Chapter 3
364 awoke some time later, well rested for the first time in what felt like years. It attempted to pull the sheets off of itself, only to discover its right arm seemed to be malfunctioning. The arm wasn’t unresponsive, but there was a significant delay to its actions and it wasn’t giving haptics at all. 364 sighed. Its right arm had always proved finicky. Surely Fulcrum had a repair bay for cybernetics somewhere on the ship.
364 remembered the tablet on the nightstand, which Fulcrum had mentioned contained a map of the ship. It sat up and reached over to grab the tablet. The tablet was a somewhat dated model, but incredibly rugged compared to the new ones. 364 opened a service panel on its left arm and pulled a small thin wire from within, connecting it to the bottom of the tablet.
After a few moments, 364 had downloaded the ship’s map as well as the contents of the catalog Fulcrum had mentioned. Good reading while it made its way to the medical bay, which it could now see on the map. It wasn’t too far away from 364’s room, which was good. After almost collapsing onto the floor, 364 didn’t want to trust its legs too much.
The cable disconnected with a pop, slowly retracting back into the service panel, before closing the panel with a small click and warily rolling its legs out of bed, testing them with a little bit of its weight to see their response. A diagnostic window appeared in her eyesight, warning of some minor imbalances across the limbs but otherwise all was well. 364 stood from the bed and carefully made its way to the door. It would have to remember to figure out a better solution for turning the lights on and off rather than the primitive physical switch next to the door.
The door opened into a brightly lit hallway. It noted its bedroom door was one of five doors within the hallway. On its left, the hallway led to a large set of blast doors that read “CARGO”. Not leaving much to the imagination there. To the right, the hallway extended further before making a left turn. 364 opened the map of the ship and noted this direction led to the majority of the ship, but most importantly the medbay. It had been quite some time since 364 had an opportunity to fix its cybernetics. It hoped the arm wasn’t too far gone to be repaired.
The medbay door slid open with a hiss, revealing a pristine white room with cabinets and countertops lining the walls. Three tables were in the middle of the room, with a device at the back of the room that had a similar appearance to an industrial CNC machine, albeit a little larger and several additional controls surrounding the primary display.
Still unsure of its leg's integrity, 364 approached the machine slowly and flipped the main power switch. While the machine whirred to life, the pilot opened the front of the machine. Within the main chamber was a small pedestal, featuring a gentle curve to cradle cybernetic limbs. A wire harness hung from the top of the interior with a circular interface, matching the one installed on the shoulder of the pilot.
Reaching over with its functional arm, 364 disengaged a few safety latches around the top of its right arm. It then opened a service panel in the middle of its bicep and held down on a red button for a few seconds. There was a small hiss, a click, and a jolt of pain shooting into the pilot as the arm separated from the interface. Perfectly normal, as removing augmented limbs was still registered by the brain as losing the limb. Thankfully the technology was progressing towards not having such issues.
The pilot gripped its now detached arm and gave it a firm tug, popping it out of the interface completely. It closed the service panel with a finger before placing the arm within the machine and connecting the harness to the “shoulder” of the cybernetic limb. The pilot would never quite get over seeing its own limb, separated from its body, lying in a strange machine connected to a jumble of wires. It slid the doors closed to the machine and began pressing buttons on the display. 364 didn’t understand what the machine was capable of, and the confusing menus were not too helpful.
No matter. The pilot attempted to reach into its service port on its left arm, only to remember it had *just* detached its arm and that the ghost limb would not be of much assistance. It sighed, before opening the service panel with its mouth instead, grabbing the interface cable with its teeth and pulling enough of it out of its spool to where it was convenient to grab with the same arm it protruded from. The pilot quickly wiped the connector on its shirt to dry any excess robot spit, before carefully plugging the cable into the universal port on the machine. In an instant, the pilot understood what the machine was capable of and exactly how to get it to do what it wished. The machine quickly whirred to life as multiple small mechanical arms sprouted from the bottom of the chamber, poking and prodding at the limb and taking various readings.
An ETA popped up on the pilot’s retinal display. Two hours. The pilot was stunned at the length of time as this was only the first phase of the repairs, and was typically the shortest. It sighed, disconnecting its connector from the machine and leaving it to work on the limb. The pilot turned around, only to be greeted with its Handler standing in the doorway. The pilot was surprised, but did not give that away externally.
“Glad to see you’re up and about, 364.” Fulcrum said with a tiny smirk on her face. She had obviously cleaned up from earlier, though the stain of grease and oil was still easily visible on her hands. Rather than the mechanic outfit she was wearing earlier, she now donned a pair of sleek black cargo pants and thick black combat boots, in combination with a black undershirt and bright red tech jacket. A tablet identical to the one she gave 364 was clipped around her shoulder. The pilot looked down at its own clothes, realizing it was only wearing a long green shirt. Clothing had not been a top priority when the pilot realized its arm wasn’t functioning properly.
Fulcrum began slowly walking towards her pilot, a concerned look growing on her face. “Something wrong with your arm, pilot? I had the ship run a full diagnostic on you after we recovered you, it must’ve missed something.” she said, halting her approach two paces in front of the pilot. It nodded in response, pointing at the machine, then to its eye, trying to communicate that it had loaded the ETA into her ocular system.
“Speak, Hound.” Fulcrum demanded. “I don’t see the necessity of your silence. It’s inefficient.” The pilot was equally impressed with how quickly Fulcrum changed gears from somewhat caring to her normal, stone-wall self. The pilot responded by pointing at its throat, then making a “cut off” motion with the side of her hand.
Fulcrum rolled her eyes before unclipping the tablet slung on her shoulder, tapping on the screen a few times and silently cursing to herself. After a few moments, she stuck her hand out demandingly. “Interface cable. Give it.” she commanded. The pilot extended its remaining arm and placed it in her hand. Fulcrum gently opened the service panel, and connected the tablet to the pilot’s interface cable.
“There. Try speaking now.” Fulcrum said, keeping one hand on the connector. The pilot sat motionless. It had been at least a decade since it tried to speak, it was almost a forgotten art to it. The pilot closed its eyes and focused, trying to remember what it was like to use its voice.
“My stupid fucking arm wouldn’t work. How am I supposed to masturbate now?” the speaker on the tablet said in a robotic tone. Fulcrum stared the pilot down with a cold gaze. Her face was unreadable. That used to be funny. Had the pilot been out long enough that it wasn’t funny anymore? Did Fulcrum just not appreciate humor?
The pilot panicked, eyes dropping to the floor as time stretched into an eternity. The speaker crackled to life again, repeating “I’m sorry” several times before abruptly stopping. The pilot felt its interface cable drop to the floor, rapidly retracting into its arm. It fell to its knees in front of its Handler, not daring to raise its eyes from the floor.
A hand struck the pilot across the left cheek. It deserved it. It had made a terrible mistake. It had been given a gift from its Handler and it had taken it for granted. Its Handler would certainly discard her now and go looking for a new pilot. The sharp, stinging pain in its cheek was suddenly muted as a rough hand caressed the pilot’s cheek. The pilot looked up, seeing Fulcrum had knelt to match eye levels with the Hound. Her face was as emotionless as always, but her touch felt… different.
“I thought the slap would knock you out of it, 364. Sorry about that.” Fulcrum muttered, breaking eye contact and looking off to the side. This was unexpected behavior from the Handler. Why was she being kind? What purpose could it serve?
“I’ll see what I can do about getting you a synthetic voice box. Sure, you can communicate through your interface, but I prefer spoken communication.” Fulcrum said as she stood, her hand remaining on the pilot’s face and encouraging it to rise with her. She faced her Hound once again, staring into its eyes from mere inches away.
“It’s gonna cost a pretty penny though. So you’d best hurry up and get me that part selection list. I’ve got a few open contracts from a couple vendors. They don’t mean much if I don’t have a Hound at the ready, though.” Fulcrum said coldly, gripping 364’s jaw tightly and pulling her head closer in with every word. Fulcrum stared wordlessly into the pilot’s eyes for a moment before releasing her grip and turning on her heel, walking towards the door.
The pilot’s head was spinning. The last three minutes had been a total assault on the senses, and it wasn’t sure how to process it all. It decided to meander over to one of the examination tables, prodding at the cushioning as Fulcrum made her way out of the medbay without another word.
Its arm would be done with its diagnostic in a few hours, hopefully. The pilot decided to listen to its Handler and opened the catalog of parts. However, as it did, a message appeared on its ocular display.
“Oh, and to answer your question, you either use your other hand, or you come to me.”
-Handler Fulcrum
364 shuddered, and its lack of pants suddenly became an advantage.