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> Vin, Sophia - Aboard the MOSThe next morning – a word carrying little meaning in a place with no natural day-night cycle – Vin checked out of his cheap lodgings and stepped out into the Haven district’s bustling corridor-streets, wheeling a metal box with all that he owned behind him. The zone, which by virtue of housing the docking bays handled all incoming and outgoing traffic, was cut off from the rest of MOS by customs, but despite the barrier it managed to sustain a teeming life of its own. Busy workers wheeled goods to and from their ships, exotic smells wafted from food booths where hawkers peddled fresh-cooked meals, and drunks stumbled past in search of a place to lie down – or perhaps another drink. Neon lights and adverts covered every wall, enticing passers-by with promises of alcohol, entertainment, a “massage”, or perhaps a dubious curio allegedly from Derelict’s surface. All this was made possible by the steady influx of travelers and freighters, their crews weary and looking for diversion after weeks aboard their cramped ships.
As Vin made his way past the throngs of transients amidst the MOS Customs area, his augmented eye caught the fleeting impression of a familiar color: a gleaming, ghostly white. Hard to mistake for anyone else, he could not help but recognize the woman who had made such an unlikeable impression on him the day before, and whom was also assigned to be his physician for the coming weeks, perhaps even months. Flanked by a pair of tracked transportation units, each burdened with a multitude of sturdy metal boxes, she was being accosted by a pair of customs officers who appeared rather interested in her cargo. Facing them with crossed arms, Vin did not need to see her face to know that she was less than satisfied with their treatment of her.
He came to a stop behind her, locked the wheels on his box, and used it as a makeshift chair. White-hairs seemed busy enough, and he didn’t particularly want to get dragged into her argument. He could wait, at least for a little while. Her papers should be fine, she’d get through eventually. His hand was forced, though, when she glanced over her shoulder at him.
“Morning,” he greeted her without much enthusiasm, trailing off into a lazy yawn. His cover had been blown.
“Don’t yawn in people’s faces,” Sophia scoffed at him. Try as she might, it was impossible to withhold her comment. After all, she had been taught this when she was a child no more than six years old. Mankind’s etiquette really was on the decline, that much was certain. “Would you care to explain to this lovely gentleman that I’m registered with Origin? It doesn’t show up on the ID scan and I am this close to giving him my lawyer’s contact and trespassing anyway.”
“Yeah, yeah, sorry,” he apologized from his perch, not sounding very apologetic at all. “D’Agenais gave you a slate yesterday, it should be on that.”
“I’m supposed to present a nondescript slate as opposed to my ID?” she sounded incredulous. Fuming, pursing her lips, she fumbled in her light beige coat’s pockets until she fished out the object in question. “Check this then and stop wasting my time,” she spat at the officer in front of her, pushing the data slate towards him. Much like Vin had suspected, it only took the man a moment before he was able to confirm her status and its associated authorizations. Much unlike Vin had expected, this only worsened her mood.
This time, she restrained herself and refused to comment as she snatched the data slate from the uncertain officer’s hands. “Have a good day, m’am,” he bid her, even though she was already busy directing her two robots forward. The relief was obvious on his and his partner’s faces as they let her pass and directed their attention to Vin. Work protocol alone held him back from saying ‘Thank you’.
“Moody, isn’t she,” Vin mumbled as he presented ID and slate, a familiar procedure for one as well travelled as he. “Here. Need anything else?”
They didn’t; upon making sure his papers were in order, Vin was let through without much hassle. He grabbed his stuff and followed after Sophia, maintaining just enough distance to avoid having to make conversation. She seemed to be in a foul mood, and he had a feeling saying anything to her would just make it fouler.
Separated by the pretense of being strangers, they nonetheless took the same turns at each intersection, their silent distance to each other becoming more stilted and awkward with every rounded corner as the crowds dispersed. Being in the lead, Sophia appeared to know the station well at a glance, never looking at a map to know which way to go. Observing her from behind – for a lack of other things to do – he eventually realized that she wasn’t leading the way at all, and was instead following the directions her droids were navigating towards. Besides the odd, sideways glance at her large cargo, their journey was otherwise uneventful. That was, until they reached an elevator. After having navigated her two robots inside and placing herself next to them, she stared at Vin through narrowed eyes.
“I’m not infected, you know.”
“You seemed a bit upset,” he shrugged and flashed her a rueful smile. “Thought I’d let you simmer down for a bit.”
“So you prefer avoiding conflict,” she dryly noted, perhaps to herself, perhaps towards him. Then, pulling out her note block from inside her coat, she continued: “Vincent Marlowe, correct? Robotics expert.” She was skimming over her notes on the man and already began putting down her pen to add additional comments. “I am Sophia Arietta Hagiotheodorites; you may call me Sophia.” Even as she looked him squarely in the eyes, her note-taking continued; was she even writing anything coherent?
“Software,” he corrected her, and continued: “So, you’re the medical officer, huh? Let’s hope we won’t end up needing your services.”
“Name’s Vin,” he added, smiling, and held out his hand. “Though you already knew that.”
“Hmpf,” she sneered with an arrogant smile, “You’re mistaken if you think of me as a mere nurse. Did you know I made my doctorate in gene sequencing? I’ve been called a prodigy in the field, in fact, and yours is the once-in-a-lifetime chance to make use of my talents entirely free of charge. Many should hope to be so lucky as to require my services.” Vin’s hand remained awkwardly unshaken.
“Very well, your highness,” he replied dryly and transitioned from attempted handshake into a bow, imbuing the gesture with all the sarcastic theatricality he could muster. “I shall endeavor to get shot at once for the privilege.”
Sophia’s pen abruptly stopped its incessant note-taking and her smile vanished as quickly as it came. “Don’t be an ass, Vincent,” she scolded him sternly. ”I came to Derelict so that I might advance humanity, not to apply band-aids. Surely you can respect that? Do you have a better reason for being here?”
Having seemingly lost the mood for scribbling, she stuffed her paper bloc back into its designated slot inside her coat.
“Your cause is admirable, I’ll give you that,” he shrugged. “I don’t have any high and mighty motives like yours, though. I just follow my whims and take life one step at a time.”
Vin had a hard time believing anyone claiming to be driven by such lofty goals; in his experience, their real reasons were often much more mundane and personal. No one was so pure that they’d give themselves fully to an ideal. Most of all, though, he just thought she sounded way too full of herself to give her the benefit of the doubt.
“One can only hope that your craft is better than your motivation,” Sophia mused dismissively. Then, straightening some loose strains of ashen hair, she continued: “But let’s not get off on a bad foot now. We’re here on a mission, not for pleasure.”
“Fair,” he replied with a disarming half-smile. “Let’s call a truce.”
A gentle beep announced their arrival at the chosen floor, whereupon the elevator doors unceremoniously opened up. Sophia’s transporters immediately seized the lead and rolled out; the irritated doctor followed. Vin struggled for a moment with an uncooperative wheel, but he soon caught up.
“So, anything in particular you’re hoping to learn here?” he asked as he pulled up next to Sophia. “Big hunk of metal seems like it might fall outside the traditional study of genetics.”
The fair-haired doctor only cast a short glance his way. “The machine, yes, but nobody is discarding the possibility that we can find traces of its creators. If xenobiologists are about to get their hands on samples of the first sentient, alien species encountered in human history, I want to be among them. Besides, we find ourselves on the bleeding edge of technology here; what better environment than this to advance my studies in genetic enhancement?”
“I brought my lab with me for exactly this reason,” she added, nodding towards one of her transportation units.
“Finding the creators would be something, all right.” Vin fell quiet, losing himself in thought as they maneuvered through a crowded intersection.
“It’s weird though, isn’t it?” he continued as they emerged on the other side. “People have been at it for two years and they still haven’t found a trace. What happened to them?”
“We lack concrete data to form any sort of speculation,” Sophia shrugged impassionately. “Perhaps they uploaded themselves into a digital consciousness. Or maybe their machine creation wiped them out. It’s even conceivable that there were no organics at all involved in the artifact’s creation. Whether we are about to learn a cautionary tale or not, to know, we must go deeper.”
“We’ll have to rely on one another to accomplish that, I suppose,” she later added after a brief pause. Was that fatigue in her voice, or resignation?
“No other choice, huh,” Vin pretend-sighed through a light-hearted smile. “We sure have it rough.”
The corridors were narrow here, Vin noted, having to fall behind Sophia to let a suit-clad passers-by through. Everything was painted sterile white, uncannily clean and utterly bare save for corporate logos adorning the occasional high-sec door. It was a heavy contrast to the lively passageways they’d walked on their way here, with their neon lights and tacky advertisements and bustling crowds of people from all walks of life. Here, it seemed, walked only corporate suits and drab-clad bureaucrats, their approach betrayed by echoes of hurried steps in hard-soled shoes. It was an oppressive, soulless atmosphere – as if once they donned their uniforms and headed for work, they left themselves at the door. Places like these always made Vin feel ill-at-ease.
He trailed quietly behind Sophia for a while, taking note of a few familiar names along the way: MRS, their metallic colleagues’ overlords; as well as Mercury – which from the pieces Vin could gather, Cass seemed to have a pretty strained relationship with. They passed by a dozen more heavy, uninviting doors, stamped with the names of corporations big and bigger, until they finally came upon the twin offices of Origin and their Stellar Fleet side by side.
