Private Log: Yuletide, Part I
04 Dec 2022Lily Flemmon
I was in my Chieftain, flying home to Chilton Terminal after delivering an interesting payload- one that uses CTAC technology to rapidly repair human and Thargoid ships. The xenosocial experiment was inconclusive, but the Cyclops and the Basilisk did disengage and enter witchspace once the water-based organic materials had begun growing to fit and fill the damaged areas of the Interceptors, restoring function to one heart each. Good thing is, they disengaged rather than using it for a combat advantage. It went well, and-Wait.
This wasn't a normal ship, this had a nanorobotic AFMU... and a water-based organically-grown scaly alloy hull like the Dryad... This was my Chieftain. I knew this ship. And last time I was in this ship... not this one again. This dream. Phoenix. They're... are they even still alive?
I set my hyperspace jump and checked my contacts in my comms panel, scrolled through them, looking for Phoenix Gardner, but I was interrupted by a Thargoid destabilizing my hyperspace conduit. My ship was forced into the black, and I spun around to try to get visual contact on any Interceptors, but there were none in sight, not at first.
Then a Cyclops and a Basilisk came into view, exiting witchspace, and I began to enter an orbiting pattern until I noticed irregular structure on some of the petals- these were the two I'd repaired. I slowed my orbit, still cautious, until a Scout exited witch-space, damaged... and it approached my ship slowly. I stopped my orbit, because there's no reason they'd bring a barely-alive Scout to a hostile encounter.
Think Lily, think! What are they trying to express? This is an experiment they're doing, clearly, but what... what are they trying to ask? And how do I want to answer? They know they're talking to me in particular, they understand I'm an individual anomaly. What are they asking now? Approximate processing. Thargoids, like humans, use approximate processing to function. Probably more exact than my brain, especially right now, but... Fuck it. Back to basics. They want a little demonstration of my basic tendencies, I'll give them that.
I got up from the pilot's seat and pushed my way back to the cargo control system, grabbing my EVA backpack and anklets on the way, putting them on as I floated to the rear wall of the cockpit. I prepped a limpet but didn't fire it, and grabbed a tool I didn't get many chances to use- a hand tool that allows for limpet-like interactions in an EVA scenario. Limpets are dumb, people are smart (okay, that's debatable, but beside the point), and sometimes it takes a person to do a job. I set a limpet to hand off its payload just off the bow of the ship, helmeted up and depressurized the cockpit, and pushed myself back to the front of the canopy and pulled the release lever, and opened the canopy.
This felt stupid. But it wasn't. It was risky, but not stupid.
I pushed out of my ship to the limpet waiting for me, and transferred the payload to my handheld manipulator, and the Scout was only 30 meters away. I started at what seemed to be the epicenter of the damage, applying the repair system the way I would dress a wound, although it seemed to behave a bit like lotion, immediately beginning to repair and reconstruct the ship on contact. I noticed cracks in the canopy, and instinctively began focusing on them, applying the paste-like repair slurry directly with my hands, gently running it over the cracks in the canopy. I looked up and saw the two Interceptors still observing from a distance, and looked back down at the canopy, and I... realized this was... a tender moment? It'd been a long, long time since humans at war had this kind of exchange, even with each other. Coming out of the trenches to daringly bond with the enemy, knowing the risks, knowing it would be very unlikely to stop the war and all its horrors.
I can only assume I returned to my ship and arrived at Chilton, and... I was talking to Phoenix and Director Warren in the showcase garden. I guess I told them how the mission went, and I could feel tears running down my face and Phoenix's arms around me.
And through the tears, I managed to say... "H-how... do we ask them... what horrors war holds... for them? With less individuality and a hive-mind structure, maybe they're more resilient? But maybe they still remember the Guardian war... I... why... why does this war have to happen? Why can't we just... fucking... not be a shit species winding up in war every chance we get? Why..."
And slowly everything faded, until it was just the warm sensation of Phoenix's arms around me, and... their voice. No words, just their voice. Soft, comforting, and a gentle, persistent, daring will to hope.