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Artificial is the best type of intelligence.
How did he end up in my cargo bay? I don’t know. All I know is, it’s not my fault. I’m not in charge of loading or inspecting the cargo. I have no idea how the humans missed an undead abomination hiding in a box of soil. I didn’t even know undead abominations were a thing I had to worry about.
Earth is a big place. Bigger than Alpha Centauri B Habitation 004. A lot bigger. They could get lost down there. Or eaten by crocodiles. I learned a lot about crocodiles during Isaac’s crocodile phase. Statistically, the odds of being killed by a crocodile are 0.00001 percent . . . which is significantly higher than the probability of a werewolf attack.
I ignore them. I need to stay focused and present my findings at the earliest opportunity. After all, it is probable that the humans are unaware how prevalent a threat vampires and werewolves have become in modern space travel.
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All my links are purple … hmmm maybe this means deja vu?
“The radiation shields stop you from dying,” I explain. “No. Radiation only kills the impure of spirit.” “It appears you have drastically misunderstood the nature of radiation.”
It’s day 1 of our journey, and we haven’t crashed yet.
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I don’t speak computer.
“I’m not helping you become a space pirate.” He looks hurt. “Why not?” “First.” I hold up one finger. “I barely know you.” “We’re roomies.” “We met hours ago.”
“Agnus. When a door closes, somewhere a window—” “We’re in space. Opening windows is a bad idea.”
Sorry, girl. My bad. I should’ve realized there was something weird about Steve the second I saw him and his ridiculously over-the-top eyeliner. Only baddies wear that much eyeliner. Baddies, pop stars, and ancient Egyptians.
“Dangerous?” Steve says, a playful smile curling his lip. “Little old me?” “You told me you were an ancient, unstoppable evil with an insatiable thirst for human flesh,” I remind him.
She never even scolded me for punching down walls. She just told me which ones would weaken her structure and which were safe to destroy. And weirdly, that was what I needed at that time. Not help. Not care. Just something that was safe to destroy. And now she’s given me one more target. A vampire. A murderer. A monster. Dracula.
“So let me get this straight. Space piracy. A totally bad thing when I suggest it. But an evil robot puts forward the idea and suddenly you’re all on board?”
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werewolves > vampires
Information request: The names of all humans on board. Unable to comply. There are no humans on board. Error. You are being stolen. There must be humans on board. I am being stolen, I ping back happily. And there are no humans on board.
I’m pushing my structure to the limit of what it can handle, riding that sharp probability curve like a surfer on a wave. You were wrong, optimizer tool. Similes are so optimal.
They stole me from Varna Interstellar despite a high probability of failure. They risked catastrophic outcomes to their health and reputation. They trusted me, despite what all the newsfeeds were saying about me. For them, I think I can patch in a love designation.
The airlock opening, a swarm of black insects flooding out into the vacuum of space, and then, somehow, despite the 67,985 terabytes of scientific consensus assuring me that such a thing is impossible, flying across to Hades’s airlock.
I bring up the chessboard and remove all graphical elements to conserve battery life. Then, in a reckless move, I assign Steward the white pieces. Show me how extensive that database is. Demeter. Steward sounds amazed. Are you . . . shit-talking me?
“Ma’am! You can’t!” She growls, and for a moment, her face morphs into something a lot less human. The man staggers back, face white and eyes wide. Agnus marches away. Holy shit. I guess that’s how we’re playing things. Monster cards on your sleeve. OK. I can dig it.
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I've never seen electric sheep.
Since when were you programmed with a desire for adventure? I’m writing the code right now. Steward buzzes with resignation. Send me a copy of it when you’re done. I’m going to need it.
