Bonus Short Story [Feb]

Hey peeps!

I wrote this short story for a competition. I figured I should let you all read it as well! (I'll be doing a Frith story as well, don't worry).

Master Arcanist and Academy Arcanist are well under way. Getting more feedback now. I want (super desperately) to release Master by March. Fingers crossed!

Enjoy this story in the meantime!

A Species of Illogical Affection

Initializing…

Booting up for the first time…

Successfully loaded into [Sergeant Darnell Hudson]. All systems operational.

TR-83 gained awareness moments later, its programming providing all the necessary information it would need to complete its mission: keep Sergeant Darnell Hudson alive.

Which would be difficult, considering the sergeant was actively bleeding.

TR-83 didn’t like that. Although it had only been on-line for a grand total of three seconds, TR-83 knew Homo sapiens couldn’t live long while actively bleeding. Sergeant Hudson would die soon. TR-83 refused to let that happen. It would not fail its mission.

Fortunately, TR-83 wasn’t a single tiny machine—it was a whole swarm of nanites operating collectively under the direction of a central system, designed to supplement the human body. TR-83 sent parts of itself throughout Sergeant Hudson, its nanites traveling with the human’s blood to every bone, fold of flesh, and mucus membrane. Within seconds, TR-83 knew what was wrong.

Sergeant Hudson had been stabbed twice, once in the chest and once in the abdomen. The chest wound penetrated deep into the left pleural cavity and the lung parenchyma. Four ribs had been gouged from the abdomen wound.

Terrible wounds. Without medical attention, the sergeant would not live longer than three and half hours.

TR-83 set to work. His nanites attached themselves to the grooves of Sergeant Hudson’s injuries. The tiny machines released chemicals that stimulated Sergeant Hudson’s metabolism and natural healing processes. Normally, it would take a human several months to recover from such a stab injury, but TR-83 could make that happen in a fraction of the time.

Unfortunately, it would take a toll on the sergeant. Stimulating a human’s metabolism would cause them to grow weak and tired. It depleted their natural resources, including their fat stores and nutrients.

Parts of TR-83 settled in Sergeant Hudson’s brain, cranium, and spinal cord. Once connected, TR-83 saw what the sergeant saw, heard what the man heard, and smelled everything in the nearby area.

TR-83 couldn’t control the sergeant, but it could use the information to better help the man.

Sergeant Hudson took deep breaths, straining his heart and legs as he sprinted down a long corridor. The giant windows gave TR-83 a view of the planet Earth.

According to the sergeant’s memories—hidden within the man’s synaptic membranes and gray matter—Sergeant Hudson had been working on Overseer Station for three months.

This view…

TR-83 managed to put everything together. Sergeant Hudson was running along one of the many corridors in the space station. But why?

It took TR-83 several minutes to sift through the sergeant’s complex neural matter, gathering more memories. In the meantime, TR-83 kept working on the man’s injuries.

Some of TR-83 repaired the sergeant’s wounds by becoming interior staples that held the man’s innards in place. TR-83 couldn’t have the sergeant’s membranes ripping, so some of the nanites had to be used as “glue” to secure everything in place.

Especially since Sergeant Hudson insisted on physical activity.

TR-83 wished it could speak with the sergeant. Didn’t this man know he was killing himself? He needed to rest.

Sergeant Hudson stopped at a door and slammed his hand down on the access computer. The doors slid open, revealing a modest bedroom. The bedframe, dresser, and mirror were bolted to the floor and walls, securing them in place in case of gravity failure. Several toys—all pink and covered in flower stickers—were scattered across the room.

Sergeant Hudson hobbled inside, one arm wrapped around his stomach to staunch the bleeding.

TR-83 had already helped him—Sergeant Hudson was no longer leaking vital fluid all over the floor—but the man would recover faster if he just sat down for an hour or two.

“Melissa!” the sergeant shouted. “Where are you?”

“Daddy?”

A small girl crawled out from under the bed. She wore a pink jumpsuit with the same flower stickers covering her shoulders. Her black hair had been cut pixie-short, but several locks had been secured together with a hairclip regardless.

Melissa Hudson.

The sergeant’s daughter.

His memories and thoughts were filled with Melissa. Too much, in TR-83’s opinion. The man didn’t think about survival nearly enough. Instead, the sergeant had filled his ideal moments with thoughts of science projects to complete with his daughter, or with sights he wanted to show her in the future.

How was that helpful? TR-83 didn’t understand why Sergeant Hudson wasted calories and time on such musings.

Melissa ran to Sergeant Hudson and squeezed him tight, her arms wrapped around his injured abdomen.

TR-83 didn’t like this. The girl was damaging the sergeant with her squeezing. Why was Sergeant Hudson allowing this?

To TR-83’s bewilderment, the sergeant squeezed the girl in return, despite his wounds. Then—illogically—Sergeant Hudson took Melissa’s hand and hurried with her out of the room. Together, they entered the long corridor and continued toward the central control room.

But slower.

The girl didn’t move as quickly, her small legs half the length of the sergeant’s.

TR-83 focused on transporting oxygen to Sergeant Hudson’s muscles. The man had lost so much blood that he was on the verge of damaging himself further. TR-83’s nanites supplemented Sergeant Hudson’s stamina, even lessening the man’s melatonin levels.

“What’s happening?” Melissa asked, her voice strained.

“We need to get to the control room, sweetie,” Sergeant Hudson said between shallow breaths. “Quickly now. We haven’t much time.”

A message sounded over the station’s speaker system. “All personnel, please evacuate immediately. This is not a drill. Head for decks three and four where you find escape pods labeled with your room number for your convenience.”

Sergeant Hudson made it to the central lift—an elevator that swiftly took the station’s personnel to any deck. The sergeant poked at the control computer and selected Deck One.

But the escape pods were on decks three and four.

Most illogical.

“I’m scared,” Melissa said, squeezing the sergeant’s arm.

“Everything will be okay. I’m here.”

The situation didn’t sit well with TR-83. Its mission was to keep Sergeant Hudson alive. How would TR-83 do that if the sergeant wasn’t even heading to the escape pods?

The sergeant and his daughter entered the lift. It sped to its destination, and within five seconds, the doors opened to Deck One. Sergeant Hudson walked off, but when Melissa went to follow, she tripped and fell.

Tears welled in the girl’s eyes. “I’m scared,” she said again, barely audible.

The computer made an announcement before Sergeant Hudson could reply.

“All personnel, please evacuate immediately. This is not a drill. Overseer Station has fallen out of its orbital path around the planet.”

“We need to get up, sweetie,” the sergeant said. He grunted and caught his breath as he bent over to help Melissa. “Let’s go. Hurry.”

The girl stayed on the floor and wept, the pressure too much for her three-year-old mind.

TR-83 didn’t like this at all. Melissa was jeopardizing Sergeant Hudson’s chances for survival. She was going to make TR-83 fail in its mission. The sergeant should leave her!

But the sergeant didn’t do that.

No…

Sergeant Hudson knelt, scooped Melissa into his arms, and carried her away from the lift, despite the strain it put on his injured body. Each step threatened to undo all of TR-83’s hard work. TR-83’s nanites were having difficulty keeping the sergeant together. Sergeant Hudson’s flesh was ripping like a wet paper towel being pulled on opposite ends.

TR-83 couldn’t stop the sergeant from doing all of his illogical actions…

So TR-83 instead stimulated the part of the brain responsible for adrenaline production. Soon, the sergeant’s body would be numb, and the man would have the energy required to follow through with this terrible plan.

Perhaps then, he would find an escape pod and leave Overseer Station.

Sergeant Hudson entered the central control room and placed Melissa down on a chair. With quick movements and a focused gaze, the sergeant set to work on the computer, analyzing what went wrong with the orbiting systems.

TR-83 understood the readouts on the computer.

Debris from space had collided with the station. TR-83 accessed parts of Sergeant Hudson’s memories and saw the moment he had been injured. The debris had slammed into the station, and pipes ruptured within. The sergeant had been standing near two of those pipes. When they had exploded outward—since they were transporting fluids under pressure—they had punctured Sergeant Hudson’s body.

But that didn’t explain why the sergeant wasn’t heading for the escape pods…

TR-83 used its nanites to heighten the sergeant’s perception and sight, hoping it would help the man to see the reality of his situation. Instead, Sergeant Hudson worked harder and faster, typing away at the computer and manually shifting the station’s engines.

“All personnel, please evacuate immediately. This is not a drill. Overseer Station is on a collision course with planet Earth.”

Sergeant Hudson ignored the announcement and continued working. With every keystroke he tried to get the station to correct itself, but nothing seemed to reverse the damage the space debris had done.

Melissa sat quietly on her chair, her eyes wide as she watched her father. “What’re we going to do?” she whispered.

“I’ll handle it,” Sergeant Hudson said. He forced a smile as he glanced over his shoulder. “Just be brave for me, okay? This will all be over soon. Everything will be okay.”

TR-83 could only watch as Sergeant Hudson continued his work. From what TR-83 could tell, the man was attempting to activate the station’s old thrusters—the ones that had been used to put the station into orbit over a decade ago. New thrusters had been added to the station once it was in orbit, and the old ones had been shut down.

Was Sergeant Hudson trying to save the station?

TR-83 didn’t like that. Its one and only mission was to make sure Sergeant Hudson lived, not the space station. And why did Sergeant Hudson care? His memories weren’t filled with thoughts of the station. The man almost had a hatred for the place. All his memories involved frustration at being trapped.

Overseer Station shook and rubbed. Warnings blared over all the speakers.

Another piece of space debris hit the exterior of the station.

Sergeant Hudson was thrown to the ground. Melissa hit the steel floor head-first. Blood exploded from her nose, and Sergeant Hudson’s heart stopped beating for a moment as anxiety gripped his chest and wouldn’t let go.

TR-83 stimulated the sergeant, giving him more energy—and strength—than he would otherwise have.

Sergeant Hudson ran for his daughter. He picked her up and cradled her in his arms. TR-83 had a vast medical library within its many nanites, and it didn’t take a doctor to see that the girl had a concussion. The skin on her forehead had busted open, and blood wept from the injury, covering half her face with a crimson waterfall.

The sergeant’s heart rate doubled. The man hadn’t been fearful of the terrible announcements, or the dire situation. No, none of that. But Melissa…

Seeing her injured left him without air in his lungs or a coherent thought in his head.

TR-83 couldn’t force the man to breathe, but its nanites set to work oxygenating everything in the man’s body. If the man wouldn’t take in oxygen, TR-83 would correct the problems in his body for him.

Then Sergeant Hudson stood and carried his daughter to the main computer terminal. The station’s autopilot and life support systems were damaged. Overseer Station would soon go dark.

No chance to alter course.

After a short exhale, Sergeant Hudson ran for the door, his daughter held gently in his arms. He returned to the lift and rode it straight to Deck Four. His injuries worsened—even after all of TR-83’s hard work—but the man’s thoughts remained on the moment.

Sergeant Hudson was concocting a plan.

TR-83 didn’t like the sergeant’s thoughts. They involved manually activating the self-destruct before the central computer went off-line.

Sergeant Hudson would surely die then. And TR-83 would fail its one and only mission. Keep Sergeant Hudson alive.

The escape pods had been jettisoned.

All… but one.

The numbers on the pod corresponded to Melissa’s room and one other. Sergeant Hudson’s room. They were meant to share a single pod.

The sergeant opened the hatch, stepped inside, and then gently placed his daughter on one of the front seats. He strapped her in, kissed her forehead, and then reached for the emergency med kit stored in the ceiling.

Sergeant Hudson removed another tube of nanites. This tube was labeled TR-87.

The sergeant’s hands shook as he glanced over at Melissa. His eyes kept traveling to the gouge on her forehead, and the way her little nose was bent and twisted.

TR-83 wanted to tell the man to focus, but Sergeant Hudson wouldn’t listen.

Then the sergeant activated the syringe at the top of the nanite tube and stabbed Melissa in the shoulder. The side of the tube glowed blue as text strolled along the digital casing on the outside.

It read:

Initializing…

Booting up for the first time…

Failed to load into [Melissa Hudson]. All systems going off-line.

TR-87 had failed.

Sergeant Hudson cursed under his breath. He withdrew the syringe and tried to activate it a second time. But that wouldn’t work. TR-83 knew the procedures. The nanites had failed to connect. They were ruined now. The central computing device had been damaged somehow during the injection process. Sergeant Hudson would need a new tube of nanites.

The sergeant ran a shaky hand through his hair.

Would Melissa die?

That was all the man could think of. His panic overwhelmed him, his thoughts consumed.

TR-83 wanted to protest the illogical order of priorities, but then it came to a realization all its own. If humans prized their own existence over everything else…

Perhaps Melissa Hudson was the sergeant.

Yes. TR-83 could rationalize this. Sergeant Hudson had memory after memory where his only concern had been for Melissa. He treated her like his own precious existence, always concerned, always thinking of her.

It was like Melissa was his own heart walking around outside his chest. Sergeant Hudson couldn’t live without her. Nothing else mattered quite as much as Melissa’s safety.

So, TR-83 had to protect Melissa. Its mission was to keep Sergeant Hudson alive, and Melissa was the sergeant—his future and his deepest happiness.

Why would the sergeant do this? Why put himself at so much risk by cherishing his offspring so much? TR-83 couldn’t rationalize the reasoning, but it understood the conclusion.

Humanity was a strange species.

Unfortunately, TR-83 couldn’t control the sergeant, but with a few signals released from the nanites in the man’s brain, TR-83 tried to implant a thought.

Nanites could be transferred from one person to another, so long as the nanites were aware of the procedure. TR-83 sent this thought to Sergeant Hudson, hoping he would save the syringe.

It took a few moments, but the sergeant gradually understood. He stabbed himself with the syringe and waited as the tube sent pulses throughout his body to round up the nanites.

Sergeant Hudson’s thoughts were on the space station. More alarms sounded.

“All personnel, please evacuate immediately. This is not a drill. Overseer Station is on a collision course with planet Earth.”

Once Sergeant Hudson activated the self-destruct, debris from the shattered space station would rain down to Earth. There would be destruction, but not as much as if the whole station went down as a single, gigantic unit.

And Sergeant Hudson was okay with this outcome. His thoughts centered around his oath to protect humanity—the oath he took when he joined the Space Expedition. He wanted Melissa to know her father would follow through with his word—that honor and duty was important to him, so that she may one day have those same values.

TR-83 left Sergeant Hudson’s body and entered the tube. Then the sergeant injected TR-83 into Melissa. She was much smaller and had less resources. Not as many fat stores, not as many nutrients…

But TR-83 could save her.

“I love you,” Sergeant Hudson said as he stroked his daughter’s pixie-short hair. “I’ll always love you.”

He kissed her cheek one last time and then shut the hatch to the escape pod, a smile on his face.

Sergeant Hudson didn’t care if his body died, so long as his heart continued to exist elsewhere. And although TR-83 couldn’t speak to the man, the many nanites made a promise to him as well.

They would keep Melissa Hudson alive, until such a point that her own heart lived outside her body.