Puffing, Dey came to a stop beside the squid who ran the "Fantastical Flavored Ice Slush" stand on the corner of her fifteen K run. It was worth the hassle it took to get there. She was on liberty for the last bit of her convalescence. But just because she was supposed to be recovering from surgery didn't mean she wasn't going to try and get ahead on her training.
Leave when you were being trained at a secret military base, though, was a bit complicated. She had to ride with the stealthed food shipment until it came to the nearest town: Boulder City. It wasn't a city. The name was a
fucking
lie. It had had, maybe, nine, eight thousand people
tops
. Like many places in the USA, the population had been steadily dropping as people moved to the colonies for cheap land and jobs that didn't require multiple PHDs. Despite that, it still had some things that were worth visiting, and the Fantastical Flavored Ice Slush stand was one of them and not just for the ice.
It
was
the one and only place someone could find an aquatic alien living in the smack fucking dab of the fucking desert. Said alien wore a
huge
hat with the logo of the San Francisco 49ers, balanced precariously on the hexagonal, bony structure that made up the central torso of the beaked, eight eyed, eight limbed aliens. A sleek rig that continually spurted mist over his body completed the outfit. Dey took a moment to just admire that. Ever since humanity had looked at the stars, some of them had wondered what lay out there. Ancient Arabs speculated about entire races of D'jin, while Europeans imagined men who dwelled on the moon. And yet...
And yet, no one had quite expected humanity's first real ally in the Orion Arm would be the Squids. First contact had been with the Perseus Mumblers - but to be fair, it was because the Mumblers made it damn hard for anyone within a few hundred parsecs of their system to
not
notice them - and second contact had been with the Shockpods. Both races had, when the conversation came to other alien races, said: "Wow, you guys
need
to meet the squiddies."
They had been right.
Squids, like humans, had a diverse history with literally hundreds of nation states. Squids, like humans, had almost a thousand ethnic groups. Squids, like humans, had hundreds of religions. Squids, like humans, were communal creatures. They had bars, talk shows, presidential elections, social media, science fiction, copious amounts of pornography.
With all that, the fact that they were squid-shaped aliens with eight eyes seemed almost inconsequential.
"Gallagher!"
Dey wiped the back of her arm along her forehead, flicking sweat away. "Sup, Frank."
Frank writhed his tentacles. "You are looking
fine
today, Gallagher. Hows your run going?"
Dey grinned.
Hey, I thought only I am allowed to call you fine,
Loki muttered. Dey snorted and thought back to him.
[No being jealous, Loki.]
But it's so much damn fun!
Training was going well. Dey had been in the USAF - her dreams set on being a fighter pilot. But each branch of the United States military ran their members through regular screening tests. Those tests determined who had the psychological grit and personality that could 'bond' with an artifical intelligence. Anyone could be physically jacked into an A.I; all that took were a few billion dollars worth of surgical equipment, a combined century of training in the number of specialist doctors and surgeons and a priceless artifical intelligence that had been nurtured from birth to be...human.
But only a small fraction of the population of the planet - let alone the United States - could stand having another
person
living inside their bodies without going absolutely bug fuck insane.
Dey wasn't sure why she didn't hate it. But...she didn't. And that was good enough for her.
"Miserable," she said, her voice cheery. "I hate and loathe every second of it."
Frank - whose tentacles had been at work sculpting flaked ice and squirting flavoring - paused. "Ah!" he clicked his beak. "You won't fool me, Gallagher. I know you now. You're only happy when it rains."
"Hey, at least I'm not the one wearing a 49er hat in Nevada," Gallagher said, taking the ice treat. She started to walk backwards, flipping a two fingered salute after her at Frank. "Later, squiddy."
As she walked and enjoyed her treat - the one treat she got a week - Dey closed her eyes and let Loki guide her footsteps for a bit. It was part of the practice she liked to do. They lived in a world where every other dollar bill had a tiny RFID chip in it, and most systems were publicly open - for the same reason, back in the 1980s, the US government made GPS tracking available to everyone for free. The sheer amount of data that could be pulled from every sensor, chip and broadcaster in the world streamlined and supercharged dozens of economic principals. Making it free made everyone richer, faster, healthier.
And less private.
But Dey, a child of the 22
nd
century, never considered
that
.
She just enjoyed Loki being able to tap into local cameras and direct her with her eyes closed around bumps in the sidewalk. That was fucking
cool
.
[So,] she thought. [We've worked on the biofeedback - fifteen clicks without feeling tired is kind of fucking rad. We good on muscle strain and bone jar? You're making sure cutting the strain feedback isn't fucking my joints over?]
Yup.
Loki chuckled.
Human bodies are such whiners. Oh nooo, I have suffered mild strain and am using easily recouped energy. Boo hoo!
[Stop talking smack about my butt!]
Loki simulated a hand slapping said butt. Long practice kept Dey from squeaking and jumping - but the tingling pleasure of his touch still buzzed through her. She shook her head, opening her eyes. [So, biofeedback, intelinet integration, translation. I think we're going to ace the finals.]
The finals. There was a
reason
why the USAF had yanked Dey out of her training on Ceres, shuttled her across the solar system, and spent billions putting Loki into her brain. And it wasn't, as much as Dey would have enjoyed the idea, just so that she could have an AI in her brain to tell her how pretty she was. That reason filled Dey with dread as much as it filled her with excitement. She had joined the USAF to fly spaceships. Her dad had piloted a boat for a living and she had hated it - when she was free from fishing through Old Miami's waterlogged ruins for trinkets to sell at Lakeland, she had looked up at the stars and the halo of orbiting satellites.
I want to fly one of those,
she had thought. Later, she had learned that fifty percent of them were military defense platforms. Still, the sense of wonder and optimism had remained. Pretty much the only thing Dey had ever been optimistic
about
. In her whole life. Save for Loki. But thinking of how she