Status Update: 8
The pearl has cooled off enough for you to safely hold it now. You do so, still staring at it as you dig around in your pockets for the bubble seeds. You glance up momentarily to check that your neurons have latched onto the food, then resume looking at the pearl. (-2 bubble seed)
You really, really don't need to read it again, but you want to. Reading the conversation is like talking to her again. It's been so long.
You read it again anyway, barely perceptible flashes of light flickering along the surface of the pearl as you do so. It's all you have left of her.
[4 actions left.]
>So, if you're gonna stay in the place with extremely dangerous wildlife hanging around, maybe you ought to practice with the lance a bit more? Or at least practice carrying it if the shelter's too small? Or something?
You really should do that either way. You pocket the pearl with a sigh, getting to your feet, and retrieve your lance. You're still not quite sure how even to hold this, and you spend some time hefting it in your hands, adjusting your grip and trying to find something that feels natural. It still doesn't, ultimately, even after a while of fiddling and twisting your lance around. Maybe it never will. You weren't made to hold a weapon.
You do eventually find a viable method of balancing the lance at least. With one hand near the base of the lance and the other gripped near the middle, you're able to gain some remarkable control over how you swing the lance. It's still heavy, every other swing making you stumble forward slightly, but miraculously, you find a workable rhythm.
Encouraged, you do a few test swings in quick sequence, twirling your weapon down and up and around. With a spin and a flourish, you sweep your lance down, and find yourself staring at the same blue lizard from earlier. It blinks at you balefully from its alcove, unimpressed by your display. You huff, resting your lance against your shoulder. Do you really look like that much of a fool?
[3 actions left.]
>So what’s the game plan for the memory crypts? I think we should give the bomb to the scavs for a light and a disposable spear. The Miros Lance is great but if you need to throw it at something high up it’s not super useful. (Yes I know you aren’t naming it. I don’t care. I’m calling it the Miros Lance and you can’t stop me 😋)
Lights won't be necessary. Though the buildings here are tall, enough of the sky is accessible here that you can see your way around just fine. Trading the bomb for more weaponry would be good though.
You sit, resting your lance in your lap, and sigh again. Throwing your lance seems... like an all around bad idea. It does have quite a bit of reach, if you really stretch. You're not sure you're strong enough to throw it anyway. Perhaps ironically, this is not a spear.
You retrieve some data on your memory crypts, briefly scouring it for a safer route. Along the edge, maybe, you may get lucky enough not to run into anything particularly unsavory, but... you'll have to find out whether the Miros vultures here still retain their original programming either way, you think. Normally they would patrol the borders.
... would the memory boxes offer more information, too? Raw memories, locked away in a mechanocellular vault, designed to withstand the test of time indefinitely. If you could get to some of them...
[2 actions left.]
>How do you access memory boxes?
You're actually not sure. You likely once knew exactly how they worked, but you don't have that information anymore.
It was commonplace to copy all of one's memories, from birth to just before the decision to ascend, into a memory box. Or, at least, it was commonplace for your citizens. Each memory box is therefore a full replica of all the thoughts and emotions that made up your citizens. Something this intricate should involve some sort of port or configurable interface that can read the memories into it. If you can find that access point, you should be able to peruse the data stored inside.
You'll never understand their obsession with storing memories. What use do they have now? They put so much effort into preserving every moment of their dull, miserable lives, all for these echoes of what they once were to slowly turn to dust.
You were created from that same desire. It doesn't make it make any more sense to you, even though you've never objected to it.
[1 action left.]
>If you can make neurons, is there anything else you can synthesize? Toxic poison to coat your lance with, maybe? Can you modify your neurons to become ULTRA DEADLY ATTACK DRONES? Can you make them fire lasers? Can you make yourself fire lasers?
“Uh. No.” You glance dubiously down at your hands. Really, it’s your neuron flies doing most of the replication. They automatically repair any damage they’ve sustained, and occasionally this auto-repair mode induces a mitotic state, causing them to bud off the damaged part as a new neuron fly. Your puppet alone can’t do very much.
The most you can do is utilize the resources around you. If you find something poisonous, you could coat your weapons with it, sure, but that still requires you to find it first. You can’t create something out of nothing.
The closest thing you have to lasers would probably be the short range radio signals you can send. With any luck, those will come in handy for if—when—you encounter a Miros vulture. That’s how you will be communicating with them, anyhow. Not that it could do any damage though.
You shuffle across the ground until you’re leaning against the nearest wall, listening to the rain as it screams down outside. Despite the age of your memory crypts, this building is holding up well against the rain. You suppose you have to give your creators credit for that.
You sigh, resting your head against the wall. This is dangerous. Any time not dedicated towards reaching Five Pebbles is time lost. You really should just move through your memory crypts as fast as you can so you can get to your shared farm arrays. You wouldn’t even have to deal with the Miros vultures, especially if they’ve mutated. You could just go.
But… you need to know. This is the only place where you could find out more about Day, beyond what you left behind of her in your can. What better place is there to learn about her than from the memories of her citizens?
You pull the pearl out again, turning it in your hand and observing how the dim light glints off of it, looking at your distorted reflection and how the tiny grooves in its surface cause the image to ripple as you move your hand. If only you could just… ask her. If only she were still here, so you wouldn’t need to scramble to piece together who she was and what she meant to everyone that knew her.
You know her, of course. You know her intimately. Too intimately. But it’s not the same.
Still holding the pearl, you power down.