Starkind: Defy the Dark

[Female, Space, Raptor, Swan, Cyborg, Prelude, Solo story, Survival, Horror, Sci-fi, Space opera-ish]

She sensed her world was upside-down as anxiety wracked her within, and every unwanted movement felt like prickly raindrops washing uncomfortably over her tender form. She defied the unwelcome stimulus as best she could, trying her best to lay so flush against the cool glass and soft pleather of the door beside her, the small, flocculent girl struggled to hold herself as still and as free from discomfort with all the strength her thin, lanky form could muster.

It was dark, and the backroads were rocky and uneven, but nothing a government-provisioned, grav-dampening SUV couldn’t handily bound and rough over. The young latenid girl resting against the tinted window wouldn’t have appreciated that fact then, but this being a distant memory, an unconscious woman's experience trickled into the innocent girl's perspective of that night. The memory was hazy, and the voice of the human man seated next to her was indistinct, just blahby noise. She cracked open her eyes, blue hemispheres, a youthful snout, and soft, white, chick's down reflecting back at her as she peered through the tint and into the night beyond. She reached for her neck, feeling the satin, pink ribbon wrapped into a bow around her lengthy nape, the one Adam gave her on her last hatchday. She quickly jolted awake when she realized what this was - the first and last time she burned. Terror gripped her, like hands wringing her neck. Looking over to the man, she observed his facial features as little more than squiggly lines, like something from a child’s drawing. She knew who he was, but couldn’t remember his visage. She grabbed fumbly at the handle, jerking it in upward and downward motions, but it didn’t respond to her effort. It couldn’t, because that’s not what happened next. There was a small flash of light and a noise, very faint, like a distant waterfall. Primrose (P-prim... rose? Q-quoi?) panicked and gripped for the man’s shoulder, “Monsieur Criter, Monsieur Criter! Je vous en conjure!” She wanted desperately to warn him of what was coming, but he was unresponsive, his squiggly features seemingly undeterred from something in his hand. The waterfall-sound was outside now. She looked back to the window just as the light she had seen seconds prior crashed with terrible force against the car. Everything went dark for a moment, permitting further analysis of the event.
Quick and clean, little evidence, her adult mind reasoned. Most likely a round of percussion-responsive photons at rest, from an… ELCR-29 from Elcorre Defense Incorporated, a shoulder-fired weapon designed for use against armored vehicles and large machinery. Mark.1s were too volatile and never commissioned, but this was… elegant. She’d never had the pleasure of field-testing one, but she’d seen the devastation such implements left behind when used in crowd control scenarios by terrorists or her fellow No-Listers: nothing but disintegrated infrastructure and fleshy silhouettes, if there were any. An effective tool, for sure. Charred like… like…
O-owie!
She was on her back, looking up at the blue sun as the orbital biome turned to face it, simulating normal daylight. Her body must have been confused, because her lungs expanded and contracted rapidly with her heartbeat, jerking her mouth open and chest up with each up-and-down movement. There were lights, she could see them through… one eye. Red and blue, and she saw a paramedic, raptorid in form like her, rush over to her side, fall to a knee, and stare down, horror in his eyes. She could read his maw, first asking a question, and then something about God. Things sped up, and she saw the man, and others after, look down at her. She saw a human police officer turn around to wretch, maybe seconds or… hours later. Why weren’t they helping her? There was a little movement. *I’m being moved to a stretcher now, I remember this… oh.* Her head rolled over her right shoulder, allowing her a look from her only remaining eye at what had happened to her. There wasn’t anything left of that side of her body, save a tiny patch of charred, pink ribbon, soaked black with an ink synthesized from her blood and charred flesh. Her head shuffled through the dirt and gravel where her shoulder should have been. Her vitality leaked from her lost places, under her snout, out onto the ground around her in a tiny pool of silky, vomit-inducing crimson.
*This is a nightmare.*
*I-i-i want to wake up.*
*Please, God, please let me wake UP!*
She screamed as she fell from her body through the ground, back into the present, cold and darkness overtaking her.
---
Cygnine gasped, lurching as she woke from a medically induced coma. The air that filled her lungs felt sharp and frigid – but more pointedly, thin, a detail which alerted her to the gravity of her situation. It agitated her lungs, inducing a painful coughing fit, and she spluttered dryly as she attempted to roll over. Her body felt weak and achy at every joint, but had little trouble summoning the strength to shiver and tremble as the cold surface of the pleather cot beneath stung her wherever it met with her bare wrist, where her plumage didn’t extend to protect her scaly flesh.
She couldn’t roll over. Panic surged blood into her head, and she noted the unnaturally oppressive presence of adrenaline coursing through her; her synthetic kidneys had diffused a large volume of it through her blood and into her heart in one final effort to prevent death, just as eengineered. Doing so may have preserved her life a moment longer, but she in no way welcomed the stimulus, which conpounded the ache and acidic burning she felt, at once, in her gut. She grunted, rocking her body, and noticed her right arm was unresponsive. She was certain that, could she see at all, her right eye would be blind. She kicked her left leg out and thrashed her tail against the concave interior of what she tactilely recognized as her sick bay’s only automated medical bench. Her right leg was equally unresponsive. “Merde,” she muttered shakily – if her prosthetic limbs were dead, her organs, including her heart, would fail next. They ran on the puissant basal body heat she was cellularly modified to produce and tolerate.

Cygnine was dying, and the terror of it threatened to burst out of her chest at any moment; she could feel a dull ache creep up her left arm as her heart fought, beyond its natural limits, to keep her lucid and thinking. If she didn’t succumb to hypothermia and thinning air, her synthetic organs would panic her to death in short order. The tightness in her chest and thrumming she could feel in her kidneys as they synchronized with her heartbeat ensured that her environmental predicament was a secondary concern to her biological dilemma. Her stomach returned to that night, tumbling over and over painfully.

She swallowed hard and screwed her eyes shut, not that she could see in the pitch-black room around her. Nothing was visible, not one delicate instrument or dangling robotic arm, obstacles she knew were scattered around the sick bay. She needed to calm her mind and focus, to quiet her mental turmoil, and envision the room. She knew what she needed and where she could find it in the room. Thermotenin+, or “thermo”—she could find it in the emergency dispensary, roughly six meters’ distance from here. It might even still have power if its organic batteries were unaffected by electromagnetic radiation, though E.Disps usually operate on mechanical comp—
She blinked rapidly, shakily raising her snout at that thought. Electromagnetic radiation? Had that caused this? Cygnine couldn’t remember. Not everything, anyway. Not a problem right now—thermo, dispenser, left side aching, organs shutting down. Nausea.
Something flashed in her mind and imposed itself over her vision, exacerbated by the backdrop of oppressive darkness that enveloped her—black, sticky goo, flooding her… something. It smelled sweet, a diminutive quality overshadowed by its acrid taste, like liquid silicon and burnt iron. She nearly retched at the… memory. Not her childhood memory, which she was sure she had ordered her AI to suppress, but of whatever had happened leading up to this. More nausea. No, no, focus. That isn’t here right now, now is NOW.

She felt around behind her, fumbling for a bearing, back to the smooth, cold, concave surface of the wall behind the medical bed. The wall behind the bench was an aperture equipped with powerful sensors and fine robotic arms, designed to autonomously diagnose ailments and injuries through x-rays, MRIs, and full-body scans. The glass paneling chilled the tips of her fingers. The sick bay in its entirety could do everything short of cure cancer, not that her line of work called for it. It could operate on most anything its space accommodated, though Cygnine never found much use for it beyond the occasional extraction of foreign objects, like shrapnel or bullets. Her talons served her well enough in the field whenever she needed to pluck foreign objects out of her body, and a little nanite-thick “Chrome Mist” sealed wounds in a pinch. Still, it made a difference when something lodged itself within an organ or too close to her spine. She was dull to most physical pain and trauma, a quality she would appreciate were she fully aware of how critical her condition was.

She found purchase on the shelf above her as she slid her fingers around back and forth. She carefully swung her left leg around, feeling with her toe-claw for clearance as she lowered her foot toward the ground. There it was, as frigid and sharp against her large, exposed toe as the bench beneath her. She flipped her tail around quickly, intent on carrying her weight off and attempting to grab ahold of the operating machine she knew was overhead. She felt an arm and pulled herself toward it, attempting to maintain her balance as her hand slid down the instrument. This would be easy if her right eye were funct—“AGHHHSS,” she hissed, realizing too late the robotic arm she had gripped ended with a surgical blade, razor-sharp and unexpectedly deployed.

She fell forward, attempting to keep as far away from the machine overhead as possible. She felt the buttery edge of a scalpel nick her shoulder as she tumbled, her impact with the floor agitating her still-tender viscera. Clenching her left hand tightly, she could feel her blood run down her arm, likely staining the pearlescent feathers of her elbow a deep, inky crimson, before freezing. How cold had it become?! She clenched her teeth, screwing her eyes shut as she attempted again, futilely, to will the cybernetic limbs of her right side to life, cursing at THEIR failure. Frustration mounting, she inhaled and exhaled raggedly through her sharp teeth, fighting the pain in her belly and upper body that made her increasingly nauseous. She must not have recovered fully from whatever incident knocked out the power. The chandelier of certain death dangling above her wouldn’t be deployed if the room weren’t operating when her ship failed. She huffed as she tried to wiggle her right toes, maybe twitch a finger. *Nothing, dummy.* She alarmed at how cool the blood dripping down her palm and arm had felt before succumbing to the envrionment. Cygnine lifted her tail and wiggled her hips upward, without any help from the dead-weight attached to her at the femur. Grunting, she maneuvered her left knee under her and rested her weight on it, carefully rising to a kneeling position, balancing some weight on her long, muscular tail to lean back a moment and regain a mental image of her surroundings, which would also be easier if…

She pulled her index finger out of the dark, gooey mess her palm had become as the blood coagulated and—and… it was gritty, too. Beginning to freeze despite her grip. She felt at a point at the back of her head to ensure her port was undamaged. She felt the small opening intact and as far as she could feel, not leaking any fluid that would indicate brain damage. She focused a moment, willing an event within her. Seconds later, she laughed weakly as a welcome image imposed itself over the back of her eyelid. Diagnostic information and data came into view as the words BOOT IN PROGRESS – STAND BY appeared in the darkness. No more guesswork would be needed, she could pull up a waypoint that would guide her—BOOT FAILED, DAMAGE DETECTED. *Non, no, no, no…* BOOT CANNOT BE COMPLETED WITHOUT CORE SUPERVISION. “NON!” Cygnine seethed and clamped down on the inside of her cheek in anger. The sharp taste of iron bubbled over her tapered tongue. “LANCE!” she yelled into the cold darkness, knowing there would be no response. “LAAAAAANCE,” she cried out one last time, cognizant of how futile it was. She called the prompt again: PLEASE CONTACT A NEURAL GUIDE FOR ASSIS—and dismissed it once more before resigning herself to the solace of step one. She inhaled and exhaled sharply, only stopping when she remembered that there was nothing cycling oxygen into the medical room; she couldn’t make out any active life support systems amidst the grave-like silence and persistent ringing of tinnitus. Time was running out.

“Okay,” she whispered softly to herself. “That was just an unfortunate distraction. You know what to do.”
She opened her eyes and repeated her mantra, “You know what to do…”
Bearings. She pointed to the medical machine above her and noted the bench to her right. In front of her would be the door to the hallway outside. “Shut tight,” she mused aloud. She’d need to get some heat into her body to wake up her limbs and pry it open. *Not a problem when you’re whole and can normally bench a half ton.* She reached around her front for her left arm, taking hold of it and feeling its smooth contours as she manually worked its mechanical fingers. She noted the flakey slush in her hand—the adrenaline won’t sustain her for long, she could feel the cold gnawing at her knee and joints. “Ock-kay,” she whispered through chattering teeth as she leaned forward and grabbed for the floor with her hand, not wincing when her wound throbbed and began to ooze through the coagulated slush that fell off her palm. “Bien, bien,” she said, what little warmth her blood held offering some macabre sense of comfort. If she could bleed, she wouldn’t freeze to death, she reasoned. Yet.

With the door ahead and to her left, the E.Disp unit would be in deployed section of the wall to the right of it, just a few feet ahead of her. She leaned forward as though preparing for a sprint and, lifting herself with her left knee, slowly crawled over toward the wall, dragging her right leg behind her.

Hobbling along the floor, Cygnine pulled forth her body with her left arm, carefully lifting her knee and resting her weight on it while counterbalancing the dead weight of her right arm and leg with help from her weighty tail. She weaved her long neck in the direction opposite her tail, mimicking a serpentine movement from her snout down along her spine, and back to the tip of her tail as she progressed. The effort tested her stamina far more than she had anticipated, but her circumstances were beyond normal. She couldn’t see through the veil of darkness, so she opted to keep pulling herself forward until—“Oomph!”

As she scooched forward, her snout lunged into a solid barrier and slid downward, pulling her head forward and into the wall. It wasn’t entirely painful, but the throbbing and dull headache she suddenly incurred reminded her of the caveat her neural network interface prompted moments earlier. She could feel a slight trickling of blood drip from her nose as she turned around to sit with her back against the wall. Sighing raggedly, Cygnine carefully rested her neck and head against the wall and lifted her taloned hand to her nose to wipe away the cooling blood.

“Merde,” she cursed as she looked toward her hand in the dark and shook the lukewarm fluid from the back of her hand and onto the floor. “Trouvé des dommages.”

Cygnine wasn’t aware that she had sustained any brain injuries, but however substantial they were, the nanites appeared to have taken care of it. She spat and blew the blood out of her nostrils with a burst, splattering some upon floor in places imperceptible to her. The nanites had taken care of MOST of the damage… her thoughts unintentionally recalled the neural GI’s prompt into view again and scrolling text once more imposed over her vision, beginning with _WARNING!_ before she interrupted it in a fit, waving it away in broad, exaggerated motions. “Ugh, non! Casse-toi!”

She swallowed dryly and caught her breath a moment before reaching over her shoulder and sliding her dusky palm along the wall, feeling for the edge of an access panel. She looked ahead and attempted to visualize her path, just to ensure she was where she wanted to be. She was about to move before her talon dipped into a seam. This was it! “H-hah,” she chuckled nervously and turned to face the wall, attempting to hook what talons she could before using what leverage she had to attempt to force it open. Comfortable with the purchase she had, she pulled back with as much weight as she could muster without losing balance. Grunting, she strained with it, repeatedly jerking back, tightening her grip all the while and feeling her talons slip out of the seam. Of course this would fail, too. Pulling her fingertips out of the seam, Cygnine slammed her head against the wall, resignation slipping in with the quickening of her pulse. It was supposed to have a manual release mechanism for situations like—her train of thought paused as the panel pressed inward and rewarded her frustration with an audible click.

Gasping through her teeth, she pulled away from the wall as the emergency dispensary noisily twisted around from out of its dock, loud knocking and whirring gears accompanying the sounds of non-electrical power components buzzing to life. It emitted heat in response to the freezing environment and Cygnine scooched closer, resting her left arm and upper body on the new table it created so as to take in as much of the very welcome environmental conditioning as she could. Dull light quickly brightened from within the machine too quickly for her eyes to adjust, compelling her to screw her eyes shut and twist her gaze away as her eyes adjusted, still too dry to make tears.
It came to a halt just as it announced itself, “GREETINGS! THANK YOU FOR CHOOSING THE RAPID RESPONSE EMERGENCY UNIT FROM NANAND TECH. I SEE THIS IS YOUR FIRST TIME ACTIVATING YOUR NEW UNIT, MODEL NUMBER NNT-5X99. FOR A QUICK BRIEFING OF FEATURES, PLEASE SA—”
“I don’t have time for this!” She sneered, her vision coming back into focus. “I need thermotenin-PLUS, thermo, now!”
“APOLOGIES, MISS—THERMOTENIN+ IS A HEAVILY REGULATED SUBSTANCE UNDER THE--”

“Exotic Substances Control and Utilities Act of 4170; I am Cygnine LaBlanc, CAPTAIN Cygnine LaBlanc, YOUR operator!” she barked and pounded her fist, losing balance for a moment and shifting unsteadily. U-under Provision 192, dash,” her head pounding by this point, Cygnine cut herself short as desperation crept in; she hoisted herself up and held her eye open directly in front of the unit’s scanner. As much as she loved quoting legalese that entitled her to authority within all territorial satellites in deep space, her patience and time were both waning. The light that now illuminated her immediate area revealed that her vision was blurring, and her senses were dulling, indicating she was on the cusp of cardiac failure. Darkness crept back in as the flow of adrenaline was slowing, and the biting cold resumed its assault upon her joints. Her jaw clenching shut and chattering painfully, she ordered through clattering teeth, “Sss-s-scan mmm-my retina, identify mm-m-me! I mmmn-n-need uh-aaAALL of… o-of-f-fff…”

“Fff-f-f—fff-th… Th…” she could feel it now, the crowning of her final breath. She’d felt many things in her lifetime as both an interstellar patrol officer and a No-Lister. Excitement, regret, the feeling of success, and self-loathing at times, for her unbidden fealty to her country and the duty foisted upon her as a girl. Through so much fire, killing and struggling, this is how she would die: alone in the dark without an enemy to fight. *A space popsicle.* Or maybe not; her eye fluttered as a thin beam swept over it, briefly disrupting a thin layer of membrane on the cusp of freezing.

“IDENTIFIED. AT ONCE, CAPTAIN,” the machine acquiesced in its unconcerned, bubbly tone as, at once, a seal spun and clicked, opening a new compartment that revealed a gun-shaped injector, the long ampoule at the end of it filling with an orange, glowing fluid. Being that it was to the right, Cygnine reached and grabbed for it, at once pulling it from its dock and falling over onto her back. Wide-eyed and exasperating, she clutched it abreast while reaching for her right arm and, clawing at her wrist, found her increasingly limited range of movement prevented her finding the port there. Rather than continue her blind ministrations with her right arm, she sat up and, upon locating a concealed slot on her lame right knee, plunged the end of the injector into it, releasing its glowing payload. She resealed the intake, rocking backward and forward to flex her prosthetic leg, her intent to prime the liquid and circulate it into her bloodstream. A sharp sensation tracked up her hip and into her abdomen; as the thermo reacted with the iron in her blood, a subcutaneous trail of dim orange traced along the few unfeathered parts of her body where her dusky flesh and scales were exposed. She held open her left palm and rejoiced as her veins glowed a dim orange from within, at once slaking the stiffness and bitter cold in her fingers and joints. She looked to her right arm and willed her fingers to move. Sensation returned slowly at first to her cybernetic limbs—her toes wiggled, her sickled talon rapped metallically against the floor, weakly and then stronger with each flexing, and her fingers fidgeted. She lifted her arm to her face as the prickly sensation entered her long neck and head shortly after, warming her to the tip of her snout, and slowly awakened her right eye. Cygnine’s organs absorbed the heat the chemical created within, converting it to energy that invigorated her. It felt warm and pleasant, pointedly juxtaposing the discomfort caused by her injuries. She tilted her head back against the wall and pondered her next step.

“CAPTAIN, YOU AREN’T EXPERIENCING VERTIGO OR TROUBLE SWALLOWING, ARE YOU?”
Cygnine’s eyes remained closed as she continued flexing her right extremities and pumped her elbow. She sighed, rolling her eyes under her eyelids. “No.”

“WITH RESPECT TO THE CHEMICAL AGENT YOU USED, ARE YOU NOTICING ANY CHANGES IN HEART RHYTHM? PERHAPS INDIGESTION?”
“No.”

“ANY NAUSEA, OR VIOLENT DIARRHEA? HAVE YOU NOTICED ANY ACUTE TISSUE NECROSIS, OR BLOOD POOLING WITHIN OR AROUND YOUR JOINTS?”
Cygnine huffed through gritted teeth. “Ugh. No.”

“UNFORTUNATELY, I LACK THE SECURITY CLEARANCE TO INQUIRE FURTHER DUE TO---classified---THIS MAY IMPAIR MY DIAGNOSTIC FEATURES GOING FORWARD. WOULD YOU L-“

Cygnine opened her eyes. “No. AI, identify your make, manufacture and feature-table, uh,” she hesitated for a moment and squinted, “s’il vous plait.”

“WHY, OF COURSE! I AM EDNA, YOUR EMERGENCY DISPENSARY NAVIGATIONAL ASSISTANT, BROUGHT TO YOU BY—”

Cygnine sniggered. “Edna, censor ‘Nanand Tech,’ code N-1… eh, for gross indecency.”

“COMMAND RECEIVED! BROUGHT TO YOU BY—restricted under order n-dash-one—OH MY.“

“Heehee…” Cygnine looked thoughtfully at the injector in her hands, toying with it and rolling it around between her fingers. She looked back to the infirmary and darted her gaze around before carefully tossing the injector toward the end opposite her. She studied the way it tumbled and rotated as it traveled through the air before tapping against the wall and falling listlessly to the floor.
“I didn’t, mmph-uh,” she groaned, rising to her knees and propping up on Edna’s table before dusting off her feathered thighs, noticing for the first time she was only in her underwear. “I didn’t notice it earlier. No wonder moving across the floor was so difficult. Edna, measure the gravity.”

“I LACK THE INSTRUMENTATION TO PROVIDE A SCIENTIFIC MEASUREMENT, HOW—”
“Of course!”

“HOWEVER, I ESTIMATE THAT IT IS ROUGHLY ONE FIFTH THAT ON PROXIMA. CAPTAIN, IF I MIGHT ASK THAT THE MEDICAL TOOL BE REINSERT--”
“So the gravity is too strong for deep space or an asteroid’s surface, but too weak to be anything larger than a dwarf planet. Thank you Edna, that’s actually very helpful. I,” Cygnine relented momentarily before lifting herself up and moving to retrieve the injector, “I apologize. For my demeanor.”

“THERE’S NO NEED TO APOLOGIZE, CAPTAIN. THOUGH OUR BRILLIANT ENGINEERS AT—restricted under order n-dash-one—HAVE INCLUDED A NUMBER OF EXTENSIVE THERAPY ROUTINES IN MY LIBRARY, SO MY FEATURESET DOESN’T INCLUDE AN EMOTIONAL RESPONSE PROTOCOL. YOUR MENTAL HEALTH IS VALUABLE TO—restricted under order n-dash-one—AND--”

Cygnine’s visage cracked into a weary smirk at the AI’s impaired promotional efforts. “That’s all Edna, merci.”

Though she was back on her feet, her body felt sore at every joint, each movement shooting pain throughout her nervous system. As she shambled over to the injector, she tested her neural HUD again to no avail as the same warning flashed before her eyes. There was reasoning behind her reconciliation with the dispensary’s AI—a feature indicated by its name.

Cygnine gripped her knee and groaned as she knelt down to pick up the medical tool she’d thrown a moment beforehand. “Edna, about your,” she said, hissing as she rose to her feet again, “y-your featureset. Does it include a Neural Communications Module of some kind? Can I sync with you?” she inquired, tapping at the back of her head.

“INDEED I DO, CAPTAIN! Nnn—MY MANUFACTURER—HAS PERFECTED A PROPRIETARY NCM THAT WILL ALLOW FOR MORE CONTINUOUS AND STREAMLINED COMMUNICATION BETWEEN YOU AND THE DISPENSARY, AS WELL AS ENABLE MORE ADVANCED DIAGNOSTIC FEATURES.”

“C’est bien, Edna. And are you equipped with medical nanites? Can you finish my treatment?” Cygnine placed the injector back into its dock.

“MY FACILITIES ARE LIMITED WITHOUT A STEADY SUPPLY OF RAW MATERIALS, BUT I MAY BE ABLE TO COMMUNICATE WITH THE DORMANT MACHINES CURRENTLY IN YOUR BODY.”

A small, circular hub twisted its way out of the machine and fanned open upon coming to a stop, revealing a grey, glowing, pill-shaped object at its center. Gingerly plucking it from its center, Cygnine looked it over, noting its tiny Nanand Technologies branding and an EDNA-009-301 model number.

Reaching behind her head, Cygnine twisted the small port on the back of her head, revealing a similar, red object attached to a polymer piton cable and jack, which she removed and affixed to the EDNA model before inserting it into the same port. She fingered the red, pill-shaped object, looking down at wording upon it that read LANCE-001 as new text imposed over her vision, indicating that Edna was syncing successfully with her neural implant.

“I can keep that safe for you and attempt to communicate with its AI if you like, Captain,” Edna chirped, its vocal simulation now much clearer… and pleasant. Edna was now directly learning from Cygnine’s memories, improving upon its capacity for speech. The young woman acquiesced and placed LANCE within the hub, swallowing nervously as it returned to its hidden compartment within the dispensary. She’d never parted from him before, but she concealed her discomfort and uncertainty.

“I am reading that there has been significant damage to the region of your brain where your neural processing implant allocates data storage. Something gravely disrupted your brain’s natural processes—I’m detecting similar damage to tissues throughout your body. The nanites began the work of repairing and recreating the damaged tissues with your memories intact, perhaps under your LANCE unit’s direct manipulation. I can revive them and carry on where it left off. If you’ll—”

“Revive them now and finish repairing my body, Edna.”

“Captain, with the utmost respect, I strongly recommend that we prep for this procedure first with sedatives and pain killers. I also recommend collecting the materials for a defibrillation drone. I can’t pause this process once it starts, and the stress it will create may prove fatal, which would make your friends at Na—m-my manufacturer very sad. Not me, of course, because I’m supposed to be incapable of sadness. It won’t just be very painful, you may die. Allow me some time to synthesize—”

“I don’t have them on hand and we’re running out of time. Je suis grande fillé, Edna; I can handle it. What is the oxygen level?”
“It’s roughly 24% of your ship’s normal capacity and holding. That should last four days and thirteen hours. I’ll scrub the interior atmosphere for resources to improve on the quantity and quality of breathable air for you, Captain. Please reconsi—”
“This is now a direct order. Activate the nanites and finish the job. Now!”

“I—y-yes, Captain. Just a moment…”

Cygnine spun around and fell with her back flush against the wall, sliding down to the floor as she shifted around in place to get comfortable, and rested one extended arm on her knee. She inhaled deeply and stretched all twenty inches of her neck upward, waiting for the procedure to begin. It was then she realized she’d forgotten something important: how long would this be, and how long would her supply of thermo last?

“Edna, wait, one last thing!” she said pointing and turning her gaze toward the dispensary as though she were speaking with a physical manifestation of the AI in her brain. “If at ALL possible, I need you to make more therm—GCK!”

Every muscle in her body cramped at once painfully, instantly impairing her movement.  The air felt as though it had been pressed out of her lungs by some unfathomable weight. “GLCK—HHACKK,” Cygnine attempted to form words, to scream, but her throat spasmed and struggled, fighting against her. She fell to the floor on her back and stared at her left arm as what looked like snakes, hard, sharp, burning tendrils, writhed and wriggled beneath her flesh. She could feel the same excruciating sensations throughout her body as the nanites were revived, operated by the Emergency Dispensary Neural Assistant. Cygnine attempted to lift her arm to her neck, but it remained locked painfully at her side. She shakily craned her head forward so that her snout rested on her chest between her breasts, staring wild-eyed at a sight that seared through her eyes and forever burned itself into her mind: Worm-liked wriggling and movement from every point of her body, as though she had become infested with millions of tiny parasites, all clawing and biting their way out of her body. Her eyes went wide, tears streaming from them, matting her feathers. Ruddy saliva flowed from the corners of her mouth and nostrils, drenching her plain tank top. She felt something in her throat and quickly threw her head to her side before vomiting and hacking. Black bile poured from her mouth and fell through the infirmary’s grated floor where it both flowed and rolled, dense and gooey toward the drainage vent. “Ghhug… Uuuhh... HrrghGLUGH… KHCK!” Cygnine rasped and wheezed, gacked and spluttered between violent purges, before finally, her face mussed by blood, sweat, dry tears, and inky ichor, she screamed toward the ceiling in a way that ended as a high-pitched squawk before she mercifully blacked out.

“I’m sorry, Captain—I’ll try to expedite the surgery! Just… just a few hours!”
The AI paused its speech as Cygnine's body writhed and wiggled about on the floor.
“Captain? Are..? My new code is really confusing things…”

“Please hang in there… m-my, um, manufacturer would greatly appreciate your feedback!”

Testay