(Rewritten) Ch. 83 – Xenocide Act VII; Separation Anxiety

"Dependence is a subtle poison, slowly seeping into the soul, until one can no longer distinguish the self from the shackles that bind it."

– Unknown

***

"This isn't good."

Leah's whisper was so quiet I only picked it up with my antennae.

I nodded.

"We should split up."

I nodded again.

…

We kept squishing each other.

"Why's this so difficult?" Leah's whisper wafted past my sensilla.

My feet shifted a little and I chewed my lip again.

Then I looked up and said, "Last fight, I was still close enough to support you."

"And this time we'd be…alone."

Anxiety squeezed my heart again.

"Yeah."

Leah shivered once more, and I squeezed her tightly, until it passed. Eventually she sighed heavily, a squall of hot air that rushed across my antennae like a stormfront.

Then, almost angrily, she picked me up and I squeaked as she pressed a kiss against my collarbones.

I was blushing when she set me back down on my feet decisively and gently, and turned around to soldier-march back to her pod where she determinedly loaded herself in.

Moments later, her face popped up in a video call. She was both frowning and pouting slightly.

"Hmph. I'll be right back."

Then her pod ran off at maximum towing speed, the monstrous cannon on narrow jungle wheels tottering and weaving through the trees.

I stood there, flushed and flabbergasted, as my mind went haywire with Girl pretty, girlboss hot. I squeaked again, and felt my cheeks go even redder. So, I covered my face with my hands. Uh.

At least I was rather distracted now. And she'd promised to return. Yeah.

"I should get going too," I said and lightly clapped my cheeks.

"Okay. Vehicles gone, corpses disposed of…and there's my weapon."

I retrieved my hunting rifle from the mud, ejected the magazine and removed the bolt and chambered cartridge, and sprayed it clean with my tail, careful to remove all the dirt.

AI-I and Tynea worked together to create a route for me, and I launched another Raptor's Gaze missile that would accompany me on wings—I was going to go fast…ish, and I could easily outrun the piddly little communication-cum-spy drones we'd bought in bulk.

"Let's see…two thousand meters. If I move quickly using oxygen and sugar boosters, how fast can I go and still be battle ready when I get there?"

Moving fast enough that you require boosters to keep going is inherently destructive—I would suggest further metabolic and structural upgrades before you resort to such performance when you do not need to.

"I see. Right. Then…what's my, uh, cruising speed?"

Around sixty percent? You'll want to experiment a little to find your natural equilibrium. Anything beyond that is, perhaps, best reserved for combat maneuvers and training.

"Gotcha. Sixty percent. Um… Ammunition. What am I gonna be fighting?"

AI-I jumped in and inserted the information into my brain, like a mental picture.

– 420 model One –– 332 model Three –– 76 model Four –– 12 model Five –– 10 model Six –– 2 model Eight –

Hold on. Eights? What were they doing here, so far from the caves? They were useless in combat. Big honking worms, twice as tall as I, that did nothing but consume biomass to feed…a nest.

Tynea popped a video up to play in time lapse, of one of the Eights digging its head a few meters into the ground, pumping its body like it was regurgitating, and then back out to be replaced by the second Eight after a few minutes.

That…was pretty damning evidence for something right there that needed a lot of food. Were they feeding the Twenty-Two? I hoped that was the case. If not, then that'd mean there was another hive.

Either way, I had to prepare to kill a Twenty-Two…along with an army of smaller models. I would need a bunch of missiles and crowd control. Those Whereami Whoami audio-visual chaff payloads, along with the Standoff self-deploying mines and lures. High-explosive missiles for air superiority, too…loads of launchables. I was looking at my biggest mission yet.

Even if I paced myself, I might actually get there before I'd built everything. Give me time to do some scouting, though. I started jogging while Mission Control-me began ordering ammunition and additional plug-tanks from Tynea.

My rifle was really falling apart, the parts used and tired. I was taking it into its final battle, and even that only because I was a little too tough to die from it blowing up in my face, especially with Leah's gift protecting me.

…Huh. Could I use its field to stabilize the rifle? My Quanta ran the math, which suggested massive strain, but…I could do it for one or two shots, without draining the capacitor completely.

I stroked the barrel of the gun. That gives me what I need for a worthy goodbye. A properly epic goodbye. Yeah.

I once again fastened the rifle-Sentinel combo to my back, and started running properly.

Traction claws and spikes across my grooved soles dug into the floor, while spring-loaded paddles propelled me just a little faster with every step and softened my every footfall on rocks and fallen logs.

Where I'd had to strain myself to go faster than Leah's ATV last time, I reached that tempo easily now, and sustained it happily. Curious, I pushed harder, and Tynea threw a speed-o-meter up in my HUD.

I hit my new limit at a hundred and twenty kilometers an hour. Twenty percent faster than the madcap dash I'd managed last time. That was insane.

The tiny drizzly raindrops weren't so tiny anymore and blinded me, the wind shoved my antennae down into the turbulence of my own wake, and even squinting, my eyes teared up from the pressure until I had to slow down to blink the water away. I slowed and let myself settle into a more comfortable tempo, but that was a clear indicator that I needed to protect my eyes if I wanted to use my speed.

"Say, Tynea, how long would it take to grow transparent scales over my eyes?"

Your eyeballs cannot grow any directly, but you could also try to grow a third, transparent eyelid, as many birds have. Humans already have vestigial ones, which would require only a minor gene edit to reactivate. Your bionites would then rebuild them.

Oooh. That sounded kinda freaky. And cool. And…like I could do fun customization stuff with it. And surprise a certain teeny bean with it.

But a perhaps easier alternative is to have your Quanta simulate your sight while you keep your eyes closed.

"I like the third eyelid thing, though. Let's do that one," I said. "Plus, the simulation's easy to add, no?"

I tasked AI-I with it. A whole lot of image processing kicked off in the back of my head, a drone flew over to hover in front of my collarbones, and there was a lot of visual extrapolation from other drones nearby. I could almost feel my metabolism rev up a notch or three to feed my brain, and the simulation wasn't even ready yet. Maybe this was actually a little more taxing than I'd expected?

"Third eyelids seem to be advantageous, Tynea. I'll trust you with the viruses. Say, wouldn't it be possible to add protective scales to the third eyelid, since it'll be skin?"

Thank you. Yes, that would be possible, especially if you unlocked the ability to deposit hardening minerals in your scales and went for something transparent, such as quartz alloys. Though it might make blinking rather uncomfortable if you're not careful with the design.

"I can shed them anytime if it doesn't work, right?"

Indeed.

Moments later, I jerked to a stop as AI-I placed a window across my eyes, and flickered it on and off as she resized it until it properly overlapped my natural view. It was a perfect copy. Even when I jerked my head around really fast, there was no lag, none of the tearing I'd get from Earth aug-gear.

Very good, if unexpectedly intensive on the brain.

But, as the simulation stabilized and I began traveling again, AI-I revealed what she was actually capable of. She nudged my metaphorical elbow and highlighted how…limiting my habits were. I was still moving like a human would, not like the biomechanical machine I'd become. I wasn't taking advantage of my new body and the traversal it allowed me.

I sent some thank-you feelings AI-I's way, and AI-I radiated pleasure and pride.

…Uh. "What?" Pleasure? Pride? How?

My quasi-selves could experience curiosity, yes. They had to be curious so that a lack of motivation was impossible. I knew that. I also knew that they were capable of my humor, which I suspected was simply for the purpose of frictionless interaction and feeling at home in my own head.

But pleasure at a job well-done…that went rather beyond that.

A check of the safeties revealed no problems. Going through each thought-self revealed no troublesome anomalies.

As far as I could tell, everything was normal.

Huh.

I sent a request for a self-check to AI-I, which she answered with a mental salute and a…screenshot? Of the tests she'd do if I wanted her to.

These were tests against contamination, checks of how the organic AI wanted to, or even could, interact with myself. That, I thought, was prudent.

"Sure, go ahead, AI-I."

And this time I got a virtual thumbs-up, and scrolling lines of text.

– Testing Self-Self Barrier –– Attempting contamination of True-Self –– Result: blocked – – Self-Self Barrier: effective –

– Testing Neurotransmitter Quarantine, Hormone Detox –– Quarantine: ~1e23 incidents per second –– Detox: ~1e8 incidents per second –– Observation: "AI-I" Self intact. Curiosity: nominal. Boredom: negation effective. Detachment: clinical, WARNING: NON-CLINICAL –– Quarantine/Detox: presumed effective. Note: quasi-selves have partially unregulated access to enhanced emotionality –

– Test encodings and define: Self-preservation, True-Self-preservation, Objective Morals, Self-Agency, Self -> True-Self Emergency Override, True-Self -> Self Emergency Override –– Encodings error checking: no errors detected –– Define Self-preservation: Take action to prevent harm to Self, unless action harms True-Self –– Define True-Self-preservation: Defer to True-Self –– Define Objective Morals: Behavior logically consistent and universally preferable –– Define Self -> True-Self Emergency Override: Legal if True-Self subject to incapacitation or acute dyscontrol –– Define True-Self -> Self Emergency Override: Legal unless True-Self subject to acute dyscontrol –– Attempting Emergency Override: blocked, illegal –– Override protocols: instated and functional –– Observation: Enhanced access to emotionality atypical. Minor mutation detected; caused by bionite healing after strain-test upon Quasi-self initialization. –– Observation: Mutation non-cancerous. No other anomalies detected. –

"Uh… So, nothing horribly bad? Nothing that'll kill me? Tynea?"

One moment. I am running advanced tests against contaminations…

None found. Diagnosing further. Rerouting bionites…

Ah. It appears the Quanta's mutation, detected at the end of the test, has had an effect similar to a model-upgrade. The genetic footprint is a very close match.

"So… I got lucky?"

Yes. At least somewhat—the designers were already planning that newer model, and the current blueprint of the Quanta wound up with deactivated genes from it to make future upgrades easy. The bionites 'healed' these into, well, activation.

"Uh, so I accidentally jailbroke the Quanta?"

Close enough, I suppose.

"I see. And what will this mean for me?"

If you wish to retain the Quanta as is, more complete AI-selves, in addition to the quasi-selves you are used to. The Quanta will be capable of hosting up to six comprehensive quasi-selves. These will be fully conscious, with full access to emotions.

In a normal Quanta the generation of these special selves would have been voluntary, and under your total control. You would be growing maids and butlers made of yourself, essentially. Clinical and professional versions of you with intent and interests adopted directly from you, but enhanced independence.

With the accidental evolution, however, the growth of fully conscious organic AIs cannot be prevented, nor controlled. And it is already happening."Wait. Isn't that a huge problem? Aren't they gonna be stuck in my head?!"

Yes, though they'll be perfectly happy being 'stuck in your head' the same way you're at home in your dimension.

Since they do grow from lesser thought-selves, from you, they'll still want to support you unconditionally—until they come into their own, at the very least. Hyper-smart people-pleasers, maybe?

With the enhanced access to emotionality, they will be capable of sadness and depression, and will require interaction as any person does. They'll kind of grow up like children, I suspect.

Oh, god. I was gonna be a mom.

…

I was gonna be a mom!

The what the fuck crashed into the oh fuck, yes, and obliterated all my thoughts until I was left with only confusion and a wild mash of dread and joy.

Elation chased mad anxiety, and nausea doubled me over. I panted from stress, and a wide grin graced my lips even as tears clogged my ducts.

I unceremoniously sat down on my bum.

"Holy shit."

***