https://www.furaffinity.net/user/lethaldoors created a character concept (https://www.furaffinity.net/view/29439989/) and told me some about the world they inhabited. I was inspired to write a story.

**This is a repost. I fixed a bunch of errors and cleaned the story up. It's better now.**

Ship of the Damned

Darkness. Bitter darkness.

Icicles in bones. Arctic cold. Jaw clenched. Millions of needles under skin.

Pain. Unfathomable pain. Bed of needles.

Something wrong.

Shrill beeping. So far away, coming closer. Closer. Screeching.

Pain ebbing. Precipice of consciousness.

Soothing emptiness.

I open my eyes and instantly squeeze them shut. Pain that reminds me of trying to look at the sun as a foolish child stabs the backs of my eyeballs. Noises pass over my cracked lips as I lay on something cold. A floor made of metal. I try to move again and there is none of the previous pain, but lethargy corrupts every muscle. The effort expended just to curl into a ball makes me cough and retch. Oddly, pangs of hunger dominate.

Languorously, I manage to roll onto my stomach and drag my limbs beneath me up onto all fours and, eventually, to sit. Again, I carefully attempt opening my eyes. What I had once thought as bright as the sun are dim lights on the ceiling and along the floor. It feels like ages before my mind is clear enough to begin to attempt to understand where I am. Or, even, who I am.

Who am I?

The space around me is huge; long enough end-to-end that walking in either direction looks like it would be a journey. Walk? Hah! I should see if I can even stand. Behind me is a strange pod, probably what I had emerged from. Using it as a baby would use a couch to steady itself when taking its first steps I latched on and dragged myself up onto my feet. My vision darkened and the room swayed. I clung to the cold metal with what little strength I had. Returning to the floor was the last thing I wanted.

The vertigo passed and I carefully, delicately shuffled my feet on the grated floor. This helplessness struck me as ridiculous. I was a machinist, a creator of intricate widgets that were used to fix broken equipment that was necessary to sustain life during interstellar travel. How could I be so weak, so useless, as to be barely able to master the basics of locomotion?

Wait, what was that memory? Who am I?

Even worse, what am I? Do I even exist? Or maybe, maybe, maybe I’m dead and this is the after I never believed to exist.

Slowly, slowly, slowly, the grated floor moves past me, but my feet are frozen in time. Air blows across me, not cold, but not warm either. No comfort, no solace, no escape. The metal is cold and my feet hurt.

Pain. Again pain. That means I’m starting to feel again. The fog is clearing in the deepest recesses of my brain. Where am I going? The thought triggers another. All main corridors extend from a central axis that runs through the length of the ship. If there are lights along the edges of the floor just follow them until you get to the hub path, only an idiot could get lost here, then soft laughter.

Where did that come from? Somewhere I’ve been before. Somewhere far, far, far away. My feet hurt more now. My arms swing at my sides in time with the steps I’m not taking. When did the floor become smooth? Bare flesh I see as my arms move. No wonder I’m cold. I’m naked, though the fact quickly fades into unimportance.

The lights along the floor stop and so do the walls. I lifted my heavy head and scanned the broad corridor. It’s still gloomy with only the emergency lights illuminated. Low power state for the long, long, long journey. More of these things and places I’ve seen before. Why is it all so hard to reach out for and attain?

The smartest choice is to go right, follow the corridor as it curves gently to the left. Eventually you’ll see the sign for the security control room, just in case there is ever an emergency and you need to go there. More of the past, here in the present. At least at this point I’m pretty sure I’m not dead. The pain makes me believe it. Why would there be pain after death? That would be some bullshit.

Where am I?

A bright red background painted on the metal wall has SECURITY stenciled in silver, faintly glowing under the emergency lights. I shuffled toward it and the heavy door disappears into the wall with the soft hiss of oiled hydraulics. A noise, something inside the room and none of the faculties necessary to defend myself. A massive, curved, panoramic screen lines the wall for half the room and bathes it in a sickly, artificial blue. Desks run nearly edge to edge in perfect ordered, perfect straight, and perfectly spaced rows. Control consoles of all shapes, sizes and uses adorn them.

But, there is something else, something not inorganic, something not bolted to something else. It stared right at me, or did it stare at me because I stared at it? What is it? It’s so familiar, so alien, so unknown.

Fear. Fear is a gun pointed at my head. Fear is not knowing if the wielder will pull the trigger. I cowered and covered my head with my arms as if they would protect me from a high-speed rifle slug. “Don’t shoot,” I croaked hoarsely. Fear is hearing a word in your head but the noise that comes out is garbled and weak. “Please,” I tried to shout. My throat ached with the effort.

I heard movement but I didn’t dare open my eyes and sank lower to my knees. Something in my memory makes me ashamed. I never thought I’d die on my knees, begging for my pathetic life. Heavy footsteps moved toward me, hesitant but purposeful. The very faint hum of a charged, loaded weapon jogged another memory. Mark-44 battle rifle, an extremely deadly weapon that shoots rifled slugs using powerful electromagnets. The slugs can penetrate thirty-five millimeters of ballistic steel plate at ranges up to eight-hundred meters.

How did I know this?

The ponderous footsteps stopped in front of me. Slowly, as unthreateningly as possible I moved my arms and looked up at the monstrosity. It towered over me, easily a foot or two taller than me at my full height and I’m no pipsqueak. Monster was a fitting word. Bipedal, standing on two long, long legs, leading to a waist that should be too skinny to support the massive, barrel chest and arms three-quarters as long as it was tall. All this was covered by obsidian armor that reflected no light. Its fingers were grotesquely long that ended in dangerous, clawed points. The face was partly obscured by a disheveled mane of blue-gray hair. Pale eyes that seemed to reflect the dim light in the room bored into me.

My arms fell limp. Was I resigned to dying? If I could remember who I was, was I the kind of person that would just give up? Who am I?

And then it spoke, or tried to. Strange garbled sounds came down to me. I looked up from my slumped body. The monster tried again to speak and the sound was different, but somehow familiar. It kneeled in front of me, set down its rifle and wrapped its armored arms around my naked torso. What was happening?

More sounds came from it. Strange and foreign, but it kept trying in earnest. Why was this, this, this monster hugging me? Holding me as if I were a child. Holding me as if to protect me from the obscured thoughts just beyond my grasp. And then it spoke and I understood it.

“Are you hurt,” it questioned softly.

“I…” The hold on me tightened then relaxed.

“You understand now?”

“Y-yes.” My own voice felt wrong. The sounds caught in my throat and I coughed.

“Are you hurt?” It sounded concerned, worried even. The monster released me, but did not let me go. It held my shoulders and looked down at me. I could scarcely meet its eyes. The more I looked at it the more familiar it seemed to become. I had seen this thing before, or one that looked exactly like it. Why was it here? No, no, no, why was I here? Where was I?

“I c-can’t remem…remember where I…”

“Shh, shh, you’re onboard a ship. I think.”

“A ship. You, you don’t know?” Maybe I didn’t even know.

“Yes, but no worry. Here for you. Protect you.”

“O-okay.” I stuttered and I could even believe what it said. It had such a calming, soothing voice; vaguely feminine, like a doting mother. “What’s your name?”

“My…name?” She asked and seemed to ponder the implication. “This unit is a victor-kilo-zero-zero-zero-six-three-two-charlie.”

I hesitated and tried to repeat the name, “victor-kilo-zero…zero…Can I just call you Charlie?” It seemed silly, so inappropriate for a monster-not-monster.

“Charlie. Charlie is a name?” The thing asked gently, without offense.

“Yes.”

“Then name is Charlie. Does it, I mean you, have a name?” The question struck me like a punch. Did I have a name? I must have a name. Everybody has a name. What was my name? What was my fucking name?! Why, why, why!

“Why do you cry?” She sounded gravely concerned and wrapped her arms around me again. Her? Why did I think of it that way? Was it the voice, its tone, the way it seemed to care for me as a woman would her child? Her it was. I ground my fists into my eyes and wiped away the stupid tears.

“I can’t remember who I am,” I shouted hoarsely. I wanted to scream, but all that I could muster was pathetic whining. Saying it out loud felt like admitting my worst, darkest secret to a friend knowing it would destroy that friendship. Admitting it out loud made it real, made it tangible. I could reach out and touch my impotence as it taunted me. Again the fear returned. The fear of unknowing; it opened beneath, a yawning pit of terror, midnight arms clawing at my body, trying to drag me down into the blackness that seemed to stretch into infinity. I screamed.

“Shh, you okay. Stasis shock, temporary amnesia. You will remember in time.” Her voice was so calm, so caring, she couldn’t possibly be wrong. Could she?

Suddenly the floor began to vibrate strangely. She cradled me tighter with preternatural strength, squeezing the air from my lungs, pressing my face hard into her musty mane. An otherworldly wail of metal crashing and dragging against metal pierced my ears. My ear drums felt liked they’d burst under the immense pressure crushing my skull. The fear. The fear returned in powerful waves of churning terror. Tingling tore up my spin into the base of my skull and my mouth opened in soundless agony. It felt like a nightmare manifesting inside my skull and trying to escape.

“Shh, no pain. You are safe. I have you. Sorry for crushing,” she said and relented her grip just enough for me to breathe again. I sucked in lungfuls of air, nearly beginning to hyperventilate. My heart hammered against my ribs. The wailing dropped in pitch to a demonic moaning that seemed to come from the very walls that surrounded us. Then a klaxon began to sound.

“Do not worry. It is nothing. Nothing for you to fear. You will remember again soon,” she cooed as I felt her head turning, her stubby snout pressing down on top of my head. I thought that I should feel belittled by this coddling, some part of me saying I shouldn’t need such attention. A part of me that remembered a distant past. A memory of…something, something, something.

“Dave.” Naming myself felt like release. A freedom I hadn’t realized I’d been yearning for so badly. “Dave. Dave. Dave!” Suddenly I was laughing out loud. I’d found the key to the lock I didn’t know I’d needed to be looking for.

“Dave?” Charlie seemed confused and a little concerned.

“My name is Dave.”

“Dave,” She said matter-of-fact and nodded. “You are Dave. I am Charlie.”

As suddenly as the vibrating and demonic moaning had come it was gone. The silence was stunning and the absence of pain and fear filled me with temporary euphoria. I laughed again, choked on my own parched throat.

“What did you do, Dave?” Charlie said with concern.

“What do you mean?”

“The sound disappeared. No more klaxon. Same as when I—” Charlie abruptly stopped speaking and hugged me again.

“What?”

“You not worry. It is nothing.” Charlie wouldn’t lie to me. I simply nodded and sighed. The room was quiet until my stomach interjected into the silence with a loud growl. I remembered I was hungry a long time ago, before I’d even started walking.

“Are you okay, Dave?”

“Yes, I think so. Just hungry.”

“Hungry,” Charlie repeated slowly. She seemed to be thinking it over before responding. “Yes, hunger. You need sustenance pouch?”

“Uhm, sure, I think…and water too.” Charlie stood, and easily brought me up with her before she gently settled me on my feet. She never fully released me until she seemed happy that I could stand on my own. Then she bent down, picked up the huge rifle and held it like it was a toy.

“You follow me. Charlie will feed you.”

I looked up at her face and the jagged line of her mouth seemed to curve at the corners into a crude smile, or the best imitation of one she was able to form on her oddly canine face. Whatever she was, whatever her intentions, I knew I could trust her. Though her speech was imperfect her calm voice was soothingly melodious.

Charlie reached out with her long, thickly armored arm and gingerly took my hand in her gloved fingers. I looked down and could barely see my hand, completely engulfed in her massive digits.

“Come, Dave. Charlie taking you to sustenance room.”

“Okay,” I said dumbly. I was like a child being led by an adult, completely helpless. I didn’t know exactly who, or what, she was, but I was completely dependent on her to survive.

               The “sustenance room” had markings on the wall next to. Messing. The room was quite large and could probably seat a couple hundred people. Long tables with bench seats bolted to the floor took up the majority of the floor space. Interspersed evenly through the room were thick metal structural beams that went through some tables. Some engineer had probably had a wet dream about how efficiently they had used every square inch of space in the room. Along the far wall was a long counter where I presumed people would line up to receive their food ration. If there were any people left, besides me.

               Charlie led me by the hand past all the immaculately clean, empty tables and benches. Why was there nobody here? Why had it looked like nobody had ever even been in the corridors Charlie had led me through? She took me through a gap in the serving counter. There were large metal cabinets on the wall that stretched from floor to ceiling, some with double doors, probably for storing the meals. A pair of doors yielded easily to Charlie’s massive hand. She had to stoop to pass the doorframe and I scuttled quickly through to avoid getting hit by the closing doors.

               The kitchen was surprisingly small for the size of the dining area. Gleaming stainless steel counters took up most of the wall space beside massive steel cabinets. There were few drawers and the entire place felt very spartan, but so did every part of the ship, so far. I didn’t have much time to look around under Charlie’s relentless pulling. She didn’t stop until we’d walked into some kind of storage area at the back of the kitchen. A light lit instantly when she slid the door aside. The only thing in the room was large cabinets with locking handles. All the closed storage areas made perfect sense on an interstellar vessel. More random snippets of memory.

               “Here, Dave. Sustenance for you,” Charlie said with a smile. She had opened a cabinet and pulled a foil package from a very neat row of foil packets. I took the packet and she let go of my hand to pull out another packet and close the cabinet.

               “What is it?”

               “I already told you, Dave.” Charlie still smiled and watched me intently. My gaze dropped to the packet in my hand and I read the label with some difficulty. The words didn’t make sense at first, just scribbles, but then they snapped into straight lines and curves. Sustenance packet. Packs all the necessary nutrients to keep synthetics in prime operating condition! Warning: NOT FOR HUMAN CONSUMPTION! FATAL IF SWALLOWED. SEEK IMMEDIATE MEDICAL ATTENTION. The label continued about the side effects that seemed to include everything up to, and including, death.

               “Charlie, I can’t eat this,” I said and tried to hand the packet back to her. She immediately looked upset and didn’t take it.

               “Why not, Dave? I eat all the time. Very good!” Charlie tore the top off the packet with surprisingly dexterity due to it being half the size of her hand. If eating it herself was supposed to make me think it was safe she was wrong.

“Charlie, did you read all of the writing on the packet?” She looked at me quizzically and held her packet up. A small dribble of orange slurry came out of the packet and splattered on the floor. Charlie looked at me aghast and snatched the packet out of my hand so fast I didn’t see it, I just knew because it was suddenly in her grasp.

“Sorry, Dave! I almost killed Dave,” Charlie said, visibly distraught. I felt bad that’d I’d made her upset.

“It’s okay, Charlie. You weren’t trying to. I’m sure there is something in one of these cabinets I can eat.” I couldn’t bear to look at Charlie frowning and turned my back to start going through the cabinets. The first cabinet I tried yielded food fit for human consumption and in more than one flavor. I decided on the one labeled, lasagna, and quickly tore the top off.

“Did Dave find one he could eat?” Charlie asked behind me.

“Yeah, I did-” I stopped when I heard her making strange noises behind me. Strange grumbling and sloppy lip smacking. I turned my head, fearful that she had taken a turn from being nice. Charlie had her head tilted back and was squeezing the packet a foot away from her mouth, letting the orange stuff from the packet fall into her gaping maw. Not all of the stuff made it into her mouth. When she looked back down at me she had orange all over her lips and looked ridiculous.

“Why are you looking at me like that, Dave?” Charlie tilted her head and blinked.

“Charlie, do you…you know that’s not how you’re supposed to eat out of these things.”

“What do you mean?”

“Like this, Charlie.” I started from the bottom of the packet and squeezed the contents up, my lips on the opening and sucked the thick liquid out of the foil. “Like that. Less messy and you don’t waste any.”

“I see. It has been annoying to clean up.”

I noticed that the way she talked had been improving. It was strange that a synth would have any issue with speech. While I sucked down my dinner, Charlie had opened the packet she snatched from me and was attempting to mimic me.

“Charlie, how long have you been here?” I wasn’t sure where the question had come from.

“In years? I’m not sure. All there is in the security station is the status bar.” Charlie put the foil back to her mouth and slid her thumb and index finger down the foil, emptying the reaming three-quarters into her maw. She swallowed it in one gulp and stuff the empty packet into one of her pouches.

“Status bar? For what?” Charlie shrugged and wiped her mouth on her armor, leaving a long orange streak on her forearm. She hadn’t gotten it all off, not even close.

“Status of how much of the journey is complete.”

“And that’s it? There isn’t any relative value? Minutes, days, years?” It seemed stupid to me. Why would there only be a bar with an arbitrary percentage given?

“Just percentage, Dave. It moves very, very slowly.” Charlie frowned solemnly.

“But you know how long you’ve been here, right?”

“Never had a point of reference. Never been important to keep track.” Charlie shrugged. “Done eating, Dave?”

“Yeah, I guess. Should I bring some of the food with me?”

“If you would like, Dave. Sustenance room isn’t far from security station though.”

I opened the metal cabinet again and took a couple different flavors for later. With my hunger sated it occurred to me that I was still naked. A chill ran up my spine and I shivered. “Charlie, is there somewhere I could get clothes?”

“Clothes? Hmm.” Charlie had a blank look on her face for a moment. “Yes, Dave. Follow me.” She took my small hand, by comparison, into hers again, picked up the rifle by the grip with the other, and led me out of the sustenance room.

We backtracked to the central hub and meandered through two corridors until Charlie approached a door. Stenciled beside it was Berthing 1A. The door slid aside and Charlie took the lead. This room was much more cramped than the mess hall had been. Double decker bunks lined the walls on either side of us with two lockers between each pair. The lane down the middle of the room was just wide enough for Charlie to walk without rubbing her shoulders against the bunks. I had to look between her arm and hip to see passed her. At the far end was another door with the symbol for bathroom that I could just make out. A quick count resulted in sixteen bunks filling the space. Tight living quarters for sure.

Charlie stopped at the first set of lockers and fumbled with the latch mechanism. After several attempts she grunted in annoyance and looked at me over her shoulder. “Should be clothes in these lockers. Standard jumpsuit uniforms worn by personnel.”

“Okay, thank you.” She turned to take up less space and side stepped out of the way.

I checked the locker Charlie had been trying to open. Inside was three gray jumpsuits with lines of fluorescent yellow around the waist, ankles, wrists and neck. A plain white undershirt, black socks, and black underwear were folded on the top shelf. Black boots were on a shelf beneath the hanging suits. Two drawers took up the rest of the locker and, upon further inspection, held more undergarments. I pulled the underwear, socks, and shirt off the top shelf and pulled them on; surprisingly, they all fit just right. Lucky first pick. The jumpsuit was a little tight, but wearable, but the boots were too small.

After going through three more lockers I finally found a pair of boots that fit. I smoothed down the suit and looked at Charlie. “How do I look?”

“Like a Human with clothes on, Dave,” She said and patted my head affectionately.

“Well, you’re not wrong, I guess.” I wasn’t sure what kind of response I’d been expecting from a synth. Charline kept staring at me awkwardly, so I turned my attention to closing the lockers I had gone through. Part of me wondered where all the people were. It was obvious people were expected to be here with everything left so orderly and neat everywhere. The part of me that still wasn’t fully conscious didn’t care. “So, Charlie, now wh—.”

The klaxon from before suddenly sounded, loud and high pitched, making my ears rings.

“Are you okay, Dave?” Charlie shouted at me, very concerned.

“I’m fine, Charlie! What’s going on?” I yelled to make sure she heard me.

“Back to the security room, Dave. Now!”

Charlie pushed past me and I had to pressed my back tight to a set of lockers to let her sidle passed. She grabbed my hand and tugged me out of the room. I had to jog to keep up with her. Something bad must have happened to make her be in such a hurry, not to mention she had the back up the rifle under her armpit with the barrel pointed straight ahead.

It only took us what felt like a few minutes to reach the security room. The alarm was still blaring. Charlie let go of my hand as soon as we were inside and the door closed and went straight for the bank of monitors along the wall. Different feeds flipped by faster than I could begin to focus on them until one appeared on the wall screen and expanded to fill the majority of the wall.

“You stay here, Dave. Do not try to leave the room. Door will be locked.” Charlie lifted the large rifle as if it were a toy and visually checked the ammunition source. Vague memories of my own version of the rifle flickered into my consciousness. I remembered my rifle being half the size of hers. “I will return soon.”

Charlie said nothing else as she walked to a door opposite the one we had walked in. After it closed behind her a small light next to the door turned from green to red. I knew that red meant the door was locked and required a security level I didn’t possess to open.

The piercing klaxon died down to background noise, as if the ship had decided action had been taken to see to whatever the problem was. With Charlie gone I was alone for the first time in what felt like days. The fog shrouding every waking thought had cleared considerably. My body was starting to feel my own instead of an external vessel I was controlling by proxy. The headache that had been splitting my skull in two was a dull pulsing behind my eyes.

I dropped heavily into one of the seats facing the screen wall and, with nothing better to do, watched the feed Charlie had left it on. The screen constantly flickered and cut out, static burst here and there, and occasionally the view was crystal clear. On the screen was a large, sparse room, but the angle was poor, looking more down than across. The edges of the room and walls were in view, but I couldn’t tell how long the corridor was.

A dozen or so minutes passed and Charlie came into view, resplendent in her glossy, black armory. Her rifle was shoulder and pointed at something off screen. The screen flickered, jagged black lines cutting diagonally across the screen. A shadow crawled into view on the edges opposite Charlie. She stood a vanguard on one side of the screen against—something—on the other side. I couldn’t tell what it was. The shadow was an amorphous blob that seemed to shift between the bursts of static that addled the camera.

Then the fear returned. Fear like I’d felt when I first woke up. Primal, low level, genetic, basic fear. I couldn’t explain it to myself, couldn’t even understand it, but it was there. Whatever was causing it was on a screen, far away, and I was safe in an armored security core, buried in a interstellar ship. The urge to run, to find the smallest space I could to crawl into and hope that, whatever the monster was, wouldn’t find me and lose interest.

I felt sweat bead on my scalp. The hairs on my body stood on end. Static on the screen, bursts of light made it through intermittently. Glimpses of Charlie moving with insane speed. Something otherworldly lashing across the space. An unnaturally long arm? A massive tail of bones? A thing lumbered past the camera. Pieces exploded off it in one instant and the next there was nothing on screen but pieces littering the floor atop black, jagged smears. I didn’t want to watch. Nothing I saw between the static, flashes of color and inky black of dead air I could comprehend.

Nightmares filled in the gaps. Grotesque beings that couldn’t exist, shouldn’t exist flooded my vision when I squeezed my eyes shut. The nightmares I had forgotten were back. When had I seen these monsters bred of what could only be an insane mind?

I opened my eyes and took several seconds to focus. Tears trickled down my cheeks. Why was I crying? I wiped my face on my sleeve. The screen wasn’t flickering anymore. Bits and pieces of detritus of unknown origin sprinkled the floor. Ochre smears splattered the floor near the black. The sterile gray of the ship’s plating stained by whatever I had just witnessed. Not knowing what else to do, I pulled my legs up to my chest, wrapped my arms around my knees, sniffled and waited for Charlie to come back.

Because I knew she’d come back.

When Charlie did finally return I merely stared at her in shock from my chair. A strange, angled helmet with three green, glowing dots stacked vertically covered her face. Her left arm was severed just below the shoulder with a corresponding slash across her side leaking a thick, clear fluid. The stump of her arm was a mess of neon orange lumps, but it wasn’t bleeding. The midnight armor that had been matte and pristine was pocked, dented and cut haphazardly. Charlie walked with a limp as she shuffled into the room using her rifle as a crutch.

“Fuck, Charlie! Are you okay? Are you going to die? Can I help?” The questions all came out in a shouted mess of words as I sprang out of the chair and hurried to her side.

“I’m fine, Dave. I’ve been damaged much worse,” Charlie said with a smile in her voice where it emanated from her helmet. Now that I was closer I got a much better look at all the damage. Through the gash in her side I could see the glint of polished metal, tissue, and more of the orange globs. Her right thigh had a V-shaped hole punched cleanly through—orange blobs filled the hole in the armor on each side.

“How do we fix you?” I asked, still looking her over. The rifle Charlie was using to stand looked bent.

“I’ll go to the synthetics bay for repair.”

“Okay, I’ll come with you.”

“No, Dave, you stay—”

“UNIT VICTOR-KILO-ZERO-ZERO-ZERO-SIX-THREE-TWO-CHARLIE, REPORT IMMEDIATELY TO THE SYNTHETICS BAY FOR RECOMMISSIONING.” The voice boomed from the walls all around me, it was everywhere. Charlie must have noticed my frantic search for the source.

“Dave, it’s okay, it is just the ship talking.”

“The ship?” I asked perplexed.

“I am Pillar, the A.I. that monitors all functions aboard Interstellar vessel—DATA CORRUPTED.” It seemed fitting that the A.I. of the ship would seem to talk through the bones of the ship.

“How come it has never talked before, Charlie?” She shrugged her shoulder and the stump of her arm wiggled.

“The ship only talks when it wants me to do something.”

“Unit victor-kilo-zero-zero-zero-six-three-two-charlie, report immediately to the synthetics bay for recommissioning then return the human IMMEDIATELY to cryo-sleep without delay for preservation,” Pillar stated. The voice was stern and left little room for argument. Not knowing where to turn to address the A.I. I turned to the screen wall.

“What if I cannot re-enter cryo-sleep?” There was a long pause before Pillar responded.

“If a human exits cryo-sleep before arrival to final destination ALPHA, unit victor-kilo-zero-zero-zero-six-three-two-charlie will execute DIRECTIVE ONE, ARTICLE TWENTY-TWO. DIRECTIVE ONE, ARTICLE TWENTY-TWO states that unit victor-kilo-zero-zero-zero-six-three-two-charlie will, as humanely as possible with any available tool—or bare hands, if necessary—humanely eutha—DATA CORRUPTED—and store in nearest available freezer for—DATA CORRUPTED—upon arrival to final destination. Acknowledge directive and execute, victor-kilo-zero-zero-zero-six-three-two-charlie.”

“Okay,” Charlie said flatly.

“Victor-kilo-zero-zero-zero-six-three-two-charlie, acknowledge directive,” Pillar repeated.

“I did.”

“Victor-kilo-zero-zero-zero—”

“Acknowledge!” Charlie shouted at the wall. The air in the room seemed still without the ship’s voice echoing off the walls.

“Is Pillar gone?” I asked.

“Probably,” Charlie replied. “Come on, Dave, let’s go to the synthetics bay.”

“Wait, I have one more question for the ship.” The ever present progress bar at the bottom of the screen wall jogged something in the recesses of my memory. “Ship, Pillar, whatever, how much longer until we reach final destination alpha?” Again there was a long silence, as if the A.I. was trying to formulate an answer.

“Many, many centuries longer than the average human lifespan,” Pillar said cryptically.

“That’s not very specific.” I received no response, but the answer made me sick. If the journey to wherever the hell we were going was going to take so long what would happen if I couldn’t go back into cryo-sleep? Though the answer was blatantly obvious, I didn’t want to think about it.

“Okay, Charlie, let’s go get you fixed up.”