A weight lifted off Torian’s chest. Heavens, she was starting to love this organic computer.
“You really are,” Torian agreed. For a moment, she entertained what it’d be like toactuallyuse Moss as a template for this. If she were truly here as a visiting researcher, presenting something intriguing enough even the Rhymarran educators would take notice. If she was viewed as an equal, rather than a desperate woman begging for entry.
It was a nice dream.
The space traffic controller returned moments later:“Cleared to land. Authorization 722.23. Dock at Terra Nova University. You are permitted to remain on Rhymarra for exactly twenty-nine hours unless an exemption is filed on your behalf.”
One day to achieve an exemption. Torian set her jaw.
Time to get to work.
IDENTITY: Mechanical Operations and Support Systems
→SUB-IDENTITY: Moss
TIME/DATE: 08:23/Januous 13, Year 90113 [System U2Ab Universal]
LOCATION: Rhymarra [human]
Torian Razner was preparing to leave again.
I disliked this, although current data indicated Rhymarra was safe by human standards, and their university was even more so. Plus, Torian had promised me she would be less stupid in interactions from now on, which lowered her risk level on this planet to a mere 4 percent.
I was not concerned about her physical survival. Instead, I was analyzing the planet as we landed at the university—and growing more concerned for hermentalsurvival.
“Torian,” I asked, as she pulled on her shoes in the cargo bay. “What is our next procedure if they don’t accept you and Celise?”
“They’ll accept us,” Torian said. My system flagged it as two things: determination… and denial.
That did not bode well.
I needed a physical access point to break into private networks and gain control of any actual, valuable data or systems. However, there were digital signals all over this planet, sharing nonessential information. I had been collecting them since we entered Rhymarran airspace, and my central system was crunching all that data as we talked.
The results were not promising. I said, “There appears to be fewer than eleven percent of colony citizens residing on Rhymarra. As a caveat, this data is incomplete, but trends suggest it is reliable.”
Torian paused, but she did not look at the cameras. “Eleven percent isn’t zero.”
“That is accurate,” I agreed.
There was silence.
She pushed to her feet, examined the ravla stain on her shirt, and retreated to the sleeping pod. From the hallway camera, I could see her changing her shirt. I had no context for fashion, and frankly did not care—she replaced one fabric piece with another, and that was the entirety of my analysis.
“It is curious that you would base your sister’s life on eleven percent success,” I said. “Curious” seemed like a kinder word, and since Torian was my best friend, I used it to replace what I actually wanted to say: illogical, irrational, absurd.
I refused to voice those things, even if they were true.
Torian clenched her eyes shut and went concerningly still.
“Are you injured?” I asked. “Mentally, or physically?”
“I know this is stupid, Moss,” Torian replied. Her voice was quiet enough that I had to raise the volume on my microphones to process it.
“Yes,” I agreed.
Torian’s heart rate spiked, and I felt… bad… for saying it. I hastened to clarify: “My scenarios are sometimes inaccurate. Eleven percent is not zero.”
Torian’s eyes began to leak. “You said I’m your best friend. Well, Celise is mine. We’ve been together all my life, and she’s always watched out for me. I can’t leave her to die, Moss. Even for such a low probability, Ihaveto try this.”
