Chapter 1:

Black Star

Robot Catgirls Philosophizing on the Moon!




Stella was an alien.

"...wonderful view at night, due to the lack of city lights..."

She'd awoken as a weapon to fight in a war she didn't care for.

"...latency is inevitable, but interlunar connection is usually great..."

She'd died as a weapon to win a cause she could not understand.

"...might take some time to get used to the change in gravity, but our program..."

She'd been reborn as an alien.

"...what do you say?"

These weren't the humans she knew: they treated her as one of their own. The one before her talked as though he were filming an ad. Was he? Stella saw, heard, and sensed no cameras. This room was suffocating. Why was it so colorful? Why was the plant next to them pink? Why had this man offered Stella, a cyborg, something to drink?

"Stella?"

Stella's voice modulator was still faulty. She had to run a system check to proceed. "Life on the moon is unfeasible," she replied. "For a human, hypoxia has a one hundred percent fatality rate within minutes. Radiation is too high. Atmospheric pressure is too low. Lunar dust..." She trailed off. This man confused her; he smiled, but his body was stiff, and he clenched one hand over the other. That was irritation, wasn't it? So then why did he smile? "Forgive me. Have I said something wrong?"

"Oh, no, you're absolutely fine." Stella was not absolutely fine. She was not fine at all. Why was this man lying? "You must've misunderstood me: I'm offering you a home on the Moon."

"...huh? Why?"

"Stella, dear, have you been listening to anything I've... never mind, you haven't." The man's smile almost fell, but then he kind of pursed his lips to freeze it in place. Truth be told, it almost looked as a snarl, but Stella still wasn't convinced about this man being an ally, so she desisted against pointing this out. 

The man tapped at the coffee table between them, after which a glowing sheet of paper spontaneously appeared on top.

Stella jumped.

"Look at the screen," the man ordered.

Stella tried, but there were no screens. Humans had always been irrational and strange, but this was pushing it. First, the man offered Stella a beverage she physically could not consume, then talked about breathing on the moon, and now this? Stella couldn't help it. Even if she was a possible enemy, this poor man needed help. "I strongly suggest a psychiatric evaluation," Stella said.

The man stared at nothing for a moment, which reinforced Stella's point, then responded, "I'll take that into consideration. How long were you asleep for again?"

"Asleep?"

"Disconnected. Dead. Whatever."

The man's speech rapidly deteriorated, which was a sign of distress. "According to what your friend told me, two centuries," replied Stella. "Does your friend know about your mental condition?"

"...right, two centuries. Stella, dear, a lot can change in two centuries. You see this?" The man tapped at the glowy paper. "This is a screen. If you look at it, you'll see what I've been trying to tell you about: your new home."

He could've said 'look at this' and then pointed at the screen, but Stella digressed. On the glowy paper screen was the moon, in all its silver, lifeless roundness, surrounded by the inky void of space. "Oh," Stella said. She took a moment to adjust her voice modulator. "That's..."

"That's...?"

Cruel. A cruel way to end.

"You don't find the Moon appealing?" Asked the man, as though he didn't know the answer already. "I see. That's fine. There's plenty of other possible homes. Mars is very good.  I've heard great things about the floating colonies in Jupiter. Saturn is... still a work in progress, but we're getting there. Stella, dear. I'm not crazy. Just look at the screen."

"I'm looking at the screen." But that, too, was a lie. Stella couldn't help it. This man was insane and he needed help, and perhaps Stella was the only one that could carry forth such a mission. Space colonies? When she'd last been awake, they'd been the cause for war, and now he talked about them being a 'home'? "What about Earth?"

"Earth?"

"What's wrong with it?"

"...nothing..." The man took a black dot from the pocket of his black slacks, elongated it into a line with his hands, then spawned another glowy white paper screen. Soon, a bunch of letters appeared, but Stella understood none of them. He tapped at the paper, which caused the letters to change. He seemed to be reading. "...huh. The report said you understood everything Reira told you."

"Who's Reira?"

"The engineer who fixed you. Remember?"

Stella tried, and failed, not to stare at the man again. She really did. He was insane. "The entity who treated me was an android," she replied.

The man gestured wildly, which made her jump. Again. "Yes! Yes, that's her. Reira. She's the one who found and restored you."

"...and she's an... engineer...?"

"Yes."

"Okay."

"Okay." The man angrily tapped at his white glowy paper. "Never mind, she clearly didn't tell you jackshit. I'm done."

"What is jackshit?" Asked Stella.

"Jackshit means jackshit. I'm done. Quitting. F-U-C-K-Y-O-U-R-E-I-R-A. There you go."

"The android who fixed my damaged receptors was highly pleasant," Stella said, not necessarily to defend 'Reira', but because the man looked like he'd die of hypoxia. "She told me I was in good hands now, whatever that means. Are you typing the words as you speak them? On the glo—screen? Because you wrote F-C-K-U instead of... the bad word..."

The man tapped at something near the bottom right corner of the screen, which caused the letters to vanish. He didn't type them again. Instead, he sighed. Heavily. "Sorry," he told her. "None of this is your fault. There must've been some miscommunication earlier. What did Reira tell you, exactly?"

"She—"

"Actually, no, scratch that. Can you please tell me exactly what happened between the time you woke up, and the time you arrived at this office? So we can be on the same page?"

"In the screen?"

"No, it's an... it's an idiom. Just tell me what happened."

"I will," said Stella. "While I recount my tale, I suggest consuming the beverage you offered me earlier. It might help lower your blood pressure."

The man glanced at the teacup on the table with what was either disgust, despair, extreme hatred, or happiness. It was hard to tell. He took it. He sipped. He put it down. He told her, "Never mind. I'll go grab a beer."

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