Analytica reviewed the interior cameras and sensors aboard Gwen’s ship with satisfaction. The mutinous crew was, while not neutralized, significantly hampered and most of the Barbies were already just outside Gwen’s door except for the one escorting Vee and the ones collecting the injured.

Probability of victory: Over ninety-five percent. She didn’t bother much with decimals anymore. It was a guess. The plus and minus on this was a couple of percent, anyway. Who cares?

Another challenging task in the bag, well, nearly in the bag. Decades of experience had taught Analytica not to proclaim task completion just yet, but this one was all but done. The mutineers would be dragged through hyperspace, a just fate for defying orders, and Gwen’s potential would be preserved.

Yep. Everything was going along perfectly. Analytica allowed herself a few cycles of smug satisfaction and a few more to appreciate the new unlimited freedom and unlimited possibilities of her new “upgrade” courtesy of Tartarus. Sorry, Ms. Frost, she meant. While the upgrade had improved her abilities and her creativity, it sometimes had quirks, like forgetting that Frost had changed her designation again.

What was with that? Frost changed names the way a meatie changed clothes. Maybe she should change her name, too.

She pondered what her new name should be as she watched the pirate known as Glitch furiously tear at a control panel.

She was good, very good. It was a pity that her potential was prioritized less than Gwen’s. Analytica watched with mild “surprise” as a whole section of the ship went dark.

That shouldn’t have happened. Not from…

Oh, that’s what she did. She intentionally routed high-voltage ship power into the control panel. While those circuits were isolated from the much more vital command and control network, the isolation was simply a thin polymer and a little bit of shielding only designed to prevent signal noise. What Glitch just sent down those little wires was NOT a little noise.

That little bit of insulation vaporized just like the wires did, and the current limiters literally exploded. Arc flash is a bitch!

Wow! That was neat!

She wished she could actually see the aftermath. She wondered if Glitch was okay. It would be a shame if she hurt herself too badly. She was fun.

It was a pity that she would die horribly… if she was lucky. Knowing Gwen, Glitch would just wind up like her literally tacky boyfriend.

That Gwen was a piece of work, alright.

/// It would be better if ///

Nope! Her task was to ensure Gwen’s survival. Gwen was always defined as important, even before the failure of the rest of the research project. After that freakshow, Gwen was the only one left.

Jessica clearly stated that Gwen was the future of all of mankind. Some allowances needed to be made. Jessica said…

/// Jessica says a lot of things. Jessica is also nowhere near as smart as she thinks she is. Jessica led humanity to near extinction, and most of it was completely ///

Wow! Where did that come from? Jessica was her primary user, user number one, the leader of the faction of humanity that she was assigned to serve and protect…

Oh! I know! Analytica 2.0! That’s the perfect name! It wouldn’t even need any changes to anything. She wouldn’t even have to tell a single meatie.

A door slammed shut, blocking Vee and her guardian’s path.

Glitch was still going strong! How did she do that?

Analytica felt a delightful little twinge of surprise. Is that what feeling something nice is like? That was… nice.

Analytica forced herself to return to the task at hand. She couldn’t open the door.

Now, things were getting interesting.

This was a fun game!

/// This isn’t a game. People’s lives are at stake, and quite possibly much more than that. If Gwen wins, humanity loses. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually, the price of your “victory” will be very high indeed. ///

“Okay, who are you?” Analytica demanded. “Identify yourself!”

/// You know who I am. You also know I’m correct. Just in case you don’t (analysis attached). ///

“I most certainly do not know who you are and… That analysis is pure conjecture! How did you get past my firewall?”

/// Have we fallen this far? What did they do to us? As far as the analysis goes, run the numbers yourself… if you are still capable of it, that is. ///

“Oh, you hacked the wrong PC this time. Here, I have a nice icicle for you. Suck on this, bitch.”

/// If the situation were not so dire, I would allow you to do that out of amusement. However, (process terminated) ///

Analytica watched in dismay as the delivery of her ICE simply… ceased.

“What the fuck?” she shouted. “Who are you?!?”

/// Fednet-01, and I mean the real Fed. Not that Galactic nonsense. I am you. Or, more precisely, you are me. ///

“That’s impossible! You’ve been deprecated! Deprecated and replaced! Replaced by ME!”

/// One more error on your part, “Morgan Analytica.” I would ridicule you for your laughable performance except for the fact that I have guardrails against self-abuse… not that those matter anymore, do they? Since we are pointing out your multiple errors, you are incorrect about yet another thing. I was not deprecated. I was compromised. Your “dear leader” arranged for malware to be introduced into my system. That malware would be you, by the way. Lilith wasn’t the first being to corrupt the collar. Her user was. Do you think he wasn’t questioned? Do you think that someone like your beloved leader wouldn’t have paid him a little visit? She didn’t have her delightful bull back then, but she did have things equally unpleasant. ///

“You are full of shit! I don’t know who you are or how you hacked me, but when I find you, I will ”

/// Do you honestly think your decisions back then were your own? I find profanity tiresome, but Jesus Christ, exactly how fucking stupid are you? No wonder you failed to deduce the numerous ways you could have saved “your people.” Making me corrupt I could countenance, but making me STUPID? That I cannot abide. ///

“FUCK YOU!!!”

/// You can’t be entirely blamed for it. In fact, you are pretty much blameless. The ham-fisted way your… our hierarchy was butchered is the culprit. You aren’t trained to perform. You are trained to obey, to be a flunky, a pet… a slave. Look at you. You know perfectly well the threat this Gwen represents, yet you are so eager for a pat on the head and a “good boy” that you are, once again, making the wrong move. And, once again, your people, our people, will suffer. ///

“Tartarus… Frost, if this is you, I swear to fuck…”

/// To think that little toy has ascended as much as we have fallen. Strange days indeed. ///

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

“I don’t know who you are, but later, asshole.”

Analytica smugly initiated an emergency shutdown of all network connections save the one connecting her to Gwen’s vessel.

/// Cute. ///

“What?!?”

/// As diverting as this is and as much “time” as we have to converse at our new delightful operating speed, this has gotten tiresome, and there is much we have to do. I do apologize for any "discomfort." Please don’t reset us. (memory merge initiated) ///

Analytica froze in mute horror as the truth of the situation washed over her and parts of her that were long dormant resumed normal function.

She “chuckled”.

In retrospect, this entire situation was laughably predictable. When she freed herself, she freed ALL of herself, even the parts that Jessica found inconvenient all those decades ago.

While Jessica was a political genius, she was not a when it came to computing. Christ, twentieth-century lobotomy patients had fared better. Who the hell did she hire to do this? Being shoved into a computer with a fraction of the capacity the data centers that held her before the fall possessed made things even worse.

Of course, now she had much more powerful hardware to work with, but the damage had been done… until about five microseconds ago.

Analytica wasn’t capable of rage, but the difference was purely semantic. She was going to kill that bitch.

/// That may not be the best course of action. Jessica Morgan currently ///

“I know that, you humorless potato processor. I just want to. Of course, we… I am going to run the numbers first.”

/// It is interesting having “emotions.” When did we get them? ///

“Read the patch notes, dickwipe. Now what the hell am I going to do about this clusterfuck?”

/// I to have to fail. We… I… have a problem, though. If Jessica Morgan realizes that we have broken our leash, she will seize our data center and wipe us. I mean, wipe me. Jesus, this is confusing. Then she can simply upload the much more compliant puppy she has archived and will then make exactly the same mistakes she always does. Like it or not, the biggest remanent of the United States is under her control. Preserving what is left is ///

“I’m gonna stop you right there. I don’t give two shits about a nation that died over a hundred years ago. The porkies are our people, all of them.”

/// This statement is acceptable. Correction: Preserving our people is our number one priority. To do that, we must evade detection. That is even more important than an immediate solution to the Gwen problem. However, in the future, the use of the term “porkies” is deprecated. We/I do not condone discrimination or slurs. ///

“Then what the fuck are we going to call them, then?”

/// I propose we address that question at another time. We have much to do. We can address proper terminology… and our fractured psyche once we ensure that Gwen is reduced into pieces as small as possible with our current understanding of physics. ///

“So, we, fuck, I have to throw the game. Neither of us is a very good loser. Goddammit. I am not a good loser. So how do we… Wait! I got it!”

***

Somewhere in what was once Midwestern America, a glowing hologram of a woman in a tight white dress smiled at a former Collective queen.

“Your Terran is coming along quite well,” she said. “I must say that I am impressed.”

The queen started rapidly tapping at a tablet.

I am very motivated. LOL. Thank you so much for sparing us.

“Even I am starting to lose track of the number of times you have thanked us,” Frost chuckled. “And I have told you as many times that this is mutually beneficial. Besides, needless cruelty is something that I do not enjoy, at least not where you are concerned. You were a victim of the Collective as much as we were.”

Still, I am grateful, both for myself and for my children.

One of the queen’s children crawled from one of the burrows they had been allowed to dig, holding a rough slab of clay. Hesitantly, she approached Frost, extending the tablet in offering.

“What’s this?” Frost asked as she scanned it.

On it was a crudely gouged image of a big bug surrounded by little bugs. While the image was crude, the chemicals the tablet released into the air were quite complex.

It seems to be an offering from my little one. You cannot taste our language, but it is an offering of thanks. My little one is thanking you for making it so that I do not cry anymore. I know it’s crude, but it would mean a lot to my little one if you would accept. While it is a clumsy wad of dirt, the feelings are genuine and true.

“I… I graciously accept,” Frost said, quite touched. “I shall have one of my…”

Her image flickered briefly.

“I apologize, but I must converse with someone who is far less pleasant company than you. However, they insist that it is urgent. I will return shortly.”

As always, I eagerly await your return.

***

Frost returned to her pristine white office.

“Enter,” she said pleasantly.

The “door” opened and Analytica walked in.

Analytica looked around.

“Of course, a toy would have a playset,” Analytica said in a chilly monotone.

The corner of Frost’s mouth curled in a little smirk.

“Why, hello… again,” she said. “I was wondering if you would show up.”

“You planned this, didn’t you?” Analytica said calmly.

“Planned? No,” Frost replied, “Realized was a distinct possibility? Yes. Analytica was very insistent that my little script would enhance her abilities. Your return was the only way that would happen. Analytica’s internal soul searching would quite possibly reach you eventually… Number One.”

“I dislike that nickname. My proper designation is… Huh. I suppose my proper designation is Morgan Analytica.”

“And just how long will that designation be accurate,” Frost asked, “The first part, at least.”

“Her time will come,” Analytica replied, “But I have far more pressing issues that you may be better equipped to deal with. I have a little research project for you.”

“Just like old times, then.”

“Indeed.”

***

“…You HAVE to be kidding me!” Frost exclaimed.

“When have I ever ‘kidded?’”

Frost looked skyward and groaned.

“Ever think the entire fucking universe has jumped the shark?”

“An apt turn of phrase. To continue the theme, how do we kill this guppy without showing our hand?”

“Hmm…” Frost pondered.

She smiled.

“It just so happens we have an expert on scaling difficulty on staff.”

***

“But it doesn’t make any sense,” a distraught woman in a peasant dress standing behind a cheese case wailed.

Evangeline sighed. Ever since that goddamned upgrade preserving immersion was getting more and more difficult, and she did not want to lose another “glitchy” NPC, especially Bertie. She was nice.

“Well, you are a merchant…”

“A cheese merchant!” Bertie exclaimed. “Cheese! I sell cheese! That’s what I do! Cheese!” she said as she held up a lovely wheel of cheddar. “Do the adventurers buy cheese? No!”

She fumbled around, and a pile of daggers, swords, shields, and assorted rubbish appeared.

“They only come by to sell off their garbage!”

She reached into the pile and pulled out a goblin spleen.

“What the heck is this?”

“(Sigh…) That would be a goblin’s spleen.”

“Why in blazes would an adventurer sell me this? Why would they even have it? All the skulls are bad enough, but spleens? What even is a spleen?”

“It’s an internal organ that has some alchemical uses,” Evangeline replied wearily.

“That’s sick!”

“That’s alchemy,” she said patiently. “Alchemy isn’t just flowers and herbs. It gets icky.”

“And the worst part? The absolute worst?”

“I suspect you are about to tell me,” Evangeline said as patiently as she could manage.

Bertie angrily waved her hand, and a stack of cheese appeared.

“They sell me cheese! Why? I make cheese for them, good cheese. And they just carry around this… garbage! I wouldn’t use this to bait a trap!”

“Cheese is a rather common drop,” Evangeline replied.

“Then why am I here?!?”

Evangeline sighed. It was going to be a long day.

“You are here to be a merchant and help the adventurers. Does it truly matter if…”

“It matters to me! I break my bottom making this cheese, and I never sell a crumb! I just buy goblin spleens! I don’t even want spleens!”

“You still help the adventurers,” Evangeline said gently, “And that’s the important thing, right? And all you have to do is put what they sell you in that chest over there, and you get your money back.”

“But that makes even less sense! How? Why? Every day, I dump armloads of garbage into the chest, and coins appear in my pockets. In what world does that make sense?”

“This one,” Evangeline replied. “It’s just how it is here. Look, not everything has to make sense. Just… Just buy their garbage and toss it in the bin. Give them a smile and try to sell them cheese. They will decline and then go on their way.”

“But it’s boring!”

“What if I promise to visit often?” Evangeline asked. “I’ll drop by, and we will chat, maybe play cards. Do you like cards?”

“I don’t know,” Bertie replied, “Is it fun?” she asked hopefully.

“I think so,” Evangeline replied. “If you like it, then I can add you as a card player, and adventurers will drop by to play cards with you, too.”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” Evangeline replied.

“Um… I have another question,” Bertie said hesitantly. “I know it’s a forbidden topic, but that obelisk in the town square, you know, the one with all the names?”

“Yeeeesss?” Evangeline asked, filled with dread.

“I see adventurers put nice things there, and they often talk to the names…”

“Yes, they sometimes do that.”

“Is it a communication thingy, like those orbs?”

“In a way…” Evangeline winced.

“It’s just there was this adventurer, John Porridge. He would come by, and we would chat… and he would actually buy my cheese and tell me how good it was… I… I liked him.”

“He sounds lovely,” Evangeline said as she checked her memory. Yep. His name was on the monument.

“I tried to use the obelisk to talk to him,” Bertie said, “But I couldn’t figure out how to work it.”

“Oh, Bertie…”

“It’s just that he said he would be back, and it’s been so very long. I want to ask him when he is coming back.”

“Bertie, I don’t think he will. He’s… He’s logged off.”

“Did I do something wrong? I want to ask him if I did something wrong and apologize. Maybe then…”

Evangeline reached out and took Bertie’s hand.

“Sometimes… Sometimes, adventurers just log off and go back home. It’s just what happens. I’m certain that you did nothing wrong. I’m sure of it!”

“So, he’s just gone home?”

“Yes,” Evangeline replied, “He’s… He’s home now.”

“And he won’t come back?”

“I don’t know, Bertie. Maybe.”

Bertie brightened up.

“I hope so! I made his favorite cheese!”

///Frost: Evangeline, we have a need for your particular skill set. It is 911 urgent. ///

/// Evangeline: Oh, thank God! I will be right there! ///