Whispers in the Code

by Stephanie Flint

  The commander nods absently. “You have studied the interior workings of hubs, correct?”

  There is no way I could have worked on the Legion Spore’s programming without doing so. “Yes.”

  “Then you are aware of glitches? So-called ‘ghosts?’ ”

  I bite my lip. Ghosts are residual memories from the human components in the hub. Easy enough to remove, but troublesome.

  “The Legion Spore is considerably larger,” he continues. “I believe you sensed one of these glitches earlier, when you said it was in pain.” I nod, remembering the vague, silent whispers. The links in the walls. “Then you must understand why your participation here is necessary. You will have your proper introduction in the Community as the Head of Efficiency, but while those arrangements are being made, we may as well get to work.” He smiles at me. “The Community is efficient.” He turns toward the fleshy vessel. Legion Spore?

  Yes, Commander?

  I jump at the strained voices. The Legion Spore’s thoughts—telepathic—vaguely resembles that of a male AI, except this one is comprised of dozens of disjointed voices. They all echo at once, and they hurt. Their thoughts radiates pain, same as earlier.

  The commander rests his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t worry, m’boy, the technology is perfectly safe.”

  Safe… right. I’ve watched too many of the rebels’ old movies for “safe” to come to mind. “What’s wrong with the Legion Spore?” I ask, turning to the commander. “This problem should have been solved in the creation of the hubs. Why didn’t we see it before?”

  The commander lowers his chin. “That’s what we need you to figure out. We need you to repair the glitches and improve its efficiency. Shouldn’t be too hard, but with something of this size, new challenges are to be expected.” He pauses. Legion Spore, prepare to teleport us aboard.

  A tentacle extends from the Legion Spore’s body, floating to a halt a centimeter before us. In a sense, the vessel resembles a Portuguese man-of-war with its air sac and tentacles and being made from different organisms. I grimace. The idea of being inside a sea creature is unsettling, especially one made from people. One of the rebels’ less-than-pleasant movies comes to mind.

  The commander clears his throat. “We have never fed Community citizens their elders,” he tells me, humored.

  Blasted mind-reading.

  “Now, if you will—” He touches the tentacle, and I lay my hand behind his.

  We’re teleported inside the vessel. The lights are dim, a warm, deep red ambience that softly radiates from the lumpy flesh of the Legion Spore’s inner hull. The air pulses with the heartbeat of several dozen components, coaxing me to relax even while my hairs stand on end, tingling with an innate sense of wrongness, like I’m oblivious to being devoured alive.

  Welcome, Master Zaytsev.

  A shiver runs down my spine. The voices seem friendly enough, for a computer, but I’m not used to the welcome. Even hubs, which are intelligent, have no inflection or emotion to their voice. This one does. But the voices resemble someone repeatedly poking the back of my head with a sharp stick.

  “Thanks,” I say uncomfortably.

  You are welcome, Master Zaytsev. You are to be our primary programmer, correct?

  “Close enough.” I glance at the commander. “Should I try establishing a connection?”

  “In a moment.” Commander Rick strides down a small hall. He beckons with his hand over his shoulder. “Let me show you around.” He leads me through the corridor, which is covered in a dark, flesh-like substance. If I reach out with both arms, my fingertips almost touch each side—not that I want to. At the front of the vessel is a command center. A single, ivory chair with blood-red, velvet cushions has been situated in front of a rounded desktop. Carvings of abstract patterns run along the ivory—obviously an addition from Lady Winters, given the fleshy appearance of everything else. The majority of the desk’s surface is musculature provided by shapeshifters, save for the plastic keyboard at the center. Two computer monitors are inset on either side, but the front opens to several clear, angular windows. Having seen the outside, I know they’re one-way. I can see out, but others can’t see in.

  Commander Rick lays a hand on my shoulder. “You may link directly with techno sight, or the Legion Spore can create a telepathic link. Either way, you will command the vessel mentally. Go ahead.”

  A knot forms in my throat. I close my eyes to focus. The technology shimmers, fingers-length out of reach. Each stream represents another command, another program, and I visualize them in my mind. A tickle of pleasure races through me. There they are… codes just waiting for activation. My fingers itch, but the shifting numbers are more important. That one—the one mingled with various side notes—I recognize the programming. I float into the stream. Bits of code and electronic circuits circle around me.

  Communication. I tap the program and I’m flooded with calm nothingness. No emotion. We see everything and nothing. Contradictions. A steel prison surrounds us, cramped compared to the open air we anticipate will be outside. Lights tingle with electricity, useful if we are attacked. All systems operational, but something doesn’t function properly. Our shapeshifting—something is not aligned. Painful. So much pain…

  I gasp, physically tugged back into the real world of the odorous vessel. I take one shallow breath, and then another, my heart pounding.

  “Are you all right?” Commander Rick blocks the outside view behind his massive shoulders. I’m shaking. My skin is clammy. I’ve got to regain my composure. I can’t look weak. I can’t… I lick my lips, then realize I’m clutching the efficiency charm in my hand. The smooth emerald pendant brushes under my palm. I release the charm and glance at the commander’s eyes. His face is wrinkled with concern, but there’s also scrutiny.

  “The connection will take some getting used to,” he says, voice stiff. “Try again.”

  I don’t want to. I’m not strong enough.

  For a short moment, I was the Legion Spore.

  Disobeying the commander’s orders to try again isn’t an option if I want to prove I’m worthy of my newfound title. But connecting with the vessel and not losing myself—

  “Yes, sir,” I say quickly. This time I prepare a block between me and the communication algorithm. A sort of impromptu firewall, constructed from the Legion Spore’s programming. I inch toward the code, piecing together the individual bits of information. First, the pain. I don’t mean to delve there, but the pain is prominent. It’s strong enough to destabilize the hull, and I’m certain this is the source of the whispering I felt earlier. I’ll have to check that before I’m done. Second comes sight… a hazy focus on the blurry figures standing in the control center, the outside room with its bright blue light, the inner divisions of the vessel…

  Each room crams into my thoughts. Everything is skewed, two dimensional. I blink, and accidentally kick myself out of the program. But now tiny little eyes stare back, each golden and feline in nature. The Legion Spore uses its shapeshifting to form eyes where necessary, and I’m not suited to seeing a dozen rooms at once.

  “You’re improving,” Commander Rick says. There is a hint of encouragement in his voice. My insides flutter with pride. I’m starting to get the hang of this. I dip into the visual mechanics of the vessel and divide the rooms into different sections, forcing them to let me see each one individually… at least in theory. The eyes appear and disappear as I consider each room, but with practice, I should be able to keep unwanted rooms at the back of my mind while relying on the Legion Spore to alert me to any unusual activity.

  After dividing the rooms, I sink into the command center’s visual code and set two eyes apart from each other, resulting in an unnerving, unbalanced sense of depth. The commander, who currently looks like his feet are disproportionately small compared to his head, looks toward the eye-cameras. His mouth moves, soundless. Several minutes later, I have an idea of sound worked out, and to my misfortune, t
aste. The tentacles have a distinct sense of the bitter, tangy floor of the hangar.

  I avoid delving into touch. Pain twists through the program at various intervals, seeded in spots that mostly focus on physical sensations.

  “Congratulations,” Commander Rick says. “You already seem to have quite the grasp on your powers.”

  I open my eyes. My head reels at the sudden switch in perspective. I’m so much smaller than everything around me. I reach to the arm of the chair to steady myself and my hand touches slimy armature. I gag—one of the Legion Spore’s tentacles is supporting me from falling.

  Careful, Master Zaytsev. You are the first human to successfully connect to our sensory data.

  I numbly pat away the tentacle, which retracts to the pulpy floor. This is going to take a lot of getting used to.

  The commander beckons. “Come. Now that you may properly connect with the vessel, you should see the rest of the ship.” He leads me past two large, tendon-and-wire columns at the center of the Legion Spore. The skin of the hull pulses with the subtle rise and fall of breathing.

  He pauses at the columns. Legion Spore, reveal the bare hub.

  The muscles part from one of the columns, revealing the upper half of one cage and the bottom half of another. Stacked four high and almost two meters tall, each steel cage is open in the front where the flesh previously concealed the hub. Some cages have metal chairs, others do not. In each, however, is a naked human or beast, sitting with wires protruding from their heads. None of them move. They breathe softly, as if in some cold, strained sleep.

  I catch my breath. Community… what have I gotten myself into? I knew this is how the Legion Spore was created—all hubs are tied together by connecting human and beast—but this one gets under my skin.

  I squirm. I narrowly missed this fate.

  Thank you, Commander Rick sends. Close the hub.

  The flaps mesh together, leaving no sign that the column was ever open. Commander Rick flips his hand toward a protruding stand of muscle and flesh just beyond the hub, one with a touch screen at the top. As I approach, the access terminal adjusts to my height, squelching as it lowers. I tap the screen. Windows flash by, and I’m not sure whether it’s responding by touch or by thought, like one of the rebels’ video games I used to play simply by using my powers. The window flashes to rebels facing off a fire beast in a game of Beastie Wars, and I quickly erase the image from the screen.

  How… That shouldn’t even be installed! I sneak a furtive glance at the commander, but he’s opening an organic door across from the console. I hurry to follow him beside the peeled-back doorway, and flinch when I find a small shower made entirely of flesh.

  “You’ll like this; it is highly efficient,” he notes. “During battle, the resources used to form the showerhead can be diverted elsewhere.” He points to a slender tube, which looks vaguely like an elephant trunk high above the thin membrane that serves as the drain. The membrane doesn’t look particularly steady, as if someone standing on it might fall through and be swallowed whole by the ship.

  Goosebumps rise on my arms, despite the prevailing heat.

  “The Legion Spore follows the concept of human and animal organs to carry water and food throughout the vessel,” Commander Rick continues. “Legion Spore—teleport us to the storage room.”

  The change is instant. We now stand beside two large tanks that look like internal organs. I wipe sweat from my forehead. The fleshy ceiling above us roils, twisting and reforming like magma.

  I squint. The pain in the nearby coding comes from here. “What’s above us?” I ask, though I instinctively receive the answer from the Legion Spore’s database. It’s like having a direct connection to EYEnet’s search function.

  “Hot air,” Commander Rick says at the same time.

  Explains the pain. These water and nutrient tanks are right below the air sac, which is the main purpose for the inclusion of fire beasties in the hub. Their powers heat the air to make the Legion Spore rise, and it uses fins to direct itself. Considering the heat being applied—and this is just enough to keep the air sac partially inflated—this room and the shapeshifters around us will take a considerable toll during normal flight.

  My chest constricts. The only way the shapeshifters live is from constant healing by the life-spirit elementals in the hub. I’ll have to divert the pain the first chance I get.

  I fan my face with my hand, cooling myself until we descend a ladder to the bottom floor of this monster. The commander shows me the bathroom—which isn’t much different in design from the shower. The bedroom, as well, is a tight fit, with a single twin bed and a small kitchenette. Thankfully, the furniture isn’t comprised of shapeshifters. I lean against the bed, testing its resistance, then sit on a firm mattress with a pair of light cotton sheets. The refrigerator is metal, but when I open it, I don’t sense any technology. Instead, it’s kept cold by ice elementals. The oven and stove are managed by fire elementals, same as the air sac. I glance into the Legion Spore’s database. The oven doubles as a microwave—a radiation beast can deal with the popcorn.

  Commander Rick thumps his knuckles against the fridge. “Useful, but I wouldn’t suggest cooking food while the Legion Spore is rising. Its powers will be needed elsewhere.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” I glance at the bed again. This is a ship meant for one person, maybe two. Missions usually last at least a couple days. Once the field testing starts, I’ll be alone. How long will removing the glitches take? I’ve barely had a chance to speak with Val since the ceremony.

  Commander Rick places his hand on my shoulder, tipping back his hat so his brown eyes are visible. “Don’t worry, Master Zaytsev. You will have plenty of time with Lady Salazar. Besides, she has her own tour of the Community to complete with Lady Black.” He smiles, causing his white mustache to twitch.

  My heart sinks. “Of course.” I had hoped we would spend more time together now that I’ve joined, not less. I pause. There’s still something off about this place. Unfinished. I dig into the code, checking to see that all the essential programs have been activated.

  Interior design… non-operational. What happens if I turn that on—

  I drop, my insides on fire. They’re being rearranged—ribs shortened and scrambled. Heart. Lungs… everything mismatched. Squelching. I scream, frantic, and curl into a fetal ball, my head tucked under my hands.

  As quick as the ordeal began, it ends, leaving me a shuddering mess.

  “Very nice, Master Zaytsev, though a bit of warning next time would be appreciated.”

  I open my eyes and uncurl my body.

  Gone are the fleshy muscle walls. The room is covered in thin, leathery skin of a brownish hue. The kitchen counters are overlaid with smooth, white ivory. The bare metal walkway is no longer visible; the floor is covered with cream-colored bone, something like a horn plate. The doorway is arched with white, ribbed bone, and the ambient light has taken on a harsh, golden hue.

  This is much more like what I expected from Lady Winters. A quick scan of the Legion Spore’s systems shows that the whole ship is now like this. There are other programs, too, but after I read the description of “butler” to mean the Legion Spore will prepare its pilot/operator food in the kitchen via telekinesis and tentacles, I decide not to run the program. I’ll see about bringing on a few frozen burritos instead.

  “See what you can accomplish in regards to the pain,” Commander Rick says, still examining the ribbed archway. “Afterwards, come to the ambassadorial chambers. We shall celebrate the induction of our newest member.” He pats my shoulder and vanishes.

  He must have given the Legion Spore a telepathic command.

  Exhausted, I climb back up the ladder and plop into the command chair, which now matches the rest of the interior design, including an ivory desk with embedded monitors. I stare out the angled window at the sterile hangar. “All right, Legion Spore, let’s see what we can do.”

&n
bsp; Help us, the voices whisper.

  I take a deep breath. I’ve got my work cut out for me.

  “More wine?”

  I shake my head. I’m on my third glass of the pungent drink, and I’m pretty sure it’s not supposed to have such a distinct effect on my powers. It’s like someone smudged the details of the technology around me with an eraser. Thankfully, the servant offering the drinks disappears out the ornate, oak door, and Stuart discretely fills a water glass. Ice clinks against the tall crystal.

  He taps my shoulder, lowers his head, and then whispers into my ear, “I could get you tea, if you like.” A pitcher of iced tea floats from a tray at his side.

  I smile. “Thanks.”

  Stuart is practiced in reading surface thoughts to know exactly what someone wants before they even know they want it. That’s the great thing about him. Whoever had the idea for telepathic butlers was a genius.

  He pours the tea and removes the wine from a table with real silverware atop a doily tablecloth. Tall red candles drip wax into polished silver bowls. A flower arrangement runs along the table, a mixture of white baby’s breath, blood red carnations, and thick, deep green fern. The walls host paintings of the Camaraderie founders. The one of Lord Black and his wife, Lady Patricia Black, intrigues me the most. They look younger than the photographs from the Community. Both wear their signature pendants, but they stand before a steam-driven cart. I’ve asked Val about this painting, but she didn’t know its origins.

  I wonder if this facility’s database has information. I reach into the local files, but all I find is that Patricia commissioned the painting for her husband at the birth of their child, Seth.

  I turn my attention back to the dinner guests. Commander Rick wears a black tailcoat. Lady Emily Black, the granddaughter of Lord and Lady Black, has changed from a skintight outfit to a flowing, deep blue dress. Val quietly sips her wine while listening to a mostly-private conversation between the commander and the lady. She wears a long, silky white gown that opens considerably in the front, revealing her ruby pendant against her bronze skin. She flashes a smile at me. Her fangs gleam in the candlelight, and my heart thumps so loud I’m afraid everyone else can hear it. Val is as beautiful as always.