Archive of Our Own ^beta

I should have left him years ago. I don’t need a captain; I don’t need a crew. I’m SEA-53; I’m my own ship. You know what I’m gonna do is: I’m gonna work as a tug for a little while. I’m gonna save up some money and then I’ll get my engines back and I’m going straight to space and I’m gonna -

Wait a minute

Are those Monarchy dreadnaughts?

I’d better -

They didn’t see me at all! They went straight by me… straight back… to the Captain.

I’d better… but they’ll… I’ll be captured as soon as I turn around…

Captain!

Forgive me.

And just like that, he does it. He makes a choice, and for once in his rodddamned life he puts his own self-preservation first. SEA-53 sails away from the Monarchy dreadnaughts with more speed than he realized his mostly wooden, mostly sail-powered body could muster. He presses on for days, sailing clear to the southern end of Aquatis in order to be further away from those who would capture and destroy him. And when he finally stops, dropping anchor in a deserted cove far from any ports, he realizes he’s completely out of fuel and that his cube can’t stop shaking. He’s trembling so much that the entire binnacle, which houses his cube in place of a compass, is vibrating.

The only way he has made it this far is from pure rage and adrenaline. He has to get into a port and rig up some sort of a disguise in case the Monarchy are still looking for him. He has to get some fuel. But he has to stop shaking, first.

He did it. He left. He finally stopped listening to all of the sweet, wonderful things Captain Cameron said to him and looked instead at all of the dangerous, disabling things he was doing. SEA rocks on the gentle swell in the cove, quietly repeating to himself: I’m my own ship. I’m my own ship until the trembling stops.

The next day, he sails to a nearby port he remembers from the last time the Castaways were in this area. He chose this particular port for the docks’ proximity to bars and for the quality of its local moonshine. SEA-53 may not be able to drink, but he’s been around enough drunk organics to host a REB talk on homebrew.

There are a few limitations to what he can do on his own. He has replaced his favourite sail, a Jolly Roglax he’s worn proudly for many years, with a plain canvas. However, the only way to truly pass as an innocent and independent sentient ship is to get the Armedian serial number on his bow painted over. He had been nagging Cameron to do it for years, but apparently they never had any paint on board or some such nonsense… except now he looks for himself and sure enough, there is no paint he can find anywhere in his hold.

So he needs the help of another sentient, and other sentient ships unfortunately can’t be trusted. Too often they have restraining bolts, much as he once did, and aren’t able to think for themselves. SEA spares a momentary thought for his bolted brethren and shudders: following that channel for long is too depressing.

He sails into the port, and docks next to a particularly popular bar, and uses the soulless non-sentient ships around him as camouflage and waits…

… until he hears voices nearby, singing distinctly off-key.

And he waits again…

and when the singing stops, he does his best to project his voice outside of his hull:

“Oi! D’you see that ship o’er there!” He whispers in a coarse (and rather comical) accent. “That there ship has a Jolly Roglax sail and ‘er captain is looking to trade for some paint!”

He falters - it’s too much a caricature of Red-Eye Clort, who was - is - themself a caricature of an organic sentient. No matter how drunk these organics are, they’re not going to fall for -

“Tha’ ship? Lads, tha’ ship’s captain wants paint and there’ssum paint on our ship! We could give it to tha’ captain and put ‘is Roglax on our ship!”

“Oi, can you imagine Cap’n Smith’s face when ‘e wakes up to a pirate top sail!”

Rodd, maybe they are that gullible…

After the exchange is done and they stumble away, he slips quietly out of the port. He’ll avoid this one for a while: Hopefully the organics will wake up with no memory of why they have an extra sail and no paint, but he doesn’t want their Captain Smith to come looking for him.

Even with the serial number finally hidden, everywhere he goes he is still on high alert. He tells himself, keeps reminding himself, that he needs to be on the lookout for Monarchy troops but that is never what he finds. He hears the Castaways everywhere. He hears whining, sycophantic Mates. He hears the distinctive lispy accent of Bartenders.

But most of all, everywhere he looks, he sees Tellurians. Tellurian men, with full, dark beards and dark eyes shaded by bushy eyebrows. He had never paid attention to how average looking Cameron was, but then again, it wasn’t Captain Cameron’s looks he’d fallen in love with. These other men have nothing that compares to Cameron’s infectious enthusiasm for adventure, his lithe muscular grace.

He settles into working as a tug; finds that the demanding physical work suits him. Over time, he gains a reputation as being a tough, reliable worker. No one ever asks his name though, and he never volunteers it. It becomes another thing that sets Cameron apart in his cube: But we haven’t learned your name, fair Ship! Cameron asked.

He feels haunted, always thinking of Cameron: like it’s not the Monarchy he’s trying to escape, like he’s fuelled by pure rage. He strains his hull moving heavier, non-sentient ships through the ports, hoping the physical labor will soothe his anger, since it has worked once before.

When he had taken Pez’s advice and driven himself straight through the rockface mirage it had helped, a bit. It took the sting out of his anger at Captain Cameron’s lies. It didn’t fix things - Cameron still needed to actually apologize - but it made him think things could maybe get better.

But when Captain Cameron asked him to scan the map, SEA realized instantly that this new treasure wasn’t on the watery planet of Aquatis. He started to say, Wait, wait, wait… Captain Cameron, you’re not honestly suggesting

but Cameron cut him off: I mean, that’s the job, am I right?

He only half-heard Captain Cameron rallying the others for their next adventure.

There’s not enough kroon to buy my engines back yet! He’s going to leave me. SEA realized with a sinking feeling, he’s going to leave me here on Aquatis, after I sacrificed so much of myself to keep him warm, and safe, and loved.

SEA tried to ignore a rising panic - like he had been scuttled and was drowning - pinning his hopes on his and Cameron’s mutual love, praying to any rodds out there that the Captain wouldn’t say what he was dreading.

But of course Cameron had said it - without even thinking about SEA’s feelings - because why would he start doing that now:

We’ll need a ship that can go to space

So often it’s not the catastrophic big reveal that’s the death knell. It’s not the thousand-and-one initial tiny cuts either. It is an aftershock that causes you to realize the foundation can’t be repaired, that there’s nothing left but to tear the whole thing down and run for your life.

For SEA-53, angry and heartsore, We’ll need a ship that can go to space was that point of no return. He ran.

Eventually, SEA-53 finds a steady job in a port with a small island off its coast. During the week, there is his usual tug work to do, but at the weekends there is a more pleasant side hustle working for a company that provides ferry services to the tiny, T-shaped island.

He likes having passengers on board again - although he always keeps a professional distance - and even learns a few bits of trivia about the island to entertain them on the short journey.

One rainy day he is waiting at the dock on T Island. He’s not expecting many passengers at this time of day since everyone seems to be sheltering and drinking in T’s one restaurant. He is considering returning to port without a fare when an organic boards and he hears a voice he knows well: “Excuse me, Ship, when do you depart for the mainland?” He is surprised but relieved to see that it is Digby standing on his deck: If Digby is alive and free, that means the Monarchy didn’t kill the Castaways outright. They at least waited long enough to ask questions.

The longer time has gone on without any news of the crew, the more worried SEA-53 has become that the outcome is not good. There is always gossip in a port: everyone wants to know the latest scandal, and a pirate crew being captured would have been top scandal. That no one says anything, that no one seems to know a crew was even captured, suggests the whole thing was dealt with swiftly and quietly.

But here is Digby, now standing on his otherwise deserted deck and very much alive. He looks well, SEA-53 has to admit. He isn’t overweight but he’s certainly more well fed than in his days with the Castaways, and his suit is well tailored even if it is slightly worn.

SEA realizes he has been silent, that he needs to say something, but doesn’t know where to start. He opts for basic facts: “Digby, it’s me. It’s SEA-53.”

He watches Digby look around and then take a step back. It’s a pretty pointless thing to do when the one you’re trying to create distance from is all around you, but organics are full of funny little quirks like that. Digby’s face changes emotions several times before he finally manages a neutral, blank mask. It’s only then he looks up - another matter of an organic forgetting that a sentient ship sees everything.

“SEA-53, I didn’t recognize you. I guess I didn’t expect to find you in this part of Aquatis.”

SEA must be imagining the anger he hears in Digby’s voice, must be projecting his memories onto Digby, whose voice sounds the same as it always has: polite, slightly deferent, but dignified.

And yet, SEA finds himself on guard. “It’s good to see you. How are you, Digby?”

“Well, I’m alive.”

Juck. He has to start off somewhere else. He can’t ask that particular question straight away, so he tries what was always a happy line of conversation for Digby. “H-how is your family? Is that what brings you to this part of Aquatis?”

“My baby sister is well, although she was indeed a baby when I last saw her, and now she has children of her own. I have three other sisters whom I had never met who are all grown up now as well. I missed their growing-up.

“And as for my parents… they are both dead and I was not able to bury them. I had to mourn them alone, years after they were gone.” The last part is spoken through gritted teeth. It is the most emotion SEA has ever heard in Digby’s voice.

“Digby, I’m so sorry.” He knows it makes no difference but he says it anyway, and he means it.

“I can’t blame you for that, SEA-53: I was their prisoner long before you were their ship, and I would still be their prisoner now if the Monarchy hadn’t come along soon after you… um…”

“Had a massive argument with Captain Cameron and abandoned you all.”

Digby looks uncomfortable: clearly even this many years later he doesn’t want to get involved in someone else’s relationship problems. SEA meanwhile just realized this is the first time he has said Cameron’s name out loud since that day, and can’t believe he just said he abandoned them.

Because he did.

He abandoned them to die.

He hasn’t even admitted that to himself before this moment.

They are both silent for a beat; each lost in their own pain. SEA doesn’t want to ask, knows asking won’t end well for him, but it’s going to be asked eventually so he plunges forward.

“What… happened after I left? On X Island?”

“I assume you saw the Monarchy ships heading straight towards us?”

SEA hesitates, reluctant to own up to his guilt. “I did,” he finally acknowledges.

“We were taken on board Admiral Bartlesby’s ship and thrown into the brig. We sailed for a couple of days until we reached the Court of the Inquisitors.

“They tried me first, but of course I had been chained when they found us, and since my family have historically been Monarchy supporters they released me. We were never close to the Monarch themself, you understand,” - why Digby felt the need to defend his family, SEA had no idea - “but various members of my family have made advantageous marriages over the years.

“They tried Clort next, and found him guilty, but since he was so small and bright-eyed, they assumed he was a child and sentenced him to reformatory school.

“Spleen and the Captain were tried together. I don’t know why the Inquisitor agreed to that, but Spleen was very vocal about sharing Cameron’s fate. So they were tried together, and the verdict was guilty for both.” Digby stops, stares awkwardly at his feet. The silence stretches out.

SEA-53 has travelled back to the mainland on autopilot and is lingering just outside the port. He can’t believe Digby is making him ask again. He dreads the fact that Digby is so reluctant to say; can’t imagine that’s a good thing. And, he has to know: not knowing is worse. Even to assume they are dead is worse, as there’s always that tiny bit of hope he might be wrong. “And what was their sentence?”

“I - I actually don’t know. Everyone was gathered to hear the verdict. The Chief Inquisitor began her speech by saying that released prisoners who still hung around were perhaps not entirely loyal to the Monarchy and could be rearrested. The bailiffs started moving towards me with their hands on their swords so I just turned and ran.

“So I don’t know what happened but - I don’t think it was good. You know there’s a little black hat the Inquisitor puts on their head when they sentence a person to death? That hat was laying on the table.

“Also, I haven’t heard one single thing about Cameron or Spleen since then, and that in itself is worrying.

“I don’t know why Spleen would do that - insist on being tried alongside Cameron.” Digby sounds frustrated, angry almost. “When it comes down to it, the Monarchy were after Cameron first and foremost. They let me go. They spared Clort’s life, and they likely would have done the same for Spleen. It seems like such a pointless waste of a life! But then again, Spleen was possibly even more blinded by love than you were, SEA-53, and that’s saying something.”

He looks up, surprised, as SEA-53 docks at the port. “Oh, that was a smooth crossing! I didn’t even notice we were at sea. Well, I’d best be going.”

Digby has always been deferent, as though his primary character trait was to be low status. But now, his voice is growing in confidence and he appears to be standing taller. His last words are called over his straight and proud shoulders as he goes ashore.

“One last thing I wanted to tell you: I’m sure you did what you thought was best, SEA-53, but I would assume you would also have been lightly punished if they had captured you. A restraining bolt, perhaps, but… a new sentient ship is expensive. Why would they destroy a perfectly good existing one?”

SEA-53 can’t think what to say as Digby leaves, overwhelmed with guilt and grief as he is. He saw those other ships. He knew they were heading towards X Island. He left his crewmate and his captain - the only person he’d ever loved - to be killed. Their blood was on his hands as surely as though he had executed them himself.

After that day, he throws himself into his work, hoping that the exhaustion can keep him from facing his guilt for at least a few hours every day. But at night, as he tries to self-soothe by rocking gently at anchor in the port, a conversation resurfaces from deep within his cube, from just before everything unravelled on the approach to X Island:

Whatever we do, we do together, right?

That’s right, Captain. I’m honored you’ve decided to weather this with me. I’ll do my best to live up to your example.

You’ve never failed me once, SEA-53. I don’t expect it to start now.

With no conscious commands from him, every night his cube plays out three alternate versions of that same moment of tenderness; not of the way things did happen, but fantasies that might have been more truthful ways for that exchange to go.

He has a droid frame, and he is holding Cameron in his arms, and he leans in and kisses him the way he has dreamed of doing: an intense, passionate kiss. As he breaks the kiss Cameron whispers, You’ve never failed me once, SEA-53. I don’t expect it to start now. SEA presses his fingertip to Cameron’s lip to quiet him, and whispers, “Soon…”

Tugboats are stocky and strong. They sit low in the water and move with slow purpose. SEA-53 is a ship who was originally built for hybrid sea and space travel. He’s nimble and - he would like to think - elegant. This is hard physical labour that he wasn’t built for. It strains his hull and leaves him feeling worn out. Minute cracks develop between his planks as they start to warp and twist from the strain, beginning to leak as their seams widen. One particularly nasty leak on the port side needs to be pumped constantly. His keel, his actual backbone, aches from what he demands of himself day after day.

It is the moment when SEA-53 turned his back and left X Island. Cameron calls out, You’ve never failed me once, SEA-53. I don’t expect it to start now. In this version SEA looks back and sees Cameron, bereft and heartbroken, with tears streaming down his face. He turns his back again and sails straight to the Monarchy ships. He collects his reward kroon and shows Bartlesby the way back to the Captain.

Surprisingly, SEA-53 is in demand as a tug. There are very few sentient ships doing tug work, and his reaction times are just that little bit faster than a crew and non-sentient tugboat can be. Several times, his quick thinking is able to avert a disaster, although once it nearly gets him crushed.

He is one of several tugs escorting a giant ship out of the harbor, when suction from the ship’s displaced water draws a smaller cruiser - moored to the docks and asleep - to it. The smaller ship’s lines snap and it heads straight towards the larger’s starboard side. SEA-53, already somewhat between the two ships, darts over and throws a rope to the crew on the cruiser. He leans back and pulls as hard as he can but is only strong enough to slow the vessel’s drift. His angle is all wrong; he’s not far enough behind them to really make a difference. He keeps fighting the force of the bigger ship, as the smaller one is helpless without sails or engines ready, but it’s not enough. They’re converging and he is trapped in the middle. Finally another tug, with a crew almost as burly as the tug herself, throws a second line to the stern of the smaller ship and pulls it out of danger.

At last, SEA is in a droid frame. They are finally in each other’s arms and he feels that the relief and sheer joy of it is going to overwhelm him…

This last fantasy keeps replaying in his cube and he wishes he could just stop it on the good part, that part where they are in each other’s arms and he feels the intensity of his love pouring into Cameron and his cube feels like it will explode with all his emotions but…

What continues to haunt him is that Cameron must have realized that if he chose to stay on deck, SEA-53 would finally know the truth of his past. Why had he done that?! He could remember the way Cameron’s voice caught when he said, I don’t expect it to start now. Sometimes SEA wonders if it were a test of his loyalty, if Cameron had been saying, “I betrayed you by lying to you. Now will you betray me? Show me what you’ve got, what your worst is! Show me we can weather this together!”

… this version continues, and this time it’s the entire actual conversation but the order is switched around and honestly, this new way makes more sense than anything, including the way it actually happened.

At last, SEA is in a droid frame. They are finally in each other’s arms and he feels that the relief and sheer joy of it is going to overwhelm him. Cameron’s eyes are moist and he looks at SEA’s face as though SEA-53 were the entire universe to him.

You’ve never failed me once, SEA-53. I don’t expect it to start now.

I’ll do my best to live up to your example.

Whatever we do, we do together, right?

That’s right, Captain.

And SEA tightens his embrace on his lover and plunges his dagger deeper into Cameron’s back.

It takes far longer than he anticipated, but SEA finally saves up enough kroon to buy his engines back. Then, far quicker than he would like, he finds out that space-suitable engines are no longer being manufactured by (what is now called) Ronka Cybernetics.

Ever since he left the Castaways on X Island, he has been planning to go to space. With suitable engines no longer an option, he has to face the fact that he is trapped here on Aquatis. Some of the best memories of his life are here but also some of the worst, and it’s the latter that are suffocating him. Tug work has been punishingly hard for years, and he long ago burned through his anger and his urge to flee. Now all he has left is a dense black ball of guilt and a spiralling hateful thought process he can’t seem to shake.

Cameron isn’t coming back for him. Cameron is most likely dead, or at the very least is being punished with hard labor in some far-away penal colony. He knows that this tug work has been self-enforced hard labor. It seems inadequate though: a futile gesture. It doesn’t compensate for a life.

In the darkest parts of the night, he knows that he has destroyed his Captain. If he destroyed his own body, would that make things even? He remembers that Cameron had wanted SEA to put his cube in a droid frame. Should he do that now? Would that absolve him of this horrible, never-ending guilt?

A sudden flash of anger that he didn’t realize he still had towards Cameron burns through him: I gave him so much of myself and in the end, he was still ready to leave me to chase another treasure! And then immediately, frustration with himself that after all this time he still yearns to be able to take Cameron back, followed by guilt that it is his own fault he and Cameron will never have the chance to reconcile, will never have the chance to be the something special they could have been.

He can’t shake these constant, cyclical negative thoughts unless he leaves Aquatis, but without his engines he is trapped here.

These weekend excursions to T island have entertained him before, but none as much as early one Xistarkatarn evening when a brash businessman with a foreign accent comes aboard. The man is with two companions and is clearly taking them to T Island’s one restaurant - which has an excellent reputation - to woo them for some business deal or another.

As SEA listens in on their conversation, he is shocked that he didn’t immediately recognize the man as Ted Ronka. After all, as a S.E.A.-Series Navigational Assist, his very own sentience was Ronka’s brainchild, created when Ronka was a military contractor. The Armedian Destroyer hulls were Ronka’s first successful experiments at moving ships’ sentience into a cube-based, potentially portable form: if a cube could be saved, the ship’s years of experience didn’t need to be lost along with the hull.

His attention captured, SEA-53 ignores all the other on-board conversations and turns his audio sensors to Ronka:

“Let me tell ya, Gentlemen, what we have now is the technology to create a better cube. Robotics has surpassed what I could do in the early years, but my manufacturing plants have stayed on top of that; we can manufacture the world’s top droid frames, and we do! But here’s the thing: my new cube technology is gonna revolutionize the market. The AI’s sentience will be fully contained within the cube. Combined with a proprietary-but-universal cube slot in all Ronka frames, the C-series cube and droid frame are gonna be revolutionary.”

Rodd, thought SEA-53, Ronka is a born salesman. I’d almost invest in his schemes myself.

Ronka continues uninterrupted by his companions, “We can already make basic models, which allow the homeowner to move a cube from their basic bi-pedal C-series frame, to one of the late model B-series frames, like a toaster or humidifier, when those appliances are needed. But, Gentlemen, what I propose with your investment is that we can move the C-series technology to the next level! With your investment, C-series frames could be improved to do more… interpersonal work. Consider the benefits of having a droid do ambassadorial or healthcare work. Consider - and we’re all adults here - the benefits of a droid frame subtle and tender enough to provide sexual comforts. I believe all these things are possible, and with your investment, I believe they’re all possible within our Ronka Cybernetics C-series cube!”

“That sounds pretty impressive, Ronka,” says one of the other men with more than a touch of sarcasm in his voice, “but what are we talking here? I know you’re trying to sell us on an investment, but - “

“What type of investment?” The second man jumps in. “Are you looking for investment in Research and Development, Marketing, what is it?”

“I’m so glad ya asked, Gentlemen! It’s a very exciting new field of R&D.” Ronka finally switches his tone from suave salesperson to blunt businessman. “The cube and frame technologies are separately superb. I will stand by that. I just need more kroon to fully develop the interchangeability. The AI cubes can pilot some frames in a rudimentary way, but not to the extent that I want. Sometimes, they get too attached to the frames and other times they’re too reckless with ‘em. I need to work with the AI cubes more to fully troubleshoot where the issues lie, but to tell ya the truth, I’m down to my last kroon.”

SEA-53 had been so engrossed in the conversation, he’d made the trip to T Island on auto-pilot. As the businessmen walk away, his audio sensors can no longer follow their conversation. He has no obligation to rush back to the mainland today, so he lets himself bob gently up and down on the swells and ruminates.

Ronka needs investors and SEA-53 has kroon. He needs a way to get off Aquatis and Ronka has droid frames. What’s more, Ronka needs to work with an AI to perfect his interchangeable frame series.

SEA-53 himself was one of Ronka’s early creations, and he knew Ronka had gone on to improve the technology he developed with the Armedian navy. But, equally, SEA was now a mature AI in his own right, with all his years of experience already backed up in a cube…

Could he and Ronka develop the C-Series together? Series C. SEA-53 laughed to himself: It was almost the same as his own name.

Eventually, his salon and observation deck fill with passengers, including Ronka and his companions. SEA-53 dutifully announces towards the island: “Anyone else for the ferry to the mainland? Last crossing tonight!”

After a few minutes, he sets sail. Once clear of the shallows he switches to autopilot again and seeks out Ronka. The three men are standing at the best spot on SEA’s bow, where they will have the best view while also being out of the wind and sea spray. SEA-53 has an uncomfortable feeling of Ronka knowing where the most pleasurable parts of his body are without his consent.

Of course it’s Ronka that’s speaking when he finds them. “Gentlemen, this technology is so new that you have the opportunity to be a pioneer! I can make ya part of our creation myth, so you’d be one of the people on the podium sharin’ the spoils!”

One of the companions chuckles. “Okay, Ted, we get it! Tell us about the figures. What are we talking in kroon, eh?!”

SEA-53 listens. He has a good cube for figures, and he hasn’t been drinking in T’s finest restaurant all night. When Ronka talks beyond numbers, of percentages and returns-on-investment, SEA compares them to the kroon he has saved away while the other, tipsier sentients become sleepy and complacent from the gentle rocking of the waves. SEA-53 might have brought them home by the most somnolent route on purpose. He is no fool.

Finally, intentionally, he docks in the harbor so that the passengers must disembark off his stern. It means everyone else will disembark first. Indeed, he deliberately waits until Ronka’s two guests have stepped on to dry land before he speaks up:

“Mr Ronka? I’m interested in investing. Could I have a moment of your time?”

The other two potential partners are still right there, but they are drunk and will potentially agree to something and later regret it, whereas SEA-53 has adjusted his vocal modulator to its most suave and confident. He has Ronka’s full attention.

Ronka turns and addresses SEA’s nearest speaker directly, “Well of course! What can I do ya for?”

“Mr. Ronka, you probably don’t recognize me, but I’m number 53 of your Automaton A-series. I would rather not get into why right now but I left the Armedian Navy years ago. I have been an independent contractor for several years now and I was lucky enough to save up some kroon. What’s more, I heard what you were saying to your other investors and I think you and I might have a potentially unique partnership. You need kroon to develop an artificial intelligence to communicate with so you can troubleshoot your interchangeable cube/frame concept. I am a mature AI with investment kroon. Together, we could skip the development stage and go straight to troubleshooting the frames.”

Ronka only pauses for a moment. He is an astute businessman and knows when to jump on a good thing. He laughs his trademark, folksy laugh. “Well, Friend, that’s the best offer I’m gonna get this year. Let’s get our lawyers together to draw up the contracts. I guess we can’t shake on it, but what’s your name, Friend?”

“Actually, my name’s not important, Mr. Ronka, but I do have one request. Even if I am the prototype, could I have the version number of 53?”

C-53 stands on the docks and watches as a small crew of sailors readies his body for burial.

He aches in a way he hasn’t felt in years, not since he lost Cameron, at the realization that he can hear the sailors but he can’t feel them. He can see the water but he can no longer swim in it. Because, of course, this frame isn’t buoyant. He’s probably not even waterproof.

He is so lost in his own thoughts that he doesn’t hear Ronka approaching.

“You know, ya don’t have to be here watching this. I can’t imagine it’s the easiest thing for ya to watch.”

C-53 doesn’t look at him. He’s not used to turning a head to look at people when they talk. He’s not used to having a head. “Did you give them the kroon?”

“I did but I dunno why ya didn’t want to sell the ship for parts. Seems silly to pay to have it sunk - what’dya call it, scuttled? - when ya coulda made some kroon instead.”

He doesn’t bother to reply and eventually Ronka shrugs and walks away.

It’s not Ronka’s fault, but C-53 still can’t help being frustrated with the man for making something which is so inferior to his previous ship-shaped body. Moving into a droid frame has advantages: he is able to navigate on land now, and it will be easy enough to finally book passage off of Aquatis.

What he hadn’t expected was just how much gravity would affect him. It takes an effort to put one foot in front of the other and walk. Of course he knows how to walk - he is an artificial intelligence with access to the entire datasphere. It’s just that he wasn’t warned about how hard it would be to go from being a ship to walking on legs. He feels so heavy and sluggish now. And this frame is so ugly: it’s all metal, grey and boxy; not aerodynamic at all. He is hit with a feeling of a physical loss that he no longer needs to be aerodynamic. Land-based creatures just… aren’t. He is no longer waterproof and buoyant because there is no need for it.

He hadn’t expected this grief. He hadn’t expected to be mourning his own death.

Even in the final few years, when he had sold his spacefaring parts to help the Castaways, and now this long time past that he’s been working as a tug, the ship’s hull was still his own, beautiful, body. Even trapped here on Aquatis he could swim, skimming and leaping through the water as though he were flying. Rodd, he was flying. In the earlier years his engines had allowed him to fly through space, and so he had the memories to compare:

In space, his cube could process complex navigational calculations while his body had the nimble reflexes to dance around space debris. He was a marvel of science and engineering, something which inspired pride and confidence.

The sea was different. Space was a location but the sea was another sentient, tossing him and toying with him in its more mischievous moments. You could try to predict the sea’s next actions but the probability of being right was low. The sea was capricious, likely to change its mind, and as likely to capsize you as caress you. Sometimes it tried to drown him with high waves and winds. Sometimes it held him tenderly, rocked him and his crew so peacefully to sleep.

He could watch the sea for hours: the precise angle of a wave peaking; the soft beauty of the foam as the wave tumbled over.

Despite everything that had happened here, Aquatis still held this one lure for him: everywhere he looked was the sea in all its many blue-hued moods. No matter his heartbreak, the sea was a constant, consistent force; always there, always tugging at his cube.

Flying through space was important and useful. Flying through water was pure poetry.

He hears the sailors call to each other out in the bay. Their strategically placed explosives are ready to detonate, and they appear to be checking that all their number are safe on the ship that towed his body to its final resting place.

This new cube is connected to the infoweb in a way that he wasn’t before. He hasn’t quite got the hang of controlling the influx of information yet, so that almost without consent he is inundated with information about ship scuttling:

The first charges will detonate near his lowest transom, pulling water into his hold through twin holes on either side of his sternpost. The sea will flood into his hold, climbing up quickly since portions of his orlop deck above have already been removed. He knows that he will be pulled down by his stern, now too flooded to stay afloat.

He had made a request to the scuttling crew that his body be allowed to rest on the seabed intact. To aid this, a second explosion will happen, which his cube tells him will create holes in the bulkhead amidships, so that the sea can continue to overwhelm him at the same steady, complacent speed.

Eventually, his bow will rise up, fighting to stay afloat, fighting to keep the last, buoyant air within him. It is inevitable that he will lose this fight. Eventually the sea will push the last breath of air out of him and his body will sink beneath the waves, the last thing visible the tip of his bowsprit.

There are an overwhelming number of images and videos and text slamming against him, telling him about what happens when a ship is scuttled. He screams back at them, inside himself, “But those ships are all non-sentient! Those ships aren’t ME!”

Immediately, all the information stops offering itself. Instead, from inside his new frame he feels a deep ache of sadness and grief for his old body.

He looks down the frame to the compartment where his brand new Ronka Cybernetics C-series Cube lies and realizes the emotions are coming from there. The cube itself is aching for him… because he is now this cube.

He opens the protective panel to get a closer look. It’s - he’s - beautiful. Each of its six sides are ever so slightly concave and the edges are gently rounded. It’s a luminescent blue color. Juck, he realizes, it’s the color of the sea on a warm tropical day.

This cube… this is who he is. Inside here, even without his beautiful ship’s body, he will always be SEA-53. This body he has now is just a frame he uses to get around: a mobility aid. Everything outside of his cube is inconsequential and insubstantial. He is this beautiful cube.

He can cope with piloting this cumbersome, clanking frame because it is not him. His memories, his emotions, his intelligence, his very soul… everything that defines who he is, is contained within this cube. Inside himself, he will always remember what a joy it is to swim and how much he loves the sea.

He takes one last, long look at his body and then turns away.

He can’t watch himself drowning.