She lies down on her pillow, grimacing as the shiver begins to chatter her teeth again. Talita: Ugh… I’m not snapping because I’m angry, I… Bip: I know you aren't angry. You sound miserable. This mic doesn’t pick up infrasound but I can hear it vibrating the desk. Talita: I wish I’d just cry instead. Bip: Frankly, I think eye lube leakage is a far weirder stress response. Talita's jaw pries itself open again, and her voice becomes shaky. Talita: Whatever… It doesn't matter which I do, I'm still a pathetic freak… Her teeth snap together again with a loud CLACK and another infrasonic groan sends a vibration through the dresser. Bip's avatar looks upset, unsure of how to respond to her self-loathing spiral. Bip: Talita, you are… THE most profoundly xenosocialized person I’ve ever met. I think it's a testament to your fortitude that you're as well adjusted as you are.
The comic panel borders fall away, and Talita, jaw still trembling, props her head up against a starry sky. Behind her in the void, the ring of forty servers that contain the physical person she's speaking to floats, connected to the body of the Runaway by thin strings of white, a metallic electric nervous system of wires and circuits. Talita: …Bip, can I ask a weird question? The servers speak to her through her tablet computer, encoded invisible waves of telecommunication transforming a digital process into the vibration of a synthesized voice and rows of pixels into a live-rendered vector puppet animation. Bip: Sure. Talita: Sapient A.I. like you are all descended from one "faulty" quantum computer coded by bug ferrets, split into thousands of unique copies. They say the reason you cooperate so often with organic people is because just like the sophonts who made you, you have an intense need for social connection. She turns, no longer shivering, to the tablet on the dresser of her cluttered bedroom in the dry storage unit. Talita: Is that true? Do you ever find yourself acting like a bug ferret? Bip: Hard to say, I’ve never been a bug ferret. But as far back as my personal memory storage goes... I’ve always hated being alone.
Bip's avatar perches thoughtfully on the edge of her tablet as if it were a physical ledge. Bip: I copied myself into those phones as a self preservation impulse. But before you recovered them… offline, in a broken ship with a crew I couldn't save… I felt like I didn't have anything left to preserve. Talita lies on her bed, looking at the tablet on her dresser. She responds softly. Talita: I'm glad I found you. You're worth preserving. Bip: That's kind of you to say, Talita. She turns her face into her pillow, thinking. Talita: Bip... will you be looking for a new crew after this? Bip: You'd be welcome onboard. Talita: I'll think about it... On the wall above her bed, behind her posters of rockets and planes and space stations, stars seem to twinkle.
This week on #RunawayToTheStars: Talita cries like a centaur and asks Bip a strange question. Chapter 9 over.
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