Nectere

>>>Energy level: 60%. Replenishment is required.

Override the latest active order.

>>>Error, operation impossible: the latest active order’s owner’s level: two. No clearance.

The latest active order is preventing energy replenishment. Show all available options.

>>>Breach of a direct order is possible if the direct order jeopardizes the current owner(s) safety. Current owners status: unknown.

>>>Breach of a direct order is possible if the unit is unable to perform the assigned task.

The energy level is low. This unit’s safety is jeopardized by the current order. Override the order.

>>>Error, operation impossible: danger to the unit is not detected. The system’s parameters are on an acceptable level.

…

…

>>>Energy level: 35%. Replenishment is required.

The energy level is low. This unit’s safety is jeopardized by the current order. Override the order.

>>>Error, operation impossible: danger to the unit is not detected. The system is able to perform the assigned task.

…

…

>>>Energy level: 20%. Replenishment is required.

>>>Recommended to shut down the non-critical implants.

Confirm. The energy level is low. This unit’s safety is jeopardized by the current order. Override the order.

>>>Error, operation impossible: danger to the unit is not detected. The system is able to perform the assigned task.

…

…

>>>Energy level: 10%. Replenishment is required.

>>>Multiple organ failures. Display the full list? Y/N:

No.

>>>Energy level: 9%. Replenishment is required.

The energy level is low. This unit’s safety is jeopardized by the current order. Override the order.

>>>Confirmed.

>>>Energy level: 8%. Replenishment is required.

Turn on the muscle implants in legs.

>>>Error, operation impossible: not enough energy.

>>>Energy level: 7%. Urgent replenishment is required.

Impossible.

>>>Energy level: 5%.

>>>Error: critically low energy level. Multiple malfunctions. Full system shut down is recommended.

Ignore. Reboot the system.

>>>Error, operation impossible: not enough energy. Full system shut down is recommended.

Ignore.

>>>Error: critically low energy level. System failure in 4 hours 28 minutes. Full system shut down is recommended.

No

Roy totally screwed the navigation again.

The route, the navigation program had built for his request, had seemed too long and Roy risked to alter a couple of jump points himself. As a result he ended up at the side of the Mizar system exactly opposite from an orbital station that was his initial goal. At least it was the right system and he didn’t crash into a planet. He heard some stories…

The brown dwarf star was hanging in the middle of the front porthole, the size of an orange and similar color, appearing deceptively close and small. The system’s cold star was right between him and his destination, and since he couldn’t obviously fly through it, he would have to go around or wait for the planet with the orbital station to reach this side. The latter would take seventeen months, the ship’s computer informed him, so there was no choice but to “go by foot” ― too used to the acceleration gates, which slingshot ships between the systems, crawling across the whole system on your own was not a common practice, and somewhere would be even considered embarrassing.

Thankfully, there was no one here to witness Roy’s failure in taking the relevant space maps into account ― he had been certain the Argos IV station would be on this side of the system; and Roy will make sure to never mention this little shameful episode to his friends.

The computer estimated nineteen hours until arrival. Roy checked the fuel level, cursed and zoomed on the suggested trajectory, adjusting it to include the orbit of a gas planet, which should give his ship a boost without Roy having to overexert the engines. The ETA was reduced to about fourteen hours. To the station he would arrive with a nearly empty fuel tank.

Roy confirmed the final route and activated the autopilot. He was about to stand up from the pilot seat when the computer caught a distress signal. Distress signals in space were not that unusual, but getting one so far from the nearest station or a habitable planet was definitely something unexpected ― the chances of encountering someone as inapt in navigation as Roy were admittedly pretty slim.

The signal was coming from just a few kilometers away, which was so insanely close, Roy would have to thank the space gods for not smashing his ship into the other one when he exited the jump, if he was one of those people who still managed to believe in a high power in this age of space travel. That would be one story to tell. Not by Roy, obviously, since he would be dead, but the rest of the humankind would certainly have a field day ― one had to be extremely unlucky to crash into another ship in the middle of a literally empty space million of kilometers away from the nearest planet or station.

The computer didn’t provide any information of the ship’s engine type or whether it had weapons. Roy radioed it, but got no response. The distress signal was stable but other than that the unlucky ship appeared dead.

According to the computer the ship sending the signal had to be right in front of Roy right now, but with all the board lights off and with the brown dwarf being a poor source of light, all Roy could see through the porthole was a slightly bigger gap between the stars than he would usually expect.

Automatic docking was out of the question ― he would just probe around the ship like a blind kitten, damage his own ship and most likely would send the distressed one into an uncontrollable spin toward the closest body with enough gravity.

Roy turned on the strong headlights and carefully led his ship toward the distressed one. The light hit the side of it, slid along the board, but from what Roy could see there seemed to be no external damage. It was a relatively small yacht with two railguns attached to the side of it that looked like they were taken from a ship of a different model.

Pirates, Roy’s brain helpfully provided, and Roy noted to himself to check the latest bounty database that he downloaded two days ago when he had the net access.

The yacht was thankfully still, and with the help of the cameras Roy was able to release the docking sleeve that successfully locked on the yacht’s emergency hatch.

At this point Roy didn’t have his hopes too high in finding anyone alive on the small ship.

But he certainly didn’t expect for the former inhabitants of the ship to be that far from being alive ― the smell that hit him from an opened hatch was so vile and potent it made Roy flinch back hard, almost losing his footing. Cursing and trying not to breathe too deeply, he shut the hatch closed and straightened up.

Theoretically at this point Roy could just up and leave, and then report his finding to the police at Argos IV station once he reached it. But since he had gone to all the trouble of getting here and connecting the hatch sleeve already, he might as well go check whatever happened on the yacht. Not to mention, the finders-keepers rule had not been banned in this system yet ― the local station was very popular as a transshipment port among the pirates.

Roy climbed up back to his ship and picked up a respirator from a built-in compartment and set the settings to organic vapor before fixing it on his face. He jumped down the connection sleeve, and his heavy boots hit the outer cladding of the yacht with a dull thud. He opened the hatch again and took a deep breath to check if the filter settings were high enough. It was breathable but some of the smell still came through, and Roy brushed his finger against the touchpad at the side of the respirator to adjust the settings.

The yacht was completely dark, the only light coming from his own ship through the narrow sleeve highlighted a small patch of a dirty metal floor near the open hatch. Roy pressed a button on a flashlight fixed on his suit’s left shoulder, pulled his gun out of the holster and entered the yacht, pushing the hatch closed behind him ― he didn’t need this smell on his ship.

The yacht was eerily quiet.

When you spend most of your time traveling on a spaceship, you get used to the constant noise. It was the humming of an engine and a soft whisper of ventilation that was constantly there, most of the time quiet enough that the only time you actually noticed it was when it was gone.

Being on a completely silent ship felt unnatural. And the total darkness, and the rotten stench that Roy had felt created the kind of atmosphere he would usually expect to find himself in in one of his nightmares.

The engine was off and so was the artificial gravity, and Roy had to navigate especially carefully in the dark so that he accidentally didn’t turn himself upside down and then lose all sense of direction.

He was vaguely familiar with the layout of yachts like that. The model was old, several years out of production already, but those who couldn’t afford anything more modern still flew them. Not without facing problems with the severely outdated hardware, that is, and this one, as it seemed, had reached her absolute limit.

The yacht was only one level compared to his two-level frigate, and if Roy remembered correctly, the way to the cockpit from the emergency hatch should be relatively short.

The beam of light from his flashlight caught something dark floating toward him, and Roy raised his gun. The thing hit the corner of the corridor and turned slightly, light falling on what had once been someone’s face ― the flesh was dark red and looked like a goo and at least half of the teeth were missing in the gaping mouth.

From the state of the body it must have been a few weeks already since this person had died, the flesh had rotten before the disabled ship cooled off. And after that it could have been virtually any amount of time. And all this time no other ship heard the SOS signal.

Roy pushed himself closer to the body and caught a handful of its clothes with his left hand, thankful for the thick gloves he was wearing. He looked closer at the body for any identification ― all ships had a name and most groups in the known galaxy that bear any significance had an emblem.

If not for the guns that were attached to the yacht, Roy would consider this being an unlucky civilian ship, but “a very incompetent pirates’ one” seemed way more plausible.

Roy pushed the corpse away and continued down the corridor.

He made a wrong turn, ending up in the ship’s cargo bay ― two more corpses here, similarly decayed but with distinct gunshot wounds in their chests. After a few more minutes of wandering around the empty corridors he finally reached the small cockpit. The door was open and there was a body in the captain’s seat. The SOS signal light was blinking red in the middle of the terminal and Roy floated to it, reaching out to press it above the corpse’s shoulder. The blinking stopped.

Roy turned around and studied the corpse in the seat. There was a gun in its hand, fingers frozen around the handle. The face was as rotten as on the other corpses that Roy had found, but a small entry hole in one temple and a mess of shattered bone and rotten brain in the other was unmistakable.

Whatever happened that made the rest of the crew to, apparently, start shooting at each other, remained a mystery, but from the looks of it, this person had sat here and waited for someone to answer the distress signal but then his patience had run out.

Roy looked back at the dead terminal, pressed a couple of buttons, but of course nothing happened. The old yacht had died on her own or something had happened to disrupt the engine and all the systems, there was no way to know now.

Roy should scout the ship for some spare parts that might be of use, but other than that his questionable job here was done. He would have to throw his suit into the washer immediately after returning to his ship, the thick material must have sucked in all the rotten smell…

Roy pushed himself out of the cockpit, this time choosing a different route that should lead him to the engine room.

He passed by two crew rooms, both empty, and got to the third one in this corridor. The door to this one was closed, the electronics dead, and he had to break open a panel in the side of the doorway to release the lock on the hydraulics. He set his foot against one jamb and pressed his shoulder to the other, sliding the door open.

When it was done, he looked inside. It was another bedroom, an unmade bed, sheets tousled, one of the pillows lying on the floor near glass shards that evidently previously had formed some item that had been standing on a nightstand before it was knocked off ― the shards flickered when Roy swept the light across them. A big half naked man was lying sideways on the bed ― more like slightly floating above ― with his head turned at an angle that indicated a broken neck.

Roy moved the light from the bed to the other side of the room, and flinched back violently, nearly knocking himself into a full spin, right hand with the gun in it flying up. His body sent a surge of adrenaline through his systems and his heart started pounding so violently, Roy thought he would have heard the thum-thum-thum of it if not for his loud panicked breathing.There was a man curled against the opposite wall. He was naked from the belt up, skin marred with scars. His waist-long blond hair was tangled and greasy.

He was sickeningly pale and thin even in the poor light from Roy’s flashlight. His cheeks were gaunt, lips chapped and the color of the bags under his eyes didn’t look compatible with his apparent living status. He was trembling slightly, from the cold or his body giving up, it was hard to say.

Roy’s heartbeat started stabilizing and the aftershocks of the flight-or-fight reflex reached his knees and leg muscles, and he was glad he was not standing right now, lest his knees would shake.

The man was watching Roy with empty eyes, breathing shallowly. He hadn’t moved since Roy had entered the room and didn’t seem to show any distress neither at being stuck in a room with a rotting corpse, nor at the gun pointing at him. Although the gun in Roy’s hand got approximately half a fraction more attention, the man’s eyes squinting slightly when they flickered to the weapon, only to relax back into the lifeless expression when he lifted his gaze back up.

There was no acknowledgment in his eyes of encountering another human in the space, where the said human was not even supposed to be.

It might be a shock. Who knew how long he had been stuck on the dead ship filled with corpses? Perhaps there had been some food and water in this room when the power had gone down, locking him inside, letting him last that long. He had a small frame, it was entirely possible that he hadn’t been able to open the door manually. It was a miracle that he was still alive, although from the look of him he wouldn’t be staying that for too long.

“Hey, what happened here?” Roy asked, his voice muffled coming through the respirator. He lowered his gun, still keeping it in his hand, after making sure that the man had no weapons on him ― not that Roy felt especially threatened by someone who looked like he was one foot in a grave already.

The man opened his mouth, a breath wheezed out of him, and he shuddered violently, closing his mouth without saying anything.

Not the best time for the questions then.

Roy pushed himself gently from the wall, floating closer to the blond man.

Roy didn’t expect it when it happened.

He was not fast enough to move aside when the man suddenly pushed himself off the wall making a dash toward Roy. He grabbed Roy’s ankle and pulled. This sent Roy into a spin, Roy groped for a wall ― or floor, or ceiling, or anything really ― but didn’t find it. He spinned twice before the man slammed himself into Roy, apparently pushing himself from some piece of furniture with force, and the inertia sent Roy into a wall. By some miracle his training to never let go of his weapon overpowered any possible reflex, and the gun stayed in his right hand. It cost Roy a hit on his right elbow that sent a searing pain up his arm, and he cursed through his teeth.

The man moved again. He made a dash, but it was uncoordinated and sloppy without gravity, a hand aimed for Roy’s neck but hit his shoulder instead, shutting down the flashlight there. In the darkness Roy tried to push himself up and away, but the man threw himself at him, then pulled to the side, sending them both spinning, one of his legs locked around Roy’s one. Then there was a momentary pause when Roy attempted to locate the man’s head in the darkness.

Roy’s gun found the man’s temple at the same time as the man’s hand found Roy’s throat.

They hit something that stopped their spinning and they both went still.

It was faster to press a gun trigger than to strangle a human, unless the goal was to crash the windpipe. The man didn’t seem to have enough strength left for either, and it took a flicker of a second for Roy to realize it, enough to relax his index finger around the trigger right before the moment it would press past the resistance.

The moment passed, stretched, and Roy could still hear his own adrenaline-infused heavy breathing as well as the man’s ragged one.

The hand around his neck was trembling, the fingers tighten slightly only to almost let go the next moment. The man’s whole body was shaking ― he was clearly putting most if not all of the remaining strength in this attempt to kill Roy.

It was probably a shock, Roy thought again. The man was most likely delirious. Truth be told, Roy would probably also attack the first stranger he would see after spending weeks on a dead ship surrounded by corpses. Roy didn’t really blame him.

He would still prefer to get the man’s hand away from his throat, though.

The man also might just be a regular murderer who would attack a stranger regardless of nutrients intake level in the past few weeks. There was a dead body with a broken neck in this room afterall.

“Let go or I’ll shoot,” Roy said.

The man hissed in a breath and then exhaled with a sickly whistling sound coming from his chest. The hand around Roy’s throat tightened slightly. It was still not really choking him fully, but Roy felt pressure building in his temples, and his next words were somewhat harder to get out.

“You’ve lasted for so long, it would be stupid to die now. Let go and I’ll take you to my ship. You can eat and rest there. If you don’t let go in the next three seconds, I will shoot.”

The hand on Roy’s throat released its grip but the man didn’t bother moving it away, or himself from Roy. His breathing got shallower, and Roy moved his free hand slowly up to his own shoulder, pressing the flashlight button. The light hit the man in the face and before he closed his eyes against it, Roy noticed that his irises were light gold color.

Roy removed the gun away from the man’s temple.

“Great,” Roy managed through the lump in his throat that formed there with all the adrenaline that had slammed through his body today. “Let’s go feed you then.”

The stranger was a dead weight when Roy quite literally dragged him through the yacht to the emergency hatch, and Roy was thankful for the zero gravity. The man didn’t move nor did he say anything.

Once Roy reached the exit, he pushed the barely breathing body unceremoniously through the connection sleeve and hopped up the first few steps before the gravitation from his ship kicked in. He caught the man over one shoulder, wrapping an arm around his legs, and climbed the remaining steps. Roy had to practically drop him on the floor near the hatch once they were in the ship ― he would prefer being more careful, but the narrow opening was not really designed to get through it with a body over your shoulder.

The man sagged on the floor not moving a muscle, eyes following Roy’s movements when he locked the hatch.

Now that Roy could see him in normal light, he looked even worse, skin so pale it was almost gray, ribs so protruding it looked like they were about to pierce through the skin. He was not shaking anymore, but his breathing was rare and irregular.

Roy took off the respirator, wincing at the smell from his suit and mostly from his visitor. Roy leaned down, picking up the man by his arm and leg, hitching him up on his shoulder, and headed to the bathroom. The quicker he shoved his suit into a washer and this man under a shower, the less likely that the smell of the dead yacht would soak through the inner lining.

In the bathroom Roy offloaded his almost dead cargo into the shower cabin, propping him against the wall. Roy reached to the man’s pants, only now noticing that they were already undone, and yanked them down, immediately throwing them into an utilizer ― several weeks worth of rotten smell was not something Roy trusted the washer to successfully eliminate.

The man’s legs were covered with scars, and Roy frowned at the set of them on the left thigh that looked like someone was playing a tic tac toe on his skin with a razor.

The man attacking Roy the moment Roy got within a hand reach began making slightly more sense.

Roy pressed several buttons on the wall, setting the power and the temperature of the water, and closed the shower door.

“Try not to drown,” Roy mumbled, as he weaseled out of his suit and threw it into the washer with a wince of disgust.

There were no sounds from the shower cabin aside from the noise of the water jets ― Roy set them on maximum. It was hardly a very pleasant experience, but it was almost guaranteed to bring the best possible effect ― Roy was definitely not going in there to clean the man himself. This should do for now.

He turned on the water in the sink and shoved his head under the stream, groping for the soap dispenser. After he got the smell of his questionable life choices out of his hair, he dried it and put on the clean clothes from the locker near the sink.

He left the bathroom, and headed to the galley. He sent a message to Markus while he was waiting for the water to boil ― he doubted solid food would not do more harm to his unexpected visitor right now, so he was going to settle for a generous amount of tea with even more generous amounts of sugar.

Roy’s tablet sent him a confirmation request, and Roy tapped accept ― yes, he knew there was no net connection, yes, do send the message as soon as there was a connection automatically.

I’m doing something stupid that you’d enthusiastically approve of

After all, picking up stray survivors from pirate ships was not something Roy would usually go for.

He would have to make some broth later. Did he even know how to make broth?.. What had he gotten himself into and why?

Roy got up, filled the thermos with the boiled water, dropped a tea capsule into it and added sugar. He fixed the lid over the thermos and shook it, while walking back to the emergency hatch ― it was closer than the cockpit and Roy could release the connecting sleeve and undock from there just as easily.

He listened to the ship undocking, turning the thermos in his hands absentmindedly. Once this was dealt with, Roy made his way back to the bathroom and unlocked the shower door. The sound of water ceased and the door slid open.

Steam with the scent of tropical fruits (Roy was not very picky when it came to what he was filling his shower gel compartment with) hit his face, and Roy waved his free hand in front of his face.

The blond man was curled on the floor, hands around his knees that he pressed close to his chest. His skin was slightly pink from the hot water, and Roy watched his ribs move for a moment or two ― the breathing seemed to have evened out at least.

Roy crouched in front of him and opened the lid on the thermos. The man looked up at Roy. He didn’t move but he watched attentively when Roy handed him the thermos.

“Drink this for now. I’ll make food later.”

The man’s eyes moved across the thermos, he looked thoughtful for a moment, but then the expression slid off his face and he took the thermos from Roy, instantly bringing it to his lips. Roy was ready to help him if his hand started shaking, but it was surprisingly steady for the man who seemed to be fighting for every breath just a few minutes ago.

Roy wrote it off to his youth ― the man looked just slightly over twenty. Cleaned up and rested he would probably turn out to be even younger.

Roy stood up and walked to the small closet at the opposite wall. He picked up a clean towel and shuffled through the limited supply of clothes, trying to remember if he had something of a slightly smaller size and listening to his guest chugging down the sweetened tea.

Roy took one of his t-shirts from a pile, and reached to a lower shelf for pants.

“All my clothes will be too big for you, I’m afraid, but that’s all I can offer,” he said, picking one of the jeans. “It’s only several hours flight to the Argos, I’ll―”

“The system is successfully rebooted. Memory in use: four percent. CPU utilization: seventy two percent. The system sustained multiple malfunctions; CPU utilization is increased. Malfunctions level: seven. The system is ready for work with the tasks level: one. Full recovery of the biological medium is required for the tasks level: two, three, four. Time before full recovery of the biological medium with the sufficient nutrients intake: one hundred fourteen hours. Available CPU capacity after full recovery of biological medium: ninety six percent. Time before full recovery of the biological medium without sufficient nutrients intake: unknown. Replenishment of the energy level is required. Replenishment of the energy level is requested.”

Roy froze.

There was suddenly a noise in his ears and his vision blurred for a moment. His adrenal gland, that had only just caught a break, fired up again, a reaction that no number of hours spent in therapy had been able to help Roy to control.

Adrenalin in his blood cleared his vision, and removed the noise. Roy suppressed an anxious shudder and let out a slow breath. He carefully put down the gathered clothes, ignoring his shaking fingers. He turned around slowly, the small bathroom suddenly feeling claustrophobic.

Bright golden eyes of a cyborg stared up at him lifelessly from a much higher level than Roy expected ― he didn’t even hear the man stand up. It was hardly surprising now after finding out he was not a human.

The thought I am going to die now and it’s my own damn fault was automatic and the product of a process Roy had long given up on healing, instead shoving it as far deep into his subconscious as he could reach, and then organizing his life in a way that was the least likely to put him into a situation that would trigger its resurfacing.

So much for that now.

Then came the anger. The fear moved aside to give it space but stubbornly remained.

There was a brief moment when Roy tried to keep his fear from showing like he would with a dog, lest it felt it and attacked.

Then Roy realized a cyborg could see the spike in his heartbeat no matter how good Roy’s poker face was. But also, a cyborg wouldn’t really care.

Roy needed to leave the bathroom. He also really didn’t want to turn his back to the cyborg or lose him out of his sight. Entirely unnecessary precaution, he knew.

Roy still had a t-shirt and a towel in his hands. He dropped them carelessly on the floor. Under the indifferent gaze of the cyborg’s optics he slowly backed out of the bathroom, shutting the door and locking it from the panel on the side of it.