James’s gestation pod had been near ground level, so she didn’t get thrown around. The interior of a Forerunner probe held about a hundred square meters of internal volume accessible to the crew. Bioimprint saved for future fabrication.” James heard a hiss of compressed gasses as the cot under her zoomed forward, ejecting her from the metal coffin of the gestation pod. None of the questions were terribly difficult-even a first-year cadet could’ve passed with flying colors. James spent the next hour answering increasingly difficult logical questions with her awkward stump of a limb. The computer chose a linguist, not a soldier or an engineer or a negotiator. That said a great deal about the planet she had landed on, and what her mission would be. “I’m the first one?” James asked, and a little more fear crept into her voice. I may not release you for duty until I confirm the modification to the biostructure of Alien Lifeform #FF35E has been successful.” “A series of cognitive tests will appear. “Please direct your attention to the screen,” answered the computer, its tone flat. James felt something on her head swivel at the sound, pointing towards the speaker set into the display above her. “Affirmative,” came the near instant response. I might be swimming in a lake of toxic gasses right now, or drifting down towards the ocean floor of a sea of charged liquid. They have nothing in common with life as we know it. It was about two octaves too high, with a childish whine. So closely related that she could form English words without difficulty. This species obviously had vocal organs not too distantly related to those humans used. “Computer, can you hear me?” James asked, her voice raspy from lack of use. Forty years of training will mean something.įlopping around in confusion was not what protocol dictated. I get to be alive, I get to make contact with an alien race. It’s okay, she told herself, in an exasperated mental voice. Not just at the extreme end of her body, as she would’ve expected from legs, but somewhere on her back as well. She tried to move them, and found two different limbs twitched at once, not quite in time with her mental instruction. “Really?” She held up her other hand, and found a similar lack of useful digits. Instead of fingers, she saw only a fleshy stump, lacking fine manipulators. The limb wasn’t a hand, at least nothing like one she’d ever seen before. James reached up with one hand, holding it in front of her face. The last number indicated multiple failed attempts had been made to adapt human physiology, and that an alien blueprint had been used instead. The first digit meant that the probe had landed on a habitable world with its own full biosphere, and that biosphere supported intelligent life. Those three numbers at the end told her almost everything she needed to know about her situation. A paper thin screen set into the metal right above her head displayed her current status.Ĭrew Designation: Dr. The interior of the gestation pod had its familiar strip of blue lights running down either side, with now-retracted manipulation arms folded against the sides. Instead, James took a deep breath, and examined her surroundings. Others in her place might very well have shouted, panicked, or bounced off the walls. This was obviously intentional… for some reason. Implanting the mind is always the last step. I would not be waking up if there were any critical errors with my body. Whatever it is, it’s okay, James told herself. She ignored the instinct to panic, still buried deep inside despite her lifetime of training. Knew it from the strange numbness in her limbs, the unusual roominess of the bioreactor’s gestation pod, from how furry she felt. James Irwin knew something was wrong from her very first breath.
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