[NOVA] Orders (M 1.4)

WPTunes

Mei, after you read that note on your tablet, you're alone in quarters. You mentioned spending some time reviewing orders, right? There's the mass of briefing data Melzer-Togawa provided, your Eyes-Only orders from Command, and attached to that terse directive is a sheaf of further documents, some numbers, some interviews, some reports. Where do you start?

Mischa

[Mei]

I read it again.

Yes, the briefing data. I need to get this into my head for the mission. I'll make sure to know planetary data, geographical features about the LZ, and anything M-T says about their own interests. Mining? Terraforming? The datapad can call up the facts at a touch, but that's not the same thing as synthesizing the data into a coherent whole. I'm not even looking for anything in particular, just in full studious absorbing mode.

I read it again.

I cluck my tongue at myself. "Eyes Only." Right there. I commit the orders to memory. It's not hard and it helps that they are so short. What does Command know that I don't? Plenty, I'm sure. I keep my own log short, noting the timestamp for the transition into the Grey — and I guiltily flush and duck my head when I think of the next — and a terse line about a fine first meal as a crew. I'll spend a few moments remembering those tastes, the textures, the smells, the mouthfeel. It really was a masterful presentation. I drink some more water, nibble on my lacking handmeal.

I read it again.

The reports interest me. The first-hand accounts of the auditory hallucinations. I pore over these in detail, referring especially to anything from Psi Corps. Why are we headed here? Why "eliminate" the emitter and not "neutralize?" Is a living thing even capable of that much psi output? My thoughts drift to Cora, and I reconsider. I'm not going to know more until we hit orbit, but I'm concerned for the crew. I don't know how everyone will react, including me. I try a few choice passages from the officers' manual, smiling a soft smile as I imagine what Sung would say if he saw me reading the literal book.

I read it again.

I'm almost definitely sure Sung didn't write it.

I look out at the stars, an entirely different smile on my face.

WPTunes

Mei, the interpretations of the first-hand accounts are heavily redacted, but the transcriptions are untouched. Each presents one of the involved describing the sensation of words "appearing" in their heads. For each, these words are seemingly random. A sequence of twenty-three words for each, each unique, no single word repeated within a single sequence or between sequences. You can't help but wonder why your superiors redacted all the useful analysis.

As you resort to the Officer's Manual for inspiration, you sense Cora in the room. Mei, she seems strong to you right now. Have you tried to communicate directly with this alien ghost that lives in your brain since your Psi Corps training? Do you try now?

Mischa

[Mei]

I play with the words for a little too long, trying grids and patterns. 23 suggests prime numbers and chromosomes, but I sense this is a rabbit hole to drive men mad. I'm still chewing on the end of the stylus and questioning the wisdom of the Corps censors in between doodles when I smell/sense/hear/feel Cora, maybe watching me?

I've tried, yes. Psi Corps were very interested in getting me to succeed. It's almost like trying to hold quicksilver, she slips through my fingers. Sometimes I talk to her, sometimes I reach out with my psi, questing. Sometimes she comes to me. Fishing isn't as easy as it looks.

I try to draw her attention with drawings and my bright corridors of logic, running down avenues of cognition, meshing with the patterns and whorls I doodle.

When the time is right... "Hi, Cora," I almost whisper.

WPTunes

Mei, you sense Cora drawing closer, perhaps closer than she's seemed since your return from the Dauntless mission. The grandmotherly alien whispering surrounds you, soothing you while also hitting alarm centers deep in your mind. You feel her following the swirls and cul-de-sacs of your doodles.

hello tabanmei

Mischa

[Mei]

I get a fresh sheet on my sketchbook and still my mind. Charcoal pencil in hand, I start improvising with the patterns I remember from the alien ship, keeping my focus loose and letting my attention spread out like thawing honey. My eyes half-lidded, relaxed as I encourage the commune like a sky butterfly.

> hello cora <

WPTunes

The scent filling your nostrils changes. Hot sauce, the old-lady perfume Eileen wore before leaving the arcology. You feel the gentle brush of cold fingers at the nape of your neck. The gentle thrum of the ventilation system turns yellow in your mouth.

tabanmei is one focus of an ellipse / what orbits the center of gravity?

Mischa

[Mei]

I swallow some yellow and it feels plaid. My mind dances at the puzzle, a cat worrying at yarn. Is the other focus a person? I think of the note. Or is it MV-589? I think of Melzer-Togawa.

> the other focus changes the curve <

I gently send faces and places along the curves. I make a sudden connection and a cold bead of worry rolls along, too.

> can the emitter hurt you? <

WPTunes

Plaid becomes the scent of oranges as you swallow and the buzz of bees fills your ears.

there is no i / there is only tabanmei

what do you orbit? / what orbits you?

the sound of wind among the monoliths of dead xlith'ya

You feel Cora's presence begin to fade.

the wind among...

You hear the sound of wind, distant beyond understanding.

Mischa

[Mei]

My spirals and circles are getting smaller. I feel warm, holding an ember of a lost alien mind. But it's like a drop of ink in a bucket of milk, the two are irrevocably intertwined. I catch my reflection in the glass and look into my own eyes for a moment, feeling Cora go, or descend, or withdraw, or fade, in that way she does. It makes me think of the blur of the Gray, too.

I'm puzzled, but not frustrated. What's a xlith'ya? What do I orbit? Space Corps? What orbits me? Sung? What gravity, what force, do I exert? I think about my note again, and I'm tempted to reach out with my psi... just to peel back the curtain and know. But I feel that would disappoint my admirer.

I uncurl myself from around my sketchpad and stretch up to my toes, reaching the ceiling. I feel the hangover is still looming a little. I climb up into my own bunk, still wondering about last night, and I set my alarm for a brief nap. I plan to be up an hour or so before lunch. I close my eyes, rub my temples. I wonder where Ksenia is? I'm not looking forward to discussing with Church.

I open my eyes to look at my star chart, trying to relax. I'm drinking water and hating wine.

WPTunes

Mei, as your eyes close, a last whiff of poor dead Eileen's perfume blows past your nostrils. A warm memory, and sad. Then, dreamless sleep, however brief.

--End Scene--