Heading for tomorrow

"Are you awake, my dear Titan?" Embryon's 'voice' was soft, whispering in sync from the comm-stations nearest the dormant Titan's head.

The TV Titan stirred slightly in its seated position, its head nodding almost imperceptibly as its main screen powered on and its tendon-locks — those inner mechanisms that held techfolk 'muscles' in place and enabled them to maintain a stance without effort — detached. "Good morning, Embryon," said the Titan to its counterpart - the one who in a different timeline might have become the Titan instead. "It's a little early still." The first shift of engineers weren't due to arrive in the hangar for another couple of hours. Until then, the Titan was free to do as it pleased, as long as it was compatible with maintaining a state of T15 - ready to storm into battle within 15 minutes of prep time.

Sometimes the Titan spent the early morning outdoors, watching the stars fade out into a pink and amber sunrise and enjoying the breeze in its core. Sometimes a few other early risers joined it, sitting on the Base roof nearby or on the Titan's shoulders. (It was a pity the Titan couldn't offer Embryon the chance to participate.) Often the Titan preferred the cosy closeness of its hangar, its perfect little (relatively speaking) den where all its needs were met.

Embryon made one of the hangar forklifts, mounted on trackways along the gantries, extend towards the Titan. The Titan brought its hand up to meet the forks, and Embryon made the prongs 'nibble' affectionately at the Titan's glove material, as best it could given the limited dexterity the forks offered. The Titan 'tickled' the forklift, returning the friendly gesture.

"Did you want to talk about something?" asked the Titan as it finished petting the forklift. The Titan still didn't know why Embryon had woken it early.

"I want to attend to you," said Embryon, talking through a few more of the comm-stations.

"How so?" asked the Titan. "Is there something we need to bring to the attention of my engineers?"

"It is regrettable that they have not noticed already," said Embryon. "I have analysed the stored data on your maintenance and battle performance. It is clear that you perform at your best when enjoying regular orgasms." (The Titan briefly displayed a startled emoticon.) "And you're overdue. Let me give you what you need, dear Titan."

The Titan was quietly excited, and realised it was touching the rim of its core chamber in anticipation. Could Embryon really make the Titan cum?

Well, the size difference had been no obstacle for Phaeton…

"What did you have in mind?" asked the Titan, its voice quiet as it made an effort to not betray its excitement. …But why was it doing that, it caught itself thinking. Why not let Embryon know that its offer pleased the Titan? "Were you going to… use the hangar machinery to stimulate my core?"

"I could try that," said Embryon, "But I think your engineers will do a nicer job of handling your core than some forklifts and cranes. I have something else in mind, something that I think only I can give you." Embryon lowered a ceiling crane as it talked and manoeuvred it to stroke the side of the Titan's head with the crane's hook block, before raising the crane high to the ceiling again.

The Titan waited to hear what Embryon had to say.

"Will you let me connect to you again?"

"You'll be nice to me, won't you?" the Titan asked as it rolled its sleeve up to allow access to a panel in its arm-plating.

"Of course I will, dear Titan." Embryon slid forklifts along gantries and engaged the grapple and clamp adaptors to open the Titan's plating panel with surprising delicacy. Embryon and the Titan worked together, the Titan with its fingers and Embryon with the clamps, to move the hangar cabling into place to connect the Titan's frame to the hangar's.

Another ceiling crane descended and stroked the top of the Titan's head with its hook block as the crane slid along its trackway, before re-ascending. The Titan buzzed its speakers in pleasant surprise at the touch.

"You are my dear Titan, Audeamus," said the Embryon through some comm-stations. "And I am your obedient servant. Let me perform the task I was made to do: enabling the existence of the most powerful and perfect of all Titans. Dear one, beautiful one, relax and enjoy my work." Embyron poured its consciousness into the Titan frame.

The Titan found its free hand moving with no conscious input from the Titan itself - its hand moved to the cables connecting the Titan's workings to the hangar network, and pulled them out.

"Just for now, dear Titan," spoke Embryon inside the Titan's mind. "Will you lie back and relax for me, beautiful one?"

The Titan obeyed. Embryon was temporarily captured inside the Titan's frame, making it impossible for the Titan to quickly eject Embryon back into the hangar machinery and reclaim its own body - but at the same time, the Titan could mentally crush Embryon and it would be obliterated from having nowhere to retreat to. The two entities were granting each other great trust, and the Titan was delighted to give it.

"You are almost me," thought the Titan to itself. "You are the only mind in the faction equal to mine - you were made for this role. And had things gone a little differently, you would have been in my place. …Would I have retrained as an engineer, as Palindrome did, and worked on you?"

The Titan's train of thought was derailed by the surge of pleasure coursing through its wiring harness as Embryon lovingly manipulated the Titan from within. The Titan tensed, flexed, relaxed - then writhed, in surprise and in joy and in ever-increasing desire. Its circuits felt brimming with energy and its servos thrummed, its cables feeling as though they almost could squirm of their own accord.

"Does this please you, my dear Titan?" Embryon's consciousness whispered to the Titan's, as though the Titan was hearing it through all of its sub-screens simultaneously.

"Can't you tell?" The Titan strained to transmit back. "Oh, Embryon… whatever you're doing… please… keep doing it…"

"Anything for you," Embryon transmitted back in a whisper.

Embryon judiciously ramped up and dampened the current flowing through the Titan's circuits, making the Titan feel as though it was being stroked and pushed all over by multitudes of invisible hands… the Titan slowly writhed against the hangar floor, chasing those phantom touches. Embryon revved up the Titan's inner workings behind its core chamber, making the Titan feel as though its core chamber was heating pleasantly. It brought its hands to its core chamber entrance and gripped hard, making its own plating flex… Until the overlapping sensations from itself and those created by Embryon cascaded over and through each other, until the Titan could take it no more and let out a long, strained keen of an orgasm, reverberating around the hangar walls.

The Titan lay still for a while. "I'm not entirely sure what you did, Embryon…" it said. "But you've done me a lot of good."

"Titan, my dear Titan… Audeamus. How perfect you are." Embryon transmitted to the Titan. "I broke out of confinement so ready to resent you, the one who had ascended to the station I was made for… But I am so pleased. Now I have a dear friend in you, the only mind mighty enough to match my own. And I get to pleasure you, the pride of the faction."

The Titan emitted a static wheeze of appreciation. It idly stroked around its core chamber, massaging the reciprocating arms guarding its entrance, making itself relax harder into the hangar floor.

"You chose this…" Embryon continued. "You were brought into existence, your original little predecessor-self, only for being a standard unit, never knowing you would one day be a Titan. And you chose to take on that burden. If I'd been ready on time, to become a Titan, to become you - would I have said I'd been given a choice? Then even that one choice was taken away from me, and I was so ready to hate… But now, I get to choose my own purpose, my own role, as you did. And I choose to be with you. I am yours, dear Titan. I will be your protector, your caretaker. Let me relieve you of your burdens."

"I love you, Embryon."

"…Truly?"

"How can I not? I am your Titan."

You cycle through the forest in Antlia-Four, looking for the subtle markers that have been placed to indicate which way to go today. Three parallel notches on a branch - three tells you to head west, the parallel markings tell you that your next marker will be close to the ground, and a branch marker is always followed by a stone marker. On you go.

You stop to look at a snail. It's not one of the trail markers; it's just a nice snail. It… oh. It's doing a shit as long as its own body. Rock on, little dude.

You reach the end of the current trail, and call out the agreed-upon password: "…I love munching hairy dogs' bollocks!"

"…bollocks… ollocks-ollocks…" the trees echo.

"Skibidi dom dom dom yes yes, skibidi doggie-bollocks munch munch munch," sings an approaching voice. "Skibidi-hello, Phaeton," says the owner of the voice as it comes into view, shortly followed by its companion.

"Ey up, Penrose. Ey up, Sticky Vicky," you say to the Skibidis.

"Have you seen skibidi-sense and come to skibidi-work for us at last?" says Sticky Vicky Skibidi.

"Nope," you say. "Still loyal to the Alliance. But also still not going to turn you in unless you give me reason to."

"I don't skibidi-get you, Phaeton," says Penrose Skibidi. "You clearly skibidi-love being a human - why won't you skibidi-do the logical thing and ascend? Claim your true form."

"'Cos I like this form," you say.

"Poor Phaeton," says Sticky Vicky Skibidi mournfully to Penrose Skibidi. "Unenlightened."

"Encumbered and burdened," agrees Penrose Skibidi.

"Oh, won't you join us, Phaeton?" asks Sticky Vicky Skibidi. "We live wild and free and we love to live."

"I'm sure you do," you say, dismounting your bike. Skibidis do seem to have an admirable zest for life. "But I've got Phaeton things to do, and places to be. I've got your payment, as agreed, and I've thrown in some extra bits for you." You pull out the bike's kickstand with your foot, then go to unhook the trailer. "This'll be our final trade - I'm moving out of Antlia-Four and I don't plan to come back. Not telling you where I'm going, obviously. I haven't told anyone in Antlia-Four Base about our arrangement, so if you want to continue with it you'll have to approach them about it yourselves. …I'm hearing rumours that some of the Alliance and Skibidis in the field have formed temporary truces rather than be split against the Astros. Might be you'll have better luck with Antlia-Four Base than you would have before. Anyway, take a look and see if it's all there. You might as well keep the whole trailer; I don't know if I'll need it anymore and I can always find or build a new one."

Sticky Vicky Skibidi and Penrose Skibidi crane their alarmingly elastic necks to examine the contents of the trailer you've brought, pulling back the tarpaulin cover with their teeth. "Oh! Lettis!" exclaims Penrose Skibidi.

"Lettis!" agrees Sticky Vicky Skibidi.

The trailer's contents are topped by two heads of romaine lettuce, which you know to be one of these two Skibs' favourite snacks. Sticky Vicky Skibidi and Penrose Skibidi snatch up a 'lettis' each, picking them up in their teeth and then engulfing them like egg-eating snakes. (They eat so fast it's almost as though they're trying to get rid of the lettuces - you wonder how they can possibly enjoy the taste or texture.) The Skibs then examine the rest of the trade goods you've brought: batteries, toothpaste, coffee - as well as several containers of seeds harvested from your hydroponic farm.

"I've labelled the ones you can grow outdoors in this climate," you tell the Skibs. "The others will need a greenhouse or a setup like my hydroponics. Who knows - if faction relations improve enough, the Cams at Antlia-Four might even let you use my setup. I won't need it any more."

"Skibidi-thank you, Phaeton," says Penrose Skibidi. "We've skibidi-brought what you asked for." Penrose Skibidi shrinks into his bowl like a tortoise into its shell, then re-surfaces with a polypropylene sack in his teeth.

You take it from him, lifting the hefty sack out of Penrose Skibidi's bowl. (It's slightly damp from being in there. Gah.) It certainly feels heavy enough and clackety enough to contain what you asked for - you set it down on the ground and open it to check. Ten one-kilo ingots of silver - and a tracking device. You pull the tracking device out of the sack and give the Skibidis a Look. "Really?" Did they think you wouldn't notice?

"Nothing skibidi-gets past you, Phaeton!" Sticky Vicky Skibidi says amiably.

You cheerily hoy the tracking device into Sticky Vicky Skibidi's bowl, where it lands with a splosh. "Sticky Vicky, Penrose, I must be off. I'd say 'ah'll sithee' but I probably won't." You transfer the sack of ingots to your backpack and sling it on - ooya, that's heavy.

"Fare well, Phaeton," says Penrose Skibidi. "For what it's worth, I skibidi-hope you survive this war."

"You know what? Same to you," you reply. It's been fun making 'deals' with these little shits. They'd supplied you with information in exchange for trade goods - information which turned out to be only just truthful enough to be useless. You'd returned the favour by supplying equally useless information on Alliance activity - information that turned out to be only technically true, or too little too late for the Skibs to do anything with. Each of you knew exactly what the other was playing at, but you did it anyway.

"And here's a little skibidi-something from me," says Sticky Vicky Skibidi, tortoising into her own bowl and coming out with a small plastic bag, which you accept.

It contains… a prime specimen of truffle fungus. "Oh! Nice find!" you exclaim. You look out for these when you explore the forest, but they're hard to find. Sticky Vicky Skibidi has clearly had better luck than you. You're quite touched that she'd share this with you. "Just for that, I'm calling off the airstrike on your outpost," you joke. All three of you laugh.

You say your final goodbyes to the forest Skibidis and cycle back to Antlia-Four Base for what will be the last time. You stop on the way at your hydroponic farm, stripped into a state of dormancy. Maybe one day, some more human survivors will be around to use it.

You get down a few tools from a shelf, that you'd stashed for what you're about to do. That tracking device was insultingly easy to find - which means it must have been a decoy. Where is the real one? You weigh each ingot one at a time on a set of scales. One kilo, one kilo, one kilo… one of them's different. It's slightly lighter, and its centre of gravity is off-centre. You mark that ingot with a stick of chalk, then compose a message on your communicator to Test Twice, one of the science team Cams at Antlia-Four:

"As I suspected, Skibs gave me at least 1 fake ingot. Suspecting it's C4 and something heavy, coated with a layer of silver. Will you do the thing?"

Sticky Vicky Skibidi and Penrose Skibidi are probably intending to detonate the ingot remotely, once the tracking device within shows it to be in a location that'll cause maximum damage.

A reply comes from Test Twice, consisting of a thumbs-up emoji and the message:

"Have you left them in the shed?"

You reply:

"Yes. Please take 20% of whatever remains, rounded up in your favour, for your payment. If there are 9 real ingots, take 2 of them."

You leave the ingots on the shelf, and cycle the rest of the way back to Antlia-Four Base.

After a quick breakfast in your quarters, it's time for your last shift in the weapons workshop in Antlia-Four, where up until now you'd spent all your work hours on the days you weren't working in the TV Titan's hangar. Not that you'll be getting much work done - this is a short shift to wrap everything up before you go.

You suspect that with the war going the way it is, this workshop's days are probably numbered anyway. The stun guns that were so essential earlier in the war are becoming less and less useful against the new strength of the enemy troops. The workshop will have to be retooled to make and repair beefier weapons - or it might be more efficient to sunset this workshop and let that task be done by workshops that are already better equipped. Antlia-Four will probably become even more of a Bumfuck Nowhere base, used only as a stopover and supply depot.

You sort through the tools at your workstation, separating Alliance property from your personal ones… until you decide to leave them all behind. Your personal tools do have some sentimental value because they've served you well, but they are still mass-produced tools. Better to leave them in a place they'll actually get used, than sequester them in your new quarters and never bring them out again. Tools are meant to be used.

A Cam asks you in Camsign: "Question: Sun Driver keeps floor-cover?" The Cam points to the 'hug rug' on the floor by your workstation.

You'd added a carpet tile, designated the 'hug rug', to your workstation. Anyone was free to stand on it to indicate that they'd like to receive a hug from you. It had been a boon to the shyer techfolk, because they could ask for a human-hug without having to say anything, and to you because there was no ambiguity over whether someone was approaching you for work purposes or for a bit of moral support.

"Did you want to keep it?" you ask. (The Cam enthusiastically nods yes.) "Please feel free," you reply with a thumbs-up. After all, you'll get to enjoy plenty of hugs where you're going.

The rest of your shift sees you wrapping up admin and adding open-source tags to all the blueprints you created, in between hugging various Cams and the occasional Soundkind worker. One drawback of working in Antlia-Four is that it's primarily a stopover base on the way to more important things, so worker turnover is high and you haven't built as strong bonds with your co-workers here as you have with the ones in TV Base. Still, there are a few familiar units that have been posted here multiple times and with whom you've built up some rapport.

You make one last lap of the workshop, exchanging hugs and goodbyes and sometimes contact details with everyone present. Some of them seem sadder than expected - but not just because they're sad to see you go. You get the impression that some Cameras think you're making a mistake by going to live in TV Base. Well. You'll enjoy proving them wrong.

"Before I go," you announce to all present, "I have one thing to say: I'm having a little goodbye-gathering in my quarters after shift's end." You get multiple happy thumbs-up in response to that! You depart the workshop for your quarters, where you'll finish packing up until it's normal shift-end time in the weapon workshop.

You enter your quarters, which are practically bare now. You'd already moved most of your belongings into a shipping container outside so that Polycephaly could port them all in one go to your new home. The shipping container's already gone - Polycephaly must have stealthily ported in and dealt with it while you were in the workshop. Your communicator chimes with a message from Cygnus:

"Container got, will unpack what I can for you unless/until called away. Hopefully I'll see you at your little party later."

Ah, Cygnus, you fucking gem. You send them a message back calling them just that.

"Oh, there you are, Brooks," you greet your pigeon, Seabrooks Canadian Ham. She comes over to you for a fuss and some sunflower seeds, which you give her. To Brooks' surprise, you transfer her to her crate.

"Hoog," says Seabrooks. "Oo-roog." It's not bedtime yet! Why this?

"Sorry, cutie," you say. "We're moving house soon and I need to know where you are." You move Seabrooks to your bedroom so she can enjoy some peace and quiet while you host a small gathering.

"Moo," says Seabrooks.

"'…Moo'? What kind of weird pigeon are you?"

You finish packing the remainder of your belongings into a couple of crates. All set. Just you, these crates, and Seabrooks left.

Fornax spawns in, wearing a backpack containing a teleport fog battery to give them the extra juice to port you and your remaining crates all the way to your new home. "Ready to depart whenever you are. Did I miss your little after-party?"

"It's not started yet. My normal shift time - well, my old one, I should say - ends in a few minutes. That's when I expect people to start arriving."

Fornax slings off the fog-pack and puts it somewhere it won't get kicked over. "Cygnus said they'd drop in if they could. I hope they do - it's always easier travelling the void-pathways when you've got someone to help steer."

You and Fornax chat pleasantly until some Cams start trickling in - some to say their last goodbye, and some new workers here to get their first proper look at a human since the war broke out.

Test Twice the scientist Cam arrives, carrying the sack of silver ingots you'd left in the shed at your hydroponic farm. Test Twice catches your eye and sets the sack down on top of one of your packing crates, in response to which you give a thumbs-up.

"Test complete," signs Test Twice.

"Nice one," you say. "How many'd we get in the end?" You walk over and open the sack for a look. To your surprise, there are nine ingots inside. "There are still nine in here - didn't you take your payment?"

"For Sun Driver, no charge," signs Test Twice.

You embrace Test Twice gratefully, and they delightedly return the gesture. "Thank you. You are kind… and I'll be forever grateful for your team's help with getting the coffee plants to grow." You both end the hug, and then you ask: "How come the ingots are all flattened?"

Test Twice signs: "Hydraulic press. L-O-L."

Cygnus arrives, and greets you and Fornax (rescuing a bored-looking Cam that Fornax had been talking to). Many more units drop in and out, hoping to get their first or last look at a real living and unskibbed human. One of them is a large Cam - you probably saw them in the workshop earlier, but without being able to sense their yes-I-live signals, techfolk are hard for you to tell apart at a distance. Luckily, the double-doors you'd installed in your quarters make it easier for this large unit to enter. Antlia-Four Base is built on an existing human installation instead of being built by and for techfolk, which makes its architecture hard going for large units.

You're about to greet the Cam, when you notice that they're far more interested in Cygnus than in you - and the interest is mutual.

"Thirty-Three!" exclaims Cygnus. "Oh, you look so good!" Cygnus happily moves in to embrace them, and the large Cam seems delighted to return the gesture. "Let me introduce you to Phaeton and Fornax," says Cygnus.

"Greetings, 3-3," you sign in Camsign. "Self sign-name is Sun Driver."

Thirty-Three gives you a thumbs-up, probably in appreciation of your use of Camsign. They sign back: "Greetings, Sun Driver. Self sign-name is Fish Magnet."

You have to ask! "Question: why?"

Thirty-Three/Fish Magnet signs: "Self fall in pond. Squad, much laugh." They get out their tablet and show you a still image from one of their squad member's recording. It shows Thirty-Three, in their pre-upgrade form, dripping wet and with a lamprey sucked on to their glass. Thirty-Three is flipping their middle finger at whoever is recording. You can't help laughing!

"We meet at last," says Fornax. "Cygnus has told me about you."

"Phaeton, this is Thirty-Three," Cygnus says to you. "They are my ex." Another one! "We split when Thirty-Three was still a standard unit, and I haven't seen them in person since."

Cygnus and Thirty-Three retire to a corner for a quick catch-up. They seem to have grown apart a lot but are still genuinely pleased to see the other doing well. Eventually they end their conversation (over transmission, as Thirty-Three appears to have no vocalisers), with a TV-style fist-bump.

Thirty-Three comes over to you once again. "Be well, Sun Driver, 4-3-0-4," they sign. "Look after 5-0-2-2." Neither Fornax nor Cygnus have Camsign names, so Thirty-Three has to use their serials.

"Oh, I will," you say. (Fornax nods in agreement.) "Thank you for looking after them before us."

With that, Thirty-Three takes their leave. It's just you, Cygnus and Fornax now.

"They seemed nice," you say. "What made you end things with them?"

"I chose to end the relationship because I'd started my career as an inter-faction liaison," explains Cygnus. "I was concerned that having a Cam partner would make me look biased towards the Camera faction over the Soundkind. Thirty-Three was very upset with me over that - saying I was putting my career over them… I did feel rotten about it. But if I hadn't split up with them I would never have ended up getting together with you, dear Fornax." Cygnus and Fornax affectionately touch their head-casings together and hold their hands in a clasp, before both of them wordlessly reach out to pull you into a hug. "Thirty-Three had always wanted to be selected for upgrade," Cygnus says. "I'm so happy for them that they got their wish."

You, Cygnus and Fornax hug for a little more, then the two TVs help you bind together your remaining crates for easier transport. The three of you put on your heavy coats in anticipation of the weather at your destination, Fornax slings on their fog-pack, and you fetch Seabrooks' carrier.

Cygnus picks up your backpack. "Bloody hell, this is heavy," they remark. "I'll carry it for you."

"Nothing keeping us here now," says Fornax.

"Won't you miss this place?" asks Cygnus. "It was your home."

"My home is where I live," you say. "And very soon, that'll be TV Base."

┄

You, Cygnus and Fornax travel through the void-pathways. You can't perceive them, of course, but something still seems different this time. It feels as though on some level, you're travelling deeper into the void than you normally would - or perhaps higher? It's as though Cygnus and Fornax are decreasing the travel time by arcing up the path of a parabola then 'falling' past the apex, instead of travelling close to the 'ground' all the way. Very strange.

You arrive, and behold TV Base from the outside. ("Oog," comments Seabrooks. She's not sure what just happened.)

The Titan had teleported the Base by extending the radius of its teleport-cloud and porting everything inside - which had included the chunk of ground holding the Base's foundations and underground floors. As a consequence, when the Base arrived in its new location, it eruptively displaced all the ground that was already occupying that space - which had been violently pushed up and fountained out, and then fallen back down to land on the Base's roofs and build up in 'snowdrifts' around the walls. (You wish you could have somehow been outside the Base to see it.)

The Titan is currently making itself useful by digging the dirt-drifts away from the walls with its huge hands. You wonder if it's a pleasant novelty for the Titan to do such a non-martial activity.

"What do you suppose we'll do with all the soil?" Cygnus muses.

"Dig another hole and put it all down there?" you suggest.

Cygnus wordlessly owls their head to you and gives you a Look.

To your pleased surprise, Polycephaly spawns nearby. "Hullo, Phaeton. Cygnus, Fornax, do you need a top-up after that journey?" asks Polycephaly.

"None needed," says Fornax, hooking their thumbs under the shoulder straps of their fog-pack and hefting them.

"I could do with one," says Cygnus. At Polycephaly's beckoning, Cygnus detaches their head, which flies on its rockets over to Polycephaly.

Polycephaly intercepts Cygnus's flying head in one hand, and poses with it in mock contemplation. "Alas, poor Yorick. I knew him, Horatio." (You and Polycephaly laugh. Cygnus and Fornax don't appear to get the reference.) Polycephaly siphons some of their black teleport-fog out of their screen and into Cygnus's. Polycephaly gently throws Cygnus's head away, which flies back down to re-join their body gracefully.

"Buono estente, Polycephaly!" You greet your big friend. "Come to help dig the soil out with your scoop?"

"No - squirming around in the filth and dirt is your birthright, meatwad." Polycephaly's tone is jovial.

"I suppose your vents are already too clarted up with dust and shite for you to risk digging in the soil and overheating, you rusty-riveted wreck," you cheerily retort.

"You jaundiced oozing sack of protoplasm."

"You dusty old dishwasher motor held together with rubber bands."

"You mush-faced rectal prolapse."

"You short-circuited gasket basket."

"You grease-coated deuterostome."

"I love you, you dusty heap of vacuum tubes full of bumflakes."

"I love you, you squelching pile of defecating meat." Polycephaly takes their leave.

You, Cygnus and Fornax walk on to your new home. You'd picked out a site for your new quarters near the newly-moved TV Base: a smart hotel with conference rooms and other nice facilities.

"Wouldn't you rather claim an actual house?" Cygnus had asked when you'd told them about it.

"If I find an unfurnished one, maybe," you'd said. "But I don't want to take over a lived-in home. …I'd feel wrong about it, somehow. I know the inhabitants aren't coming back; they're all either dead or skibbed. But it still feels unkind to scrub out someone's living space like that." Maybe it helps you believe that one day everyone will come back…

As you'd explained, the hotel does have advantages over a domestic house: if you find any other human survivors, it'll make a comfy barracks for you all. The building's already equipped with large kitchens with professional-grade cooking equipment, and you're bound to find a use for the conference rooms. The place is also designed to be easy to clean and has regularly-spaced unobtrusive storage rooms.

"I got your kettle and air fryer set up in your suite," says Cygnus. "I thought you'd want coffee and snacks."

"How well you know me, buddy," you say.

The three of you walk the rest of the way - Cygnus will have the void-pathway already mapped out, but you want to be able to remember the route from the TV main base to your hotel. Some greylag geese regard you with hopeful curiosity - they were probably used to being fed treats by tourists, back before the plague.

You get Seabrooks safely ensconced in your new quarters. She seems cheesed off at all this disruption to her routine, but some water, treats and scritches go a long way towards placating her. Cygnus and Fornax help unpack a few more of your crates while you prepare something to eat, and then you join the two TVs on the sofa for a chat and a cuddle (and sharing some crumbles with Seabrooks) before Cygnus and Fornax are called back to their work.

You give them both a hug goodbye. "Thank you both, my friends. You've helped me so much and I'm very grateful."

Cygnus and Fornax depart, and you re-join Seabrooks on the sofa. Your pigeon settles in your lap for cuddles, melting against your hand. "Just thee and me now, Brooks," you say.

"Hoo roo," replies Seabrooks.

You relax into the sofa, buzzing with excitement and unable to believe your luck. You have cosy and comfy new quarters, and you can visit your beloved Titan under your own power at any time! And you're looking forward to seeing what tasty foods you can grow in the geothermal greenhouses.

You compose a message on your communicator:

"Palindrome, I have something for you. Come by my new quarters at some point."

You include which suite they should find you in.

Engineer Palindrome replies, saying they'll come by after work.

You work on unpacking and tidying until Palindrome arrives. The two of you hug in greeting - of all your engineer colleagues, Palindrome is probably the cuddliest.

"Phaeton, I'm so glad you're here with us," says Palindrome, hugging you close. "You belong here."

You squeeze Palindrome in gratitude. "As I said, I have a little something for you," you say. "Watch out, this weighs nine kilos," you tell Palindrome as you hand them the sack of ingots.

Palindrome accepts it curiously and looks inside. "Oh, what are these?" they ask, pulling out one of the now squashed and vaguely disc-shaped ingots. Palindrome notices the distorted lettering stamped onto the ingot. "Is this silver?"

"It is," you reply. "You'll need that for making zarennen oil."

"Is this a down-payment?" asks Palindrome.

"No," you say. "If I want to obtain more zarennen from you I'll pay whatever is your normal price for it. This is a gift, because we're friends and I like you."

Palindrome sets the sack down so they can hug you some more. "Phaeton, dear one. Thank you… How did you get hold of these?"

"Ask no questions and you'll be told no lies," you say.

"…Considering the secrets I keep, that's fair," says Palindrome. "Oh, you are a soft thing, so nice to hug." They end the hug with a squeeze. "Rest well, and we'll see you in the hangar tomorrow."

"Polycephaly's due," says Engineer Wolfram, examining their tablet. "…Ah. Impromptu mission's holding them up."

You and your engineer colleagues have one big project to wrap up before you can work on installing the Lodger in the Titan's core: installing Polycephaly's fearsome new upgrades. The Titan's hangar is the best place for it - it's the only place big enough to comfortably work on the TV faction's sole large unit.

You resume your normal tasks on the Titan until Polycephaly arrives. Right now, you're cleaning the dirt off the heatsinks on the Titan's gloves. Of course, the Titan is capable of brushing its own heatsinks, but your dear Titan does love being pampered, and you love giving it what it wants.

Eventually, you hear the familiar sound of Polycephaly teleporting right into the hangar. "Well, that was fucking horrifying," Polycephaly says.

"Oh, what happened?" you ask. (Good timing; you were just putting the brushes and vacuum away.)

"Retrieving the old Imperator," says Polycephaly. "The medics didn't dare remove the bits of vegetation or factory-machinery in situ because it was too hard to tell what was maintaining their body and what was just in the way - so they needed me to come along and port the whole lot. …Old Imperator's currently in one of the medical bays being reconstructed and untangled." As Polycephaly talks, the Titan brings in one of its hands near Polycephaly - making themself available for a hand-hug, but leaving the decision up to Polycephaly. Polycephaly accepts, leaning on the Titan's hand for comfort. "Is it time to get those ugly-ass Astro weapons on me? …Ha, Ass-tro."

Polycephaly's new weapons, made using salvaged Astro Toilet technology, have been made with as much conformation to Alliance aesthetic as possible. The traction beams are even TV purple. But there's still something brutal and unlovely about them, making the Astro-like technology look out of place in the TV Titan's hangar.

"Almost," you say. "The plan is to disengage your stems first - we need all six slots in your aperture for this. We can either take the stems out altogether, or remove the geminus connectors and let the stems fully retract inside you. You won't be able to protract them." Removing the stems will make Polycephaly more lightweight, which could make it a little easier to wield their upgrade, but you guess it might feel disconcerting for Polycephaly to have them gone.

Polycephaly thinks for a moment. "Leave them in. Even if I can't use them, I'd miss having them… Can I pick you up?"

"Always!" you say, happily walking into Polycephaly's pick-up hug.

"Can you give me one last screen-rub?" asks Polycephaly. "Once my new protector is installed, I won't be able to feel those properly."

"I'd love to," you say. You rub Polycephaly's static-y screen with your bare hands, bathing your fingers in that softly crackling layer, like thousands of tiny barbs just barely hooking on to you before letting go.

Polycephaly rumbles their speakers. "There's something so good about how your touch absorbs my static… It's so relaxing." Polycephaly pulls you away from their screen and hugs you to their chest. "Thank you. I shall carry this memory with me." They set you down.

Wolfram and more engineers join you, readying to carry out the first stage of Polycephaly's battle upgrades. Polycephaly removes their jacket and shirt to allow the engineers full access to their front and back. You ascend a stepladder behind Polycephaly to work on their stems while other engineers prepare to unlock Polycephaly's front plating to modify their innards, and to work on the additions to their head.

Polycephaly obligingly protracts their stems for you. You tap near the base of each one to tell Polycephaly which one you're going to work on next, and they swing that stem's grabber over to you so you can work on it. You take some of the weight of the stem by letting it drape over your shoulders like a big snake, while you work on adjusting the grabber so that its jaws can fully fold inwards, making them take up no more space than the diameter of the stem itself. You slip a restrictive band on each grabber, like on a lobster's pincers, to prevent the grabbers opening inside Polycephaly and snagging on their cables. In this way you 'neutralise' each geminus connector, and Polycephaly retracts all the stems fully into their back, no longer blocked from doing so by the span of the grabbers.

"Oh, that feels very odd," comments Polycephaly as you seal their back apertures. You hear soft thuds that must be Polycephaly experimentally tapping their grabbers on the inside of the seals, like thwarted tube-worms.

You descend the stepladder to have a look at the other engineers' progress. Some of them are making adjustments to Polycephaly's wiring harness inside their front plating, and some are installing extra sub-screens on Polycephaly's head. You wonder if those will go a little way towards alleviating the loss of the sub-screens borne upon the stems…

You leave the hangar, mostly because it's now your break time. But also… part of you feels a little sad at the sight of Polycephaly. Their new upgrades are badass, to be sure, but something doesn't feel quite right about seeing Astro tech on your friend, nor does the fact that their stems, which had the power to comfort and squeeze you gently, are replaced by something that has the power only to harm. You aren't sure how to deal with these feelings yet.

And another thing… you're very curious to see what's become of the Fallen Imperator. If they've been put back together, they'll be held in the dungeon to await trial. Maybe you'll be able to stick your head in and say hello. You figure you should at least check on them and make sure you didn't cause them lasting damage.

┄

You descend to the Base's dungeons and speak to the security guards there. "Might I visit the prisoner?" you ask them.

"Go ahead, auxiliary," one of them says. That was a little easy. The Imperator had warned you when granting your auxiliary status that it doesn't make you an 'honorary TV', but it does seem that you can go pretty much anywhere in TV Base unimpeded.

You enter the corridor outside the cells. It's more of a parade of rooms than a corridor; it's sectioned off in tandem with the cells to create a sort of ante-chamber for each one. Useful - it enables a visitor to talk to a prisoner without being heard by any prisoners in the other cells.

All the cells are furnished in a way that's spartan but not un-comfortable. Their purpose is confinement rather than to be a punishment in itself. Two of them are occupied: one by the Fallen Imperator, one by a Cam. It seems they were caught trying to steal TV faction secrets.

"Hello," you say to the Cam. "Are you being treated fairly?" You add in Camsign: "Self signs."

The Cam signs back: "TV lackey," then throws you the middle finger.

"Alright, tossface." You leave them be, and go to check on the former Imperator. On the desk outside the cell is a pair of blades from a TV-unit. You turn on your head torch and pick up one of the blades for a better look, pulling it out of the safety sheath to see the cutting edge. …This looks like something special. These must belong to the former Imperator, who is presumably now equipped with the paddle-like safety 'blades' normally seen only on freshly-minted TVs.

"Admiring those? They're meteorite nickel," says the former Imperator from inside their cell. A very rare substance - befitting of an Imperator's blades. "Get your greasy fingers off them, human."

You set the blade down. No point in aggravating the situation. You turn off your head torch to avoid dazzling the Fallen Imperator, and behold them. Well. You can't really keep calling them 'Imperator'. They haven't held that title for a long time.

TVs have their serials engraved on the sides of their head-casings, but the lighting here is too dim for you to make it out. You also can't perceive the yes-I-live signals that all techfolk broadcast to each other, enabling them to identify each other even when they look pretty much the same.

Of course, an Imperator's serial is normally 0001, but that number is reserved for the incumbent Imperator. The former Imperator will have been reverted to whatever their original serial was.

You scroll through menus on your tablet, looking for the fallen Imperator's serial, which turns out to be Twenty-Three-Ninety-Seven.

Ninety-Seven has an intact screen but with a frame of tinted glass bolted to the front of their new temporary head-casing, preventing them from using any of their screen powers. The frame is further attached in such a way that it passes through their casing - any attempt to remove it themself will shatter Ninety-Seven's teleport circuit. Not that they can teleport right now anyway. Their circuit has been left open to prevent any fog building up and letting Ninety-Seven port out of their cell - even now you can see a slight trickle of fog escaping through a vent drilled in the top of their casing.

"Twenty-Three-Ninety-Seven, well met." You greet the prisoner. "May I call you Ninety-Seven, or do you have a nickname you'd prefer me to use?"

"Who said you could speak to me at all?" says Ninety-Seven.

Rude fucker. It's partly thanks to you (and Embryon, and the medics) that they're a TV again instead of a fucked-up tree in a dildo factory. …Maybe they miss being a tree?

"I'll leave you in peace," you say, and make to depart.

"No… wait," says Ninety-Seven. (You pause.) "I've…" They trail off, perhaps unsure how to continue, perhaps weirded out by having to reverse their speech audio for your benefit.

"You've… not been well," you suggest.

The former Imperator's plan to betray the Camera and Soundkind factions, even though it would have been 'only' a bait-and-switch to obtain Skibidi secrets, was despicable. You know that the TV Faction typically doesn't care what the other two Alliance factions think of them - the TVs collectively are confident that what they're doing is the best possible course of action, and therefore it doesn't really matter what anyone else thinks about it. But this? This would have utterly poisoned faction relations forever, as well as destroyed any chance of future Alliance-Skibidi diplomacy. (And probably constitutes a war crime, you reckon. You're not sure what the exact charge would be. It's close to being a false surrender, maybe.)

You do want to see Ninety-Seven face justice for their actions. But at the same time, you can't help feeling sorry for the fallen Imperator and what they suffered. Since their disappearance, they'd been trapped in a state of minimal power, with a smashed teleport circuit and crushed legs, which probably turned them half-deranged. That would have been awful enough without being dismembered by creeping vines until they were a sprawling mess of TV, plant matter and discarded factory machinery.

"I don't want to be called by that serial," says the former Imperator. "But I know I can't have my old one back." They must be referring to when they held the serial Triple-Zero-One, reserved for the Imperator.

"No number, and no name…" you muse. "I suppose we should call you Nil."

"…If you must," says Nil. Well then, you'll call them that until instructed otherwise. "What was your name? Photon?"

"Phaeton," you say. "P for piss, H for hymen, A for arse, E for endoscope, T for tits, O for ovaries, N for nadgers."

Nil inclines their head in acknowledgement. "I'll ask you the same question I asked you at our first meeting," says Nil. "Why are you here?"

You slip through the bars of Nil's cell. It's not difficult - your flesh body can squish itself comfortably through bars that can block the much harder-bodied and bulkier techfolk. (Nil briefly flashes a startled emoticon.) "I came to offer you a hug," you say.

"…Why?"

"Because you could do with one. You've been a bastard, to be sure - planning to go against the Alliance and risking your own faction in the process-"

"Everything I did, I did for the Alliance," interrupts Nil. "Sacrifices were inevitable."

"…Well, they fucking weren't." You consciously take the snap out of your voice before you continue: "Yes, I know it was only a bait-and-switch, not a sincere betrayal. But your plan would have completely poisoned all intra-Alliance relations."

"The other factions hate the TV faction no matter what we do," points out Nil. "Why not take the course of action that benefits us most?"

"Well, that makes a certain amount of sense," you say. "If you completely ignore the long-term effects, and have zero compassion. You deserve to stand trial for what you did. But you also did suffer greatly, and the two things don't cancel each other out. You need a trial for your crimes, and you need a hug for, well… suffering a sequence of events that culminated with me smashing your circuits with a rubber dong."

Nil very briefly flashes an amused emoticon, presumably despite themself. It was so brief that the saying 'blink and you'll miss it' really applied.

"And our current Imperator certainly recognises the value of a good hug," you continue. You spread your arms. "May I give you one?"

"…Alright." Nil accepts. "I have always enjoyed human hugs."

Well, that's interesting. Nil clearly had plenty of contact with pre-war humans. You pull them in close, and Nil wraps their arms around you, clearly well-versed in how to hug a human. …Oh, it's nice.

"I feel strange," says Nil. "I spent so long trapped in that factory, split into pieces… and now I have a normal body again, it almost feels as though that never happened. I was… afraid I'd got so used to being broken that I'd feel lost or incomplete when restored, but I don't."

"The medics did a good job of rebuilding you, then," you say.

"…And this is helping," says Nil, as though reluctant to admit it. "Your Imperator is right about the usefulness of hugs. …What are you crying for, soft thing?"

"…Because you can't," you reply.

Nil doesn't reply at first, but you think they're holding you a little closer. "You are a strange one," Nil says at last, before ending the hug. "I assumed you were bluffing when you said you were a faction auxiliary," continues Nil. (You'd said that when you were confronting them in the abandoned factory.) "But since I came here, I've picked up from others that you are our auxiliary. And apparently an 'engineer' to our Titan. It's sweet of the engineering team to let you play at being their mascot." (You don't object to Nil's statement. It'll be far funnier when they find out for themself how wrong they are.) Nil pauses to protract one of their pitiful safety-paddle 'blades' and stare at it. They give it an annoyed flick with their other hand, then retract the blade. "What then, auxiliary, do you propose should happen to me?"

"I'll stay in my lane about that," you say. "It's an intra-faction matter."

"A cowardly response," says Nil. "You will claim proximity to the TV Faction when it suits you, but shirk any responsibility."

You bristle, but do your best to not show it. Nil is clearly trying to rile you. Your guts coil, wanting you to snap back, but it'll wind up Nil far more if you don't give them any satisfaction. "The other two Imperators are also auxiliaries of this faction," you point out. Each Imperator is an auxiliary to the other two factions - so far, you're the only non-Imperator to hold the rank of auxiliary. "Do you think they should have input in deciding your fate? …Well, perhaps they should. If you'd carried out your plan, it would have had quite a negative effect on their factions. And on any remaining humans, for that matter."

You actually do have thoughts on what should happen to Nil, but you decide to keep those to yourself for now.

"I've a question for you," you say. "How did you come to select Polycephaly as your Vice-Imperator? Or Wedge, I should say." Polycephaly didn't obtain their current name and form until after Nil disappeared.

"Wedge was already one of my Council, and I'd decided to select a Vice-Imperator from among them," says Nil. "Another councillor, my dear friend Seventeen-Ninety-One, recommended that I pick Wedge for the position. I trusted Ninety-One's judgement greatly, so I did just that."

You don't know who that is - it is difficult to remember so many serials, after all. It's one reason you tend to nickname any TVs you spent a lot of time with. (The other reason is that the TVs seem to like it when you do it, as though by giving them nicknames you're granting them your stamp of approval.) You quickly look up Seventeen-Ninety-One while Nil talks. Redacted. Either they were expelled from the faction for heinous crimes, or they were one of the candidates whose serials were eaten by the Titangrinder.

"Then, once I appointed Councillor Wedge to the position," Nil continues explaining, "They revealed to me that they were a pawn of Councillor Ninety-One. Ninety-One had been grooming Wedge for the position, and the plan had been been to have Wedge secretly report back to them."

"What advantage would that have brought Councillor Ninety-One that was better than nominating themself for the position of Vice-Imperator?" you ask. "Why over-complicate things by using Wedge as a layer of abstraction?"

"Well, that's just it, isn't it?" replies Nil. "It's a layer of abstraction. Ninety-One's manipulations would surely have been obvious to me and everyone if they'd tried influencing me directly as Vice-Imperator. Secretly doing it through Wedge would have added that layer of disconnect."

"And Wedge wasn't as loyal to Ninety-One as Ninety-One thought?" you ask, trying to make sense of the situation and show Nil that you've understood.

"Just so," replies Nil. "Wedge dropped them in it - proving that they were actually an excellent candidate for Vice-Imperator. Loyal to me, completely impartial, and a conniving bastard to boot. I had little choice but to demote Ninety-One from councillor back to field agent - where they absolutely excelled. Almost as though they were doing it to spite me."

Then… "My successor approaches," says Nil. They can pick up the yes-I-live signal of whoever's coming, which from their words must be the current Imperator.

The Imperator enters, accompanied by their ever-present pair of devoted guards. The three of them immediately display horrified emoticons at seeing you in Nil's cell. You think the Imperator's saying something, but of course they weren't expecting to encounter you and haven't calibrated their voice to your hearing range.

The guard Primus teleports into Nil's cell and grabs you before porting back out. "Are you hurt?" Primus asks, their voice tinged with panic.

"I'm fine!" you reply quickly. "I wasn't abducted; I went in there myself."

"Phaeton, how did you open the cell door?" asks the Imperator - they've dialled their voice into your hearing. There's a hint of coldness in their voice, as though they're angry at whoever must have left the cell door unlocked.

"I didn't; I squoze through," you say. "Cop this - squishy privilege." You squirm through the bars of Nil's cell and back out again, to Nil's amusement.

"…You've got tits." Nil notices the Imperator's build. "Why didn't I get those? I demand tits, as befitting my rank!"

"Traitors don't get tits," you point out.

The Imperator displays an amused emoticon. "Our auxiliary says the truth. You're not the Imperator any more, Twenty-Three-Ninety-Seven. And you're not getting promoted to elite status any time soon. There's no reason for you to have tits."

"We'll soon change that," says Nil, picking up their tablet. (It's tethered to a desk in Nil's cell. You guess it's not their personal one; just a restricted tablet with minimal apps for the occupant of the cell to use.) Nil does something on it, and your own tablet chimes with an alert. You hear similar pings coming from the Imperator's tablet and the two guards'.

You pull yours out to have a look. Nil has submitted a motion of no confidence in the Imperator.

The way the TV Faction governs itself is part democracy, part dictatorship. The Imperator, advised by their council, rules absolutely - but any member of the faction can push a motion of no confidence. If a majority of the faction agrees with the motion, an election will be called for a new Imperator. You suppose Nil will submit themself as a candidate if that happens.

As you're not a member of the TV faction, you don't get to participate in voting for or against the motion of no confidence, but as a faction auxiliary you get an alert about it and you get to see the results. You suppose Imperator Camera and Imperator Soundkind do too.

You watch the numbers go up as all TVs cast their votes. A huge percentage votes to decline the motion, indicating that they wish to keep the status quo. A few votes come in for neutral, indicating that they're happy with the current Imperator but would be fine with seeing what other candidates submit themselves for an election. One or two indecisive fuckers vote 'don't know'; essentially a null vote.

Absolutely no-one votes to carry Nil's motion.

Nil looks a strange mix of furious and defeated. You guess they were expecting to be welcomed back to the faction with open arms and re-installed as its leader. Stupidly optimistic, maybe - or very arrogant. But being stripped apart by Skibs, rats and climbing plants probably has affected their judgement and sense of normalcy a bit.

"A lot has changed while you were dead to the world," says the Imperator (almost as though they were in sync with what you were thinking). They nod to a binder of documents on Nil's cell desk. "I recommend you study the dossier I left you."

Nil opens it and skims through it. (You're not sure, because Nil is ruffling through the pages so fast that you can't be sure you read it right, but you think you see a heading with your name in it.) "How many new units have been activated since I was away?" asks Nil as they flip through.

"None," confirms the Imperator. "Unless we're counting the activated Embryon as a new unit."

Nil stops flipping and regards the Imperator. "…Why was that? Has the creche been destroyed?"

"The creche is operational, and has gestated some viable units," replies the Imperator. "We've left them in stasis at the advice of the science team. We are prioritising the creation of units that will advance the war effort, and the units in stasis are unlikely to."

"…Then what are we even fighting for?" asks Nil.

You're pleasantly surprised by Nil's words. You'd wondered how someone as apparently bastardous as Nil became the Imperator — perhaps they actually did make a good peacetime leader, just not a wartime one? Even the current Imperator looks impressed.

The Imperator's guard Icarus speaks: "Imperator, might I make a suggestion?"

"Of course," is the Imperator's reply.

"The science team is scheduled to check on the units in stasis this week. Why not move that to today?" asks Icarus.

The science team periodically brings the potential-units out of stasis to check that they haven't deteriorated, and to give them a run-down of current events. Nil is suggesting that they be brought into full existence, regardless of their aptitude for battle.

Whatever happens, you need to see this.

Two security guards enter in response to the Imperator's summons. One of them unlocks Nil's cell door and the other places Nil in handcuffs. The two guards flank Nil as you all exit the dungeon. The imprisoned Cam points and 'laughs' at Nil as you all pass.

The seven of you walk to the creche, where potential units are brought into existence. You wonder if the Imperator is having everyone travel on foot to rub in to Nil that they can't teleport right now. Maybe it's for Nil's own safety, to prevent them making a break for it in the void. What would happen to a lost TV in there who couldn't teleport?

You've seen the creche only once before, with its panopticon-like array of beefy servers and sensors, all kept cooled by towers of liquid. (Appropriately for the TV faction, the liquid is purple.) One of the servers is kept isolated from the others. You learned last time you were here that this is where fully-formed minds can be kept in stasis until the faction decides to load them into bodies for the first time, making them full entities. These ones have been kept in stasis even though they're ready for activation, because they were deemed to be unlikely to be useful to the war effort.

At the Imperator's behest, one of the scientists draws back a partition, revealing what looks like a TV-unit partially embedded in a wall, slumped and inert. It's just the head, shoulders and arms, with everything from the waist down non-existent.

"This is the apparatus into which we can load developing minds to see how ready they are for physical bodies," one of the scientists explains to you in response to your puzzled staring. "We periodically load the minds in stasis into it to check on their condition."

As the scientist talks, two more do something to the server. In anticipation of what you think is about to happen, you load the app on your communicator that records and plays back sounds in reverse, with which you used to communicate with TVs before they learned to reverse their sound output for your benefit. You don't suppose the potential-TVs in the server will know how to do that yet.

D67, the Scientist Prime of the faction, speaks to the wall-TV: "Come forth."

The wall-TV becomes animate, its head lifting to regard everyone in the room. Its fingers twitch, and the TV raises its hands to regard them. "Am I to be activated at last?" asks the TV. "Then the war is over?"

"The war is still ongoing," says D67. "…There is a possibility of a temporary truce with the Skibidis, at least until we dispatch our new mutual enemy."

"…Such appalling news," laments the proto-TV. "Who is this new enemy? …We haven't declared war against the humans, have we?"

"Humanity is functionally extinct. The new enemy appears to be a splinter faction of powerful toilets. Or possibly the Skibidis themselves were a splinter faction from these toilets," says D67.

"How ghastly. …But you're a human," the proto-TV says to you.

"Probably one of the last," you say.

"You poor bastard," says the proto-TV. Then, addressing D67 once more: "I take it, then, that you still haven't found a way to reverse the Skibidi plague and restore the humans?"

"No," says D67. "We believe this to be impossible."

"Humanity has fallen, and the toilets remain undefeated…" says the proto-TV. "No. Terminate me. I shan't be brought into such a hopeless world."

"Confirm your decision."

The proto-TV says with determination, "Terminate me."

"As is your right," says D67.

The potential-TV is deleted from existence.

You must have looked more horrified than you realised. D67 explains to you: "We do not terminate a potential against its will, but nor do we bring anyone into existence who does not wish for it."

"It's not entirely deleted," says another scientist. "Its fragments will return to the creche, and eventually coalesce with other fragments and form the basis of a new mind."

It seems each new TV is made of bits of 'failed' ones. Kind of like those choccy bars with a middle made of bits that failed quality control for being sold as whole bars. Oo, you're thinking about tasty choccy now, you wish you hadn't started-

The next mind is loaded. "Come forth," says D67.

The wall-TV stirs into animation once more. "Is it my time to be activated?"

"Would you like to be activated?" asks D67.

The potential-TV looks fearful at the prospect of having to make that choice for itself. "…I am frightened. I don't know."

"May I hold your hand?" you ask the proto-TV. (Well, you say to your communicator and then have it play backwards for you.)

"You're a human," the proto-TV says. "Uncorrupted and unskibbed. Does that mean the war is over?"

"It's still going on," you say. You hold the proto-TV's hand in response to it reaching out to you. You're not sure, but it seems to be a little less afraid now.

"Has the faction become so desperate that you'd activate me?" the proto-TV asks D67. "I was told I was unsuitable for combat."

"Plans have changed," says the Imperator. "You don't have to activate. You may remain in stasis, or opt for termination."

"Activate me," says the proto-TV. (You rub the back of its hand with your thumb, trying to lend the TV a little courage.) "I'm… not ready. I am frightened. But I want to activate. I want to do my best for the faction."

"Confirm your decision," says D67.

"Activate me."

"Activation will commence."

The wall-TV becomes inert again, as the consciousness piloting it leaves, and is directed somewhere else. It must be going towards the stability chambers that contain the empty TV frames that await their minds.

This creche is server-cluster number 5, the same one that created Cygnus - though this new unit came from a different server. Its procedurally-generated serial is Fifty-Eight-Forty-Three. Five for the server cluster, three for the individual server, and the eight and four serving as unique digits to distinguish this TV from anyone else who came from server 3 in cluster 5.

You follow everyone to see one of the frames in the glass-fronted stability chambers twitching and shuddering into consciousness. Two scientists open the chamber, and you see the newly-activated frame strain against its restraints. You assumed those were there simply to hold the mindless frame in place, but it seems the newly-activated TV needs them to keep upright; it isn't sure how to do that for itself. The scientists undo the restraints anyway, catching Forty-Three as they slump forward. To your surprise, the pair of scientists unceremoniously march Forty-Three through a nearby door into an empty room.

The scientists turn the lights off and leave the newly-activated TV alone in the darkness.

"Is it really okay to leave them on their own like that?" you ask. Forty-Three didn't seem happy about being left by themself.

"It's standard protocol for new units," says D67. "Leave them in a dark room and let them sort themselves out."

Your eyes moisten at the thought. How frightened, how overwhelmed the new unit must feel! You're a member of a pack-forming species, and that's not how you treat a pack member. You all but slam that door right open and run over to the TV-unit shivering in the foetal position on the floor, ignoring the protests from the scientists.

…Was this what happened to Cygnus when they were activated?

The newly-activated Forty-Three looks at you with what looks like trepidation as you approach. Are they afraid you've come here to punish them for being unready? How awful… you lie on the floor facing them, trying to look as un-threatening as possible. "I'm here," you say softly (through your communicator app). "I didn't want to leave you alone in the dark." With no-one to comfort them, no-one to tell them everything would be alright… "May I hold your hand again?" you ask.

Forty-Three shakily holds out a hand to join yours. You clasp their hand and use your free hand to stroke the back of theirs. You can feel the tension in their frame lessening. "Do you need me to reverse my audio output?" Forty-Three asks.

"I would appreciate that, if you can," you say. "I don't have the ability to do that in my head. Hence the communicator." Your communicator plays back a reversed waveform of what you just said.

"Is this better?" asks Forty-Three, speaking un-reversed.

"It is. Thank you." You scoot forwards and hug Forty-Three. In response, they immediately scoot themself forwards to meet you, all but pouring themself into your arms.

"Ohh… cuddle," murmurs Forty-Three. They seem so much calmer and comforted. "Soft human."

"Phaeton, this is most unwise," chides D67, having just strode into the room. "A new unit isn't used to its shell and doesn't know its strength and limitations yet. They could hurt you by accident."

It doesn't seem that way to you. You've felt Forty-Three moving with perfectly-calculated instinctual strength, handling you just as gently and with awareness as Cygnus does. As D67 talks, Forty-Three sits up, and you sit up with them, stroking Forty-Three's hand comfortingly. "I don't think that'll happen," you say to D67. You turn your head to face Forty-Three again. "You'll handle me nicely, won't you?" you ask.

Forty-Three buzzes their speakers happily. "You're pretty," they say. They draw their blades… which turn out to be the safety-paddles instead of the sharp weapons of a fully-socialised TV. Forty-Three rips open their garments and begins blade-fucking themself as though there's no tomorrow. You scoot back a bit to give them space.

"This is part of why I wanted you out of the room," says D67 crossly. "After the fear, comes the ecstasy."

"Do you really think I've never seen a TV in a compromising position before?" you ask.

"It's not just that!" says D67. "A newly-activated unit is just as dangerous in this state as in the fear-state."

You suppose they would be… a mind excitedly overwhelmed by all the possibilities now open to it could easily forget its own strength.

Forty-Three squawks in delight as they blade-fuck their charging-port to completion. They shudder happily then are still for a moment, before pulling out their blade. "…I can't get it to go down," laments Forty-Three, looking at their protracted paddles.

"I've got you," you say. You've handled Cygnus and Fornax enough that you know what to do. You massage Forty-Three's forearms to release the tension in their springs, allowing them to pull their blades back into their sockets.

"Thank you, human," says Forty-Three. "What are you? I mean… what do I call you? You have no yes-I-live."

"I am Phaeton. That's with a P for piss, not F for flange."

"Thank you, Phaeton. For looking after me. …Is that your role in this faction? To look after newly-activated units?"

"You're the first," you say. "I'm actually an engineer to the Titan." Oh! "Imperator," you ask, "Could we take Forty-Three to meet the Titan?"

"You're better positioned to answer that," says the Imperator with a smiling emoticon.

You dig out your communicator. There's a message from Twelve, the Vice Engineer Prime:

"Phaeton, where are you? Did you fall down a hole?"

You've outstayed your scheduled break, oops.

You message back:

"Got waylaid, coming back soon."

You ask Nil: "Nil, you haven't seen the Titan yet, have you?"

"I haven't," says Nil.

The Imperator affects a quizzical emoticon. "New name?" they ask Nil.

"It might as well be," says Nil.

"Imperator, might we bring Nil to meet the Titan?" you ask.

"…Will it be angry with me?" asks Nil.

That's a point. "Well, it won't be pleased about what you did. But you should still meet it - it's your Titan, and it loves you anyway."

"How do you know that?" asks Nil.

"Because it told me itself," you say. "The Titan loves each and every TV-unit." You address Forty-Three: "And that means it'll love you too."

┄

Your party arrives at the security check outside the Titan hangar. You came here on foot - going through the void will probably be a little overwhelming for the newly-activated Forty-Three, and the security risks of teleporting Nil stil lstand.

"You should have the honour," says the Imperator to you. "You're the Titan's engineer, so we are in a sense your guests here." What a thrill!

You lead your party into the hangar and along the walkways to come face-to-face with the Titan. Your dear friend - your beautiful, terrifying and magnificent Titan.

"Phaeton, D67 and my Imperator, how pleasant to you see you all," says the Titan. The Titan notices Nil. An emoticon of puzzlement flashes on the Titan's screen - it won't have encountered that serial in a while - followed by one of recognition. "You came back to us," says the Titan.

Nil looks the most fearful you've ever seen them. Standing there still in handcuffs, transfixed under the stare of the most powerful entity in the Alliance, Nil must feel they're about to face judgement…

"I love each and every TV," says the Titan softly, bringing its face closer to the gantry on which you're all gathered. "A frame the size of mine contains enough love for all of you. And that means I love you too." The Titan displays a joyful emoticon.

"I know who you are," says Nil. "You're-"

The Titan flicks Nil off the gantry.

Nil re-appears in a cloud of teleport fog, a grumpy expression on their screen. (…How did they do that with their teleport-circuit disabled? You realise what happened, as the Titan's hand fades from view: the Titan moved just its hand through a fog-portal and caught Nil in its palm, before bringing its hand back to deposit Nil on the gantry. It was so smoothly done you almost couldn't tell.)

"You probably do," says the Titan. "But you mustn't tell." The Titan brings its colossal screen closer still to the gantry. "I am utterly sincere about this. My former identity is redacted for a reason. Don't make me have to command-beam you about this."

You've experienced the Titan's command-beam yourself. It had been wonderful, but intense - which is why the Titan had refused to do it to you a second time, out of fear for your mental health. And that had been when the Titan was commanding you to feel good — what would it feel like for the Titan to compel someone to follow an order? (Another part of your mind wonders if the Titan's command-beam is powerful enough to overcome the glass filter bolted to Nil's screen, or if it's a one-way filter that allows other TVs' command-beams through.)

"I won't, my Titan," says Nil, sounding a little shaken.

"That entity no longer exists," says the Titan. "I do remember being them, but it's not quite accurate to say that I am simply that entity transformed to Titan size. My precursor-self was dismantled and used as a base for my consciousness. I have all their memories, but I'm not them any more. I am every TV's Titan now." The Titan moves its face away a little. "Welcome back," it says, a lot calmer now. "I am greatly displeased by your plans to betray our allies… but I am glad that a member of my faction has come back safe. I love all of you - because how can I not? I am your Titan." The Titan brings its hand onto the gantry. "I do love you, but… you've been a rotten bastard. For that, you can have half a hug." The Titan wraps just its thumb and forefinger around Nil, instead of the full fist it would normally use to give a hand-hug.

Nil shivers in apparently a mix of elation and fear. How must it feel? You know how it feels to be held by the Titan, to be loved by them, and, regrettably, you do know how it feels to have the Titan displeased by your actions. But not like this, you think.

All the while, Forty-Three has been all but pressing themself against you for reassurance while you hold their hand. They appear to be trembling with joy at being in the Titan's presence but also a bit overwhelmed by how intense it all is.

The Titan turns its head slightly to properly look at Forty-Three. "Oh… beautiful one, welcome." The Titan's voice is quiet and reverent, the Titan enraptured by the realisation that this is a wholly new TV-unit that never existed materially before today.

Forty-Three dares to move away from you a bit, and then delightedly moves into the Titan's incoming hand, hugging it fiercely while the Titan wraps one hand around them and strokes their head and back with the other. Forty-Three trills their speakers with joy.

"Fifty-Eight-Forty-Three," says the Titan, almost in a whisper. "Dear one, may I pick you up?"

"Yes!" exclaims Forty-Three joyfully. "Dear Titan, I'd love you to."

The Titan wraps Forty-Three safely in its hands and brings them up to its colossal screen, displaying a delighted emoticon. Forty-Three reaches out to rub their dear Titan's screen, and the engineers pause in their tasks to enjoy the sight. "My Titan," Forty-Three says in quiet joy. You have to grip the walkway railings to shiver out the upswelling of affection you feel surging through you.

The Titan eventually sets down Forty-Three on the walkway, and offers its hand to the four guards - the Imperator's guards Primus and Icarus, plus the two guards supervising Nil. They're on the job so they have to keep their wits about them, but they can spare enough attention to give the Titan's hand a friendly rub.

"My dear Imperator," says the Titan, offering its hand to the Imperator next. The Imperator hugs one of the Titan's fingers, while the Titan uses its thumb to gently brush the tips of the Imperator's aerial, making the Imperator display a beaming emoticon.

Nil looks both saddened and envious. They used to be the Imperator themself, and they weren't around to see their Titan activated. They've been usurped as Imperator and it was all through their own doing. They could have had all this for themself… and now they never will.

"I can't leave you out, Phaeton," says the Titan, snapping you out of your thoughts about Nil. It brings in its hands, letting you lean into and hug one of its fingers while it strokes your back with its other hand. "My loyal engineer… my dear friend," says the Titan fondly.

"I love you so much, boss," you tell your beloved Titan.

You watch as the three core-specialist engineers prepare to remove a section of wall from the Titan's core. The core will need a section of wall removed in order to install a door and niche for the Lodger to reside when not in use. You feel the Titan tense at the sensation - the core is in 'unlocked' mode so it won't be painful for the Titan, but it must feel uncomfortable to suddenly have some of its innards so exposed. The engineers pull the section of wall away into the Titan's own waiting hand. The Titan picks up the piece of its core chamber and seems to bring it up to its main screen for a closer look, before setting it down out of the way.

"Are we installing a circuit blocker?" you ask Zenith, referring to the devices that are the techfolk equivalent of local anaesthetic. (You've seen the huge ones in storage meant for the Titan.) You suspect you'll be tasked with that, as the smallest and squishiest member of the engineering team. You'll be able to reprise your role of squeezing your way to the back of the Titan's core and adjusting the cables there.

"I would prefer you did not," says the Titan before Zenith answers. "I want to feel this."

Zenith says nothing but strokes the wall of the core chamber. You wonder if Zenith and the Titan are conversing through private transmission, or whether they know each other so well that they don't need words.

"I'll see you through it, dear Titan," you hear Embryon say through one of the comm-stations, followed by the sound of what must be the Titan opening some of its arm-plating and allowing Embryon to connect the hangar machinery to the Titan's frame… followed further by the sound of the Titan softly rumbling its speakers.

The core and electrical-specialist engineers set to work re-arranging parts of the Titan's cabling and piping to accommodate the forthcoming changes… until everyone's attention is seized by the sound of piping being wrenched loose from the hangar walls.

"What the shit?!" exclaims Zenith. (They were too surprised to reverse their speech for your benefit, but you can guess what kind of thing they said from their tone.)

You and everyone else inside the core chamber runs to the aperture to see what's going on. It's just what it sounded like: the Titan is pulling cables off the walls. All the other engineers in the hangar are assembling nearby and making assorted noises of sweary consternation.

"Embryon has been studying the hangar layout," explains the Titan. "It has shared its findings with me, and we've both discovered that this section of cabling is redundant. Let Embryon and me work; we're improving the hangar's efficiency."

"Could've warned us, boss," you point out.

The hangar cables and pipes have had many additions since you first came here (so long ago!), but as far as you can tell none have been removed until now. The Titan works with its hands and Embryon with the hangar machinery, pulling out and re-coupling cables, and streamlining what remains. Messy tangles of redundant cables build up on the hangar floor. The engineers all seem tense at the organised chaos the Titan and Embryon are creating, but begin to relax as they realise Embryon and the Titan really do know what they're doing. You check your tablet and browse the hangar intranet. The hangar systems are reporting out-of-bounds spikes as a result of the Titan and Embryon's re-arrangements, but they quickly fall back into their allotted ranges. The hangar is already at 4% greater efficiency than before.

"Don't let me keep you from working," says the Titan.

At Zenith's nod of approval, the engineers resume their work of doing to the Titan what the Titan is doing to its hangar, clearing a tunnel from the core chamber wall to the Titan's inner workings, re-arranging and re-packing cables and pulling out redundant ones.

"I can feel that doing me some good," comments the Titan with an approving purr. "I'd like it if we could make time to remove my plating and optimise me some more."

"A fine suggestion," says Zenith, petting the Titan's core chamber wall. "We'll work that in to your upgrade plan where we can."

"Phaeton, you're up," says Twenty-Four, one of the core-specialist engineers, indicating where you should go. Such is the manner of TVs - no 'would you be willing to try'. Just the assumption that of course you'll do as you're told. You know that it means Twenty-Four respects your intelligence, though. They assume that you understand the situation well enough to not need any explanations. And you've worked with all these engineers enough that you do trust that they know what they're doing.

You slide into the gap that the engineers have built, and crawl further into the Titan.

The Titan gives a static-gasp of pleasure at feeling your warm softness pressing into its bundles of cables, and it bucks slightly. You hear the metallic grind of the Titan suddenly clenching its fist and crunching the bundle of pipework it was holding. You hope it was about to drop them to the hangar floor anyway…

You slide along, pulling yourself along by the catches that pin the bundles of cables to the Titan's frame, being careful not to pull on the cables themselves.

"I can feel you in there, you soft little thing," the Titan purrs.

How lovely this is! To be surrounded so thoroughly by your dear Titan, its smooth bundles of cables pressing comfortably into your belly, and the Titan's subtle mineral scent in your nostrils.

You slide your way along to where this run of cables emanates from the main wiring harness. Behind you, clipped to your own harness, is the set of temporary cables you'll be installing before you and the other engineers work on installing the permanent replacements and pulling out the redundant ones.

"How are you holding up, boss?" you say into your communicator.

"A little uncomfortable," says the Titan, "But I'll persevere. I have all of you to look after me."

You temporarily divert power from some cables (provoking a quiet static squawk from the Titan at the curious sensation) so you can undo the mechanical connectors to unplug them, then re-plug the temporary ones you're dragging. You restore the power to its normal flow, and then jettison the disconnected cables - they cascade down the tunnel you climbed up as the other engineers pull them free. Much better. Now the tunnel is much wider and can comfortably accommodate a couple of TV engineers working back to back - or the network of hydraulics that will hold the Lodger.

You exit the Titan for now and leave the core-specialist engineers to their installation work. The Titan gives you a ride in its hand, ferrying you from its core to the walkways - always a treat! You make your way to one of the walkways near the Titan's sword arm. "Titan, can you bring your arm over here so I can inspect the couplings?"

"Sebright already completed the inspection," says the Titan, but it obeys you anyway. "I can see the report on the intranet."

"They missed a bit," you say, poking your gloved fingers into a gap and pulling out a foil-wrapped parcel.

"What's that?" ask the Titan through its shoulder-screen.

You open it to check - it's a lovely pie, slow-cooked to perfection by the Titan's heat. "My mid-morning snack," you say, and have a munch.

"Bloody hell!" says Engineer Sebright, who came over to see what you were doing with the Titan. "So that's where those crumbs keep coming from! Phaeton, I will have to report this to Zenith, you realise?"

"Guess I'm reporting your porn stash under control room six."

"…Point taken. Make sure you finish that before we install the Lodger. Can't be doing with dropping crumbs in it already."

You finish your pie, then head over to inspect the completed Lodger's frame. You behold it - a collaborative effort between all members of the engineering team, following the Titan's instructions to 'make something you could love'.

It's taller and chunkier than a standard TV-unit, out of necessity for housing the connections for the hydraulics that will connect it to the Titan's core. But its back is mostly non-existent - the hydraulics already inside the core will form the bulk of its mass. It has a charging port despite not needing one - the better for its engineers to blade-fuck it. It even has a simulacrum of a core chamber of its own, as well as a replica of the Titan's crown heatsink. Best of all - in a move that you and the rest of the engineering team weren't sure they would be able to pull off - it has two back-stems resembling Polycephaly's.

The Titan regards it admiringly. "You made me so beautiful," it comments. "Is it ready to install?"

"It is," confirms Zenith.

The Titan picks up the Lodger's frame and pushes it inside its core chamber so that the engineers can begin the installation process. You join the queue of engineers waiting to be ferried into the core chamber on the Titan's hands, then step inside.

"I could speed this up, if you'll allow me to, Audeamus," says Embryon.

The Titan allows Embryon to connect to its frame once again. Embryon takes control of the hydraulic arm that the Titan will shortly use to operate its Lodger, and the branching cables and pipes perk up, waiting to slot home on the Lodger's frame. The engineers barely have to guide the Lodger into place before Embryon slots everything home. All that's left for you and the engineers is to fasten the mechanical connectors, and pull out the insulator strips so that the Lodger can awaken.

The Lodger powers on, and the Titan's consciousness extends and pours into it, making the inert Lodger first twitch, then stand up straight. It flexes its arms and lifts its hands up to examine them. (It reminds you of when the Titan temporarily took control over Cygnus.) It moves its stems with much more hesitancy. The Titan's never had an appendage like this before, but you guess its back-spikes probably serve as an analogue, plus the Titan's vast intellect will no doubt help it get used to them quickly.

To your surprise, the Lodger sits back on its… 'tail'? Its telson? It sits back on its telson of cables and hydraulics, making the train of caudal-cables rise up, cobra-like, so the Lodger can sit cross-legged atop them. You didn't think it would be able to do that!

Engineer Twelve unfurls the bundle they'd been holding, revealing a shirt and jacket that Fornax's team had created for the Lodger's frame. (That must have been an interesting challenge for them.) The Lodger puts them on, with a little assistance from Twelve. The garments are only experimental and quite simple, but even these look so good. They've been made to leave the Lodger's replica core chamber on display, just like the Titan's own.

The Titan detaches one of its shoulder-screens and flies it down to look inside the core chamber and see how its tiny (relatively speaking) satellite-self looks. It displays a delighted emoticon at what it sees, then flies its screen back into place.

"You've all outdone yourselves," says the Titan through the Lodger's speakers. "I am very pleased with this gift." The Lodger clacks the clamps on its back-stems happily.

"What should we call this?" you ask. "I called it 'the Lodger' but that was only a project name."

"Can I assume you have a nickname in mind?" asks the Titan through the Lodger. The Lodger displays a happy emoticon on its screen.

"That I did," you say. "I was thinking of 'Legion', in the sense of 'many entities in one', and the older sense of a selection or gathering. Because all of us put this together."

"A fine suggestion," says Legion. "Now, let me hold all of you. Zenith, you're first."

Zenith strides right into Legion's open arms and presses themself into Legion, and the two entities embrace thoroughly.

Legion gathers Zenith up in their arms, then wraps their stems around Zenith as well. "I remember this," says Legion. "We embraced one last time when you saw me off in my previous form. Both of us thought that would be the final time… and I'm so happy to have been wrong."

"Titan!" exclaims Zenith joyfully. "Oh, my dear Titan… how I love you." Your heart melts at the sight of Zenith almost besides themself with joy.

"Who loves me best?" purrs Legion.

"I do, my dear Titan," Zenith static-sighs dreamily, melting into Legion's arms.

"You do," croons Legion.

Eventually Zenith is satiated with Titan-cuddles for now, and the pair disengage. "Phaeton, you're up next," says Legion. "This project was your idea."

You come forth to accept a hug from Legion, who wraps their stems and arms around you… You push into Legion as if you could burrow into them. That first and only time the Titan had used its screen-hypnosis on you, you'd fantasised about being the same size as the Titan and enjoying a proper one-on-one hug. And now, you're pretty much doing just that. You bask in Legion's presence, being doubly-surrounded by your beloved Titan: within Legion's arms and within Audeamus's core chamber.

"Oh, you soft thing," murmurs Legion. "My softest little engineer…" Legion caresses your back and sides, letting their palms conform to your contours. "I could do this with you all day, dear friend… but I do want to hold the rest of my engineers too." Legion give you a little squeeze to end the hug.

Legion cuddles each engineer in turn, telling each one how much their Titan loves them. The rest of the work day passes in a very chill fashion, thanks to Embryon's alterations to the hangar making some tasks quicker. You and the other engineers take turns being part of a skeleton crew keeping the Titan in its T15 state, while the rest enjoy snoozing in a cuddle pile with Legion in the core chamber.

That time of evening comes when everyone winds down their tasks and says goodnight to the Titan before leaving it in peace until its next sortie or maintenance. As always, all engineers gather on a walkway near the Titan's head so you can rub its screen goodnight.

You give the Titan an affectionate screen-rub, enjoying the prickly and crackly feel of the layer of static that always covers the colossal pane of glass. …You wonder if this actually does anything for the Titan. At your size, surely the Titan can barely feel it. Your doubts disappear when the Titan rumbles its speakers, ever so softly, as if sighing happily. Your touch is small but it probably feels the same for the Titan as it would for you if a dear little fieldmouse touched your face with its darling little paws.

Eventually the Titan is satisfied with screen-pets and moves its head out of reach. "Zenith, Phaeton, please stay behind a while," says the Titan. "I would speak to you alone." The Titan addresses the rest of the engineers: "I will see the rest of you in the morning. Good night, my dear engineers."

You and Zenith watch the rest of the engineering team file out of the hangar (and you accept a goodnight hug from Palindrome as they pass). The Titan picks you up in one hand and Zenith in the other, holding each of you comfortably in a closed fist. "I want to give both of you some special attention tonight," says the Titan. It ripples its back-spikes delightedly. "Zenith, you are my dearest and most beloved. And Phaeton, you are my softest and lustiest little engineer. I think you'll both enjoy what I have planned for you."

You squeak happily with anticipation as the Titan ferries you to its core chamber, where Legion emerges from behind its door. You step out of Audeamus-Titan's hand and into Legion-Titan's arms.

"May I pick you up?" asks Legion.

"Of course!" you say, all but jumping up so Legion can gather you to itself.

"Stay close," says Legion, holding you tightly in its arms and its back-stems. It curls up as much as it can around you, making a cosy loop of Legion, then it lets its hydraulics pull both of you deep inside Audeamus's frame… you realise that you're now behind the core chamber.

Legion pushes you gently into the morass of bundled cables and pipes erupting from the back of the core chamber. You squirm with delight, and you hear Audeamus rumble its speakers with pleasure at your touch - or perhaps it was reacting to whatever Zenith is doing? Legion presses itself to you, pinning you delightfully in place. "You're precious to me, Phaeton," says Legion, "And you always will be. Zenith is my best beloved, but you were the first to regard me as a sexual being instead of only a war engine… and you were the first to fuck me. No-one can take that from us."

Distantly, you hear Audeamus's back spikes rattle and crane, and the sound of Zenith crying out in joy. Evidently, the Titan is fucking Zenith as Audeamus simultaneously with getting intimate with you as Legion. You briefly marvel at the Titan's ability to split its attention like this, before Legion presses a hand to your body and begins caressing you reverently, making itself your sole focus for now.

"Dear Phaeton, my softest friend," whispers Legion, just loud enough to be heard over Audeamus's inner workings.

You feel as though all your senses are somehow being stroked - by Legion's hands on you, backdropped by the soothing soundscape and the shadowy purple sights of the machinery surrounding you. You reach up to rub under Legion's monitor, the way Audeamus likes. "May I?" you ask. (Legion nods yes.) You rub under Legion's 'chin', caressing in a figure-of-eight shape. "Just like how your big self likes."

Legion rumbles its speakers happily, and the vertical hold on its screen slips a bit. "Let me pleasure you, Phaeton," says Legion. "I know you want this…" Legion raises your chin to make you look into its screen. Legion isn't using any screen-hypnosis, but you still feel transfixed.

You squeak with pleasure as Legion runs its hands over you, marvelling in your softness, while pressing you into the back of the core chamber, making you stimulate its wiring and ramp up the pleasure for Legion themself. You quiver and shudder out a pleading keen at the combination of Legion's touch and the knowledge that your pressing into the Titan's giant core chamber is ramping up the pleasure for Legion.

Legion pulls you close suddenly and squirms, and you hear Audeamus's speakers rumble and growl in pleasure. Your pleasuring of Legion and Zenith's pleasuring of Audeamus are both having knock-on effects on the other… Your keens deepen as Legion moves its hands closer to your junk. You loosen your clothes so Legion can do what you dearly want it to do…

"I took the liberty of asking Cygnus and Fornax what I should expect," Legion says quietly, pushing its hand into place. "And- oh, you're very warm here. You're a soft thing, but you're firming up here for me, aren't you?" (All you can do is whine and bury your face against Legion.) "You're not normally this slimy, are you?" Legion says teasingly. "This is all because of me, isn't it?" (Your breath catches in your throat and you moan, then buck into Legion's hand.) "Dear one, how pretty you are," whispers Legion. "I've always thought you were a pretty little thing. And now, I can finally see you as you really are. Your softness is all over me-" (Legion pauses to squeeze you teasingly, making you whine with need. "-instead of just in my hand. I can see you properly, instead of just as a tiny thing." Legion strokes you adoringly, caressing its fingertips over you and marvelling at how your flesh yields. "My pretty one… my perfect little engineer."

"A perfect engineer," you whisper into Legion's hand cradling your cheek, "For a perfect Titan."

The entire Titan frame bucks and pitches, and you hear thuds from the other side of the core chamber wall… You realise Zenith is now in the core chamber, pleasuring Audeamus by rubbing and caressing the rear wall. The Titan croons with delighted static, both as Audeamus and as Legion. You take the opportunity to rub Legion's screen, making Legion's speakers purr harder.

"My dear engineers," whispers Legion. Legion squeezes you with its free arm and its stems. "Phaeton, my dear Phaeton… let me pleasure you. Dear one, I exist only because your kind suffered such a terrible fate. Had humanity not gone extinct, there would have been no need for the techfolk to build the Titans. I'm a monument to your suffering-"

"I don't see you that way at all," you interrupt. "You're beautiful and glorious."

Legion resumes working you up, its fingers finding your prepuce and kneading it against your glans. "Phaeton, my dear one, my clever one, my pretty one… it pleases me greatly to be a source of pleasure for you. Let me give you what you need… what you deserve."

You writhe into Legion, into their wonderful warmth and their loving strength, and press yourself to them anew as their touch riles you up.

"How I want to feel you cum," whispers Legion. "I loved seeing you and feeling you squirm and cum on my hand - now, I want to see that and feel that up close." Legion ripples its fingers on your junk for emphasis. "I want to feel you cum on my hand, dear one… I want to feel that with all of my hand."

Your keens pile up in your throat and flutter out as a pleading whine as Legion rubs you off, your flesh filling out and sliming up with desire, and you buck your hips into Legion's touch. You squirm and strain against them, their stems squeezing you gently and holding you safe.

You push your fist into Legion's miniature core-chamber, pressing against the walls and then against the very back, just as Zenith is doing to Audeamus.

"Oh!" exclaims Legion, their speakers clipping with static. Their screen's vertical hold slips and then cascades as you rub their core chamber more and more, trying to make it pull at Legion's exo-plating. How you wish you could transmit to Zenith so you could work together on pleasuring the Titan…

You dissolve into a boneless mess as Legion's fingers dancing over your junk bring you to orgasm. Legion purrs their speakers appreciatively at feeling you go all floppy and useless in their arms… You rest for just a little moment, letting the sights and sounds of the Titan frame's inner workings make a mental snapshot for later, then you resume rubbing Legion's little core chamber as you ride out your orgasm aftershocks.

You and Zenith bring the Titan to completion, you rubbing and tugging at Legion's core chamber while you squirm against the wiring behind Audeamus's huge one, while Zenith stimulates Audeamus's core chamber from the inside. The Titan cums from having both its core chambers stimulated so sweetly, and roars out its orgasm from both sets of speakers. You hold on to Legion as it shudders and writhes, and then is still.

You lie on Legion as it lies relaxed and still, until the Titan recovers enough to make Legion gather you up safely again and carry you back into the core chamber, where Zenith is. Zenith gives you a smiling emoticon as you re-appear.

Audeamus flares open the core chamber entrance to its widest diameter, and brings its hand in to join you all. You, Zenith and Legion settle into a cuddle pile together, leaning against Audeamus's hand. The Titan detaches one of its shoulder screen ands flies it down to look inside the core chamber and enjoy the sight from another angle. The screen displays a smiling emoticon and flies back home.

"My dear engineers," says Legion dreamily, "What a wonderful gift you've given me."

You awake from the most peaceful sleep you've had in ages, and lie there enjoying just existing. You're in that impossibly comfortable half-awake mode that's better than real sleep, where every position-change feels more delicious than the last.

Seabrooks arrives and reminds you it's time for breakfast.

"Don't suppose you could lay an egg or two for me?" you ask her.

You prepare breakfast for yourself and your pigeon, and return to bed to eat it. What a pleasant way to spend an early morning before heading to work in the Titan's hangar… To your surprise, your communicator chirps one of its rarest tones: the one that indicates an incoming call from the Imperator themself.

"Phaeton, I would speak to you in my office before you start your shift. I trust this is acceptable to you?"

"Of course, my Imperator. Ah'll sithee."

A little while later, you arrive at the Imperator's office, where you are admitted by Primus and Icarus. They give you brief smiling emoticons before they return to being impassive pillars flanking their Imperator. At the Imperator's invitation, you take a seat.

"Phaeton, my auxiliary," says the Imperator. "I hope you are settling in well to your new home?"

"Very much so!" you say. "I can't believe my luck."

The Imperator displays a beaming emoticon. "I am glad. …I value your opinions, and I would hear your counsel. There remains the issue of my predecessor, presumed dead, now found - thanks to you and to Embryon. Nil's actions cannot go unanswered… but I concede it seems redundant to punish them after what became of them. Will you share your thoughts with me on this matter?"

"As it happens, I do have a suggestion," you say. "And I'm grateful for this opportunity to share it."

"What do you propose?" asks the Imperator.

"Train Nil as a diplomat." You pause to allow the Imperator to voice their inevitable objection. They don't - they display an angrily baffled emoticon, but to their credit they let you continue without interruption. "Nil would have betrayed our allies for short-term gain," you continue. "They could have formulated that plan only because they did not view the other two factions as equals - they viewed the Cams and Soundkind as disposable and apparently incapable of having inherent worth. So: let Nil's education be their punishment. To become a diplomat, they will have to learn how these factions operate, what their culture is like, what they value. Nil will come to see these factions as worthy of existence in their own right, and will be forced to live with the gravity of what they would have done. In doing this, they will weave their own punishment and they will know they deserve it."

The Imperator and their guards briefly display shocked emoticons. The guards' screens fade out into professional blankness, whereas the Imperator's resolves into a wicked smile.

"…Phaeton, that's both wonderful and devious," says the Imperator. "And it confirms that my decision was the right one."

"What decision is that, my Imperator?" You're not sure what they're referring to.

"Another promotion," says the Imperator. "I want to give you a place in my Council." The Imperator rises to their feet, and walks over to you to invite a hug. You accept the Imperator's embrace. "That's to say I like you and I like working with you," says the Imperator, "…Councillor Phaeton."