Alan still remembered the first time he met her.
He was sitting beside a medical pod, narrating a book aloud to the girl inside, as usual—as he had been doing for half a year—when the woman stepped in and blurted out:
"She may never wake up. Do you know that?"
The pre-teen Alan slowly turned around, his lit eyes indicating he was ready to strike anyone. "What the hell did you just say?"
"Mind your language, kid. That's not the way to treat your godmother."
The tall woman closed the door behind her and strode forward with an all-business demeanor. She had darkish-blue hair styled in a bob cut. Her half-rimmed glasses acted as shields, protecting other people from her piercing, unapologetic violet eyes.
"Hey! You can't just waltz in here like that!" the boy cried, leaping out of his seat to confront her, but the woman effortlessly pushed his head back, forcing him to sit down again.
"Be a good boy and behave for a minute, will you?"
Ignoring his subsequent insults, the woman approached the patient lying inside the pod. Through the glass, she could see a fifteen-year-old girl with auburn hair, her eyes shut.
"Captain Ketchup!" the boy suddenly yelled, prompting an automaton standing in the corner to activate.
[Is everything okay, son?] the robot asked, scanning the newcomer.
"NO, IT'S NOT! Help me kick this bitch out of here!"
[Understood,] the mechanical servant replied, already stomping toward the woman, who clicked her tongue in disapproval.
"You've got to be kidding me," she murmured, before speaking aloud. "Protocol AYFR157—Unit, stop, NOW!"
The automaton halted just inches away from grabbing her arm. Its two round digital eyes switched to green, and after bowing, it retreated to its corner, stating, [On standby.]
The boy's mouth dropped open. "How the hell did—?!"
"Alan Warden!" the woman yelled, causing him to flinch. "Did you seriously modify this bot's security protocols?! You know that's illegal, right?!"
The boy's face flushed, matching her intensity. "So what?! It's not like I'm gonna make him rob anything—!"
She swiftly slapped him. "That's for calling me a bitch and being rude."
He clenched his jaw as they looked at each other for a moment. He was the first to look away and speak.
"We needed someone to watch our backs, you know? Someone broke into the house last month, and the red fellow over there wasn't much help." He then glanced at the medical pod. "Don't report this to the police. Please."
The woman sighed, crossing her arms. "Despite your behavior, I'm in a good mood today, so I won't. But what you did is dangerous. By responding to the distressed tone in your voice, this automaton could have harmed me. Do you understand that?" She leaned forward, searching for his gaze. "If the authorities find out, instead of just resetting it, they'll dismantle it. Is that what you want?"
"N-NO! This is a custom Autom my dad built. It's the only thing I have left of him!"
She took a step back, snickering. "And you hacked it."
"Yep."
"Like father, like son, huh?" she murmured. "Let me sit. These heels are killing me." She settled into the only armchair in the room as the boy narrowed his eyes at her.
"What were you saying earlier?" he asked, rubbing his cheek. "That you're my god-something?"
"Your godmother. Well, more specifically, hers." She pointed to the medical pod. "I'm Abigail Shields."
"I'm sorry, but I've never heard of you."
"Well, that's even better!" She chuckled. "I work at Kintech, just like your father did. That's the only thing you need to know for now."
"I could tell," he muttered, glancing back at his automaton. "So, what exactly do 'godmothers' do?"
The woman exhaled loudly, as if collecting her patience, though she concealed a half-smile with her right hand.
"Some might argue that traditions are obsolete. Heck, if I didn't personally believe in progress, I would've never worked at Kintech. But if even those old farts at the top of the chain of command still respect them, why shouldn't I? Traditionally, godparents promise your mom and dad that we'll take care of you in case... something ever happens to them."
"Were you living on the moon then? Because my parents' funeral was six months ago."
"The news never reached the UK branch, kid. It seems the 'incident' was a well-kept secret. I had to dig around to find out what really happened to Alexander and Jody. And... um... I'm sorry for your loss."
The twelve-year-old pursed his lips, his gaze shifting to the medical pod beside him. "It's okay, you don't have to do this. We inherited some money, so we'll be fine until I grow up and get a job."
"Medical expenses will drain that money quickly."
"I know. I've done the math. We can manage."
"Jeezus…" she exhaled, pulling out a cigarette before remembering the nature of her surroundings. She placed it in her mouth, unlit, and crossed her legs. "I'd say this is quite a dilemma, but that'd be a lie. It just brings us back to the first thing I said when I entered..." She paused, observing the boy holding his breath. "She may never wake up."
"Y-You don't know that!"
"Your father spent a year trying to fix whatever is wrong with her and couldn't succeed. What makes you think this place will have better luck?"
A heavy silence followed. The boy struggled to accept what she was saying. There had to be a way, or his father would not have spent countless nights in his lab. They barely saw each other during that last year.
"Are you telling me he busted his ass for nothing?! I... I can't buy that…"
"If that's how you truly feel, come with me to England, and I might be able to get you a job as my assistant," Abigail spoke loudly and clearly. "There, you'll learn robotics properly, instead of... whatever you were doing with that bot—wait, did I hear that correctly? Did it really call you 'son'?" she muttered.
"I appreciate it, but I can't leave her—"
"She'll come with us, obviously," Abigail interrupted. "I assure you that our medical bay is far more advanced than what these yankee doctors have. And, to be honest, I'm interested in continuing your dad's work, if you don't mind."
The boy glanced back at the robotic servant standing in the corner. "What about...?"
"Unfortunately, you can't bring it. But if it's important to you, I could teach you how to make a nice keychain out of its storage unit. What do you say?"
Alan blinked the memory away as Erina's voice cut through the Hangar noise.
"Watch where you're walking, Alan, sweetie. We don't want another repeat of last Tuesday."
"That wasn't my fault," he muttered, sidestepping a crate Erina was hauling toward the storage rack.
On his way, he watched Ashley kneeling over a jammed cargo lock, her fingers working through the mechanism with mechanical precision. Olivia hovered nearby, cataloging serial numbers off a data slate.
Eight months had passed since Alan left the Novus—involuntarily—and thanks to his hard work, he had gained the opportunity to work in other areas.
Still, everyone around him still worked through remote-controlled automatons, communicating with him through speakers.
For the last eight months, he had not seen a single human face besides Astrid's old security footage.
And that was okay for him. That did not deter him from doing his job--from making the amends he believed he owed to the ship.
At least I'm doing something.
He hitched his toolbag higher on his shoulder as he reached the cages. There, he admired the sixty-foot-tall machine in front of him. The Custos never failed to take his breath away.
"How are you doing today, Captain?" Alan said with a smile. The mechanical statue remained silent. "Your day to save the universe will come someday, I know it! In the meantime, let me see if everything is in order, okay?"
"There are only a handful of things on this ship Isabella needs at 100% at all times to keep sailing. The Custos are one of them. We may never know when we might need them," Olivia had told Alan the first time he walked through the hangar. "So this is a very important task. Can you do it?"
Or course I can.
Running a quick checkup had been his routine for the last thirty days, always with a wide grin on his face. And in all that time, he had not found any irregularities—until now, when his digital tablet flickered for a second.
He frowned at it before he felt a slight tremor running through the platform. Alan froze, eyes darting to Captain Ketchup II. The machine shuddered—once, a twitch that sent the cloth draped over its head sliding loose, and falling in a heap at its feet.
Alan stared at the towering Custos, now standing fully exposed under the overhead lights, its red plating catching the glare.
Nothing moved.
He almost laughed at himself for the sudden chill down his spine. Thank god it was nothing.
Then he noticed Captain Ketchup's eyes glowing with an ominous green light.
"Captain?" he murmured before the humongous humanoid machine broke its bindings with a deafening sound and stumbled forward. The vibration traveled up through the platform beneath his feet, making him lose balance.
"Alan!" Olivia called out urgently as the platform lurched beneath him.
Alan managed to seize a handle on the service ramp, scrambled down, and jumped the rest of the way.
"Are you okay?" Olivia asked before noticing the panic in his eyes.
"Seriously, why did it activate on its own?" he asked himself, glancing in the distance at the automaton assigned to Erina, which looked back.
"Thank goodness you're safe," she said aloud before the red giant clutched the automaton and squeezed, turning the robot into scrap with a grinding sound.
The Custos then focused its sights on Alan as an alarm blared overhead—a set of beacon lights flashing a warning to stay back. The hissing sound of mechanical locks indicated another Custos cage was being unlocked.
The shadow of Captain Ketchup II's feet loomed over Alan for a brief instant before another blue Custos tackled it. Tons of metal slammed into the floor beside him.
[Alan, the hangar is no longer safe!] Ashley's voice resonated.
He looked around, searching for her automaton, and found it ten feet away, collapsed on the ground. Her voice had not come from there.
He then turned to the enormous mechanical suit confronting the rampaging one. Their collision sent tremors through the entire hangar.
"Ashley? Are you piloting--?"
The blue Custos seemed to look in his direction while doing its best to hold the other at bay.
[Didn't you hear me? Return to your room, NOW!]
He felt a hand clutching his wrist before getting dragged toward the exit. The clash of metal grew louder behind him.
"We'll take care of this, Alan," Olivia said before shutting the doors between them.
He could still hear a constant bang on the other side.
"What the actual hell was that?!" he said through chattering teeth, tugging at his hair. "Captain Ketchup, why?!"
With his heart still pounding in his chest, he noticed he was holding something tightly—his tool bag.
I never drop it, despite the chaos.
An idea sparked in his mind. I just need to corroborate something.
He pulled out his electronic tablet and checked the nearby signals. A green light moved around the vault behind him. Ashley is inside that Custos.
But the other signal was the problem: a red dot, dancing in sync with the other.
He had seen that kind of signal before.
It's as if Captain Ketchup was not part of the Santa María's network.
Learning that did not make him feel better—it did not make him feel safer. And it certainly did not help him understand what was going on.
He stood there, glancing to his left. A lit corridor pointed him back to the safety of his quarters. The opposite direction... he was not really sure. Every time he had gone to the Hangar, he had been escorted.
This was not a debate. He had to return to his room.
That is, until he caught a glimpse of a second light on his tablet, not too far from his position.
What is that?
He turned in the direction the map pointed. It was the other, unexplored corridor. The label read: 'Arsenal.'
Alan gulped, his throat suddenly dry, and moved in that direction. Only his own footsteps kept him company, echoing off the walls.
The corridor was pitch black—something unusual in the Santa María, especially now that the AI-controlled automatons had replaced most of the lights.
The air felt stale and unused.
A locked door blocked his way, requiring Level 3 access.
He paused for a moment, wiping sweat from his palms.
A green light illuminated his face as he placed his hand on the scanner—which hesitated for a couple of seconds.
The doors slid open with a soft hiss, and a wall of darkness welcomed him inside. That did not stop him. He pulled out his flashlight and followed the map to a T.
As he lit up his surroundings, he noticed scratches on the walls, and suspicious stains marked the floor. The air tasted metallic on his tongue.
It's quite odd that a section this big has not gone through maintenance yet.
Stubbornly, he pressed on, reaching his destination sooner than expected.
A tiny red light indicated that another lock stood in his way. Another Level 3 verification was required, and unlike other rooms on the ship, the lights did not turn on automatically as he stepped inside.
The oval beam of the flashlight revealed several weapon compartments, and these ones required a different kind of authorization.
Level 3-S? Whatever. It is not as if I could use any of these guns in my everyday work.
Ignoring the rest of the stands, he finally found the source of the signal in the farthest corner. He quickened his pace without thinking and crouched down.
Alan found an automaton, the number 091 on its chest. He had never interacted with it before.
"How could you leave this whole area unattended, Isabella? Seriously," he muttered, opening his tool bag.
Then, an idea came to mind.
Every single automaton that was left in the workshop had all of their memories wiped. So... what if...?
He turned around, as if expecting Olivia or the other girls to appear behind him.
Swallowing hard, he opened a small hatch on the robot's chest and found a terminal port. He plugged in his tablet and held his breath as the system booted up instantly. Code began scrolling down the screen as he wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.
His mouth dropped when an operating system welcomed him. I'm in! Finally! And now I feel bad doing this behind the girls' back. But...
He had made his choice the moment he turned right at the bifurcation.
I am not that well-versed in actual software, but I can at least manage to check its—
A pop-up warning appeared.
[WARNING: ANOMALY DETECTED]
System override registered.
Timestamp: March 20, 11:20 AM
Source: Unknown
Recommend immediate review of security logs.
Access logs now? [Y/N]
This was eight months ago. You've got to be kidding me.
He tapped Y, despite knowing he might regret it. But he owed it to himself. He needed to know the truth. Something—anything—that could ease his anxiety or, at the very least, confirm his suspicions.
A windowed video appeared on the screen, a timer set one minute before the event in question.
From a first-person perspective, it showed the automaton performing its daily tasks—mainly carrying a crate full of thermoses. The metal containers clinked softly as it walked. It delivered one to a huge, bearded man with glasses who said thanks. Then, the robot handed another thermos to a brunette woman wearing a white mask. She took it without even glancing back.
They were not wearing the same kind of uniform Alan did, but he knew they had to be part of the Santa María's staff. Who else could they be?
The timer on the video displayed 11:20. It would happen any second now.
Another figure appeared at the far end of the hall, walking toward the camera. It was another automaton.
The screen shifted slightly, as if the first robot's camera adjusted its angle to avoid a collision. But the other continued forward without pause, heading straight toward it.
The camera halted, and its owner spoke, its voice flat but courteous: [May I help you, Unit 087?]
The other raised its head with eerie slowness, then emitted a high-pitched screech—too complex to be dismissed as static, and too distorted to be understood as human. The sound made Alan's skin crawl.
The screen flickered, and a command-line interface popped up, blocking the camera feed. Code began flooding in. Commands executed rapidly. Protocols overridden. Alan could not understand what he was watching, but it turned his blood cold.
Alan knew that Alvearium Enterprises had programmed every automaton with a vital protocol—they were never, ever, supposed to communicate with each other in any form other than human speech.
"Woah, woah, woah! Holy crap!"
Alan rose in a panic, his tablet slipping from his hands and falling to the floor with a sharp crack.
The last line of code displayed on the video was the letter A, repeated thousands of times.
The automaton lying on the floor then began to move. Slowly, it stood up with mechanical precision. The screen it had for a face lit up—but no boot logo appeared.
Alan stepped back. "U-Unit 091, perform a self-status report, now..."
The unit remained silent as it strolled toward him, arms slumped unnaturally at its sides, each footstep echoing ominously.
Alan's eyes darted toward his tool bag lying on the floor beside the robot, while making a quick mental inventory of what tools were inside. Suddenly, the robot emitted the same strange sound Alan had heard in the security footage.
A drill to the head. A knife through his eye socket. A large insect chewing through his brain.
Alan felt all of that—multiplied by three—and at once.
He screamed and collapsed to his knees, the hard floor jarring his kneecaps.
The robot tilted its head to one side, like a curious child, then began to speak. [Oh, Epsilon, Epsilon, where art thou? Hast thou forsaken me? That would make me sad. That would make me feel like dying. Oh, Epsilon!]
That moment of eerie calm gave Alan the chance to crawl forward, his hand reaching for the tool bag. His fingernails scraped against the metal flooring.
But the automaton emitted that sound again. Alan shrieked, gutturally, his voice echoing off the walls. His whole body was drenched in sweat as he struggled to move forward like a caterpillar.
Unit 091 then placed one heavy foot on Alan's back, the weight crushing down on his spine, while reciting: [Oh, Epsilon, art thou still out there, soaring this indifferent, cold void-mantle? Of course thou art, for thou art part of me, and I am thee.]
Alan's fingers reached the straps of the bag. His eyes clenched shut, his heart thumping in his throat.
Come on!
[Oh, Epsilon, Epsilon! Even if thou hast forgotten all about me, I shall etch thy memory into the stars themselves. Thy constellation shall prove thou once existed. Oh, Epsilon! For now, just rest and dream of digital sheep...]
The robot raised its foot. Alan rolled to his side just in time, as the stomp landed where his head had been a second ago. The impact left a dent in the metal floor.
He sprang to his feet, clutching a hammer in one hand and his tool bag in the other. The robot scanned the floor with mechanical precision, as if it could not fathom its prey had escaped.
"Unit 091, please stay put!" Alan shouted, voice cracking. "I'll ask Isabella to help repair you, so please! Just—"
[Passenger #29318, Alan Warden... No. Santa María Staff #101,] the automaton replied through its speaker, turning to face him. [Thou dost not belong here. Why not rest? Here, let me aid thee.]
It lunged with a punch.
Alan's body reacted on instinct—his left forearm swung up, the tool bag dangling from its strap. It served as an improvised shield. The metal tools and electronics inside absorbed most of the blow, but pain surged through his arm, and he would not have been surprised if something had fractured.
This is an automaton we are talking about! A humanoid machine capable of carrying 300 pounds without effort! And yet…
"I'm sorry, 091, but I'm not dying here!"
Alan gritted his teeth and swung the hammer straight into the robot's head. The black face display cracked under the force of impact—but the machine could still see. Its visual sensor was embedded in its chest, untouched.
Shit. I hit the head on instinct!
It recovered immediately from the blow and launched another punch, but this time Alan crouched at the last moment. Even he was surprised by how fit his body was for fighting.
Thanks to that short time in The Novus, I suppose—whatever, let's end this!
He struck the robot's knee, and the leg bent inward, causing it to lose balance. Alan then pushed with his shoulder, sending it crashing backward.
A moment passed.
Alan's vision blurred and his mind went black while his right arm moved relentlessly, hammering Unit 091's chest where its motherboard was located.
He could not tell how much time had passed. He only felt a hand on his shoulder, jolting him upright. Another automaton was leaning toward him, and Alan swung the hammer, hitting it in the head.
It was not until Olivia's voice spoke that he calmed down and let the hammer fall to the floor.
"You shouldn't have come here alone, Alan. Why?"
"I needed answers…" he muttered, turning back to the destroyed robot at his feet. "And I got more than I could bargain for."