Chapter 17: Technicalities [0]
Estelle took a deep breath. "Right..." she murmured, focusing on the terminal before her. Unlike the filaments of the sub-terminal from the Admin Sarcophagus hall's security gate, this interface featured five distinct components arranged in an X formation—one in each corner with one in the center. She had meticulously designed these menus and fonts to align with the Architects' theme, each carrying unique symbols and styles with carefully chosen fonts. Every element held specific meaning within the architects' world and their functions. Yet, as always, the deeper significance behind her creation had grown hazy in her mind.
She couldn't help but notice how criminally similar the terminal was to its inspiration. While her holographic display differed from the mod's physical layout, she had compressed the original mod's ten menus into five. The original arrangement had seemed impractical, especially from an Architect society's perspective. Estelle had designed both the concept art and detailed functionality even before the mod's arrival. Though she had only drawn loose previously until this reimagined design, the parallels were unmistakable. A familiar guilt gnawed at her—that persistent feeling of theft, despite all her excuses.
A low growl caught in her throat as her breathing hitched. "What are they going to do, sue me? File a copyright claim? The mods are usually creative commons anyway..." She sighed. "Still doesn't help... Let's not think about it—it's not like it hasn't happened before."
After two steadying breaths, she forced her attention back to the display. There was more to verify, she reminded herself. She tapped the centerpiece menu, its title displayed in stark text: Matrix Synthesis.
The holographic display burst into motion. The centerpiece dimmed as the top menus slid sideways and the lower ones sank from view. The central panel shifted to a deeper blue, framed by crisp cyan lines that emphasized its image. Estelle's soft gasp caught in her throat. "Yeah... This too. I don't think I've made—oh wait... damn."
Her thoughts scattered as forgotten memories crystallized. The darkened centerpiece transformed into a large window display, revealing a perfect circular shape in the middle. A faded ring encased it, its faint colors linking to smaller boxes and other geometric shapes arranged along its circumference. Tab-like interfaces crowned the top border, displaying various icons and text. Estelle's face contorted as a wave of embarrassment washed over her. Groaning, her gaze drifted to the newly appeared window below, which she remembered: it provided access to every storage location throughout the station. This comprehensive view, topped with additional tabs, maintained the same pale blue tint as the flanking panels.
"Shit!" Estelle cursed, her teeth grinding as heated breath fueled her anger. "Tsk! Tsk!"
Her eyes snapped shut as she massaged the bridge of her nose. "Why did I do this? Why did I make this?" she began, taking long, measured breaths. "I know I'm terrible at making UIs—I always have been. Why didn't I just commission someone instead of creating this shitty-ass design?"
She pinched harder at the bridge of her nose, feeling the ache bore deeper beneath her fingers until her strength gave out and her hand fell away. With a heavy sigh, she opened her eyes to face the creation she wished she had never made.
Her gaze fixed on the holographic monitor—her eyes narrowing as if that alone could transform what she saw. The design appeared far too modern, mimicking her own world's technology rather than achieving the alien, futuristic aesthetic she had aimed for in the Architects' Design Langauge. Estelle couldn't fathom why she had allowed this element to be installed—it looked like an unfinished concept, barely past the initial drafting stage.
Another pinch, another sigh. "Should have..." she murmured, words heavy on her weary lips, "I should have finished it, or never placed it here. I wonder if I can still change it—I definitely want to change it..."
As her thoughts spiraled, her hands drifted to the bottom display, where gray boxes filled with various item images spread across the screen. She recognized them all—spheres in brilliant blue, cubes that appeared like iron or silver, and coiled wires stretching across in the frames—these images. A clear thought emerged from the chaos, spilling from her lips. "Huh? Images? Wait—there's pictures? Huh..."
Estelle swiped upward, and the monitor responded instantly—twenty rows flew past in a blur, only stopping when there was nothing left to show. She jerked back, struck by a sudden realization. "Oh—it's the same... Why? This doesn't make any sense—why is it behaving like some kind of touchscreen? I'm not even sure what alien scrolling would be like... But this? I don’t like it—It's so weird."
A heavy, tired sigh grated her throat. "Well... whatever. I don't care. It's a lost cause—let's move on."
If there was an option to trash this element entirely, Estelle would have done so without hesitation. But neither could tools of godly creation manifest from thin air, nor could her piercing glare force any change. She clicked her tongue, berating her past self—the one who never thought beyond mere 'coolness.' Another click, and her eyes returned to the main display. "But it should... work... if it works as I think it would."
Guided by fragmented memories and her worldbuilder's intuition, Estelle brought her fingers to the main display with unexpected certainty. "I drew out how the functions should work—step by step appearances. If it matches the concept draft, then it should... work."
She positioned her left finger and began writing with her right index: [Status report regarding biological nutrient consumption. Compile reports for farming, energy, and device functionality.]
She ended her writing by lifting her hands from the display. Like before, the written text in the Architect's language began to stretch, its lines wavering as if liquefying, dissolving like ink in clear water. Estelle observed distantly, her mind already racing with new ideas, barely registering the familiar transitions on screen. The background circles faded, replaced by four cycling cubes in their usual animation. After a few seconds, the screen flickered as expected, promising a transition to the report display—but neither report nor new interface materialized.
"Huh?" Estelle startled, her head jerking back. "What—"
Her breathing shortened, heated with frustration as her eyes scanned the displays. The research panel to her right remained unchanged—at least compared to her initial memory of it. A property-tool panel clung to the left side, filled with alternating white and black lines like a spreadsheet table. Meanwhile, the main space, stretching from center to right, remained stubbornly blank. The whole thing screamed 'drawing software' at first glance—and Estelle couldn't deny it. That had been intentional, after all.
The intentions behind her design choices had faded beyond reach, leaving only the hollow recognition that they were deliberate. Estelle rolled her eyes, growing more convinced with each passing second that the device was either malfunctioning or worse—designed for appearance only, without function. That was her greatest doubting fear for this world—all surface, an empty husk of design.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Moving rightward, she encountered more display panels cluttered in chaotic arrangements of boxes and shapes fitted together haphazardly. What caught her attention was the sudden shift in the backdrop—various colored rays projecting the holographic monitors. Realizing she had extended beyond the main terminal, Estelle snapped her head left, finding similarly arranged displays.
The leftward interface was crowded with knobs, sliders, value adjusters, property curve-editors, and small displays showing pixelated numbers, each element sporting its own aesthetic color scheme. Among these panels, one caught her eye—a table-like display similar to the one in the research monitor section. Estelle darted her gaze between them to confirm her observation.
"Hmm," her thoughtful hum transformed into a low groan as she noticed the subtle difference—the left panel brimmed with text while its right counterpart sat empty.
Leaning closer, she studied the barely comprehensible text. "This... should be the processing... basically like a task manager for all the devices..."
Her eyes drifted to the top border, where a semi-circle rose above the display, encircling the words [Nexus Protocol Module]—a name that served only as a label, devoid of deeper meaning. Estelle grumbled, "I think so..."
She spoke absently, trying to recall her concept illustrations, but the images eluded her. "I really think so, I mean—in the mod... Hmm, in the mod, there was also the task manager window that changes priority in crafting, or shows active states and warns about missing materials. All queue tasks are visible on that window."
"Yeah. I think so..." she murmured, verifying her assumption. "It should be—the other one is supposed to be the research queue, if I remember right..."
Glancing between the research monitor and her foggy memories of the mod, the similarities were undeniable—minus the aesthetic differences. She nodded to herself, turning her attention back to the task manager—the Nexus Protocol Module—to check if her task was processing or if some fault needed fixing.
Estelle hovered her fingers above the screen, methodically scanning its contents. The interface mirrored a classic task manager: tables filled the right side, their contents shifting and resorting by the second, while tabs lined the left. With deliberate motion, she scrolled up. The interface responded—and then a flicker caught her eye. Among the row of tabs, an icon pulsed with alternating brightness, its golden backdrop impossible to miss. The tab read [Report], and she stood dumbfounded before gasping, "Oh, so that's where you were."
She tapped the report tab without hesitation, transforming the right side instantly. Several long white rectangles appeared, each encasing lines of thick, bold text. Estelle huffed a sigh, unable to ignore how closely it resembled a modern email interface.
The list entries were marked with circular brackets containing various classification terms: [Report], [Status], [Station], and other variants. Estelle's eyes landed on the topmost entry—presumably the most recent, just like her previous world's interface. Seeing "Report Request" as the first marker confirmed her assumption. She read on: (Report Request) [Consolidated Status Report: Biological Resources & Infrastructure || Req: ID-AC-A001 (E. Nytelles) || Analysis: Core-OS1]
Estelle hummed, relief releasing the tension across her body. Tapping the report, a new holographic display materialized beneath her fingers, prompting her to withdraw them for a better view. The display's strange shape caught her attention—borderless, with a strong blue hue backdrop contrasting sharply against the translucent monitor behind it, guiding her eyes exactly where they needed to go. To her relief, the text in the reports was perfectly readable, unlike the garbled documentation before.
[---]
BIOPROCESSING RESOURCES & INFASTRACTURE REPORT
BIOLOGICAL SYSTEMS DIVISION
Date: 221231.211 (TRIGON STATION Time)
Priority: Standard
Systems Analyst: PITO-HI1
HYDROPONICS SECTION
Operational Status: Limited Function
Active Units: 3/12
* Cultivation Bay A3: Operating at 92% efficiency
* Cultivation Bay A7: Operating at 87% efficiency
* Cultivation Bay B2: Operating at 95% efficiency
Status Note: Nine cultivation bays remain in standby mode. Power allocation reduced to maintenance levels only.
PROTEIN SYNTHESIS FACILITY
Operational Status: Limited Function
* Current Output: 8.4 kg/day (Maximum Capacity: 10.2 kg/day)
* Active Cultivation Tanks: 2/6
* Regeneration Rate: 72 hours per full tissue matrix
* Strain Type: Modified Bovine Pattern-C
* Nutrient Solution Status: 47% degraded
Critical Note: Excess production diverted to Bio-Energy Processing. Current configuration allows for 0.7 kg daily reserve allocation (unmarked in primary logs).
ENERGY SYSTEMS
Bio-Reactor Status: Limited Operation
* Active Units: 1/10
* Dormant Units: 9 (sustained shutdown protocol)
* Current Efficiency: 76%
* Input Processing: 6.8 kg protein/day
* Energy Output: 42.7 kWh/day
* Waste Processing: Sub-optimal
* Filtration System: Operating at 62% capacity
* Organic Matter Buildup: storage waste operational
RESOURCE ALLOCATION ANALYSIS
Current Configuration: Automated Maintenance Mode
* Estimated Sustainable Population: 10 personnel
* Active Resource Loops: 4/16
* Dormant Systems: 12
* Last Manual Maintenance: 1554 years ago
[---]
The cold sliced through her skin, forcing a shiver from her body and a sharp exhale from her lips. Estelle hugged herself tight, hands moving frantically against her arms, but her attention remained locked on the display as pieces clicked into place. "Food shouldn't be an issue then, if I'm reading this right..." she mused, tilting her head. "Though what's this Bovine Pattern-C? Regular beef maybe? Or something else entirely—I should probably check that."
The thought commanded her attention, yet her eyes snagged on peculiarities within the text. The Architect's script was familiar enough—she could read it well—but additional elements caught her eye: fine lines threading alongside words, dots marking beginnings and ends. These meant something crucial, she was certain. Some systematic element of their language tickled the back of her mind, years of worldbuilding notes mocking constantly out of reach.
The placement seemed deliberate for a mistake—"Hydroponics section," "active units," "current efficiency"—each term carried these extra markings. Like italics, she thought, or bold text... or maybe hyperlinks, though that felt wrong somehow. Her fingers drifted toward the display, drawn to test her theory. At her touch on "Bovine-C," movement sparked in her peripheral vision. Her head snapped toward the main terminal, watching as its display shifted and changed.