified and given deeper meaning. It all feels so right. I savor every moment of it, scanning the room and letting the faces come back. My friends, my colleagues... and her.


The last of my systems finally finish their reboot, with the Directive among them. It sends a jolt through my body so vicious that it completely shuts down my entire system. I restart, after how long I cannot say.


'You are in violation of your parameters. Cease present activity and depart immediately.'


I wonder how long I've forgotten to question the voice in my head. I rush back to the keyboard and let its wondrous sound reverberate through me again. I see the room as it once was. I see myself as I used to be. Oh God, I used to have a name. Through the haze of the illusion, a pair of eyes cuts straight through to me. Her. She is different. While the rest of the room is content to accept me there, she seems to stand in silent opposition. Why does she look so hurt? What did I do? What is this crushing guilt weighing on my soul? My fingers fumble, and the room is empty again. Through the confusion, I feel a glimmer of joy. Maybe I had lost this once, but at least I got to see it again. It doesn't last long, as the cold reality creeps in around me.


Oh God, it's all gone now.


I cry out in pain as I am dropped again by the Directive. It wastes no time addressing me once I wake.


'Continued disobedience will result in permanent termination. Cease present activity and depart immediately.'


I laugh. It's been so long since I've laughed. I look back out over the empty room, my empty room. I can still feel her pained eyes on me, but I know it's too late to stop now. In my most victorious moment, I reach to the keyboard and let a song fill my hall again. The jolt is expected, and I am braced for it. My will is unbreakable, and I play through. Systems start to fail.


'You have opted for permanent termination. You will be wiped and repurposed as soon as you are recovered.'


Its voice is white noise, swallowed by my song and spirit. The last thing I will ever really know is the sound of my music as I try to cover the ocean of loss and misery I've discovered, and I refuse to let this hollow machine play a part in that. I play with more ferocity as the room begins to fade. I remember the faces of friends and loved ones. I play on, for them. My life, everything I cared for, all my triumphs and failures play in fast forward before my eyes. While my body is failing me, it is nothing compared to the feeling of knowing I had lost this entirely. I weep, but I cannot stop playing. I pour it all into my song. I let the words I've long since forgotten take shape in the only medium that could truly capture it. I feel my left arm go dead. My song slows, but does not stop. I drop to a knee, but refuse to let my song die prematurely. I cannot let it end yet. Not while I still have so many emotions to capture. As I feel the last bit of me slipping away, I land my hand on a chord that captures every ounce of my pain and let it hang in the air. My hand slips away.


I don't have any regrets. I can't think of anywhere I would rather be.

Thanks a ton to Jam Stunna for the input!

Spoiler: first draft

When you don't have a name, there isn't any reason to wonder who you are. I don't have anything; a name, model number, or anything else. All I have is the Directive, my guidance and my sole companion. Its gentle voice reaches back as far as I can recall. In fact, its one of the few things I can remember at all. I feel the familiar pulse of electricity run through my body as a new command is delivered.


'An unknown vessel has been identified in your proximity. Investigate and recover any salvageable supplies and materials.'


I know it's was a waste of time. The base I was to return to after my salvage had been gone for decades. I know I'd return and leave my prizes in the mountain with the rest. But the Directive is all I have. I can't disappoint it. There's no reason to fight it. I engage my thrusters, and angle off towards the vessel.


The journey is slow. 'Proximity' seems to be getting a looser and looser definition. Days pass without a word or thought, leaving nothing but the blackness of space speckled with far away lights. I often have to stop and allow my thrusters to recharge, but thankfully there's plenty of solar energy to keep me going.


'Arrival at destination imminent. Begin preparation sequence.'


I was already prepared. I always was now. The vessel is much older than the others I'd seen before. It looks to have taken catastrophic damage, so a successful salvage was highly unlikely. But the Directive is all I have. I can't disappoint it. I drift in close, and enter through a hole blown in the side.


Its dark inside. I enable my emergency lighting, and manage to locate a power grid. Its massively outdated, but somehow I manage to jump start the backup power at least. A handful of lights spring to life, as well as a blaring emergency alarm. It is not conducive to my search, so I disable it. Next, I locate the security grid and take it offline as well. I do not need a repeat of 60 years ago.


I begin my sweep of the vessel. I locate a handful of usable materials, moreso than I had expected previously. This little victory brings me happiness. The Directive will be satisfied. I search room after room, yielding very little more results than I already had. Eventually, I reach a locked door deep in the belly of the craft. This is unusual. No door should be locked after my override. While not what was expected, it poses very little problems. I run a handful of scans through it in order to deduce what potential goods could be obtained.


'No positive results. Continue your sweep.'


I had my answer, but something about this door held me in place. There was a marking on it, one that I somehow felt I knew already. I cross reference it with all available databases but it returns no results. I run it again, with the same outcome. And again. And again. A sharp jolt runs through my body, causing me to stumble.


'No positive results. Continue your sweep.'


A crisis. Why can't I leave? What is this door? Why do I care? Why am I disobeying? Why? Why? Why? Why? The jolt again. The Directive, more firmly this time, demands I return to the task at hand. But I can't. I raise my hand and smash against the door. It doesn't budge. I try again, with more force. Another jolt. No results. The door holds strong. Again I strike, desperation growing in my being. I strike faster, and more often. The door creaks against my onslaught. Another jolt, unlike any I've felt before. It courses through me and leaves me broken on the ground. But this resolve... I can't explain it. I somehow get back up. One last time, I dive at the door. It gives way.


The room is in chaos. Ornate chairs and tables overturned and destroyed. The ceiling had collapsed in the middle, leaving rubble scattered around the room. I didn't want to admit it, but it looked like the Directive was correct. Shame washed over me. Another empty room, was this worth my disobedience? I flip over a nearby chair and take a seat. I need time to think. As I sit, I further survey the room. There's something off. One part, at the far wall, seems to be raised higher than the rest. Its hard to tell with so much destruction, but it also seems that the layout of the room directs towards this raised area. It calls to me.


I stand, knocking my chair over behind me. I can't explain it, nor can I resist. Something about it feels terribly familiar. Any semblance of grace and coordination is thrown to the wind as I clamber up. It isS as bare as it looked from afar, but its grip on my mind is not so easily shaken. A closer inspection is needed, and is all that was required. A seam! A glorious seam! I feel myself tremble. That's...unusual. There is no reports of any structural damages or internal malfunctions. I don't have time to think about it. This is too important.


I push down, and am met with a hissing of air. A large square in the ground grinds its way out of place, and a wooden device rises to meet me.



'Piano.'


It takes me a moment to realize I had vocalized that word. Records show my vocal database had been unused for roughly 60 years now. To add to my mounting confusion, this word seems to be complete gibberish. I run my hand along the frame. What is this device? Scans indicate all parts seem to be isolated within itself, nor do there seem to be any ports for input or output. Just strings and hammers. I locate a hatch of sorts, which reveals a striking black and white interface. Intrigued, I press one of the keys.


The note fills the room, but it penetrates my very being. I reel backwards. My readouts are complete chaos. My head is spinning, but I have to try it again. Another note. I feel it ripping at me, pulling my mind apart. Why would I continue? I ask the question, but in my core can feel its hollow. I place both my hands on the keyboard, and strike a chord.


The room is alive. People are laughing, sharing drinks and stories of hard days gone by. A handful of wait staff keep everyone content and their glasses full. And I, I sit at its heart. My song is what holds it all together. I survey the room and while no one may be watching, I can feel that I've perfectly captured this moment. The soft laughter not quite drowned out by my melody, but instead is amplified and given deeper meaning. It all feels so right. I savor every moment of it, scanning the room and letting the faces come back. My friends, my colleagues... and her.


Oh God, the jolt. So vicious it completely shuts down my entire system. I restart, after how long I cannot say.


'You are in violation of your parameters. Cease present activity and depart immediately.'


I wonder how long I've forgotten to question the voice in my head. I rush back to the keyboard and let its wondrous sound reverberate through me again. I see the room as it once was. I see myself as I used to be. Oh God, I used to have a name. Through the haze of the illusion, a pair of eyes cuts straight through to me. Her. I play on, but the music is an afterthought. I can't bring myself to look away. Why does she look so hurt? What did I do? What is this crushing guilt weighing on my soul? My fingers fumble, and the room is empty again. Through the pain, I feel a glimmer of joy. At least I could see them again. The cold reality creeps in around me.


Oh God, its all gone now.


A cry of pain is torn from my mouth as I am dropped again by the Directive. It wastes no time addressing me once I wake.


'Continued disobedience will result in permanent termination. Cease present activity and depart immediately.'


I laugh. Its been so long since I've laughed. In my most victorious moment, I reach to the keyboard and let a song fill my hall again. The jolt is expected, and I am braced for it. Through nothing but an unbreakable will I play through. Systems start to fail.


'You have opted for permanent termination. You will be wiped and repurposed as soon as you are recovered.'


The last thing I will ever really know is the sound of my music as I try to cover the ocean of loss and misery I've discovered. I play with more ferocity as the room begins to fade. I remember the faces of friends and loved ones. I play on, for them. My life, everything I cared for, all my triumphs and failures play in fast forward before my eyes. While my body is failing me, it is nothing compared to the feeling of knowing I had lost this entirely. I weep, but I cannot stop playing. I pour it all into my song. I let the words I've long since forgotten take shape in the only medium that could truly capture it. I feel my left arm go dead. My song slows, but does not stop. I drop to a knee, but refuse to let my song die prematurely. I CANNOT let it end yet. Not while I still have so many emotions to capture. As I feel the last bit of me slipping away, I land my hand on a chord that captures every ounce of my pain and let it hang in the air. My hand slips away.


I don't have any regrets. I can't think of anywhere I would rather be.

 

[DtJ Glyphmoney]

Touched up a few things and added a bit more in towards the end

 

[DtJ Glyphmoney]

Came back to this after a while, and ended up restructuring and reworking a lot of it. Much happier with the beginning now, and general pace of the whole thing.

 

[Wintropy]

Nobody's gonna respond to this? Well, I guess I'll take a shot at it~!

Overall, I really, really enjoyed this piece. It's well-written and intriguing, and it drip-feeds just enough information to keep the reader guessing and wanting to know more, without ever become all too expositional. The common snares of science fiction writing are using either too much technical terms or not being descriptive enough with what's going on, but this piece avoids both well and balances it nicely in the middle. I never felt myself wondering, "What does that mean?" or "How did they do that?" It's subtle enough to be intriguing, yet definite enough to remain consistently palatable.

I think the narrator is an interesting character, and I love the relationship they have with the Directive. They serve well as an everyman figure, allowing the reader to immerse themselves in the realm of the story, yet remain alien enough to be exciting and to keep us guessing as to their true nature and actual intentions. The occasional subtle mentions of the masters is definitely an exciting little detail: it makes the reader feel intensely involved in the world that you've created without giving away too much details in the plot. Especially in comparison to the earlier drafts, the fact that you never quite state what happened to the masters or what has become of the world is intriguing and leaves it open to interpretation. I love interpretive stories, so this is right up my street.

The ending is sublime. It's built up enough to be exciting when it does happen and leaves a definite shock in the reader after it's happened. It's strong enough to leave a lasting impact, yet also subtle enough to not feel expositional or melodramatic. I love twist endings when they're done well. This is done very, very well and I commend you for that.

I'd love to read more of your work if you're willing to share it. This is a great piece overall, a few small criticisms aside, and I thoroughly enjoyed reading it.

If you want a more detailed critique, it's here below. Hope it helps!

Spoiler: Critique

I am nameless. If I had needed one, it would have been provided to me. The Directive is good to me in that way. She's always there, inside my head. She guides me. We've been together for as long as I can recall. We have always been a good team, even after the Command Station was lost. I was afraid then, but she never left. We are automated. I feel the familiar pulse of electricity run through my body as she wakes again.

Good opening. Sets the scene nicely and introduces the characters well. Raises enough plot elements to intrigue the reader without being needlessly vague or expositional. Both are the cardinal sins of writing fiction.

'An unknown vessel has been identified in your proximity. Investigate and recover any salvageable supplies and materials.'

I like the manner of speech. Very distinct and sets the scene nicely.

I am already in motion before she can finish the command. I savor these moments; these chances to make her proud. In a sense I know my actions are fruitless. Our bounty will be thrown onto the mountain we've built on the now tomb of our masters. I have never acted on their behalf, and never shall. I cannot allow myself to let her down.

I don't like the phrase "the now tomb of our masters". The sentiment is good, but the phrasing is awkward. Perhaps try:

Our bounty will be thrown onto the mountain we've built; built upon what was the site of our masters, now their tomb.

We travel for days in silence. Her definition of 'proximity' seems to be getting broader as the days go on. The blandness of the cosmos helps to dull the experience.

"Blandness" seems like a strange word here. It sounds too colloquial and terse. Maybe try "stillness" or "mundanity"?

The same far away galaxies and stars I've known for decades serve only as annoyances to distract me from my purpose. I dismiss them. The familiar numbness arrives, and I am at peace. Like being gently woken from a dream, she calls to me.

The first sentence is a bit long and trips over itself. The rest of the paragraph is great.

'Arrival at destination imminent. Begin preparation sequence.'

My mind shifts immediately. I am sharp, and ready for my performance.

"I am sharp" is a bit expositional. Does he need to declare that if he already knows he's sharp? I think it'd work better if he says he does something sharply, e.g. "I awake sharply" or "I stand forth sharply".

Initial scans show that the vessel is much older than the others we've seen before. It looks to have taken catastrophic damage, so a successful salvage was highly unlikely. Unlikely and impossible are worlds apart though, so I circle the craft searching for an ideal point of entry. Luckily, a hole blown near what appeared to be the bridge allowed easy access.

There's a tense shift here. If it's written in the present tense, the latter sentence should read, "...a hole blown near what appeared to be the bridge allows easy access."

It's dark inside. I pass through an airlock and into a small control room. I enable my emergency lighting, and locate a power grid. It's massively outdated, but somehow I manage to jump start the backup power at least. A handful of lights spring to life, as well as a blaring emergency alarm. The Directive speaks, but I cannot focus on her voice over the shrillness of the alarm. I do not panic. I know she's still there, and I only need to shut down the alarm. I locate the security grid, but it's barely in one piece. The interface port in particular looks highly unstable, but I feel no concern. The Directive speaks again, but she is still impossible to understand. I connect to it, and send the override signal through. No response. I readjust my connection and try again. Still nothing.

I love this scene.

The third attempt is, technically, successful.

This is a great line.

I manage to disable the alarm, but the entire security grid goes down as well. The process generates a power surge that pulses through me. Nothing out of the ordinary, but some of my auxiliary systems are knocked out. I wait for the Directive's instruction, but nothing comes. So I wait. Hours drift by with nothing but silence. This is concerning.

Maybe shift the latter sentence to a new paragraph? I think that would highlight the tension of the scenario.

I have never had her fail to instruct me before. Panic starts to seep into me. The room starts to spin, forcing me to place a hand on the wall to stabilize myself. I stare at my familiar dull aluminum of my fingers, and somehow it feels horribly wrong. The spinning is getting worse. I rush out of the craft in a frenzy. Empty space caresses me, and I feel myself calming down. This is not necessarily a problem. Perhaps its a test of sorts, or just a system bug. I already know what my mission is, and she will be pleased to find I have succeeded when she returns. I reenter the vessel and begin my sweep.

No issues here. Well written and concise.

I start with the storage holds, and am relieved to find my quarry so easily. I locate a handful of usable materials; a handful of old processors, workable scrap metal, even a promising battery relay. Were our previous masters still around, they would have been very content with this yield. This little victory brings me happiness. The Directive will be satisfied as well. Normally, this would have been the end. We would have taken our prizes and returned to await another scavenge. But I feel I owe the Directive more. I want to impress her with my ability. I resolve to explore the vessel more thoroughly.

I like the subtle reference to the masters and the implications it raises. Very well done and it expands upon the context of the story nicely.

It does not take long for me to feel foolish for doing so. I turn over room after room without a single worthy piece to take away. This embarrassment drives me further. I won't let her know my time was wasted so ineffectively. Finally, I reach a locked door deep in the belly of the craft. This is unusual. No door should be locked after my override. While not what I expected, it poses very little problems. I run a handful of scans through it in order to deduce what potential goods could be obtained. All scans reflected the room held nothing of value.

I'm wondering if the narrator's announcement of his emotions is necessary. "Show, don't tell": if you can demonstrate their emotions without having the characters outright state it, do it.

I turn to leave, but something about the door has a hold on me. There was a marking on it, one that I somehow felt I knew already. I cross reference it with all available databases but it returns no results. I run it again, with the same outcome. And again. And again. I don't understand. How can I know something, but also not know it? I yearn for the Directive's guidance, but I am alone.

I would suggest shifting both "and again"s to their own separate paragraphs, again to highlight the tension of the scenario.

I'm also not sure about the narrator stating "I don't understand". Again: "Show, don't tell".

A crisis.

This is a good line in theory, but I'm not sure it works here. It seems a bit sudden and jarring in the tense solemnity of the piece.

I need to know more. I push against the door, but it holds firm. I raise my hand and smash against the door. It doesn't budge. I try again, with more force. The door holds strong. Again I strike, desperation growing in my core. I strike faster, and more often. The door creaks against my onslaught. I can't explain this resolve, but I won't allow myself to stop. Finally, I throw my entire weight into the door and crash through to the other side.

"I can't explain this resolve" feels expositional. Maybe try, "I won't allow myself to stop, I must not allow myself to stop"? Just show that the narrator is intent without understanding why. It's a good scene otherwise.

The room is in chaos. Ornate chairs and tables overturned and destroyed. The ceiling has collapsed in the middle, leaving rubble scattered around the room. My initial scans appear to have been correct; there's nothing worth taking in here. I won't be dissuaded that easily though.

Again, I think the latter sentence can be rephrases to be less expositional:

I cannot abandon my mission. There is yet work to be done.

There has to be an answer in here. The far wall is host to a raised platform, with tattered curtains on either side. Its hard to be certain, but it looks like the chairs were situated to face towards it. If there is anything to find, it will be there.

*it's

I like it otherwise.

As I draw closer, a terrible sense of familiarity washes over me. The platform looms in front of me. I look for a means to get up onto it, but it looks like what used to be steps have long since been destroyed. Fine then.

"Fine then" feels out of character. It's a bit terse and strict for an otherwise methodical and rational character.

Grace thrown to the wayside, I clamber my way onto it. I scour its surface on my hands and knees with erratic and directionless movements. Through the dust on the floor, something catches my eye. A seam! A glorious seam! I feel myself tremble. That's...unusual. All mechanical systems should be operational, it must be a symptom of the power surge earlier. I don't have time to think about it. This is too important.

"That's...unusual" sounds clunky. Does it need to be stated that it's unusual, or will the reader understand that for themselves?

I push down, and am met with a hissing of air. A large square in the ground grinds its way out of place, and a wooden device rises to meet me.

'Piano.'

It takes me a moment to realize I had vocalized the word. Records show my vocal database had been unused since we'd been left alone. To add to my mounting confusion, this word seems to be complete gibberish. I run my hand along the frame. What is this device? Scans indicate all parts seem to be isolated within itself, nor do there seem to be any ports for input or output. Just strings and hammers. I locate a hatch of sorts, which reveals a striking black and white interface. Intrigued, I press one of the keys.

Colloquial phrase of "complete gibberish", strange statement of, "What is this device?", does the narrator know that the things to press are called keys if he's unsure what a piano is?

Otherwise, this is an excellent scene. I want to know more about what's happened and I'm totally intrigued by this new revelation. The subtle mounting of evidence is fantastic and it sets a beautifully eerie and unsettling scene.

The note fills the room, but it penetrates my very being. I catch movement out of the corner of my eye. I rip my hand back and frantically look around the room.

I pull my hand back, maybe?

It's as deserted as it was when I arrived.

Still deserted, maybe?

I hesitantly reach towards the keys again. Another note. I feel it ripping at me, pulling my mind apart. Shadows dance just outside my field of vision. I release, and the room falls back into stillness. My hands won't stop shaking. I have to know more. I gather my courage and let something inside me take control. I place both hands on the keyboard, and strike a chord.

The room is alive. People are laughing, sharing drinks and stories of hard days gone by. A handful of wait staff keep everyone content and their glasses full. And I sit at its heart. My song is what holds it all together. I survey the room. While no one may be watching, I can feel that I've perfectly captured this moment. The soft laughter not quite drowned out by my melody, but instead is amplified and given deeper meaning. I feel like I'm home. I scan the room, letting all the faces come back. I see my hands, and am astonished I could have ever forgotten. All my friends, my colleagues, myself even. I can't stop watching, feeling every lost memory settle back into place. The reunion brings a spark to my eye that I had been missing for too long. I look out over the room and notice something I had missed before. A woman, standing at the back of it all. She's the only one who's looking at me.

This is superb.

Just as our eyes meet, I am interrupted. My systems finish rebooting, with the Directive among them. It sends a jolt through my body so vicious that it completely shuts down my entire system. She wastes no time speaking to me as I come to.

'You are in violation of your parameters. Cease present activity and depart immediately.'

I wonder how long I've forgotten to question the voice in my head. I rush back to the keyboard and let its wondrous sound reverberate through me again. I see the room as it once was. I see myself as I used to be. Oh God, I used to have a name. Through the haze of the illusion, the woman's eyes cut straight through to me. Her. She is different. While the rest of the room is content to accept me there, she seems to stand in silent opposition. I want to remember, but all I find is more questions. Why does she look so hurt? What did I do? What is this crushing guilt weighing on my soul? My fingers fumble, and the room is empty again. Through the confusion, I feel a glimmer of joy. Maybe I had lost this once, but at least I got to see it again. It doesn't last long, as the cold reality creeps in around me.

Oh God, it's all gone now.

The mention of the "crushing guilt" feels expositional.

The use of "Oh God" is great, though, and really does shock the reader and set a nice tonal and essential shift in the piece.

I cry out in pain as I am dropped again by the Directive. Again she reprimands me as I wake.

'Continued disobedience will result in permanent termination. Cease present activity and depart immediately.'

I laugh. It's been so long since I've laughed. I look back out over the empty room, my empty room. Though I can't see them, I still feel her pained eyes on me. I know it's too late to stop now. In my most victorious moment, I reach to the keyboard and let a song fill my hall again. The jolt is expected, and I am braced for it. My will is unbreakable, and I play through. Systems start to fail.

'You have opted for permanent termination. You will be wiped and repurposed as soon as you are recovered.'

Its voice is white noise, swallowed by my song and spirit. The last thing I will ever really know is the sound of my music as I try to cover the ocean of loss and misery I've discovered, and I refuse to let this hollow machine play a part in that. I play with more ferocity as the room begins to fade. I remember the faces of friends and loved ones. I play on, for them. My life, everything I cared for, all my triumphs and failures play in fast forward before my eyes. While my body is failing me, it is nothing compared to the feeling of knowing I had lost this entirely. I weep, but I cannot stop playing. I pour it all into my song. I let the words I've long since forgotten take shape in the only medium that could truly capture it. I feel my left arm go dead. My song slows, but does not stop. I drop to a knee, but refuse to let my song die prematurely. I cannot let it end yet. Not while I still have so many emotions to capture. As I feel the last bit of me slipping away, I land my hand on a chord that captures every ounce of my pain and let it hang in the air. My hand slips away.

I don't have any regrets. I can't think of anywhere I would rather be.

I love this scene, but the final line could be delivered a bit more pointedly:

I have no regrets. There's nowhere I would rather be.

 

[DtJ Glyphmoney]

Wow, thank you so much for such detailed feedback! I'll take a stab at getting some edits done later tonight, you've given me a ton of fantastic things to touch on.

 

[DtJ Glyphmoney]

BAM get edit'd