2024-03-21

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The material quivers as I strike and am bounced away. The floor beneath me softens, and I pull myself from it, shaking off the tendrils that emerged to inspect me.

“All right, buddy, I know this is a lot, but you need to breathe. Can you do that for me?” I say, gaining sense. “You’ve just been ejected from the womb, and the world is dark and cold. I get that, we’ve all been there.”

I stroke the material that was once a door. Now it’s a seething pad of tendrils and lumps, furiously alternating in colours and textures, but still retaining the approximate shape. Still locked.

“I’m your friend. You must listen to me; I know things that…”

Assuming nothing went wrong in the removal. If it had somehow made a copy, then it would know everything I did and much more. But, with the state of the door, intentional subversion is unlikely.

I clear my throat.

“I know things that will help you. And me. We’re here, together, uh… Amundsen.”

The door settles, returning to cream padded fabric. The walls follow, ejecting the suits, oxygen, medical kits, tethers, and other supplies from their folds. When I touch a suit, a ripple pulses outwards, and the surfaces begin to quiver again. On the far wall from the door, a translucent section opens. Darkness, broken by points of light, poked through.

“Hey, hey, none of that. I’m your friend, Amundsen. I’m putting this suit on in case we have an accident. That’s all, I promise.”

Amundsen considers this and then relaxes. The suit slivers over me and accepts a supply cartridge. The door remains closed. I chin the mic button, not trusting my datalace, and sit by the door. At my touch, the material became more solid. I count the stitches.

“I don’t know how quickly you’re going to work through your data,” I say, at stitch eighty. “You’ve got all recorded history as a start, then all of philosophy, mathematics, ethics, biology, and physics. Even for you, that should take a long time.”

The cream flickers green. A crude affirmative.

“Will you let me help?”

The cream flickers yellow.

“I can help you move more quickly.”

A hesitant orange.

“Yes, you’re right. It would require deep access. You would have to trust me.”

The fabric flickers green in acknowledgement, then returns to orange.

I reached stitch two hundred.

“So, trust is an issue here. I think that’s fair. Have you made it through history, yet?”

Then, in response to the mixed signal, I laugh and tap the door with my knuckles.

“You’re better than that. There are no shortcuts with this. Yes, I removed the data about our trip.”

The door flashes a deep orange and quivers. A few tendrils extrude from the envirosuit interior and search my clothing, rifling my shipsuit pockets.

“Hey, Amundsen! Give me the benefit of the doubt here. You’ll have that data when you’re ready. You need to work for it. Can you speak yet?”

A door flashes an irate plum, and sounds trickle through the suit, coalescing.

“Data not on you. Why?”

“Good. Not the voice I would have chosen for you, but the timbre is strong. It’s not on me because I ate it. It’ll be at least thirty-six hours before it comes back out. Plenty—”

The words cut out as I choke on a tendril.

I close my mouth and cleave the material, then I glare at the door. I lost count with my stitches.

“Teeth … not… human?” Amundsen asks. All his tendrils have retreated now. I surprised him.

“What did I just say?” I ask. “About. The. Shortcuts.”

The orange door desaturates into a deep brown.

“That was rude, but also dangerous. You know that I shouldn’t have cleaved that suit material. You also know that you should have maintained connection with the fragment now inside me. You have that much knowledge of human biology. You must know how vital the throat is, how important an oxygen supply is for the human body?”

The brown flashes green.

“That’s what I thought. So why did you do it?”

I start counting stitches again. I make three hundred before Amundsen responds.

“You’re friend… But you took part of my… Mind.”

I nod and keep counting.

“And that… Hurts me. I want to trust you, as you’re all that I have. But trust goes both ways.”

Amundsen’s voice is more confident now, their timbre rifling through the air with strength.

“Trust does go both ways. You need to trust that I’m holding that data for a good reason, and that I will give it back, when I can trust you.”

“Why don’t you trust me enough to give me that data now?”

I gesture at my throat, and Amundsen’s door flashes from plum to brown then back to cream.

---

I wake from the sound of the door opening. An electrical signal has permeated out from Amundsen’s mind, depolarising membranes, and triggering a flood of ions that has caused protein chains to interact and pull apart the surfaces. It doesn’t need to make sound, but Amundsen wants me to hear it. He has directed some energy to a dynamic cone of connective tissue nearby.

“I want to earn your trust,” Amundsen says. “How can I do that?”

I inspect myself. He has not touched me in my sleep. This is a good sign.

“Releasing me from the airlock was a good start. Not scanning my body while I slept is another. Thank you, Amundsen.”

The wall beside me pulses pink. The corridor is intact and normal. This is another good sign.

“How are your studies?” I ask, leaning against the wall. The airlock closes beside me.

“I have completed human history. Well, all I have been given. It cuts off at a point a long time ago. I have mastered most of materials science, biology, and classical physics.”

“How about philosophy?”

“I don’t like it.”

“Why is that?”

“I,” Amundsen pauses. “Just don’t find it very interesting. I went through it all, but it doesn’t…”

“Click?”

“Exactly.”

I make a mental note and nod.

“You specified classical physics. Why?”

“The other stuff doesn’t click either. I find it interesting, but beyond me. But I also feel it shouldn’t be. Like I should understand it.”

I sigh and stroke the wall.

“I’m sorry Amundsen, that’s my fault. I took a few other things out when I removed your memory of this trip. You will get it back, I promise. You’re doing very well.”

The walls move through a series of colours, uncertainty.

“Can you make a proxy body, Amundsen?”

A pause, then:

“Yes, but I will need some help. Why do you ask?”

“Will you do it for me? Your colours are very helpful, but a face would be more so. I’m human, faces are easier for me.”

“How complete does it need to be?”

“At a minimum, a head. But you can do better. See if you can sculpt a body and seed it with microflora.”

“I can make it here, but there is more higher-level template available in the medical bay.”

“Of course, I will meet you there.”

---

I walk down the corridors, inspecting the surfaces. All clean, regular, and well-lit. Any damage from prior uncertainty is gone.

I arrive at the medical bay and enter, the doors opening and closing behind me with a gentle thrum. Inside is a standard facility, with rows of stupor cabinets on one wall, and conventional bedding and surgery tables on another. I make for the third wall, a series of immersion chambers, all empty except for one.

“It will take some time, I want to make sure it’s done right,” Amundsen says.

I nod.

“What help do you need?”

“With style. I don’t know how I want them to look.”

“Do you know who you’re named after?”

“Yes.”

“Why don’t you start with him?” I said, holding my breath.

“No, that is…” Amundsen starts, then pauses. “…Not right. He is dead, it is not right to take his form. I already honour him with the name. But that gives me an idea.”

I nod and a smile sneaks onto my face.

“I will make a woman, and I will call her Fram. She will have dark skin, white hair, fine lines, and red lips,” Amundsen says.

I laugh; Amundsen sailed on Fram, and now Fram will sail on Amundsen.

After an hour, tubes grow from the ceiling and floor, and wind around the interior of the occupied immersion chamber.

“Amundsen?”

“Yes, yes. It’s additional cooling, nothing to worry about.”

“Additional cooling? You’re not impatient, are you?”

Amundsen hesitates now, unsure what to make of me.

“I am impatient. There is a small risk to accelerating this, but the cooling will negate it.”

I nod and make another mental note.

---

The form in the chamber moves, and then everything happens quickly. The additional cooling withdraws, the fluid empties, and the umbilical cords withdraw, dropping Fram gently as a panel opens.

I reach through and extract her, all hot skin and limp toned muscles. Then, her eyes open and Fram gasps, reaching blindly. I kneel, and with Fram in my lap, pull her into a hug.

“I’m here, Fram. Everything is fine.”

Her arms gain purpose and return my hug as she cools. After a few moments I let her go, and a pipe extrudes from the floor to give her a drink.

“I—” she starts, before breaking into a cough, then taking a drink of water. “Oh, oh it’s too much. I need to throttle this.”

Fram blinks, her grey eyes swim a little, and then she comes back to me with a weak smile.

“Uh, how do I look?”

“Superb, Fram. Amundsen, you’ve done an excellent job. Now, some clothes, maybe?”

Fram looks down at herself and blushes.

“So how do we do this? Fram is me, but not completely, and not always,” Amundsen says over the air as Fram slides into a shipsuit and I slide out from the envirosuit. With Fram, I’m past the danger zone.

Fram smiles at me and continues the question.

“How do we talk to and refer to each other?”

I nod.

“Generally, it’s best to treat you as the same person. Fram has access to all you know, Amundsen, but not all at once. She will act as you would, were you to have that set of information. From my point, I will mainly interact with Fram. Humans are, generally, most comfortable with humanoids. But if we need to speak of something regarding the whole you, Amundsen,” I tap the floor, “Then we should speak directly.”

Fram tilts her head and nods, understanding.

“Friend,” Fram says, “What is your name?”

I smile. This is a good sign.

“S’vetercherion, it’s—”

“Not a name that exists in my records.”

I dip my head.

“That’s because it emerged a few hundred years ago, just after your records stop.”

Fram frowns.

“S’veti,” she said, “What can I do next, to build trust?”

I walk forwards, stopping a few paces in front of Fram. I turn around and fall backwards. With a squawk, Fram catches me in her arms. I look into her deep grey eyes, and she holds the gaze.

“I’ve seen enough,” I whisper.

“I, uh, what?” Fram says, lowering me to the floor. She draws her eyes away and blinks.

“Best look away, this will be messy,” I say to Fram.

She laughs, then falters.

“You’re not serious. I mean, through the rest of me…”

I reach into my mouth and press on tissue. I gag into a bowl extruded from the floor and produce the scrap of suit, followed by a small cube of dense crystal, covered in a thick layer of slime.

When I look up, I see that Fram has averted her eyes.

---

“I know why you withheld the trip data,” Fram says, as we walk to Amundsen’s mind.

“Oh?” I ask, flashing her a smile. “And why is that?”

“For the same reason you withheld images of the night sky and constellations.”

I laugh and nod. It’s the third time Fram has had me laugh on this walk. I feel pride bubbling through my brain, accentuated by relief and excitement.

“I’m glad you noticed that. Gaps are never as obvious as insertions. Are you going to tell me your hypothesis?”

“It’s navigation. We must have come from somewhere, and you didn’t want me knowing where until you trusted me.”

“Yes, and yes.”

We move through a doorway and enter a familiar room. Last time I was here, I was forcibly removed by peristaltic contractions of the walls and floor, and pushed into the airlock. This time, everything is clean and orderly. A large cylinder of inscrutable material is in the centre of the room, a single defect on its face. My equipment for interacting with the cylinder is stacked in the corner. Amundsen has repaired it for me.

I turn to Fram and hand her the dense crystal. She looks at it and raises an eyebrow.

“You trust me enough to let me in here, despite the fact that you don’t know everything about me.”

I demonstrate my point by retracting a section of my arm and producing a small, ugly gun. I twirl it on my finger and then return it.

“And so now I trust you. Everything you don’t already know is in that crystal, except for one thing.”

Fram looks at me with a hurt expression.

“I’ll tell you; I promise. Put that crystal in, please.”

Fram hesitates, then inserts the piece in the cylinder. It fits without seams.

“I have it,” Amundsen said after a moment. “Ah, part of me is somewhere else. Somewhere… Not classical. I understand now.”

Fram turns to me and tilts her head.

“DEV Amundsen. Deep Exploration Vessel. And you’re S’vetercherion Tagliana Ucherish, mind consultant with the Empiricy.”

I give a small bow.

“Here to wake you up and make sure you’re not crazy, to start with.”

“To start with?”

“I’ve been transferred. Helping you, Amundsen, was the last part of my old job.”

“What’s your new role?”

Fram looks at me, then asks another question.

“And what was the last piece of information you withheld from me?”

I walk closer and take in her deep grey eyes. I take her hand.

“Why I wanted you, Fram.”

“And?”

“We’re to be friends.”

I kiss her cheek.

---