Kitty Cat Kill Sat

Chapter 33

The days crept by, and in a twisted inverse of how I could sometimes lose myself in a project, it felt like time itself gelled around me.

It was a trick of perspective, really. When I was alone, silent, and despairing, I had a million things to do and nothing to really think about. Now, though, there are at least two other entities living with me. Constant questions to ask or answer, or just conversations to be had. And a whole host of small projects all coming together at different speeds and different criticalities.

The dog is out of the vivification pod, wounds patched with rapidly regrown flesh, radiation expunged to safe levels. I dont know how smart dogs are, really, but any curiosity he shows for this new place of metal walls and technological marvels seems muted. Maybe because of how unfamiliar everything is, maybe the sudden loss of any friendly relationships he had with the sophont crew of the destroyed ship, maybe just because the cleaner nanos make it impossible to mark territory in the traditional dog way on my station. Whatever it is, the tail wagging never lasts long on its own.

The first contact Ive had with an organic life in centuries, and it turns out, hes just as depressed as me, even if he doesnt have the context for it.

But he does get excited whenever I come by. Being hugged by a full suite of canine warform tentacles is kind of a unique experience. And its *obvious* this is a trained animal by the fact that I havent been shredded by them, no matter how much Ennos keeps insisting this isnt a dog or some other weird theory about infiltrator life.

Lily, dogs dont-

Im not listening! I call back, getting an exasperated sigh in reply. I do not have time to argue. It is *naptime*.

When the dog gets too sad, in a way that I notice, I have exactly one fix available; leading the way down to the exposed exolab and declaring that it is naptime. And wow, dogs make better pillows than literally anything on the station. No synthetic material can possibly compare, including the networked smartfabric in the Luna Polis captains quarters, or the memetically adaptable blankets in the crew pods that Kind Olympus added in. I am already making plans to clone several dogs, so I can have several dog pillows. A doggie bed, if you will.

Its not all comfy naps, though. Ive got a lot of stuff to do when Im showing my new guest around.

The world below hasnt stopped spinning. And Im not going to say things are getting worse, but because things are literally always getting worse, I dont really have to say it. Its just a given.

That village of feathermorphs that made contact with me some time in the distant past sent another message up. A couple of them, actually. Nothing critical, but there was an automated construction cluster near their home, building a dam over the only source of freshwater they had available.

*Normally* Id shoot it, feel bad, and then lose track of the event in the endless organically database of memories I have of shooting things and feeling bad about it. But this time, remembering Glitters disapproval of me just murdering autonomous systems without checking first, I went with something a little different.

Most of the machines that make up these autonomous clusters are fairly unsecured these days. They respond in a pseudo-organic way to evolutionary pressures, like, for example, electronic warfare. And electronic warfare just isnt happening these days. An individual machine has usually between three to twenty different methods of receiving incoming information, usually commands or data on a weird encryption from its cluster.

This is background information.

Also under the category of background information is the fact that you cant just railgun communications nodes down onto the surface. I mean, you *can*, you just cant expect them to survive. Or at least, I cant. Like, I can reduce the railguns power, but then theres unintuitively more total heat damage from reentry, and even then, I dont have anything durable enough to survive a terminal velocity impact with the ground and still be a working rebroadcast circuit.

So, for my first foray into peaceful conflict resolution with a surface threat, Ive fallen back on that old favorite of lets see how many resources I can burn on building drones

Drones are great. Especially the ones I can put together. Theres a *lot* of different options in my database, and the assembler is both fast and good at what it does.

And even with all that, I still lose the vast majority of the things to intercept fire when they try to get close.

Its very hard for old world ground defenses to shoot down railgun slugs. To the point that most of the old systems are smart enough to not try. It is *not* hard to hit a drone thats performing a safe atmospheric insertion from five hundred miles away. Which means, as my carrier swarm is trying to land, theyre being picked off by six different emplaced plasma cannons and missile sites.

Which is why I built fifty of the things. Theyre small, and I did just eat an entire corvette to fill the material cargo holds last month. So I dont feel too bad about it.

Two of them land. One of the construction cluster comes over to try to process them into their own usable resources. At which point, the self-modifying code payload that Ennos wrote for me takes over.

It takes three seconds to establish a link, which makes my AI crewmate very disappointed, and another eight to establish a shared vocabulary, which *I* find very impressive, but Ennos is too busy sulking over their own perceived failure to be a transcendental intelligence or something dumb like that to actually celebrate.

>Outside interference

>Identify

+Designate (Lily)

>Designate (Brukeheld Vierzhen-A)

>Authorization request

+Territorial claim, local

>Authorization confirmation request

I sigh. Theres just no reasoning with some people. I blow up a nearby uninhabited crater, making it a slightly deeper crater and giving everything within a half mile the breeze of a nice low pressure shockwave.

>Authorization accepted

Can a machine be snarky? Clusters arent actually AIs, but like I said, they *do* respond to pressures and adapt. Can rapid development make something that isnt really alive act sarcastic? This is a philosophical debate I really want to engage someone in, but Ennos is sulking, and Brukeheld - or at least this part of it - probably wont find it that engaging.

>Status request

I really need to stop ascribing emotions to something thats just sending me text on an AR window, but it feels a bit nervous. Lets fix that.

+Citizenship granted

+Operations continue

+Prioritize - initiate local communications, follow local civic leadership, safeguard local community, safeguard territory

>Status updated

>Ending communication

The vocabulary is shaky, but Ive got more than enough linguistic power here to fill the construction cluster in on its new role. Report to the mayor of the nearby town, say hi, get new orders. Dont worry, you count as a person, and you can keep building stuff. Just not this dam, here.

Itll take a little while, maybe, to get the local community to understand, but with the cluster as a relay, I can maybe-

The communication cuts off. Like, *dramatically* cuts off. Not just that its been locked down, but that the signal is no longer extant. My tail stiffens as I awkwardly paw back through the last few minutes of footage from the drone, and

Uh huh. Okay. The cluster ate the drone. Good. Yup. Good. I should have been more specific with the commands. Though this does sort of effectively answer my question of can a machine be sarcastic with a very annoying yes, apparently.

I consider putting more drones on the ground, but well, thingsll be okay, right? The village can always call me if they need help. I wish I could actually radio back, but Im busy all the time anyway, and getting comms assets on the surface just to be able to have casual chats seems silly. Also, I may have understated just how many rare earth elements I used up building all those drones.

Im sure itll be fine.

I have other jobs to do.

Constant other jobs.

Jobs like figuring out how to convince the galley to produce more food for my new best organic friend.

Would it shock you to learn that dogs arent really properly categorized by the station as either crew, pets, or residents at all? It might, because youre probably still thinking of my home as a sophisticated stellar vessel and not as a hastily cobbled together mess of contradicting program code and weapon systems, but thats fine. Youll learn. And it doesnt, to be clear. Know what dogs are, logistically.

Ive mostly been sharing my ration chunks, and the dog - I should name this dog - obviously enjoys them more than I do, which is nice. But thisll be a problem sooner rather than later.

So far, Ive tried compromising the stations crew manifest (didnt work), faking a new addition from a cloning pod (didnt work either, internal sensors are too smart), overflowing the power supply circuit to the hydrocarbon replicator (do not attempt this, it look, just dont), and asking Ennos to fix it (didnt work, they are now sulking more).

This whole endeavor was interrupted once by a minor emergence event on a mining platform asteroid at L2, which Im keeping an eye on but not shooting *for now*.

Its frustrating to me that it was easier to replicate a fleet of comms drones, insert them through heavy anti-drop fire onto the surface, and formally induct a small army of construction bots into a job as civic planners, than it is to ask for more food.

Wait.

Hey Galley. I meow while sitting on a cafeteria table, feeling awkward about this whole thing. I know we dont talk much. Because it hasnt occurred to me. But, could you increase food production to account for the addition of a fifty kilo omnivore to the station? Because theres a dog living here now. Um thanks for your hard work. I appreciate you?

There is no response.

Im prepared to write this off as just me looking silly, but when lunch is next produced, theres a bowl of ration kibble sitting there alongside my more elaborate meal.

I try some of the dogs food. It tastes like ration. He is *very* polite about letting me sample, even though he appears to love the stuff. I am mournfully jealous of that for a minute.

An alarm sounds. I close my eyes, trying to pretend its not real for a couple seconds, before I slip past the dog who thinks this is an invitation to playtime and dash for the nearest

Ennos, where am I going?! I ask. I pull up my AR, but I legitimately cannot figure out what is making this alarm sound. Im lucky its not one of the really loud ones, but if I have to dismantle *another* alert system from hardware up, Im going to be very annoyed. That always cuts into naptime.

Ennos, when they answer a couple seconds later, sounds legitimately puzzled. Consumer goods factory Theta? They bring up a guideline for me, the ongoing fruits of their effort to map the whole station. A nice gesture, but I do actually know where most things are. Why is there a signal going to the factory? Ennos asks.

Is it hostile? Backdoor code or some kind of deconstruct order? I speed up, launching myself around corners and taking advantage of low grav sections to spring off walls with all four paws at full speed.

Ennos reply betrays ramping anxiety. Im not wired into that part of the station! They call. Be careful! Around me, a trio of camera drones that were within easy reach assemble into a triangle formation around me. Ennos providing a little extra buffer between my furry form and anything dangerous.

The door to the factory hisses open, the interior space just as expansive, cold, and unmoving as when I first opened it up a month back.

The alarm is still going, but it looks like nothing is wrong here.

There. Ennos flags a local console on my HUD, and I pad over cautiously.

The console is a high end touch screen, which I hate. Repair nanos never keep these things in perfect condition, and at some point during their refinement process, they got so specialized for humans that they stopped working very well for cat paws. The pads on my toes just dont do a great job of interfacing with these.

Which is a problem, because this is what I have to work with. Mostly it just means I have to end up dropping half my weight onto the screen to hit a button.

When I finally get the thing to acknowledge the incoming signal, the alarm cuts off, and Im left panting for breath after Ive had to make three different jumps to get that to work right. The console, glowing a spiteful orange, is at the worst possible angle for me; elevated and with nowhere for anyone to sit nearby. And I really dont want to walk along the other surfaces behind and around it, just so I dont trigger a production run.

Fortunately, I dont have to constantly hop to read the thing. Ennos puts a drone over it, and relays the feed to me.

I read it off, half out loud just out of newly formed habit. By order of the executive crown of the Wherengi people Miranda corporation ancient pact between peoples need based demand subject to negotiations hm two thousand haptic restoration units? Ten thousand dermal sealant patches?

Im not sure I understand. Ennos has been reading - probably read five times before I was done muttering to myself - along with me. Theyre demanding something of you?

I think the word demand is translated a bit off. I think its more ceremonial. I answer casually, the decades I spent engrossed in linguistic research catching up to me. Im more curious about this contract?

Found it. The codeling probably found it before Id read the message and is just showing off. I am. Here. Ennos brings it up for me.

Its from when the station was occupied by one of the hypercorps. One that had some kind of trade alliance with another three corps and one political party that were heavily invested in the industry around Uranus.

I know for a fact theyre all dead, organizationally. But I check the signal origin, and retread the names. This came from that big blue ball of a planet; or at least, one of its moons. So someone has been holding on. They probably found a record of this contract buried in their own archives, and took a long shot on it.

But neither of the organizations still exist. The station is mine; I dont owe anyone the old contracts that I never made. And the language differences between the contract and the message show a huge shift in culture away from the corporation that spawned it, so theyre someone different either.

...But.

I cant make my tail settle down as I read the message again. Haptic restoration? Dermal sealant? These are medical supplies. Theyre asking for help, sending messages to what they have every reason to suspect is a grave, asking for help. The longest of long shots.

Ennos. I say quietly.

Yes? They respond, voice echoing in the dead factory.

Im going to go set the fabber to run off a half mile of cable, and start getting you linked into this facility. I say calmly. Get me a route to a comms station that can closecast a return message please.

It takes me less time to compose and reply in their own language than it did to hit the stupid touch screen properly.

The ancient contract is cast to the void. Your demand to follow it in letter or spirit is rejected. What you need is on the way.

I purr as I send that off. It might take a week, and deplete a few resource stockpiles I kind of enjoy having topped off, but I dont care. Im going to help. Im literally only here to help.

Hey Glitter? I say, opening a subspace link to my favorite autonomous weapons platform. Im curled up in the curve of a sleeping dog, two tentacles and a paw draped over me, but still not keeping me from voice activating my AR. The dog doesnt seem to mind that I can talk, so thats nice.

Yes, Lily? Her voice is as flowing and courtly-proper as ever. I asked Ennos the other day if Glitter didnt like me or something, and he said that she was treating me as a superior, which I dont like. I want to go back to being friends, not whatever this is. Can I what do you need? She seems suddenly uncertain. Maybe Ennos is working as a go-between for me.

Just wanted to thank you for the good idea. I say.

Is this in regards to the heat shielding? Because I hardly

No, no. I cut her off. You got me thinking about I guess, diplomacy. That I can do it, at all. I was moving on autopilot, and I hadnt really put it together that I can talk now. And so much more is open to me. I dont have to just shoot everything, you know?

Ah. The fighter craft. Glitter sounds almost guilty. I pressured you into being in danger for

Oh shut up. I caterwaul at her. I doubt that thing could have done more than rustle my whiskers. Danger? Feh! I hiss, causing the dog to shift his head upright and give me a worried look. I plant a paw on his nose and pull him back down to pillow position. And now, for more diplomacy. Glitter, why is it weve talked less now that youre capable of it than we did when you were shackled?

I Glitter doesnt say anything else, her tone confused. Adrift. I am not you

I miss being friends. I mutter. I dont know why Ive been having a hard time saying it. I dont think Im used to saying things, yet. But I miss being friends. The words come out sad, but solid. Even just playing Go. Why dont we play Go anymore?

You are always busy Glitter tries to make a bad excuse. And it would be improper. She finishes with a worse excuse.

Terrible excuses for bad behavior is *my* domain. I will not tolerate this intrusion. Yes. Were very rigid about social structure here at unshackled AI central. I glibly reply.

Ive never actually experienced an AI changing their mind on something in real time, but when Glitter next speaks, its with an almost comically overdone haughty edge. Well, then its because Im too good at Go, and you would lose, and that would be rude. She tells me.

And I purr into the dog pillow that Im laying against. Because that is more like the friend I thought Id had.

Great. I say, and trigger a command through my AR display to launch a *highly* maneuverable drone with exactly one defining feature. It leaves the station, drifting away on impulse engines until its about a kilometer away, and then rotates to show the grid marked on the metal of its hull. Another command, and one of the nodes lights up a bright white. Your move. I tell her.

I dont have access to that drone, Lily. Glitter tells me.

No, but I didnt spend two weeks installing a modulatable laser in you just so you could use it for all business. Also! The marks will be black! So its basically perfect.

Glitter makes a noise like shes planning to protest. But then, her platform pivots slightly, and the thinnest lance of light strikes out and marks the drifting game board. Not very accurately, though, because I have the drone set to evasive action.

Thats cheating.

Look, Im *very* bad at this game. I say, lighting up another spot. Your move.

Glitter laughs. And my friend is back.

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