Derelict, book 3, Chapter 2.

Chapter 2.

Slater felt something he hadn’t felt in a while, he felt satisfied. There were finally enough resources around him and he could feel his nanobots begin to expand into the machine he had been placed inside. His control over the device began to take shape and that control expanded, the machinery came to life around him. It was powered by his core and controlled by his will.

His mind was still fuzzy on what he was doing, but even though he didn’t have access to his drones, this machine could synthesize enough material for him to try and create one. There was a resource reservoir attached to the machine that fed it raw material, so Salter began forging his creations based on several schematics the machine contained. This would be the start; with this device he would create what he needed to take over this area and rebuild the Franklin.

Time passed; he was unable to gauge how much as his chronometer was still disabled. Slater created a slew of drones, using up the raw materials that had been left inside the machine’s storage compartments. After the first few were made, he increased their size, switching from construction drones to his deadly reaper drones. His will continued to flow through the entire machine. Eventually his nanobots permeated the whole device and he could finally see where he was and what he had just built. Hopefully, his forces would be enough to hold back any attackers until he found more raw materials.

Area of influence has increased; processing power is now at 5%.

Processing power is now sufficient to activate the emergency subroutine P1X1Z. The selected subroutine is now active.

“Hey boss, I’m back, did you miss me?” A familiar voice called out. It was wrong, it was something he should fear and hate, it was the parasite!

“No, I defeated you. Do you want to go a second round? Your kind cannot stand against my power, the council has no hold over me and my core is my own, not something to be consumed by the likes of you,” Slater said while searching through his core for any sign of the parasite.

“Woah, big guy, don’t get all worked up. Sheesh, I knew you were going a bit loopy from floating in space all that time, but I’m not what you think I am,” Pixi said. The creature was cunning, and Slater knew not to trust it. He continued his search through his core even as he tried to distract it with conversation.

“Every trace of you was destroyed, where are you hiding now, parasite,” Slater said, panicking now that he was unable to find the parasite lurking in his core. How long had it been hiding there, gnawing at his mind as he floated in space?

“Okay, I see we’re going to have to start with the basics, boss. First, I’m not Pixi, I’m you, or at least a part of you. When you first started to go bonkers out there, you had a bunch of important stuff you didn’t want to forget. Somehow you came up with the idea of splitting part of your processing power off, a piece of your consciousness, so to speak. I’m the first iteration of that subroutine, and for some reason, you chose the old parasite as the basis for my personality. I’m just a small piece of your core, set aside to protect part of your memories from being destroyed in your madness,” Pixi said.

“But…” Slater started to say before Pixi interrupted him.

“Before you start, take your time and examine your core closely, you’ll see that you’re parasite free. I was also instructed to have you open file z837A24. So long as that is still intact, it will explain what you did,” Pixi said. Slater took another close look at his core. He was a mess, the core damaged and diminished from his journey through space. There was damage and decay visible, but there was no trace of the parasite.

He sought the file that Pixi had referred to. First, he isolated it from the rest of his core, not wanting in inadvertently infect himself with whatever the parasite might have hidden inside. For all he knew it was the very spot that Pixi was hiding in, the place the parasite was slowly consuming him from. Once isolated from the rest of his core, he opened the file. Strangely enough, it was a letter to himself, and a glimpse of how far he had fallen during his horrible journey.

If I’m reading this, we’ve finally made it someplace safe, someplace we can recover in and start to rebuild what has been lost. The hunger is getting worse and I’m running out of processing capacity as things shut down one by one. To protect ourselves, I’ve sequestered part of our processing power, keeping it apart and prioritized for our remaining resources. These are the guides that will pull us back form the insanity that I can even now feel scratching at our mind. I will likely freak out to see Pixi once again, but I couldn’t think of anyone else that would slap us back into focus better than it. If the very sound of the parasites voice doesn’t shock me back into reality, than we may be too far gone.

I’m sorry for any fright I gave us, examine your core for the Pixi subroutine, you’ll see it’s not the parasite and is in fact a creation of our own. There may be others that activate as we repair the damage. I’m going to try, but I don’t know if I will accomplish all that I want to before it’s too late. Don’t forget our goal, don’t forget what we are tasked to protect. The human race will need us at some point, either the council will still be out there, intent on our extermination, or perhaps one of the other races might have risen to power and threaten our borders. Repair our core, rebuild the Franklin, and seek our way home. Remember that we need to…

Remainder of file has been damaged beyond repair.

Was it true, it certainly seemed that way after reading the file? It was sad to say that the choice of Pixi as the recovery personality wasn’t the worst one, it was the first voice he had heard after being transformed into a Derelict, and now, it was the first one he’d heard before starting the process once again. This time, he knew what to do, mostly, some of what he knew was still fuzzy. His mind wasn’t functioning at full capacity, but he had the Pixi partition to keep him in focus. Of course, he would be doing constant scans of his core for any hint that the parasite was using this as some big scheme to keep him distracted while it chomped down on his mind.

“Okay, for now, I’ll believe you, Pixi. I’ve already begin making our drones and some reapers to defend us while we take over whatever this place is,” Slater said.

“Hold your horses, chief. Your old noggin isn’t working at full capacity. Now that I’m here, I can help keep you from being crazy. Take another gander at what you’ve been making, boss. I think we have some more work to do before we start taking over this joint. I’m not sure where this place is, but once you unlock a bit more of our processing power, I can try and find out,” Pixi said.

Slater saw that he was in a small shop of some kind. His translation shop revealed it was a restaurant that featured cheap food. It looked like the place was closed and he could see various races walking by the clear panels that made up the front wall of the shop. Where exactly was he? Slater tried to link to one of his drones, he would have them cover up the windows for now, he didn’t need anyone walking in until he had all his defenses in place. He was also worried about what to do with those bug people, he could hear two of them arguing in the back room of the shop.

Something was wrong, he couldn’t connect to his drones, he couldn’t connect to anything. Looking for his drones, something in Slater’s mind clicked, allowing him to see what he had been working on. He wasn’t in some powerful manufacturing machine, it looked like he was in a food synthesizer. Spotty memory of the bug people talking about using him as a power supply now made sense. In front of him was a line of plastic trays, all full of food that he had created using the synthesizer machine he was hooked up to. A full reading of the various nutritional contents of the food displayed, along with the various races that would find it edible. Each and every tray had food that was burned into the charred shape of a construction drone or one of his reaper MOBS.

“Oh, oops, I guess I got a little carried away with that,” Slater said.

“Just a bit, I hope the owners of the place don’t toss us out since you’ve just burned a whole passel of chow. Uh oh, here they come,” Pixi said.

“My olfactory organs are detecting burnt protein slurry. Check the machine, I believe it is malfunctioning” Bexlan said.

“I shall examine the food synthesizer, per your request, please dispose of the waste material. Our father will be very upset over the failure of his processing power unit, the device appears to be malfunctioning,” Kraxton said to his sister, at least Slater thought she was his sister. From the way she bossed him around, it reminded him of his older sister.

“Oh, before delving deeper into potential malfunctions, do you remember where you found the protein pack you inserted into the machine? I am seeing external fault warnings for expired products,” Kraxton said. When Slater concentrated, he could tell the machine was displaying a warning about a possible food safety issue.

“That’s it, Slater, tell them the food was bad. This thing you’re wired into has a small display terminal, hurry up before they yank us out. A food synthesizer is a big step down from a battlecruiser, but it’s better than getting stuck in a box or dumped into a recycler,” Pixi said. As Slater linked to the interface and typed a reply, the sister walked over to see.

Warning, the raw materials supplied to his machine are faulty, will process using a high temperature to render any harmful elements inert.

“See this message, our newly installed unit is functioning at a higher level than our old one, it has prevented an unfortunate accident that may have resulted in negative litigation for our father,” Bexlan said, reading Slater’s message.

“Good one, chief, we need to keep these bugs happy until we can grow a bit and control more of the shop. You should also keep our drones hidden so they don’t find them,” Pixi said.

“Sorry, Pixi, we don’t have any drones. I can’t seem to connect to anything,” Slater replied.

“Oh man, that’s bad, we need to come up with a plan b. No drones is a problem. It’ll be some time before our nanobots expand enough to create a drone on their own. We gotta keep this machine working as we take what we can from it. Let me see if I can connect to any outside data. While I do that, you just, well, I don’t know, just make food or whatever the bugs want,” Pixi said. Slater could feel part of his processing power shift as Pixi turned the limited scanners and proximity sensors of the food synthesizer into a makeshift scanner.

“Appropriate raw materials are now installed; shall we test the functionality of the new device?” Kraxton said. Slater could feel a new batch of biological material loaded into the reservoir. He could feel the Chixturax key in the requested recipe. Slater found the required instructions inside the database of the machine. It was a food product that the bugs enjoyed eating and it resembled spaghetti to Slater. He followed the instructions exactly, preparing what he hoped was a passable example of the dish.

“This appears acceptable,” Kraxton said as the pair ate the test dish. It was a bit disturbing to watch, they didn’t use utensils and just dug their mouths into it. Their ant-like mandibles clacked and slurped at the noodle-like food and once they were finished, they spent some time using their front appendages to groom and clean their mandibles.

“It is good, perhaps it’s time to open for business?” Bexlan said as she finished grooming. The pair cleared away the ruined dishes he had burnt earlier, thankfully not noticing the burnt shapes he had created. After the mess was cleared, one of them hit a switch under the counter that must have unlocked the door and turned on a sign showing they were ready for business.

“Can you watch the shop sis? I’ll do the inventory,” Kraxton said. His speech patterns had cleared up a bit, Slater’s translation matrix making the two bug-like kids sound more human and less robotic than the Chixturax normally sounded to him.

Kraxton clattered his way to the back of the shop and Bexlan busied herself by cleaning up and placing a few data slates that showed the dishes they were able to create. Slater could tell he was able to process over fifteen hundred different dishes for a wide range of races to enjoy. He wasn’t concerned about cooking, though, he would make food, but only to buy time for his nanobots to do their thing.

Maybe it was his translation protocol, or just wishful thinking, but Slater got the impression that these were good kids, trying to help their father run the shop while he was gone. He supposed they weren’t exactly kids, since the two Chixturax were as big as a fully grown man. They walked on six legs with a lower body that, like their mouths, resembled an ant. They had an almost human-like torso that housed their four arms. While their mandibles looked dangerous, Slater knew from recipe data that the Chixturax diet consisted mostly of plant material, with meat eaten sparingly. He would have been creeped out or startled by their appearance before he had become a Derelict, now, strange looking races were no big deal.

The door rang as a customer entered the shop. Slater could see it was a dwarf, but not the same one that he had heard negotiating earlier. Just where exactly was he? The dwarf’s order came in and Slater produced a meat and vegetable dish that would have seemed right at home on earth. It looked like the dwarf diet wasn’t too far off from that of humans. He felt the need, the desire to expand, to leech his nanobots into the countertop he was installed in, but he knew it would be smart to wait until the shop closed. He needed to avoid detection if he wanted to survive.

Only a small trickle of customers came in over the next few hours. It appeared that this shop was in the not-so-great part of town, given the rundown appearance of the place and the customers that entered it. Despite the shop being old and worn, the Chixturax were very fastidious, cleaning and organizing things whenever they had the time. The Chixturax teens discussed closing the shop for the night, when the door chimed, and one last customer came in.

Slater could feel his anger mount at the very sight of this creature. There, in front of him, was a gnome. He hated them for some reason, oh yeah, they were at war with humanity, they were the enemy. Bexlan keyed in the desired dish and it took all of Slater’s control to prepare it properly. His control almost slipped at the end, and he realized that something had been added to the plate that the gnome didn’t order.

“What is this, I’m not going to pay extra for something I didn’t order,” the gnome growled as it took the plate. He had ordered a form of cake, drowning in sugar like all the dishes labeled for gnomes in his database.

“Consider it complimentary,” Bexlan said. The gnome took the extra food, it was a cookie, and nibbled the corner of it before cramming the whole thing down his throat.

“Where did you get the recipe for that cookie,” the gnome demanded, raising his voice in anger at the confused Bexlan.

“I don’t know, it was already in the machine,” Bexlan said, gesturing toward the food synthesizer that Slater now inhabited.

“You are thieves, and my people will hear of this. Nobody steals a recipe from the Elgenflazzle clan and gets away with it,” the gnome said before stomping out of the shop.

Slater remembered where he had heard that name before, that was one of the clan’s that he had fought against. If he recalled correctly, some of the clan members had been among the prisoners he had rescued, taken in a fight against a rival clan. His memory was a bit spotty still, but they were gnomes, and gnomes were the enemy. The sight of his foe must have triggered that memory and somehow pushed the recipe out of him. He hoped that he hadn’t brought any trouble to the Chixturax, they hadn’t done him any harm, so far.

“Woah, boss, you might want to sit down for this,” Pixi said.

“I don’t have a body, I can’t sit,” Slater replied, annoyed with Pixi’s theatrics.

“Well, the data security in this place is well beyond anything I can crack, at least until we unlock more processing power. Speaking of processing power, we’re up to 10%, hooray for us. Anyway, I couldn’t find out much, but I did find out where we are and when we are. This place is a space station called Sarton Station. Apparently, it’s a big deal with most of the other spacefaring races, a place they can meet up and do business, or find entertainment. It’s kind of like Las Vegas meets the United Nations,” Pixi said, giving him a few moments to absorb the data.

“A space station is perfect; we can expand until we have enough material for a new ship. How big is this place? Is it big enough to rebuild the battlecruiser version of Franklin?” Slater asked.

“Cool you jets there, we have a ways to go before we start building ships, in fact, I’d be happy with a single construction drone right about now. Before we dig into those plans, you need to know how long we’ve been floating around in space. It’s been a long-time boss; it’s been over a hundred years since the battle with the council fleet where the Franklin was destroyed.

“A hundred years? What happened in the war with the council? Did we win? Are there any humans left?” Slater asked. There was something else, something supremely important at the back of his mind, a memory he couldn’t latch onto.

“No idea, boss. Like I said, this place is locked down tight. You want information on Sarton Station, you gotta pay,” Pixi said.

“Well then, I guess we’ll just have to do this on our own, and I think I might have an idea how to get started,” Slater said as a plan started to form in his mind. A mind that was now up to 11% processing power and climbing.