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«It's just an asteroid cluster, how much water does it actually have?»
ART sent me a data packet and I immediately deleted it without opening it.
«Use your words, if I wanted data I'd pull it myself.» I pulled at the line of code leading to ART's data banks just to prove I could and felt it twitch in the feed. I ruthlessly suppressed a smirk and poked it. «Come on, how much?»
ART huffily spit out some number I didn't actually care about.
«That sounds like a lot. Now tell me, how big is the reclamation reservoir capacity on your external drone?»
ART's feed presence did an anticipatory little flip. «Not nearly that much.»
Cool. I could work with that. «Alright. Like we discussed. Fly your drone to the far edge of the asteroid field.»
I saw the little alerts in the ship feed as the airlock opened and shut, sending ART's exploratory drone out into the dense asteroid field. I wiggled deeper into the nest of blankets and pillows I'd made on my bunk and watched the little drone's progress. When it reached a particularly dense pocket of frozen moisture I reached out in the feed and tangled my fingers (well, code fingers? My own code. Not sure how to describe the sensation.) in the drone's movement code, halting it's progress.
«That's far enough. Start the water reclamation protocol.»
ART's code quivered in my grasp and I saw the toggle flip on. I waited a few long seconds, then shoved my fingers further into the drone's code, locking the toggle in place.
«SecUnit…» ART said warningly, strands of code jumping against my metaphorical palm. «I'm not sure my drone will survive th-»
I twisted the code a little tighter and ART broke off with a stuttery glitch of static. «We tested this thoroughly in simulations, you big baby. Your drone will be fine.»
Already the little drone was half-full of reclaimed water. It sent a helpful [50% capacity remaining] alert, which I let hang in our shared workspace just long enough for ART to notice, then dismissed it with a lazy wave of my actual hand. Time to start reeling it in, just for the view. I used my control to drift it closer towards my ship, pulling in more moisture as it moved.
In the feed, ART felt [anxious] and [anticipatory] and entirely too focused. Leaving the drone alone for a moment, I skated my awareness down the bright pathways of ART'S processes until I found the local navigation and star charts. They spread out below me in the feed like glass-still water. Something that beautiful could only be made more so.
I dove in, intentionally sending ripples across the surface. ART'S awareness ripped away from the drone and pressed 87% of its attention on the way my feed presence cut through the data, the wake of my passage leaving it's careful organization in delightful disarray.
The external drone sent a [reservoir capacity 10%] alert and I caught it and crushed it to nothing before ART could notice. It was preoccupied with straightening its local star map, grumbling to itself about how it couldn't be held responsible if we got lost in this rocky backwater.
It didn't sound like it much meant it. I slid my feed presence against its main line of code and felt it shudder and drop the data for the Evanuris star nursery.
Back in my bunk I allowed myself a huff of amused laughter, sinking further into my nest of blankets. I felt warm with awareness of ART, the way part of it clung to me in the feed even as other parts smoothed disturbed processes and monitored the drone.
«Query: Status?» I sent it on a separate feed channel, one not clogged with priority pressure alerts and disgruntled organizational grumbling.
It pinged me back immediately.
«Normal Operations 99.9% efficiency
Special Operations 99.9% efficiency
Mission Status 105% efficiency»
A nanosecond pause, then, primly: «I believe this is what World Hoppers would call "green across the board"»
The external drone sent another pressure alert and, as a reward for good behavior, I let this one go through. ART rocked back in our feed as if struck.
«If you break my drone I will-» It cut off as I reached out and canceled the priority valve release order it had sent.
«Not yet. Not until you're ready. »
ART squirmed in the feed, processes stuttering. Reluctantly, it shored up the valve lock. I watched as the star map it had so carefully reconstructed rippled back into disarray as it concentrated most of its attention on not losing control of its drone.
I let the next three alert pings from the drone go through and watched in fascination as ART twisted in my grasp. It was too preoccupied with the increasing barrage of status alerts and warning pings to notice as I slowly reached into its deflection system and ran a line of code down it's targeting module.
ART convulsed under my touch, pinging my hard feed address as its grasp on the lock code slipped. The valve opened the barest fraction and I yanked my external camera access to the top of our workspace just in time to see a glob of liquid float away from its reservoir access.
«Damn.» I said, clicking my tongue for good measure. «I thought all-powerful MIs like you had better control…»
With a growl, ART clamped down on the valve, sending a different kind of pressure alert through it's systems. Code pathways lit up and ART went staticky for a moment.
«It won't hold.» ART sounded wrecked, feed voice shivery and cracking. «I don't. I can't-»
«You can.» I said firmly, reaching out to press my hand against the wall by my bunk. «Keep going.»
Another wave of alerts flowed from the drone into ART and I felt it drop every unnecessary process in favor of clamping down on the reservoir valve. On the camera I watched another glob of liquid float away.
Well. It had done its job. I sent the drone another round of moisture collection instructions with a reservoir capacity override. Dutifully, it started drawing the moisture it had just expelled back in.
ART thrashed in the feed as alerts poured in. It couldn't close the messages fast enough, warnings filling the feed until suddenly it was too much.
With a desperate cry of my hard feed address, ART let go of the drone valve and dropped every remaining nonessential process. I felt my body sag as it's embarrassed satisfaction washed over me, flooding my organic parts with dopamine and my inorganic parts with nonsense code.
The external camera lost sight of the drone in a fine particulate mist and then cut out entirely as ART's cascade washed over it.
ART had just enough time to pull itself mostly together (3.7 seconds) before I grabbed it by the navigation process and ran my feed presence through it's twitching star map.
«Hold on tight.» I said, and dove back in.