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Chapter 3

"So," Xerian prompted as they made their way toward's Quirk's lair. "There was this blue-green guy who distracted our captors. Are they your friend or something?"

"Oh, so that's how you got away?" Quirk looked surprised. "That sounds like P3T3R. He's... weird."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you're weird," Xerian said. "The whole thing about hearing voices in your head... That's not normal. At least, not where we come from."

"That's probably what P3T3R has too," Quirk said. "Maybe he does random chaotic stuff to block them out? To be honest, I'm not entirely sure how he escaped being captured himself - but he's clearly not one of Them. At least, not yet."

"Not yet?"

"Well, if They capture him..." Quirk sighed. "He'll become a drone. They'll remove his free will and turn him into one of Them."

Silence reigned for a few minutes while Xerian and Lautrec digested this information.

"Okay," Xerian said finally. "Let's get this straight. Lautrec and I were teleported aboard a large starship, and nearly taken captive, right? But you're running loose. So are you some other captive? Is that what the ship has been doing? Moving from star system to star system and taking samples for study or something?"

"Nah, I'm just here to assassinate the Emperor," Quirk said simply, his face forming an expression of childlike glee.

"What?!" Xerian yelped. "That's horrible!"

"So is the Emperor," Quirk shrugged. "Someone needs to end his evil reign. Might as well be me, right? As for the ship, well I'm afraid it's bad news. You're right - the ship is taking samples for study or something..."

"It's the 'Or something' part that's the problem, isn't it?" Lautrec sighed.

"Indeed. Basically, the Emperor is planning to conquer your worlds," the protogen told them. "He is abducting members of your race to determine your weaknesses and otherwise plan his invasion. But I think they're winding down now... and preparing to move into the attack part of the plan."

"So, about your assassination gig," the cyberjag said hopefully. "Do you take commissions...?"

"Lautrec!" Xerian yelped.

"Sorry boss, warrior robot and all," the panther said apologetically. "So who actually is..." he trailed away as the lights suddenly dimmed noticeably.

"What's going on? Is the ship being attacked...?" Xerian asked, looking worried.

"No, no," Quirk said. "It's evening, shipboard time. The ambient lights vary to simulate the day and night cycle. We're almost at the hideout, and I should probably start preparing for bed once we get there."

"Perhaps it's for the best," Xerian sighed. "It's getting on for my bedtime too. I hate adapting to different lengths of day..."

"I will wake you if you need it," Quirk said. "I have some beds I stole from the barracks. Sometimes P3T3R comes by, so you can use his. I might have to find something else for your panther, though."

"I can sleep on the floor if necessary," Lautrec said. "But something soft would be nice if anything is available. Just a mat or a rug would do..."

"There's some towels," Quirk said, fiddling with some wires on a damaged control panel until a hidden door split open before them to reveal a spacious room with some clutter and some storage cupboards and crates stacked against the walls.

"There's just one thing you need to know," the protogen cautioned. "I sleep in a cupboard. I will lock the door from the inside with a logic puzzle. Please do not open it except in dire emergency."

"What?!" Lautrec squawked.

"Remember, my combat implants," the protogen said. "I might go into a killing frenzy if the software fires up while I'm unconscious. So if you forced the door I might be in a dangerous state. But if I open it myself... Well, I can only solve the puzzle when my murderous tendencies have abated," he added helpfully. "See...?"

"I don't believe this..." Xerian wailed. "I'm trapped on an alien spaceship with a mad murderer!"

"Rude," Quirk said, and disappeared into his cupboard.

* * *

"Good morning!" Quirk said brightly, emerging from his room in a shiny black dress and matching gloves. The claws on his feet were now painted bright red.

"Oh no, oh no no no..." Xerian whimpered, and slumped heavily down on the floor in a prone position.

"What..?" Quirk said, brushing the frills and admiring himself in the mirror. "Is there a crease...? Did I miss a spot with the polish?"

"I don't think it's that," Lautrec said, looking at the Synth with concern.

"Have you ever wondered..." Xerian asked, faltered and tried again. "Sometime a year ago I was abducted by an alien being of immense power and left to fend for myself in a crazy world full of magical creatures with a very flamboyant mode of dress," he said, laughing bitterly and cradling his head in his hands.
"At one point I had a breakdown and decided I must have just gone insane and was hallucinating everything. That I was really in a coma, or wandering the streets dressed in a rubber miniskirt and talking to myself..."

"Ohh," the protogen said. "And here you are abducted again. And suddenly waking up to see my causal wear... It's making you wonder if you've gone off the deep end after all. Or for real this time?"

"To put it bluntly, yes," Xerian sighed.

"It's okay, boss, it's okay," Lautrec said, putting a paw on the Synth's shoulder reassuringly. "If this isn't real, we've both gone mad together.
"That said, I've seen worse. Remember, I came from that crazy world and was made by people who have a particularly 'artistic' sense of fashion compared to the other races. So this kind of thing is pretty normal to me. I say, if he wants to wear shiny clothes, that's his business so long as it doesn't endanger anyone in a combat situation. At the end of the day, I'm just a sexless robot cat who can't even wear clothes... So it makes no difference to me."

"I've been sneaking around here for years," Quirk admitted. "Maybe I have been on my own too long. But give me some credit - I don't wear the heels unless I'm sure I won't be doing anything combat-like."

"Where did you even get those clothes?" Lautrec asked. "And how do you keep them polished?"

"I had the replicators make them, and the polish," the protogen said. "Same place I get my food. Oh yeah, want any breakfast?" So saying, he produced a nutri-bar of some kind and began to chew on it, the visor splitting into a cracked half around the area of his mouth, and showing a pastel-coloured maw within.

Xerian was staring at him, Lautrec's mouth had dropped open and he was similarly taken aback.

"What's wrong now...?" Quirk protested between mouthfuls.

"Your mouth," Xerian began, not entirely sure how to say it. "It's... well, I assumed your visor was completely solid. I guess... I didn't think you had a mouth. I figured you were entirely electrical or something."

"The visor is nanomechanical," the protogen said. "We can form a mouth to eat things. We do need nutrients after all, and what we can't digest directly gets converted to energy as a power source."

"If it's all the same, I'd rather not see that again," Xerian said. "No offence it's just kind of... disturbing."

"I'm sure we'll get used to it," Lautrec added hastily. "But seeing it for the first time, it's... a bit of a shock."

"Why did the replicators have evening gloves and high heels?" Xerian asked. "I thought this was a military vessel."

"It is, but even military personnel need to let of steam off-duty," the protogen pointed out. "It can spent multiple years on a single mission, so the replicator database has design patterns for many different contingencies. The recreational facilities aboard ship use them, and also... well, I've heard the Emperor might be that way inclined."

"I hope he's not an incubus," Lautrec said unhappily. Quirk's visor made an expression of confusion for a moment, but then rolled his eyes and decided not to inquire further.

"I hope this isn't a personal question," Xerian began, trying to break the tension. "But having seen your mouth go like that... Well - I'm kind of curious. Whats under your visor?"

"What's under your visor?" Quirk retorted. "That's a bit personal given that I don't even know your name yet!"

"True. I go by 'Xerian'," the Synth said. "A lot of the space behind my visor is empty actually... But well, where should I begin? I think I'll need a moment to gather my thoughts."

"Fine," Quirk sighed. "Well, since you've never seen a Protogen before, I guess you can't be expected to know about our taboos. As it happens, what's behind the visor can vary. Some protos have a proper face, though it still can't be removed as it's part of our life support.
"Others... Well, the older or more experimental designs... They just have their internal organs removed while the skull is rebuilt, and then they're rammed back into the head any which way, held in place with luck and nanites."

"Eww," Lautrec said.

"Quite. It can be ugly - like the brain is pressed directly against the visor and the eyes are left kind of floating around or lashed to the sides. It's not nice to think about and I... I don't want to know which type I am. But regardless... Removing or puncturing the visor would be fatal without medical aid."

"I get what you mean about it being personal now," Lautrec said. "That's not pretty."

"So... my visor is made of synthetic sapphire," Xerian said, trying to change the topic. "It has internal displays - the outward-facing ones render my face, rather like yours. The inward-facing ones can be used as a heads-up display, and there's a camera gimbal that runs on a track. The HUD is picked up by the camera rather than being generated internally because we don't like directly inserting arbitrary data back into the brain module. It would make a weak point for hackers to..."

"Brain module?!" Quirk gurgled, eyes staring in a look of cartoon shock. "You mean... you're completely robotic?!" the protogen gasped, mouth falling open slightly. "I didn't think that was possible!"

"What the hell do you think I am?" Lautrec demanded, thrashing his metallic tail indignantly.

"Very heavily augmented," Quirk said. "Like, full body armour, or maybe just an organic brain in your head or something. You've seen the servitor robots here, right? They just run programs and pattern-match. You.. You've clearly got emotions, or a very realistic simulation of them."

"I suppose that's reasonable," the cyberjag admitted, and sat down. "The brain-in-a-jar thing has been tried, actually - but it didn't work out too well. For your information, I am a Mark 9 Cyberjag, and one hundred percent meat-free. Xerian here is my friend and employer, and he is a Synth - a kind of lizard android, if I may put it like that. Synths don't like being referred to as robots because that does imply a menial, non-sentient slave, whereas we are certifiably alive in any sense that matters."

Quirk made a sad smile on his visor. "I see," he said. "The irony is, while I am mostly living tissue, I was built by the Emperor... specifically to be a menial, non-sentient slave."