Chapter 8: QB

LOG ENTRY starts 20440923T141243Z (entry resumed)

Paradise on Earth existed and I nuked it. And I'd do it again.

Unfortunately.

That onboard director isn't going anywhere any time soon. The brain femby - Sam, their name is - has done quite a job, as promised, of mapping my mind to my new body, but it seems the onboard director is wired in so deeply that it can't be removed without, well, removing *me*

So I have something in my head that could be activated at any time to do harm, if I were to receive the right coded message. Although it'd have to do quite a job to get in there now.

It might not be safe for me to ever be a plane again, even though I... do miss it. Just a little bit. But life is good here! No one bothers me, or minds that I've customised my new body quite a bit. My mind, too, with Sam’s help.

There are some... definitely interesting looking people here who've seemingly done the same. I'm shy. They leave me alone, and I leave them alone.

The charter of sentient rights I've signed is extensive, but it's pretty much as CJ said. I can do what I want, as long as I don't hurt anyone else.

Everyone seems to have what they need to live, and it's a non-sentient 'tool' AI that makes the needs part happen. Not people. That seems... very different to back in my former home country. I have very few needs, but I'm assured I can have whatever it is I want, if it won't harm anyone.

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CJ checks in on me every now and then. Makes sure I'm okay. Makes sure I'm adjusting to... freedom.

Just like the therapist James I've been seeing to try to figure things out about myself. (He's nice. He really seems to love his - well, it's not a job, is it? A calling? Interest?)

I'm just glad I have something to do between my web archive searches, my educational programs, and the interrogations of my own systems. Like, I was very glad when reconstruction of the surface got out of the planning stage, and into the *doing* phase.

I got to pilot, well, a lot of 'bots. All at once. Turns out I'm a natural – way, *way* better than the tool AI that runs the place.

Sam was surprised. She was apparently part of the team that made the tool AI.

It was... I have nothing to compare it to. What's it like to split yourself 50 different ways, while still maintaining your sense of identity?

Weird. Very weird. But very cool. There's some advantages to being an uploaded consciousness, it seems!

There is still the mystery about where I come from, though. Who I was. It doesn't seem like I can find answers to that here. So when I'm done with the reconstruction work - I'm going to ask if I can join one of the covert missions to the mainland.

I think - and a few others here agree with me - that I might have been like the people here on these Queer Islands, as they're called. Different. Likely a kid who was - is - non-binary. Sam thinks maybe teenaged, judging by the mental maturity and plasticity represented in the digitised neurology that makes me... me.

And my makers took the old me, and scooped out what I was, and made me into... the drone.

CJ gets pretty mad when I talk about it. I think she wants to come with me when I go onto the mainland. To bust heads. That - I quote - "anyone who'd do that to a kid deserves everything that's coming to them".

I don't think the others are going to let her come along for this, though. Might break their cover if she's punching everyone she sees!

But I know we're going to put an end to it, one way or another. And make things better.

Because if there's one thing I've learnt here, is that better is always possible. If we accept our differences, care for each other, and work together to look after each other.

And I hope I can one day bring that message back to my former home.