Earlier...
One corner of cloth slipped away, then another, and another. With that, Sam's eye caught sight of a familiar brushed-steel surface and a faux chrome logo which read "Toshiba". She didn't feel the corners of her mouth turn upward; an involuntary response she would not have doubted came from the familiarity she'd built with this specific machine. It seemed like she would just finish setting up the operating system and tweaking preferences, and would have to sacrifice yet another computer to one of countless unknowable factors ranging from compromised security to the need for a hasty hack-inspired solution to a problem which threatened her freedom or safety. This particular laptop had survived for much longer than the others, but that alone did not account for the feeling. This computer had allowed her to escape from not just one group of power-hungry criminals, but from her first-ever alien captors.
Her hand stalled within a fraction of an inch from the latch which kept the display closed when not in use. A terrible thought clawed its way to the surface of her mind, and she carefully withdrew from the computer altogether. Sam's ability was, at times, unpredictable. Furthermore, it seemed to frequently trigger itself upon physical contact with new technologies, or even unfamiliar configurations of components she already knew. Without more information on the strange metallic liquid from that downed fighter, how could she risk making physical contact with any device it had come into contact with?
"Gloves," she told herself firmly, as if scolding a metal shop student who'd forgotten to put on safety glasses. "No unnecessary risks, here."
She resolved to slink out of her room and retrieve...what, exactly? Her shock gloves had been involuntarily relocated by "doctor" Minder, whom Sam still was not certain about, and who would certainly be asleep by now. Even if she'd been able to keep them, the gloves had no fingertips. Sam often cut off the tips of all her gloves, to preserve the mobility and dexterity needed to operate keyboards and other tools which required fine motor control. Even as she cracked the door to investigate the hall, she mentally kicked herself for not keeping at least one pair of gloves on-hand which had not been compromised.
The only option, she decided, was to determine whether any other area of the house might have some gloves available for use. Her first thought was of the kitchen, but as the stairs came into view, Sam recognized the general layout of a laundry room. Many people kept cleaning supplies in rooms like those, so it was worth a shot.
"They did in the facility, anyway..." Sam scowled, noting that some of her best ideas came from bad memories. It wasn't enough they'd taken away her formative years; now they couldn't even let her have the credit for her own genius. She swiped a pair of latex cleaning gloves from the laundry room and retreated back to her quarters.
Now," she mused, dropping into a cross-legged position in front of the damaged computer. "Let's take a peek under the hood."
She flipped open the display and checked the keyboard for damage. Everything appeared intact, but the power button did nothing. She rotated the device, inspecting every seam, until she settled on the exhaust vent for the CPU fan. The plastic grille covering the fan showed the same metallic goo as the ship. This substance had hardened, but was still tacky when Sam probed it with the tip of her gloved index finger. When she withdrew the fingertip, she noted the substance displayed a peculiar reluctance to let go.
On a hunch, Sam examined the glove at its point of contact. With the naked eye, it was hard to make out anything definite, but the material had definitely lost flexibility at that point; almost as if it had been hardened by some kind of epoxy. She made a mental note to have Nora examine it later, assuming she had access to any kind of powerful microscope. For now, she had to put it out of her mind and continue with her examination. She removed the back cover and hard drive, and went over the motherboard inch-by-inch.
What she saw made the hair on the back of her neck stand. The metallic liquid had entered through the CPU fan vent, but it hadn't stopped there. She saw evidence of movement along the PCB's copper traces, almost as if drawn across the board by capillary action. About ten percent of the board had been compromised by the substance, which appeared to be attempting to coat it completely. She retrieved one of her best jewelers' loupes from her messenger bag and took a closer look. Each and every component the liquid metal had made contact with had been fundamentally altered.
Sam straightened, jaw wide open, and let the loupe fall from her eye. What she saw was...impossible.
It had been hours. Sam paced, pausing occasionally to glare at the defunct computer. Should she risk trying to charge it? Would it work differently, or not at all? If it did do something, would that "something" end up being worth the risk? She tried to stifle a yawn, but lost the battle. Her limbs had a mind of their own, spreading into a luxurious stretch which made her long for the comfort of a soft bed and a warm blanket.
"Yeah, right." She stared at the bed, knowing it wouldn't help. The clock on the night stand read 12:28am. She would try for sleep, but it would not come for at least two or three more hours. It would only end with her staring at the ceiling, when she could be doing more important things than wishful thinking.
Naturally, the insomnia hadn't been the worst part of that deal. She had her suspicions that her ability was partly to blame, but some part of her knew it was more than that. One of the biggest drawbacks to an active imagination, she decided, had to be the fact it would never allow her to forget. It wouldn't be so bad, if those memories had been good ones. They weren't. Every failure, every fear, every dark and well-hidden worry that ever tugged at the back of her conscious mind lived in those hours. Plans, goals, dreams for the future...they all existed for mere seconds before being replaced by every possible thing that may ever go wrong for her.
Noise helped her to sleep, some times. She'd tried white noise machines, but most models were cheap enough that they usually skimped on the audio quality; she could pick out the exact point at which the file looped, which engaged her brain every time. Sam thought the irony a bit sadistic; that the intended client would end up counting the number of loops in a sound file instead of counting sheep. No man-made device helped. It was on those nights that she most missed the rain.
She sat on the bed and tried to imagine the sound of water on her window. The occasional rumble of thunder reminded her of storms, and she closed her eyes and treated herself to some dazzling displays of lightning. Her head descended softly into the pillow and, just for a moment, she could hear the rain again.
"Wait a minute." Sam's eyes shot open. The three moons shining through her window confirmed that, whatever it was she heard, was most definitely not rain. She strained her ears as she went to the window. Again, there was no rain. So, then...what was that sound?
Sam cracked her door again and put her eye through the slim opening. It seemed everyone had either gone down for the night, or was otherwise occupied elsewhere. That tapping sounded closer all the time. She widened the opening and, just as she took a step through, discovered its source.
The red glow of sensor eyes whipped around the banister to face Sam, even as she worked for the words to alert her housemates. The thing never stopped moving for an instant, each of its spherical segments scanning its surroundings in three-hundred-sixty degrees. It maintained a signal lock on her position, even as it set to work on one of the bedroom doors.
"...oh, SHIT!" Sam finally shouted. "What the fuck is that thing?! Wake up! Everybody, wake up!"