Chapter 4: CJ
CJ - "the Mechanic" to most - wakes up the usual way she wakes up on the artificial arcology island known as Sapphos. Entangled in a pile of their closest casually-affectionate friends - her cuddle buddies.
With a yawn that turns into a fond smile, the non-binary femme gently lifts the limb of the still-snoring heavyset woman draped across her, and slides off the low-set super-king-sized bed. Carefully making sure her surgically-added extra arms don't make accidental contact with the other, more petite femme also still asleep in the bed.
She softly pads her way on bare feet out to the kitchenette of the shared dwelling – the nest, her and her cuddle buddies think of it - and with another yawn, plugs in a request for "coffee, black, hot" into the household delivery chute's touchscreen. She stares, blearily, thoughts fuzzy, at the touchscreen, before plugging in a request for a vat-made bacon bagel, with lactose-free vat-made cream cheese.
Having completed the biggest decision of the day so far, she hits submit, and a count down timer starts on the touchscreen. They wander over to the nearby breakfast nook - no communal breakfast to share today, it's not the weekend - and awaits the soft chime that indicates the arrival of their breakfast.
Picking up their personal handset device from the pile haphazardly strewn across the nook, she flicks through their curated news and events feed before something catches their eye. The Search and Rescue squad has found the wreck of the drone that nuked the surface.
Suddenly awake without the need for caffeine, they leap up from their temporary seating, and hurriedly gets dressed. The nest's majordomo AI has already laid out what CJ affectionately thinks of as their 'uniform'. A set of blue overalls, undergarments, and a copy of their favourite pink bow. All washed and degreased by the automated laundry services and returned after being unceremoniously shoved in the laundry chute the night before.
CJ remembers the bagel and coffee right as they're about to head out into the outside corridor, thanks to an urgent chime from the majordomo AI as they touch the handle. If the majordomo had been sentient like its occupants, it would have no doubt sighed. But it just followed its programming for the care of people with a neurological profile like CJ's. Routines pre-programmed for exactly these kinds of distracted moments, being made for a civilisation of majority neurodivergent people.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Suitably attired in her uniform, and with the coffee in one of their upper hands, their personal handset tucked into a volumous overall pocket, and the bagel clutched in the other upper hand. CJ swings the door to the nest open with one of their lower hands, and steps out into the corridor. A half-muttered request to route the drone to her workspace on her lips as the door closes softly behind them.
The majordomo electronically hands off human supervision duties to the personal AI residing in CJ's handset, with what would be a quiet wish for good luck on keeping the highly-distractible mechanic focussed on the way up to their personal work space. Or would be, if either entity were sentient, of course.
CJ hums tunelessly as they wait for the lift at the end of their residence's floor to arrive. The corridors of this floor of similar dwellings is dead silent, the efficient insulation of the residential floor keeping the peace between noise-averse neighbours.
CJ takes a seat on one of the swivelling crash couches in the small circular lift pod, as the pod receives routing instructions from CJ's personal AI to direct CJ towards her work space. No need to check in with CJ on this request - CJ's weekday routine is well-established and set with the AI, even if the implication of the routing request had been missed.
The lift pod's inner surface display switches on to show a generated image of the surrounds, motion synchronised with the acceleration of the pod, so not to upset CJ's delicate inner ear. Motion sickness being a common status amongst the islands inhabitants, as a somewhat-unchangeable part of the most common local birth neurology.
CJ happily munches on their bagel, alternating sips of coffee, unconcerned about the gentle but routine care of the systems around her for her needs. Her multitasking brain already three steps down the path of how they'll safely disassemble and inspect the likely mildly radioactive chassis of the drone already awaiting them.
Chapter 4: QB
LOG ENTRY ???
Sudden resumption of power. I've moved somewhere else. Somewhere... dark. My cameras don't register light.
My internal sensors are glitching. I've sustained massive damage, all registering as sickening pain.
My internal gyroscope and compass still operate enough to tell me I'm being moved. Something shifts, and my senses power down again. I lose consciousness.