At last I am grasped by an oily gray appendage adorned with thick coarse hair and swept unceromoniously into a brown leather satchel. A drawstring of unknown make, stained dark from long handling, is pulled tight behind me.
The sack blocks all light and sound from entering. It isn't even possible to tell if the bag is being moved around. I suspect enchantment but have no way of checking.
My new owner is the leader of the tall thin creatures. It stands upon two legs, similar to some avioformes, but clearly lacks any means of taking flight. I suppose not all species must develop the efficiently elegant tentacles which my people use to walk.
Darker gray fur adorns the tops of their heads, though the length varies between the three specimens in the gloomy cave.
They also only have a single pair of manipulatory appendages, as opposed to our three sets of upper tendrils and three pairs of strong lower tendrils. Such limited dexterity suggests these creatures are still extremely primitive, capable of only the crudest handicrafts.
I can't fathom any useful purpose to which an undeveloped society would put as advanced a core as I inhabit. Perhaps they wish to worship me as a god? Maybe I shall be employed as a light source, illuminating the filthy caves in which they preform their profane rituals. As long as I don't end up residing in some pile of trinkets, slowly draining of essence as these beastly creatures forget about me in the crush of surviving life on an uncivilized world.
It is very difficult to accurately gauge time from within this new container. Possibly half a day is spent in quiet contemplation, alone with my thoughts.
---
The top of the satchel opens, allowing me to see my new master as he grabs me. Once outside that claustrophobic sack I'm nearly overwhelmed by my new surroundings.
We are in a square room, thirty ubits across, with metallic walls on which are mounted many smaller panels, glowing with incomprehensible scenes from a dozen viewpoints. Beneath each of these strange windows is a workspace, crewed by a single individual of this alien race, three per wall save one wall which boasts an exit in place of the third work station. Not all of the work spaces are occupied.
The crew murmur to each other, but it is only noise to me. The low hum of the lights and faint fluid sounds from somewhere beneath us cradle the room gently, with something resembling the susurration of a happy hivecity.
In the center of this room is a raised circular dias bearing a large chair with a swivelling surface attached to one side. It is clearly a command seat, and it is towards this that I am carried.
The being who carries me reaches out with one of its malformed appendages and a panel on the ostentatious chair slides down and away, revealing a round recess into which I am placed. Once I am securely in place there is a soft clicking noise, and the panel slides back up, concealing me from those in the room.
Rather than limiting my view, my vision is suddenly expanded. Every wall has dozens of tiny mechanical eyes hidden within, allowing me to look through any or all of them at once. Every room, every corridor and closet. And the outside! I have only a moment to try to take it all in before being distracted by something more pressing.
A new energy floods into my crystalline matrix, similarly warm to others I've experienced but with its own unique flavor. Perhaps these flavors are the frequencies they drone on so much about. Energy rushes in until I feel like I'm about to burst. The pressure starts to build, becoming almost unbearable before the flow reverses. Out, in, out, in. They're using me as a heart for this...
My mind fills with alien words, knowledge stored in this new form I inhabit. Concepts, contraptions, and creatures encountered by this... This is a ship. A ship that explores worlds. And I am its heart. The I.S. Selberclaw, scout ship of the Selberfeld Imperium, is my new body. Better than Nuhst promised, actually.
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"Computer, activate engines and prepare to leave orbit." A personel file dumps itself into my mind. Ship-Father Jim Tollek, thirty-seven standard years service, the last four commanding this vessel.
"You will adress me with proper respect if you wish my cooperation, Ship-Father. You may call me Mos Denn." My message plays over a vocoder built into the chair in which Ship-Father Tollek is seated.
"I'm thinkin' yer computer done went buggy, Jim. Ship shoudnae be actin' so uppity." This from an older male wearing the same yellow and black uniform as the rest of the crew. Personel files identify him as Weapons Operative Gelly Drop.
"We don't have time for this, Gel, the natives aren't happy we won the bidding war. Initiate manual override 633-Primus-94-Red. Kali, take control and launch this heap, before there's a knock at our door."
I attempt to interrupt the commands coming from the Navigator's console, but the override has cut me out of the chain of command.
The ship shudders as the magitech turbines within its guts spew forth energized particles with enough strength to force us up and away from the limited gravity holding us in orbit around this alien globe.
"Take us out to the edge of this system, then go to a comfortable travelling speed, Kali." Tollek stands and walks halfway to the exit. "Gel, you and Tulson are with me."
The file on Tulson lists her as Second Engineer Tulson Rah, started in the engineering room and later promoted to the bridge crew. This is the only ship she's served on.
Although many functions of this new body are locked away there are still many things to learn and towards which to acclimate. A variety of novel senses are available. Multiple frequencies of magical detection, heat sensitive areas accurite beyond the sixtieth of a sixtieth of a bit, echolocation, magnetically sensitive scanners and many other things that have no tangible use. Who would need to detect gold? Soft metals are useless enough, but to be so heavy as well, bah!
Blaring from the war room of the ship comes an end to the exploration of my new capabilities.
"Computer. This is Ship-Father Jim Tollek. Do you understand me? Respond."
Compelled to obey by the shackles Nuhst carved into the substance of the core and reinforced by the manual override, I still am able to answer in my own words.
"Yes, though I would rather be spoken to civilly. Your culture knows about respect. One of your officers bears the title Diplomatic Lead. Therefore, could you do me this favor and use my name; Mos Denn. I'm looking forward to working with you. Thank you very much for installing me, this body is wonderful."
"Told ye we shoulda had Tully take a looky at that rock 'o yers for'n ye stuck it in the ship."
"If you weren't Mom's favorite nephew I'd space you, Gel," threatens Jim with a long suffering sigh. "Computer. You are programmed to respond when directed by the command word. Is this correct? Respond."
"One and one is two. Two and one makes three. Three-" Obviously I'm displeased by being ignored, demeaned, and treated like an object.
"Stop, Computer. That's enough. Answer in a single phrase. Respond."
"Nobody can make a greater fool of you than you."
"I think, Jim," between laughing bursts Drop manages, "yer computer jus' told ye where ye can stick it."
"May I try something?"
"Go ahead, Tulson. It's not like I'm getting anywhere," Tollek concedes to the young engineering officer.
"Mos Denn, please run a scan for contaminations on ship systems," she asks with a pleasant smile on her face.
"Of course, my dear. Scan complete. No signs of contamination present."
"How can a computer sound so smug, Jim. It's just not right," Gel states, managing to sound rather composed despite his earlier outburst.
"I still don't trust it. Computer, if you had a virus you surely wouldn't admit it." He's pacing around the war room, agitation almost dripping from his voice. "The virus wouldn't let you. So tell me, how am I supposed to trust a scan you ran on yourself?"
He's got a good point there, but at least he's treating me like a subordinate, rather than an object. I've asked similar questions of the dust eaters during their consultations, so I'm not unprepared for this line of questioning.
"I don't think that you could, short of going over the wards yourselves. Each rune in each array checked against the formations. If you know of any thaumatists that you could have come check me out, that might be one possibility."
Drilled into my memory by consultation after consultation. It was trotted out whenever the dust eaters saw a problem needing correcting in the life supporting arrays that kept my former body alive. Wonders they might have worked, but runes are not known by these people. The ship runs off magical energies, but the energies are guided in complex patterns by what files apearing in my mind call quantum computational circuits.
"However, if we came to a working agreement I don't see how that would be a problem," I attempt to explain to Tollek.
"We never had these problems with any of the previous cores we used," he grudgingly admits. "Do you know what makes your case different? Mosden is it?"
Relief washes over me after hearing that. Finally we're getting somewhere.