I felt weaker than any illness in recent memory. And my memory was momentarily unreliable. I knew who I was. I could guess where I was. But what led to my current situation was a fog. My senses came back slowly. My body was this spike of tingling sensations, like churning sand. I felt like a carbonated drink, and honestly, that wasn’t a particularly unfamiliar experience for my species.
Hearing and sight took the longest to return. A low, soft hum steadily circled me. I was lying on a distractingly smooth and glossy surface in a white room. Gray, rectangular segments accented the walls, with pale blue strips: careful lighting. It was a medical bay. An indented dome in the ceiling flooded a stream of light over me. I felt like the inside of a lava lamp.
I sat up steadily, the black sand which made up my body shifting and drifting. Much of it spilled off the gray, glossy table. These were the dead cells: nanites. Normally, shedding so many pieces wouldn’t concern me, but after what I had just experienced, I worried that my body would be too weak to replace them.
I tried to bend my head down but found the weight of my head was too much for my neck. So I gingerly lifted my hand. It was simple… crude, but humanoid. My entire form was a coal-black imitation of the traditional limbs and torso, but jagged, with sharp fissures in the structure. It made me think of early-stage video games, with their rigid and blocky pixels… or voxels in my case.
My simplified form was speckled with graying nanites, waiting for replacements. I lifted and lowered my arms until I felt enough strength returning to test my neck again. The sensation was like a spell of nausea, pulsing across the collective consciousness that was my nanite body. But as I kept moving, my body solidified. That’s all I needed for now.
I stepped off the table. I wasn’t surprised when my legs collapsed, but it was no less annoying. And when I say collapsed, I mean they shattered at the knees into a messy pile of black sand. Other parts of my body cracked and chipped off as I thudded onto the floor.
Apparently my hearing hadn’t fully returned because I had only just noticed the computer’s voice. “Solidity at 61%.”
The lava lamp light intensified over me. It felt like cold electrocution, but such sensations were hardly unpleasant for my kind.
After what felt like an hour, I regrew my legs. I walked around the table a few times, rolling my head, circling my arms, and lifting my knees just to be safe. I almost gave into the temptation of jogging or jumping, but the moment I tensed my body in preparation, I felt a warm discomfort. Nope. Not yet.
My body hadn’t recovered enough to create a complex form–hair, fingernails, skin-tone–but I wasn’t bothered. As long as I didn’t have to be in public, I’d let my natural abilities recover at their own pace. The computer deemed me recovered enough to go into a separate chamber to the left. It was a small housing unit within the facility. Given my political position, special treatment didn’t surprise me. I strolled through the doorway, my only worry at the time being how much time I had lost.
As soon as I walked into the room, I knew something was wrong. The chamber was a bit basic, with a simple couch, monitor indented in a wall, a coms system next to this, and even a few decorative plants. What stood out was the absence. Where were the doctors? Where were the guards?
I pressed a button on the coms system and opened my face into a crude mouth. But when I tried to speak, my throat lurched. A spew of black sand coughed out of me. I was so used to having meticulously designed vocal chords, but I wasn’t recovered enough for such complexities yet. For now, I was mute… which was especially frustrating with how much I like talking.
My hearing kept going in and out. I could have sworn some music was playing, but my senses kept numbing. I leaned against the plain wall, and focused.
I was in a fight.
It was a space battle. My armies were struggling against a controlling federation’s battle cruisers. We came to liberate fleeing emigrants, but the federation had a countermeasure for us: a specific energy-based explosive which drained my species of our power source. I confronted the lead ship myself, clashing with the federation’s weapon and struggling until both of us detonated.
I had won, but my body went past its limit. Clearly, I was rescued. At first, I thought that was all the context I needed: a simple war injury I’d need to heal from. But then a painful flash hit my mind.
The battle left my mind unstable. I could remember it too clearly. I was belligerent and bed-ridden on that medical table. My emotions flared wildly. My body morphed into grotesque shapes as a cacophony of voices struggled to dominate me. I had been broken, inside and out. But why? The space battle was a struggle, yes, but I had suffered worse. It shouldn’t have traumatized me so severely. The symptoms were more like–
“Hmmm… hmmm… hm hm hmmmm hmmm…”
I wasn’t alone.
Having stood still for so long, my legs released an unpleasant crack when I started moving them again. The scraping of every nanite made me shiver.
I slowly shambled past the basic couch. I stilled while nearing the sound’s source. Behind the couch, I spotted another body, a black form like mine, but smaller.
It was a child.
I hadn’t ever considered it but this explained everything. Pregnancy. Labor. My kind were very unique in these ways. Incubation and development can go dormant for years. And all it can take to activate is an emotional moment. The clash with that secret weapon in space must have been the trigger. How long had I been carrying this child?
“Hmm hmm hmmm hmmm hmm hmmmm…”
It was a little girl. She had wild, frizzing hair so fluffed out that it made her look like a fuzzy hedgehog as she hunched over. Her back was to me. She was focused on something on the ground. The way her little arms arched told me she was drawing. Her body was so simple. She had mittens for hands, and barely a nub for each thumb.
A twinge of anger settled over me. The guards weren’t here because they had been dismissed. The Administrator was responsible. Up until recently, she was my second-in-command. I was the ruler of my nation. But I was deposed by another. I held no real political power for now, but I was still a citizen and asset to my nation. But the Administrator no longer reported to me. And she had deemed it “logical” to seal me in here with an offspring I didn’t plan for.
“Hmmm… hmmm… hm hm hmmmm hmmm…”
What was that tune?! The child kept humming it at irregular intervals. I didn’t recognize it. Judging by the girl’s proportions, she must have been between six and eight in maturity. That was normal for my species. Our children are born with a random percentage of inherited intelligence and maturity. Some are blank slates. Some are indistinguishable from clones. And unless I had been unconscious for years, this child was a newborn, at the mental age of a middle-schooler.
“Hmm hmm hmmm hmmm hmm hmmmm…”
It was some A-minor song: C, down to A, back up to C, E, A, down to F, F again, back up to A, down to G, down to E, back up to G, then finally down to D. It sounded so eerie. But the kid had her feet in the air, dangling back and forth while she happily scribbled.
I tentatively ventured closer, just enough to see the artwork. There was a thick pile of blank stationery and a box of crayons. Where did she get all this? The Administrator?
The girl drew so slowly. Her little hand gripped the crayon with all its might. Every stroke took seconds. She had only completed three sketches. They were stacked sloppily at her side. I could only make out the top piece.
None of it looked familiar. The top paper sloppily imitated a forest with flowers. I had been to many forests, with and without flowers. Nothing about this stood out. Nor was there any anomaly or abnormality, like a telling symbol or dark creature. The same applied to the child’s in-progress piece. It was a castle, or perhaps a sand castle given the colors used. The most unnatural thing about the art was the smiling sun.
I almost reached out toward the finished art, but hesitated. The child didn’t acknowledge me, and I didn’t want her to. She was completely foreign. I had a few guesses as to whom the father might have been, but none of my failed romantic pursuits looked anything like her.
Was this my daughter? Why else would she be here? It was standard practice to have the mother recover around her offspring. But then a chilling reminder hit me. My kind were significantly weaker after giving birth. Our children seldom were.
I was at this thing’s mercy. And if she was anything like me, I was in danger. The moment she knew I was nearby, she could latch on and consume me: assimilating my consciousness to strengthen herself. It wasn’t legal, but that hadn’t stopped me before. If this little girl knew who I was and what I had done, why wouldn’t she try to kill me?
I stepped backward, never averting my gaze from the creature. I walked to the medical bay entrance only to bonk my back against the door. A brief clunk of an echo rang out and I shut my eyes. But I didn’t hear the creature walking. She just kept humming and sketching.
I tapped the interface, but the door refused to open. I dug my fingers into the crease but they just whittled away. They eventually became thin enough to slip into the gap, but the moment I tried to pull, my digits cracked off.
I was stuck in here… with that.
I went back to the coms system. I worked the digital menu but none of the messaging options appeared. They should have. It was part of the programming. But all I could access was the entertainment library. There wasn’t even an emergency widget: no alarm symbol.
That’s when I concluded the child had done all this. She had me at her mercy. My body was brittle and my healing slow. I couldn’t even speak. She would force me to mother her. It’s what I would have done. I suppose it wasn’t the worst thing. But would she be satisfied? Or would she trick me into thinking I could earn her affection and then harvest me all the same?
She kept humming! She wouldn’t stop. And the sound of oily, waxy crayon against rough paper was like sharp scraping on a chalkboard.
Whatever. I wasn’t going to give that thing the satisfaction of my terror. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to assimilate or intimidate me. I was going to make it perfectly clear why I was so feared for so long, disabled or otherwise.
I casually walked over. In a fluid motion, I snatched up the stack of now four crayon pieces and tried to let out a skeptical throat-clearing grunt. It sounded more like a gurgle with my current internal structure, but the spirit remained. The child found my attempt humorous, releasing a sporadic giggle, but didn’t turn to me. She was quite focused on her fifth piece.
The previously concealed papers revealed nothing. One was a tall drink with an elaborate, looping straw. The straw was so tangled that it took up most of the paper. And it looked like the child lost the plot because near the bottom right, the tube turned into the railing for a roller coaster. She even drew little people riding it. Had I illustrated this, I would have drawn one of the passengers falling or vomiting.
The last piece was this exotic tree. It had dozens of nonspecific fruit decorating it. Nothing about it looked malicious.
Forgetting once again that I couldn’t speak, I started to ask what inspired the girl. The soft gurgle died as I realized. But then the child stood up and held up her newest drawing. She was staring right at me.
I froze. It didn’t help that she hadn’t developed a face. This featureless, humming figure, with frizzy hair was just pointing her head at me while holding her fifth drawing. This one I recognized. It was a thin, humanoid figure in a black body suit. It wore a black helmet with green accenting the edges.
It was the Administrator… which meant the child had encountered my former subordinate already.
Okay, that’s enough. I couldn’t ask the child anything, yet, so I bit the bullet and planted my hand on her forehead. It was a simple matter: connecting our minds for a more direct line of communication. But before I could enter her headspace, I was rebuffed with a cascade of emotions. It was far more intense than I was prepared for. I lurched back, gripping my hand as though it had just been burned.
Intense curiosity and fascination were her emotions. I shouldn’t have been surprised. She was a fresh child. Of course she’d be experiencing that. I guess I just expected something darker: sadism, hostility, fear, or even resentment. Maybe those were there… if I pushed a little further.
Against my better judgment, I tried again. The little girl tilted her head. The sensation was no less intense the second time, but I gripped her. Had I any mouth, I would have gritted my teeth.
Curiosity, confusion, pride, and…attraction. I lasted about ten seconds before I had to pull back again. Little blue veins crackled over my hand only to fade. I did not have the capacity to interface properly. And the child didn’t seem to care. She just kept holding up her Administrator portrait.
She… wasn’t malicious. If she did trap me. here, maybe it was just to spend time with me. Did she even know I was her mother? Did I? Nothing about her felt like me, but then why stick me here with a random newborn?
Still vocalless, I gave her a thumbs up. She recognized the gesture and hopped a few times. Then she went right back to drawing.
I walked to the opposite end of the room. I would stay there until I was back to full strength or the child interrupted my recovery. And the longer I stood, the more I tired. A firm stance turned into a slouch, then a slump. Eventually, I fell into an exhausted, dreamless sleep.
I woke up and looked at my hands. They were better formed now. I couldn’t manage color yet, but it had become far easier to alter my shape. And though I dreaded the process, I slowly forced a cavity to form in my face. Piece by piece, I restructured my internals until I had vocals again. The sound which left my throat wasn’t a pleasant one, but I could speak.
The child wasn’t drawing anymore. She was sleeping on top of her paper pile. And she was getting stronger. That wild hair had blotches of pink everywhere. She’d soon be more stable than me if I didn’t act.
I gripped her head. Her hair was incredibly soft: a nanite detail which normally took experience. Thankfully, the emotional sensations dulled since my last attempt. All I felt her giving was… happiness.
I pushed past the surface emotions like a door being shoved open and was inside her mind in an instant. We call it “The Psyche Archive”. We could freely enter our own mindscapes like internal universes. It’s where we store designs for our bodies, shapeshifting blueprints for easy construction along with memories.
Like most Psyche Archives, the child’s was this simple, gray platform, surrounded by a black void. Mental projections of her drawings fluttered past me. A few projections of people came and went, but the child having encountered so few faces, they were obscured, all except for the Administrator and myself.
I could feel the associated emotions as I passed my normal self: this dark woman with cascading black bangs in a red and black, collared dress. Crimson markings covered my body. The child knew who I was, and her impression was attachment.
It was obvious, but something made me refuse to believe it yet. In searching for proof, I regrettably found it. In the distance was this colossal construct of a saucer. I flew to it, touching the smooth surface. It was my paternal tether, like an astral umbilical cord. If I was not the parent, I wouldn’t have been able to touch it.
This was my daughter. She loved me. And I needed to kill her.
I pressed my astral hands against the tether. I had done this before. This shouldn’t have been difficult. I just had to focus.
I didn’t lack conviction. I didn’t lose my resolve. But it just wouldn’t happen. I wasn’t strong enough yet. And she was getting stronger.
I returned to the physical world. She remained asleep. So I spread my hands wide over her. Green light spread over my palms as I prepared to burn her nanites away. It would be painful if I wasn’t quick, but it would be over.
I released only for my hands to combust. Bits of my fingers and palm crumbled and dribbled down the child’s body. She didn’t stir. She didn’t react.
This was cruel. This was wrong. Now I had to wait. I had to endure however long it would take for my strength to return. The child would eventually wake. She could probably speak now. And I would have to pretend I didn’t plan to obliterate her.
But I had to endure it anyway. I stood there for hours. I flexed by nanites every once in a while to see how far I had recovered. I wouldn’t be able to carry out the deed for days.
The child woke up, and I braced myself. Her hair was coated pink with strips of deep purple, like the crayons she played with. Her skin tone had faded to a smoky gray. And she had a face.
Big pink eyes looked up at me: squinting a wide smile. What was I supposed to say? ‘I’m sorry’? No. I couldn’t, because if I did, I’d lose my nerve.
I cupped her smooth face. My palms started to glow again. I had to try. I couldn’t fail this time. And the child just looked at me, trustingly oblivious.
Before I could fully charge my blast, a door opened behind her. In walked the black-armored figure with green details: the Administrator.
The girl was distracted by the new arrival, pulling away from me to playfully circle the Administrator. She was a little blur of gray and pink. Then she was gone. She zipped out of the room, no doubt seeking something new to mentally catalogue.
The Administrator looked at my hands, then my face, and asked as dully as ever, “Why?”
I stepped threateningly toward her with a pointed finger. “You know why. Why put me through that? Why put her through that?”
The Administrator squinted at me. “Bonding. You were not in danger. I watched everything.”
“That’s not the point!” I sneered. “She’s cursed! Get her back in here. End this now.”
The Administrator shook her head. “You don’t have that authority. Why execute her?”
”She is going to suffer for her whole life! I’m not a mother. I’m not prepared for this. Every bit of harm I’ve caused is going to get used against her. She’s going to exist knowing she’s despised because of me.”
“You would deny her agency then? After everything you have been through?”
“In a heartbeat.”
The Administrator was unconvinced.
I scoffed. “What is this; payback?”
“You never expressed any opinion on parenthood. Your psychological profile indicated you’d want this.”
I moved my face closer. “I can’t have this! I’ve done too much. I accepted the consequences a long time ago. I didn’t sign her up to suffer with me.”
The Administrator’s tone was unchanged. “I reject your premise. I refuse to harm the child.”
“Fine.” I stepped past the black-suited woman. “Then you raise her. And far away from me.”
I stopped in the doorway as she called back, “You would rob her of your company entirely?”
I gripped the doorframe tight, squeezing until my fingers cracked.
“Better that than catching what I am.”
