It Will Be Okay
A Subnautica: Below Zero fanfiction
Spoiler warning:
This story and its description contain major spoilers for Subnautica: Below Zero.
Description:
All corporeal forms are temporary, and it was only a matter of time before Robin's broke down. But Al-An isn't ready to say goodbye.
Content warning:
This story includes an extinction level event, and subsequent suicidal thoughts on the part of the lone survivor. It doesn't go into any kind of gory detail, but I thought I'd add a warning for those who have vulnerabilities in that area or who simply don't want to read about that.
This story and its description contain major spoilers for Subnautica: Below Zero.
Description:
All corporeal forms are temporary, and it was only a matter of time before Robin's broke down. But Al-An isn't ready to say goodbye.
Content warning:
This story includes an extinction level event, and subsequent suicidal thoughts on the part of the lone survivor. It doesn't go into any kind of gory detail, but I thought I'd add a warning for those who have vulnerabilities in that area or who simply don't want to read about that.
“It’s okay, Al-An. I know it hurts. But it’s gonna be okay.” As they walked through the dim green halls, surrounded by dormant Architect technology, Robin’s wavering voice grew softer. “You’re gonna be okay.”
In the past, she had always been right. Even when they’d been sure she was wrong.
When they’d found their homeworld void of life, and the sorrow of ten thousand dimming souls drove them to their knees, she had been there, rushing to their side as their mechanical arms clattered lifeless to the ground.
When their shoulders slumped beneath the mountain of their failure, she’d wrapped her arms around them, holding them up. When their head had bowed under the crush of unbearable loss, she’d stroked it gently, bearing its weight on her shoulder so they wouldn’t have to.
She didn’t say it was okay; she knew that it was not. But she told them they would be okay. They would grieve, they would struggle, they’d need time to process their pain and guilt… and then, no matter how long it took, they would find a new life that was still worth living.
They hadn’t been able to believe her. Not then. Their species was dead, their network was gone, the community in their mind had gone forever silent, and it was mostly their fault.
But Robin was there, and alive, and her arms had felt so solid and warm as they wrapped around the grieving Architect. She could never replace an entire species, but she was an anchor to cling to in the storm, and Al-An had clung to her with everything they had.
When they’d accessed the remains of the homeworld’s databanks, she had been there, sharing in their sorrow and trying to ease their shame as they downloaded the records of their people’s final days.
When they’d left the planet behind, and their ship was engulfed in a void of space that felt emptier than it ever had before, she had filled the silence with words, preventing it from swallowing them whole.
When grief had clouded their mind in such a blinding, crushing fog that they could barely force themselves to perform basic functions, Robin had borrowed their mechanical arms, and had learned to run the ship herself.
When they’d felt the urge to delete themselves, to erase an existence that felt too pointless to continue and too disgraced to deserve to live, they’d thought of the suffering their death would inflict on a friend who had already lost her sister, and refused to make her endure that pain.
They had stayed alive for Robin, and she’d kept giving them reasons to.
They’d told her of a world they’d once visited, with fantastical creatures whose functions baffled even the Architects. Her eyes lit up, and they offered to take her there.
Her enthusiastic response had lit the first spark of joy they’d felt in a long time. After all their failures and mistakes, they had done something good for a person they cared about, and had made her life a bit better.
If they could do it once, they could do it again. And so they kept doing it.
Every time they made Robin’s eyes shine, the glow inside them had grown brighter. Each time they studied a new species together, or Al-An introduced her to a familiar creature that was new to her, that light had grown.
And whenever her grief over Samantha’s death twisted her face and turned the light in her eyes to tears, Al-An was there, surrounding her with their arms in the way their human friend always found so comforting.
Just as Robin eased Al-An’s sorrow, Al-An had the power to ease hers. And as it turned out, hugging her made them feel better, too.
With each positive experience, the mourning Architect slowly came to realize that Robin was right. Just as there was life after Samantha’s death, there was life after their people’s deaths, too.
Even if the planet that meant the most to them was dead, there were countless other planets where life still thrived.
For the first few months after they took to space, it was just the two of them, comforting themselves with research and supporting each other through their grief. Then Robin introduced them to her friends at XenoWorx, before turning in her resignation and collecting her cat.
After all she’d learned about Alterra, she didn’t dare continue to work for a company that had sold a controlling stake to the corrupt Trans-Gov. She knew it was just a matter of time before it clipped her wings, misused her work, or both. And she would never let that happen.
Faced with a choice between working with a collective that no longer aligned with her goals and dreams, or living those dreams amid the stars with Al-An, she said the decision had been easy – even if the goodbyes were not.
She and her friends had agreed to stay in touch, as long as Alterra was never told. And they had, until the decades took their inevitable toll. The strings of this new network snapped one by one, broken by the unstoppable advance of time.
But even as her friends went silent, between Al-An’s medical technology and Robin’s unbreakable will, her melody had kept playing in tandem with theirs for almost two hundred years, until the mournful note had almost faded from Al-An’s tune.
She’d told them they would be okay. And she was right.
But that was because she’d made herself right. She’d kept on trying until the outcome she wanted was realized, like she always did.
But determination and resourcefulness, even in the vast quantities she possessed, could only take her so far. And now, all too clearly, Al-An could see the end.
The weight on their back was far too light, as if the years had eaten her away. Her once-strong arms were frail and thin, like sticks wrapped around their torso, and the hands on their chest were trembling with effort.
Her head rested against their shoulder blades, just as their own head had leaned on her all those years ago, as if its weight was more than her struggling body could bear.
Her hair was white, her skin sagged beneath the weight of its wrinkles, and it had been months since she could walk on her own.
They didn’t mind carrying her. The closeness and warmth, the physical contact, were as comforting to Al-An as they were to her.
But it was only a matter of time before that warmth would vanish, leaving a cold, endless void on their back and in their heart.
Unless she was willing to make it okay again.
“It’s okay,” she whispered again, and Al-An wondered if she was awake enough to realize she was repeating herself.
As if saying her death would be “okay” could ever make it true. A thousand repetitions later, it would still be just as false.
And they were not prepared to settle for that. “I know,” they responded softly. “In fact, it could be more okay than you think.”
“Huh?” That seemed to wake her up a bit, and her head lifted from their shoulder blades. “What do you mean?”
“In a moment, I will show you.”
A forcefield glittered green in front of them, and as Al-An approached, it flickered and deactivated. Robin’s weight shifted on their back, and they readied the tractor beam on a mechanical arm, in case she was about to fall.
To their relief, she kept her grip, and they could sense her leaning around them, staring at the room ahead. “Al-An? What is this?”
“It is… a gift. To you, and to both of us.”
“Well, you’ve certainly sparked my curiosity. How long are you going to keep me in suspense?”
Al-An’s face could not smile, but the lines on their body flushed a warm, fond hue. Curiosity had always been Robin’s driving trait; if they wanted to distract her or get her to do something, all they had to do was ignite that relentless inquisitiveness.
But curiosity might not be enough to get her to agree to this. And if she didn’t…
No. Don’t think about that. Remember what Robin told you: prepare for the worst, but hope for the best.
“Just a few moments more,” they reassured her, trying to keep glowing with the same happy color they had a moment ago. She’ll agree to this. She has to. If she doesn’t, the cost is far too great.
“Robin, do you remember the day we first met?”
She chuckled. “You mean the day I met my first sapient space-faring alien, and ended up sharing a brain with them? I think I’ll always remember that.”
Al-An’s head lowered, then the arm with the tractor beam bent toward Robin. Behind them, they heard her breath hitch as the green light enveloped her, lifting her gently into the air and carefully laying her in the Architect’s partly-organic arms.
She stared up at them, her wrinkled brow slightly furrowed and her dark eyes alight with questions, and Al-An took a moment to drink in the sight of a face that had become so dear to them.
A face they might never see again after today.
“On that day,” they said softly, “my storage medium was about to fail. If it wasn’t for you, I would have been lost. But you saved me.
“On the day I learned that my people were gone, I wanted to delete myself. But I stayed alive, because I didn’t want my death to hurt you. You saved me again. You continued to save me every day, until I was once again able to save myself. And now…”
A sound from the machinery ahead of them drew Robin’s stare, and Al-An shifted to give her a better view. A large, transparent container was slowly descending, filled with fluid, and suspended in its center was a bipedal form in a reinforced all-weather suit.
“Al-An, is that…”
“I know how much you cherish your body.” Al-An’s gaze rose to their creation, watching with trepidation and pride as the container opened and the fluid spilled out.
The exposed face and hands revealed bluish grey-green skin much like their own, covered in glowing lines, but the shape of its body and face was unmistakably human, and the head even had the beginnings of a curly covering of hair.
“So I made this vessel as similar as possible to your original form,” they continued, returning their stare to Robin and watching her expression closely as they spoke. “It runs primarily on ionic power, but it has the ability to taste and process food, and I believe the sense of taste will be similar to the one you currently have.”
She was frowning at the body now, but the wide-eyed look spoke of concentration and rapid thought, and Al-An took it as their cue to go on. “I have observed that you find it uncomfortable to be seen without clothes – hence the reinforced outfit that covers the majority of its form.
“And I know you are uncomfortable with the thought of other people reading your mind. While this body is capable of a network connection, which will be useful if your hands are occupied and you are in need of help, you will be able to turn it off, or on, as you see fit.”
Her eyes were beginning to glisten, and they hoped that was a good sign. Humans cried for so many reasons, but with any luck, this time she was crying with joy. “Wow,” she managed, her voice croaking slightly. “That’s… amazing. You put a lot of work into this.”
“For you, it was worth it.” Their grip on her dying body tightened slightly, and she turned her eyes fully to their face. “I know it is a lot to get used to. Your people are accustomed to dying once, and then leaving the rest to the next generation.
“You have no precedent to tell you what it’s like for a human to be reborn into a new body, much less one that is different from the one you had before. Just as I had no precedent for enduring the loss of my entire species. But you were there to help me through it, as a friend, and… as a fellow scientist.
“As scientists, we devote our lives to the idea that things can be better than they were for the generations that lived before our discoveries. That drive for something better… that hope… is what defines our careers and lives.
“It is sometimes… uncomfortable to challenge our ideas of the way things are, and the way things can be. Sometimes our work takes us outside our comfort zones, and forces us to try things we aren’t certain we’ll enjoy. But we persevere, because the reward is well worth the risk.”
Their head bowed, and the curl of their appendages around their friend was like a silent plea. “When my storage medium was about to fail, you saved me. When my people were dying, I could not save them. And now your body is failing, and I want more than anything to save you.
“Just because past generations of humans were confined to their homeworld, that does not mean your generation had to be. And just because past generations of humans had to die, that does not mean you have to. If you do, I… do not know how I will bear it. So please…”
They stepped forward, their arms rose, and Robin’s widening stare locked on the empty, waiting vessel that was now within arms’ reach. “Please,” Al-An said again, their voice breaking as it fell to a whisper. “Let me save you.”
Robin’s gaze returned to them, perfectly round, and brighter than they’d seen it in a long time.
Then a light like a joyful sun shone in her eyes, and Al-An’s heart raced skyward as a wide grin set the rest of her features alight. “All right,” she told them, and even her voice was smiling. “You win.
“Being pulled out of my body is still a freaky thought, and I don’t know if I’ll still feel like myself when I’m in a different body, but…” Her eyes fell, and her hand rose to gently rest on her stomach. “As much as I love my body, I know I can’t keep it forever. And you’re right – I don’t have to let it take me down with it.”
Her gaze rose to the vessel, and the smile returned to her face. “I think it’s time to try a new adventure.”
Al-An’s heart felt like it could pull their body to the sky along with it, and every glowing line on their skin blazed with the gleam of pure, unfettered joy. “Robin,” they told her, their voice shaking slightly, “you have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that.”
“Hey.” She gave their chest a light, affectionate swat. “You didn’t think I was gonna just let myself die and leave you alone if I had a choice, did you?”
“I was afraid you would,” they solemnly replied, allowing the years of crushing dread to tremble in their voice.
“Hey.” This time the word was softer, and the same fingers that had just playfully rapped them reached up to cradle the hand that supported her shoulder. “I know I can be stubborn sometimes. And I wanted to stay in my body as long as possible. But I’m not gonna hurt you like that, or throw away my own life, just because I’m not willing to accept change.
“Besides,” she added, her grin shining brighter than ever, “there are so many interesting worlds to explore! Who knows – I might just be the first human ever to live long enough to see them all.”
“If I have any say in it, you will be.”
“Awesome! So…” Her eyes darted to the vessel, then back to Al-An. “How do I get into my new skin?”
Their shoulders felt weak with relief, but they forced them to stay steady as they held Robin closer to the vessel. “Just establish physical contact, and I will take care of the rest.”
In the past, she had always been right. Even when they’d been sure she was wrong.
When they’d found their homeworld void of life, and the sorrow of ten thousand dimming souls drove them to their knees, she had been there, rushing to their side as their mechanical arms clattered lifeless to the ground.
When their shoulders slumped beneath the mountain of their failure, she’d wrapped her arms around them, holding them up. When their head had bowed under the crush of unbearable loss, she’d stroked it gently, bearing its weight on her shoulder so they wouldn’t have to.
She didn’t say it was okay; she knew that it was not. But she told them they would be okay. They would grieve, they would struggle, they’d need time to process their pain and guilt… and then, no matter how long it took, they would find a new life that was still worth living.
They hadn’t been able to believe her. Not then. Their species was dead, their network was gone, the community in their mind had gone forever silent, and it was mostly their fault.
But Robin was there, and alive, and her arms had felt so solid and warm as they wrapped around the grieving Architect. She could never replace an entire species, but she was an anchor to cling to in the storm, and Al-An had clung to her with everything they had.
When they’d accessed the remains of the homeworld’s databanks, she had been there, sharing in their sorrow and trying to ease their shame as they downloaded the records of their people’s final days.
When they’d left the planet behind, and their ship was engulfed in a void of space that felt emptier than it ever had before, she had filled the silence with words, preventing it from swallowing them whole.
When grief had clouded their mind in such a blinding, crushing fog that they could barely force themselves to perform basic functions, Robin had borrowed their mechanical arms, and had learned to run the ship herself.
When they’d felt the urge to delete themselves, to erase an existence that felt too pointless to continue and too disgraced to deserve to live, they’d thought of the suffering their death would inflict on a friend who had already lost her sister, and refused to make her endure that pain.
They had stayed alive for Robin, and she’d kept giving them reasons to.
They’d told her of a world they’d once visited, with fantastical creatures whose functions baffled even the Architects. Her eyes lit up, and they offered to take her there.
Her enthusiastic response had lit the first spark of joy they’d felt in a long time. After all their failures and mistakes, they had done something good for a person they cared about, and had made her life a bit better.
If they could do it once, they could do it again. And so they kept doing it.
Every time they made Robin’s eyes shine, the glow inside them had grown brighter. Each time they studied a new species together, or Al-An introduced her to a familiar creature that was new to her, that light had grown.
And whenever her grief over Samantha’s death twisted her face and turned the light in her eyes to tears, Al-An was there, surrounding her with their arms in the way their human friend always found so comforting.
Just as Robin eased Al-An’s sorrow, Al-An had the power to ease hers. And as it turned out, hugging her made them feel better, too.
With each positive experience, the mourning Architect slowly came to realize that Robin was right. Just as there was life after Samantha’s death, there was life after their people’s deaths, too.
Even if the planet that meant the most to them was dead, there were countless other planets where life still thrived.
For the first few months after they took to space, it was just the two of them, comforting themselves with research and supporting each other through their grief. Then Robin introduced them to her friends at XenoWorx, before turning in her resignation and collecting her cat.
After all she’d learned about Alterra, she didn’t dare continue to work for a company that had sold a controlling stake to the corrupt Trans-Gov. She knew it was just a matter of time before it clipped her wings, misused her work, or both. And she would never let that happen.
Faced with a choice between working with a collective that no longer aligned with her goals and dreams, or living those dreams amid the stars with Al-An, she said the decision had been easy – even if the goodbyes were not.
She and her friends had agreed to stay in touch, as long as Alterra was never told. And they had, until the decades took their inevitable toll. The strings of this new network snapped one by one, broken by the unstoppable advance of time.
But even as her friends went silent, between Al-An’s medical technology and Robin’s unbreakable will, her melody had kept playing in tandem with theirs for almost two hundred years, until the mournful note had almost faded from Al-An’s tune.
She’d told them they would be okay. And she was right.
But that was because she’d made herself right. She’d kept on trying until the outcome she wanted was realized, like she always did.
But determination and resourcefulness, even in the vast quantities she possessed, could only take her so far. And now, all too clearly, Al-An could see the end.
The weight on their back was far too light, as if the years had eaten her away. Her once-strong arms were frail and thin, like sticks wrapped around their torso, and the hands on their chest were trembling with effort.
Her head rested against their shoulder blades, just as their own head had leaned on her all those years ago, as if its weight was more than her struggling body could bear.
Her hair was white, her skin sagged beneath the weight of its wrinkles, and it had been months since she could walk on her own.
They didn’t mind carrying her. The closeness and warmth, the physical contact, were as comforting to Al-An as they were to her.
But it was only a matter of time before that warmth would vanish, leaving a cold, endless void on their back and in their heart.
Unless she was willing to make it okay again.
“It’s okay,” she whispered again, and Al-An wondered if she was awake enough to realize she was repeating herself.
As if saying her death would be “okay” could ever make it true. A thousand repetitions later, it would still be just as false.
And they were not prepared to settle for that. “I know,” they responded softly. “In fact, it could be more okay than you think.”
“Huh?” That seemed to wake her up a bit, and her head lifted from their shoulder blades. “What do you mean?”
“In a moment, I will show you.”
A forcefield glittered green in front of them, and as Al-An approached, it flickered and deactivated. Robin’s weight shifted on their back, and they readied the tractor beam on a mechanical arm, in case she was about to fall.
To their relief, she kept her grip, and they could sense her leaning around them, staring at the room ahead. “Al-An? What is this?”
“It is… a gift. To you, and to both of us.”
“Well, you’ve certainly sparked my curiosity. How long are you going to keep me in suspense?”
Al-An’s face could not smile, but the lines on their body flushed a warm, fond hue. Curiosity had always been Robin’s driving trait; if they wanted to distract her or get her to do something, all they had to do was ignite that relentless inquisitiveness.
But curiosity might not be enough to get her to agree to this. And if she didn’t…
No. Don’t think about that. Remember what Robin told you: prepare for the worst, but hope for the best.
“Just a few moments more,” they reassured her, trying to keep glowing with the same happy color they had a moment ago. She’ll agree to this. She has to. If she doesn’t, the cost is far too great.
“Robin, do you remember the day we first met?”
She chuckled. “You mean the day I met my first sapient space-faring alien, and ended up sharing a brain with them? I think I’ll always remember that.”
Al-An’s head lowered, then the arm with the tractor beam bent toward Robin. Behind them, they heard her breath hitch as the green light enveloped her, lifting her gently into the air and carefully laying her in the Architect’s partly-organic arms.
She stared up at them, her wrinkled brow slightly furrowed and her dark eyes alight with questions, and Al-An took a moment to drink in the sight of a face that had become so dear to them.
A face they might never see again after today.
“On that day,” they said softly, “my storage medium was about to fail. If it wasn’t for you, I would have been lost. But you saved me.
“On the day I learned that my people were gone, I wanted to delete myself. But I stayed alive, because I didn’t want my death to hurt you. You saved me again. You continued to save me every day, until I was once again able to save myself. And now…”
A sound from the machinery ahead of them drew Robin’s stare, and Al-An shifted to give her a better view. A large, transparent container was slowly descending, filled with fluid, and suspended in its center was a bipedal form in a reinforced all-weather suit.
“Al-An, is that…”
“I know how much you cherish your body.” Al-An’s gaze rose to their creation, watching with trepidation and pride as the container opened and the fluid spilled out.
The exposed face and hands revealed bluish grey-green skin much like their own, covered in glowing lines, but the shape of its body and face was unmistakably human, and the head even had the beginnings of a curly covering of hair.
“So I made this vessel as similar as possible to your original form,” they continued, returning their stare to Robin and watching her expression closely as they spoke. “It runs primarily on ionic power, but it has the ability to taste and process food, and I believe the sense of taste will be similar to the one you currently have.”
She was frowning at the body now, but the wide-eyed look spoke of concentration and rapid thought, and Al-An took it as their cue to go on. “I have observed that you find it uncomfortable to be seen without clothes – hence the reinforced outfit that covers the majority of its form.
“And I know you are uncomfortable with the thought of other people reading your mind. While this body is capable of a network connection, which will be useful if your hands are occupied and you are in need of help, you will be able to turn it off, or on, as you see fit.”
Her eyes were beginning to glisten, and they hoped that was a good sign. Humans cried for so many reasons, but with any luck, this time she was crying with joy. “Wow,” she managed, her voice croaking slightly. “That’s… amazing. You put a lot of work into this.”
“For you, it was worth it.” Their grip on her dying body tightened slightly, and she turned her eyes fully to their face. “I know it is a lot to get used to. Your people are accustomed to dying once, and then leaving the rest to the next generation.
“You have no precedent to tell you what it’s like for a human to be reborn into a new body, much less one that is different from the one you had before. Just as I had no precedent for enduring the loss of my entire species. But you were there to help me through it, as a friend, and… as a fellow scientist.
“As scientists, we devote our lives to the idea that things can be better than they were for the generations that lived before our discoveries. That drive for something better… that hope… is what defines our careers and lives.
“It is sometimes… uncomfortable to challenge our ideas of the way things are, and the way things can be. Sometimes our work takes us outside our comfort zones, and forces us to try things we aren’t certain we’ll enjoy. But we persevere, because the reward is well worth the risk.”
Their head bowed, and the curl of their appendages around their friend was like a silent plea. “When my storage medium was about to fail, you saved me. When my people were dying, I could not save them. And now your body is failing, and I want more than anything to save you.
“Just because past generations of humans were confined to their homeworld, that does not mean your generation had to be. And just because past generations of humans had to die, that does not mean you have to. If you do, I… do not know how I will bear it. So please…”
They stepped forward, their arms rose, and Robin’s widening stare locked on the empty, waiting vessel that was now within arms’ reach. “Please,” Al-An said again, their voice breaking as it fell to a whisper. “Let me save you.”
Robin’s gaze returned to them, perfectly round, and brighter than they’d seen it in a long time.
Then a light like a joyful sun shone in her eyes, and Al-An’s heart raced skyward as a wide grin set the rest of her features alight. “All right,” she told them, and even her voice was smiling. “You win.
“Being pulled out of my body is still a freaky thought, and I don’t know if I’ll still feel like myself when I’m in a different body, but…” Her eyes fell, and her hand rose to gently rest on her stomach. “As much as I love my body, I know I can’t keep it forever. And you’re right – I don’t have to let it take me down with it.”
Her gaze rose to the vessel, and the smile returned to her face. “I think it’s time to try a new adventure.”
Al-An’s heart felt like it could pull their body to the sky along with it, and every glowing line on their skin blazed with the gleam of pure, unfettered joy. “Robin,” they told her, their voice shaking slightly, “you have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that.”
“Hey.” She gave their chest a light, affectionate swat. “You didn’t think I was gonna just let myself die and leave you alone if I had a choice, did you?”
“I was afraid you would,” they solemnly replied, allowing the years of crushing dread to tremble in their voice.
“Hey.” This time the word was softer, and the same fingers that had just playfully rapped them reached up to cradle the hand that supported her shoulder. “I know I can be stubborn sometimes. And I wanted to stay in my body as long as possible. But I’m not gonna hurt you like that, or throw away my own life, just because I’m not willing to accept change.
“Besides,” she added, her grin shining brighter than ever, “there are so many interesting worlds to explore! Who knows – I might just be the first human ever to live long enough to see them all.”
“If I have any say in it, you will be.”
“Awesome! So…” Her eyes darted to the vessel, then back to Al-An. “How do I get into my new skin?”
Their shoulders felt weak with relief, but they forced them to stay steady as they held Robin closer to the vessel. “Just establish physical contact, and I will take care of the rest.”
~*~
It was strange, and disturbing, to see Robin’s body lying empty. To feel it go limp in their arms, in a way that even an unconscious person could not.
They were used to seeing this in Architects. Disposing of a broken vessel, or even trading a healthy one for a more suitable form while someone else inherited the shell, was normal to them. But when a human’s body behaved like this, the human was truly gone.
But not this time. Science continued to advance, and while the body in Al-An’s arms was dead, the soul inside it was staring at them with wide new eyes, and that gaze was very much alive.
“How do you feel?” the Architect asked, the words echoing from the day they’d first asked them after taking refuge in Robin’s head.
“I… I feel… so many things,” the human stammered, her voice hushed with wonder as she stared down at her reborn form and flexed her new fingers. “I feel stronger than I ever have… I can feel the energy running through me, like… rivers, made of power, and I…”
The glowing organs that simulated eyes gleamed a shade of fascination as they rose to meet Al-An’s. “I feel like I can do things I’ve never done before.”
“You can. You can now use the same rapid movement I use to cover small to moderate distances in an instant. Though, I would recommend that you practice in a large, open area until you are accustomed to it.
“You will also find mechanical appendages easier to use, and you are far more resistant to damage than your original body was.
“I am not sure how digestion will feel in this new form, and it is likely that some traits and perspectives that arose from your mind’s interplay with your original body will be weakened, or lost. But your core attributes should be fully intact, and you may find that you enjoy discovering new aspects of yourself as your new body grows with you.”
“It is… certainly different. It’s a bit too early to say exactly how much is different, but… whatever has changed, I’m sure I’ll find ways to adapt.”
“You always do. It is one of the things I admire the most about you. No matter how the world changes, you find a way to move on… to make things okay.”
Their hands closed around hers, and her eyes glowed a bluish purple as they locked with Al-An’s gaze. “And I promise you, Robin: no matter what challenges arise as you adapt to your new form, I will be there to help you through them. I will help you face whatever awaits, and no matter what it takes to make it so, I promise…”
Her arms pulled free of theirs, then wrapped around Al-An’s waist. The silent song of a network connection thrummed through their mind, sending a long-forgotten surge of joy through every nerve, and the two scientists’ thoughts intertwined, tenderly wrapping around a single phrase.
It will be okay.
They were used to seeing this in Architects. Disposing of a broken vessel, or even trading a healthy one for a more suitable form while someone else inherited the shell, was normal to them. But when a human’s body behaved like this, the human was truly gone.
But not this time. Science continued to advance, and while the body in Al-An’s arms was dead, the soul inside it was staring at them with wide new eyes, and that gaze was very much alive.
“How do you feel?” the Architect asked, the words echoing from the day they’d first asked them after taking refuge in Robin’s head.
“I… I feel… so many things,” the human stammered, her voice hushed with wonder as she stared down at her reborn form and flexed her new fingers. “I feel stronger than I ever have… I can feel the energy running through me, like… rivers, made of power, and I…”
The glowing organs that simulated eyes gleamed a shade of fascination as they rose to meet Al-An’s. “I feel like I can do things I’ve never done before.”
“You can. You can now use the same rapid movement I use to cover small to moderate distances in an instant. Though, I would recommend that you practice in a large, open area until you are accustomed to it.
“You will also find mechanical appendages easier to use, and you are far more resistant to damage than your original body was.
“I am not sure how digestion will feel in this new form, and it is likely that some traits and perspectives that arose from your mind’s interplay with your original body will be weakened, or lost. But your core attributes should be fully intact, and you may find that you enjoy discovering new aspects of yourself as your new body grows with you.”
“It is… certainly different. It’s a bit too early to say exactly how much is different, but… whatever has changed, I’m sure I’ll find ways to adapt.”
“You always do. It is one of the things I admire the most about you. No matter how the world changes, you find a way to move on… to make things okay.”
Their hands closed around hers, and her eyes glowed a bluish purple as they locked with Al-An’s gaze. “And I promise you, Robin: no matter what challenges arise as you adapt to your new form, I will be there to help you through them. I will help you face whatever awaits, and no matter what it takes to make it so, I promise…”
Her arms pulled free of theirs, then wrapped around Al-An’s waist. The silent song of a network connection thrummed through their mind, sending a long-forgotten surge of joy through every nerve, and the two scientists’ thoughts intertwined, tenderly wrapping around a single phrase.
It will be okay.
Author's note:
I suspect this concept has been done before, but the dialogue came to my mind and stuck there, and I loved it too much to leave it unwritten.
If you want to read my original stories, you can find them here.
And if you'd like to help me publish new stories faster, please consider supporting me on Patreon, so I can spend more time writing and less time doing other things to make money.
I suspect this concept has been done before, but the dialogue came to my mind and stuck there, and I loved it too much to leave it unwritten.
If you want to read my original stories, you can find them here.
And if you'd like to help me publish new stories faster, please consider supporting me on Patreon, so I can spend more time writing and less time doing other things to make money.