“I am the life support, not the starship. My moss colony produces the oxygen you’re breathing, and processes your exhaled carbon dioxide. And Ido notlike to be touched.”
What.
The.
Fuck.
Torian rocked back on her heels, still crouching as she examined the ship’s interior with shock.
The moss overgrowth waseverywhere.It carpeted the floor and crept along the walls, slid up the couch’s side and peeked around the windowsills. Oddly enough, it didn’t overtake the kitchen counters, where someone might prepare food, or the table where she’d eat.
But everywhere else…?
Moss.
Even the air caught her attention. This morning at the impound lot, the ship had a vaguely sour smell. Any acrid tinge was gone now, replaced with earthen humidity and clean plant growth.
Realization made her numb. This wasn’t an infestation. It was asystem.
It shouldn’t be possible. Humans had tried this—they createdairtight stations brimming with plant life, but it always, always failed. It was too complex a system; plants needed sunlight and a comfortable atmosphere and nutrients andso much spacefor even one human to survive in a contained area.
It shouldn’t be possible on a ship this small.
“Wait. You… youarethe moss? Or do youmonitorthe moss?” Torian had never heard of a computer merging with organic systems before.
“I am the moss colony. However, I am integrated into a physical server—my central system—which allows me to control oxygen production, carbon storage, temperature radius, humidity levels, and light fixtures.” For emphasis, the warm amber lighting on the ship brightened into something closer to daylight, making Torian wince. There didn’t seem to be a singular bulb as a source—rather, the lighting appeared to be built under every panel on the ship, mimicking true sunshine.
Torian shielded her eyes, and the computer dimmed them again.
She had a thousand questions, and her brain wasn’t sorting them well. Feeling silly, she asked, “Are you also the potted plants?” For emphasis, she gestured at one of the nearby pots, an alien sapling that reminded her of a fig tree.
(Her mind whispered that if the computer was moss, it probably couldn’t see her. But then again, it clearly had sensors to identify her position. From what she’d learned in school, most AI could process video—)
The computer sounded vaguely offended. “I ammoss. The potted plants are tended by my systems, which is a courtesy consideringhow often they complain.” It raised the speaker volume at that last part, as if it wanted the potted plants to hear.
Incredible.
And a little absurd.
Torian pushed to her feet, then realized moss carpeted the entire floor. “I can’t fly. You know that, right? I have to walk on you.”
“Your footsteps are fine. That is no different than an animal walking along a forest floor.” The computer paused. “But animals do not caress me the way humans do.”
Had this moss everbeenin a forest?
Torian sank into one of the chairs at the table. It was constructed from a reddish wood—a lot of items inside this ship were, actually—but the moss seemed to have left it alone. Considering the humidity, the furniture must be well-sealed, because it didn’t show any sign of warping or wear.
It was just… cozy.
“This is going to take me a minute to understand,” she said distantly.
“That is because you have split your human focus between too many specialties, and now lack the ability to fully comprehend a new topic.”
Torian bristled. “Excuse you. I majored in engineering. I can understand computers.”
Said computer wasn’t impressed. “Humans have one of the shortest lifespans in this galaxy. Perfecting a specialty takes a human anywhere from fifty-three to sixty-seven years. Therefore, humans may be competent in one specialty.” A pause. “You purchased a ship and acted like you could fly it. I am hopeful you’ve pursued a new specialty as a pilot human.”
It sounded cautious now.
