Chapter 18: Technicalities [1]

The skin stretched taut across muscle and bone, its subtle valleys and ridges catching light in ways both familiar and alien. Tiny pores dotted the surface like perfect circular craters against the pale expanse, while beneath the nearly translucent membrane, a blue vein pulsed with life. All this was captured in a clinical thumbnail within the interface. Though severed from its host, the specimen showed no signs of trauma—no seeping blood or mottled bruising marred its sterile presentation. Whatever had processed it for the database had rendered the grotesque almost mundane.

Estelle hummed thoughtfully as she studied the aberration. "Huh... So that's what it did."

Her eyes flicked to the [Nexus Protocol Manager], where the bioprocessing status report still glowed 'So, that's what it did,' she repeated silently, her attention drawn once again to the animated flesh on the screen. ‘But it's not quite right—Not what I'm trying to remember. Similar process, maybe, but... different feature? Why did I add these modifications in the first place?'

As her thoughts spiraled in a frustrating loop, yielding little more than a futile effort to recall, her attention returned to the main terminal. Behind the specimen image—labeled Bovine-C—three lines now extended where there had been only one before. These lines reached toward a glowing blue circle; two were faint and dim, while the third glowed a similar blue. Within the circle sat six boxes, their shapes altered from what she remembered. Previously empty, they now brimmed with detailed, rendered images.

The rendered image revealed what appeared to be a glass chamber: a circular metallic base supporting a massive tube filled with blue-tinted liquid. Harsh lights blazed from the base, illuminating suspended tentacles of flesh that hung motionless like cuts in a butcher's window. Five of the images were muted and dark, but one glowed, indicating its active state. The chamber was sealed by a lid that mirrored its base in shape, while panels of interactive holographic displays and physical controls lined the circular frame. Near the glowing blue circle, text hovered: [protein synthesis factory.]

Estelle voiced a muffled yet thoughtful hum of understanding. Though her attention flitted restlessly, intuition suggested the main display was showcasing protein meat production. Six factories were shown, one active—matching the report. Studying the meat's color and shape pointed to beef, but certainty eluded her; this was the domain of the Architects, an alien race far advanced beyond her time. For all she knew, this could be some unknown alien meat she had never encountered in her previous world.

Strangely, there were no obvious indicators of production rates or storage levels—metrics that should have been front and center for a manufacturing terminal, at least according to Estelle's scattered designer instincts. Her eyes wandered searchingly until they caught a list in the top right corner—one she was certain hadn't been there when she'd first looked.

"Oh," she breathed, comprehension dawned as she read. It was a visibility display list: a series of nodes arranged like markdown text. The first line read [display mode: manufacturing blueprint], now grayed out and appeared intuitively unresponsive. Below it, several colored lines controlled visibility for production numbers queue, power consumption, request patches, storage assignment, and the list continued. Their vibrant state indicated they weren't currently active in the display. "I see," she muttered absently.

She skimmed the other two main nodes, but their contents seemed short, or hidden—likely inaccessible until she switched to them. Second node read: [Fabrication mode: Manufacturing blueprint], with the last showing [Recipe Mode: Blueprint Manufacturing]. "Damn, I fucking gamefied the living shit out of this display," she muttered with a cringe. "Previous months must have been rough."

Her attention shifted to the storage monitor below the main terminal, where rows of items with their thumbnails stretched across the screen. There was no denying it—the entire interface screamed "video game UI." She sighed, flicking the display upward as if to punish it, but it only responded smoothly to her touch, scrolling up before hitting the top with a soft stop.

"Huh..." Estelle murmured, frowning as she scrolled through the display. "That's a bit—small. Let's see... five by tens... so.... 30... 50... 80... 120... 140... 145...147? Wait, is this correct?"

She tilted her head, continuing her mumbled calculations. "That's strange... Why only 147 items? Did some storage module in the station not register? OH—WAIT. OHHH!" The realization hit her suddenly, drawing out a gasp as memory clicked into place. Her fist met her palm with a soft smack. "Right—I did that... I didn't want a story where some character accidentally waltzed into the architect's realm... and then became an overlord of this tech... gaining power, amassing numbers by making drones... so..."

Her words trailed off as her hands absently found their way to her chin, massaging thoughtfully. 'So... In the last war of the Gods, during the Ecliptic War... The last Architect deleted all the blueprints—all the data, used up every resource in this realm, destroyed the facilities in the mortal realm... And also... the station is slowly descending into the star… Why? A narrative. A narrative that would happen in... the 2000s... The period when the protagonist is born—the year when the sleeping Gods, almost forgotten by the many, finally wake up. And she would... eventually reach this ship, and steal the 'last' Nous Crux Pattern to aid her time ability… Protagonist… My favorite character…'

Her hands stilled, eyes drawn to the flesh-meat image, yet her focus lay elsewhere, lost in the implications of her thoughts.

It felt surreal—thinking about it, she was ordinarily a human, one with an unhealthy obsession for creating worlds, a hyperfixated mind fabricating realities that didn't exist. Now she stood within this world, her actions carrying weight that could alter the many narrative she had written. Her influence had become tangible, permanent without the availability of her worldbuilding software. Estelle curled her fingers into a fist, taking deep breaths to process the gravity of her situation.

An Architect—her—remained alive in this world, in a timeline bereft of the Gods' protection. She managed a dry smile. 'There was a reason why I didn't... want the Architects to remain alive after the Ecliptic War,' and grumbled aloud, "From here on, the Age of Man will rule the lands of Gods... That... was supposed to be."

Minutes passed as Estelle resumed massaging her chin, pressing her lips into a thoughtful grimace. Finally, she came to a conclusion, sighing heavily. 'No point dwelling on it—we're so far in the past... The future is distant... Best to just be careful around our protagonist's bloodline ancestors, and if we can stabilize the situation here, gain more resources, maybe we can recreate another facility, rebuild the Nous Crux Pattern for our protagonist's narrative... Or something... I'm not quite sure, so let's not overthink it.'

You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

A weary sigh escaped her lips as she glanced at the research monitor to her right. 'And there's that too... No need to worry excessively... For now, at least... Let's check the maintenance report.'

With that thought, Estelle turned to her left, where holographic knobs, sliders, and various complicated buttons floated in the air. Her focus drifted to the [Nexus Protocol Module], partially obscured by the [Biological Resources & Infrastructure] window. Her eyes searched for the familiar close button, darting between the edges where the contrasted backdrop suddenly fell away—and she jolted when she realized there wasn't one.

Her eyes twitched and lips twisted. While she'd never considered herself an interface expert, she hadn't expected to struggle this much. "Yes... Aliens..." she grumbled aloud. "Aliens. Make it more alien per se, and then get angry when it doesn't make any sense—aliens per se. Genius, great job, Estelle."

Sarcasm escaped in a single breath as her fingers reached for the report—gestures sinking into the display; swipes, circles, and various scribbles wherever her fingers weaved. “Its…not working…” She hummed absently, watching as her fingers entered and left the display, white lines fading in their wake, clearly indicating the system wasn't recognizing them. Yet she persisted, repeating circles and triangles until she suddenly halted with a faint gasp. 'Oh.'

A memory flashed before her eyes—the protagonist in 3D form, her long gray hair floating in the green-tinted environment, standing here, in this very spot, far in the future. Estelle remembered writing that moment: how the protagonist tried every gesture, attempting every possible combination—until—she drew a particular symbol. Without thinking, Estelle traced those future actions, writing atop the word [PITO-HI1]. Starting from the top, she drew an arch shaped like a wide 'G', its ending tail dipping down the center like a 6, but continuing further like a 'P'.

Before she could lift her fingers from the display, Estelle recalled the next lines of the scene. The protagonist crying, begging into the ancient display with desperate words: 'Make it work! Please! Make it work! I will do anything! Just please respond!'

It was a scene meant for the far future, but somehow—whether for development or growth—a pang of guilt pierced Estelle's heart, yet an inexplicable smile spread across her lips. The details crystallized in her mind: the spaceship's imminent plunge into the star, sobbing echoes mixing with the station's alert sirens, the trembling of metal being torn apart—the moment when everything was about to collapse. Estelle found herself gasping, smiling despite herself. 'I want to see that... I want to see that moment... That was supposed to be the reveal of her character, when everything goes astray and pushes her to her limits. The weakness the protagonist tried so hard to hide. A breaking point.'

"Ha... Ahaha," laughter bubbled from her lips as the memory faded, returning her to the present. "I want to see it—I want to record her expressions. I wanted to create that scene in animation, but of course, time is never on my side. What was the protagonist’s name again? I know she’s part… "

Her thoughts still lingered on the memories as she absentmindedly lifted her fingers from the display, reaching to touch her stretching grin. In that instant, her drawn symbol caught her eye—flashing bright white before dissipating just as quickly. Estelle muttered, surprised, "Huh?"

Before her mind could catch up, the display transformed. Another shade of darker green bloomed atop the [bioprocessing status report], architect letters fading into the dark canvas, slowly forming words—countless words that filled the space in moments. She hadn't expected such a dense window, complete with illustrations of circular nodes connecting like tree branches, titles beneath, numbers, and symbols both half-familiar and alien.

Estelle's eyes blurred immediately. Like before, the new window lacked borders to encase its document-like contents, but the colored backdrop behind the letters provided enough contrast to follow. The abrupt ending of text at the bottom edge hinted at far more content lurking beyond the display's limits.

Her cheeks twitched unconsciously. 'Yeah. No. No way I'm reading all that.'

Despite her reluctance, Estelle's eyes remained locked on the display, trying to at least understand its purpose. The window's title stood boldly at the top, its font both italic and thick: [Predictive Information and Technology Overseer (PITO-HI1)]

"Oh, right... I remember now," Estelle's mutter barely escaped her heavy lips. "I did this... I made this one in particular because... The Architects base their communications through signals, and much of those signals carry information that can't be fully translated into text... Well, at least before this one... What's this called again?"

Estelle hummed, pondering as she brought her fingers near the dark green window and flicked downward, watching thousands of words scroll past. "Ah—" she continued suddenly, "yeah, right—contextual hyperglossing—basically like linear glossing but it brings up a window. Fuccckkk. Right."

A smile slowly stretched across her lips. "Rightt—" she repeated. As the display scrolled, the blur of passing words crystallized into focus. ‘Architects can send their signals—they can send information but the text would rapidly fill into something unreadable—though, of course, they would just need to receive it back through signals... but still... you know, presentation, formatting of text are important as well. So having a main page, and then having context behind each word—since different architects have different understanding with other objects, having this could ground them... And those who need it can still view it.’

Her eyes caught on the names, their structure making them nearly impossible to sound out even in her mind. Yet they revealed the creators of PITO-HI1, its core fundamentals, and its specializations. Estelle's grin widened as she declared, "Fuckk. Right... Damnn. I fucking love it. Right, I am so genius indeed."

She brought her fingers near the dark green window and flicked downward. Estelle hummed thoughtfully as she observed the display. Heading-like documents with cryptic descriptive text sprawled before her, accompanied by illustrations scattered across the interface—some to the left, others to the right, many centered. Each image stood distinct: semi-waves, red temperature mappings, sonar readings. Though their meaning never registered, Estelle found herself nodding as words flowed out nonchalantly, "I see. I see. I see. This looks like an encyclopedia of some sort, huh."

Despite her eyes tracking the images, her mind wandered elsewhere. She recalled the protagonist's gestures—and the mistake. Estelle groaned, her words slurring. "It's... supposed to close—not open... Now that we think about it, didn't she open something and get stuck on that window and unable to go back... And cried a lot... kekeke." A laugh crept into her voice. 'I suppose it only makes sense. I mean, if things like these don't exist, then it's alien to them. So... their interactions should be like an old person struggling with new generation devices. Funny, that.'

Estelle smiled, stretching her hands toward the display to draw another symbol. In one fluid gesture, without lifting her hand, she drew a circle from the top, arching at the bottom then meeting back at the top before drawing a line through the center, splitting it in two. 'This should be the correct one—why did I remember something so incorrect?' She lifted her fingers from the display.

The window responded instantly, its size collapsing and shrinking in its center. 'Yep,' Estelle nodded. 'Let's see the other ones too.'