Time for deliverance / Skib Zone

"Phaeton, I can tell something's bothering you," says Zenith, the Engineer Prime.

"I'm… I'm okay," you say, making notes on your tablet. "Just cooking." You've had an idea for modifying the Titan, and you're gathering as much information as you can before presenting your idea - if it's even feasible. It's still too early to make that call.

"I'm sure you are," replies Zenith. "I know you well enough to see that. But I also know you well enough to see that you're troubled, and you're throwing yourself too hard into this task as a distraction. Walk with me."

Zenith leads you into the nearest of the hangar's control rooms, and closes the door for privacy.

"Actually, I have a better idea." Zenith takes your hand, and ports you both to the highest command room in the hangar. They pull up a couple of chairs so you both can sit and admire the full view of the Titan below you.

"You don't need to tell me what's bothering you," continues Zenith. "If you don't want to tell me, I don't want to know. But take a break with me, right here and now. Just relax and unwind a while." Zenith places a hand casually on the table next to them. An invitation for you to hold hands with them, or not, as you choose. You accept. Zenith folds their fingers around yours loosely, so that you can easily break away, but not so loose as to be an annoying wet fish of a grip.

The two of you take in the magnificent sight of your Titan, and the rest of the engineers going from task to task. Occasionally the engineers fist-bump each other in passing, or the Titan strokes a nearby engineer with a finger. At one point, the Titan turns its main head towards the giant fog-battery bolted to a wall, and transfers some of the fog from its great teleport-circuit. The battery's already half-full.

"…I know you are a hard worker and you take pride in that," says Zenith, not looking away from observing the Titan. "But everyone will manage without us for a while. …That's something I take pride in as a supervisor. I always aim to assemble a crew that can manage without me, and I achieved great success with that."

"That's something I like about you and Twelve as managers," you say. "I've had my share of managers who insisted that everything go through them. But if I have to run everything by you before I can act, then what is the point of me?"

"Yes. Exactly so."

The engineers look so few. There are only 17 full-time engineers in the Titan's crew, including you and Zenith. There are usually a few floating engineers in the hangar too, temporarily drawn away from their tasks elsewhere in the base, and occasionally a guest engineer from one of the other two factions. It's a testament to how well-designed the Titan is that it needs only this many engineers.

"Would you like a little music?" asks Zenith. "I might not have speakers as mighty as a Soundkind's, but I do have some."

"If I bring up something on my tablet, can I bluetooth it to you?" you ask.

"Go ahead."

You browse your tablet's app for your NAS drive back in your quarters, and select a track to stream. You choose one that, while it's far from your favourite by the band, you find yourself listening to more often by itself than as part of its album. It's a song that's both mournful and hopeful, stirring to action and yet yearning for something that you never actually had.

You move your chair so you can lean companionably against Zenith as you enjoy the track playing, while you continue to watch the activity of the Titan and your engineer colleagues. You let the sights and the sound and the feel of Zenith's warmth and sturdiness wash over you.

"It's alright if you need to take a little time off," says Zenith once the song plays out. "I'd much rather cope without you for a few days than have you over-exert yourself and need to take weeks off. And I know the Titan will back me up on that; you won't hurt its feelings."

"…Thank you. You're right, there are some things bothering me. I… think I need to talk to Cygnus about them."

Zenith gives your hand a little squeeze. "Have you still got any tasks tagged?"

You check your tablet - there are a couple of Titan maintenance tasks you'd assigned to yourself. The hangar intranet auto-assigns some of them to prevent the same people always snatching up the same easy tasks, and the rest the engineers can manually assign to themselves or each other. The tablet app keeps track of who did what last, and it had flagged these two tasks for you as ones you hadn't done in a while.

"I was going to do the test card calibration on the belt screen, and re-do some of the welds on the carpal heat-sinks," you explain to Zenith.

"Untag them," says Zenith. "I want the floating engineers to have more experience with the screen calibrations anyway." Zenith waits while you un-assign the tasks. "It's nearing my usual break time," they continue. "Won't you join me in the core chamber?"

"I'd love that," you say.

You and Zenith exit the control room and walk down several staircases to the mid levels (you can feel it doing your knees some good), where you join the queue of engineers waiting to be ferried on the Titan's hand to its core chamber.

You and Zenith join a forming cuddle-pile with the electrical engineering team. You're grateful that the electrical engineer Twenty-Four-Fifty-Six holds you no grudge for the time your poor decisions indirectly led to their screen getting cracked - Fifty-Six extends an arm to encourage you to snuggle between them and the engineer Palindrome. You untense and enjoy the warm press of bodies. The unspoken rule of core chamber snuggle-clubs is that nobody talks about work topics during them - this is a time just for relaxation. And they operate on mosh-pit principles: anyone wants in, let them in; anyone wants out, let them out.

"Time to work, Phaeton," Palindrome says softly, scritching your head. You realise you'd been dozing. You wake up properly and see Zenith standing over you, offering you a hand to get up. You accept, and you both join the other engineers getting ferried on the Titan's hands back to the walkways.

"I'll take you home," says Zenith once you've both disembarked. "Take the rest of the day off and let me know how you feel tomorrow."

"Thank you. Do you know the way to Antlia-Four?" you ask.

"I do now," says Zenith. "I had Polycephaly share the pathway with me last time they came here for maintenance."

Zenith ports you both to the hangar entrance so you can exit on foot and sign out properly, then ports you home. To your pleasant surprise, Zenith has learned the void-pathway enough to land you right outside your quarters, instead of just the main hub of Antlia-Four Base. Zenith gives you a goodbye hug, then peaces out back to their work.

You enter your quarters and flop on the bed. Part of you wants to still be in TV Base, basking in your dear Titan's presence, but it's probably best that you're not there getting in anyone's way. And you're overdue a good cry - you can't keep putting that off…

You awake from having cried yourself to sleep. You fell asleep in a funny position and now you're achy, as well as having crumpled clothes and stupid hair, and that someone-shat-in-my-mouth feeling that always comes from an unplanned fat nap.

You allow yourself a couple more minutes of indulgent misery, before getting up for a drink and a piss and some grooming. There. One is always bravest when one is looking one's best.

"Cygnus, I'm sad and really need some hugs from my favourite cutie." You compose a message on your communicator. "Can you come over some time today?"

The three dots appear that indicate that Cygnus is composing a reply.

"Absolutely," says Cygnus. Verbally - they've just spawned right next to your bed! Your communicator chimes - Cygnus's text reply of a winking emoji has just come through. Cygnus sets something down on the floor. You realise it's their shoes, which they already removed before teleporting so they could immediately climb onto your bed to join you. Cygnus correctly guessed exactly where you'd be.

"Oh, how well you know me," you say, as Cygnus drops their already folded-up pea coat on the bed, then lies next to you and hauls you to them for a cuddle.

"Have you been crying?" asks Cygnus with concern.

"I have," you say. "I'm sad about several things."

"I thought as much. You get like this when you're overwhelmed. Come here." Cygnus wraps themself around you. "What is it you need?"

"I'm… really worried, Cygnus. I need to talk things over with my trusted friend."

"I'm right here. Take the time you need. …Where are you carrying your tension?"

You take stock of your bodily sensations. "In my sternum."

Cygnus rubs their knuckles up and down the midline of your chest, taking the edge off that tight and acidic feeling. …It occurs to you that this is roughly where your charging port would be if you were a TV. You wonder if Cygnus is thinking about the same thing. You pause a moment to appreciate Cygnus's presence. Warm, reassuringly solid, and holding you close. Their familiar scent and the soft sounds of their inner machinery comfort you. Cygnus.

"I'm… alarmed," you begin. "By things I've seen in some of the broadcasts recently."

Cygnus gives you a gentle squeeze. "The… new technologies of the enemy are more powerful than we anticipated."

"It's not even that," you say. "Although that is scary too. No, it's… It's some of the actions of the Alliance that've disturbed me."

A pause. "I will listen," says Cygnus.

"It's hard to talk about this… I'm not sure where to begin."

"Anywhere. Tell me things in any order, as they come to you. We'll piece it together." Cygnus pulls one of the coverings over you both completely. "Here. Just us under here. Whatever's said under here stays under here."

Very sweet. But slightly funny too, you think at the back of your mind. That's what you do to a budgie to calm it down.

"I was…" you begin after a moment. "I was disappointed that the units from our faction, the ones collecting samples for the science team, didn't render any aid to the Cams in the field. I know they have their orders to collect the samples, I know it's important to grab them before the enemy does. But… living as I do in a mostly-Cam base, I do pick up on what they're saying about us. The TVs are the most powerful of all the factions, but… what is the point of that power if it… if it doesn't help anyone?"

"You think they should have ported the Cams away with them?" asks Cygnus.

"Or something. Could have ported some supply drops in. That's not the only thing people are saying in Antlia-Four. I know D67's team is working on something important. But everyone is… frustrated that the TV faction won't share their findings. The Alliance needs it. It's… sowing a lot of discontent - that the faction is porting in, grabbing the samples that the Cams risked a lot to acquire, and then not sharing the results. I want to have faith in my adopted faction. You know I believe in you, if no-one else. But… this is making it hard for me."

"You've given me a lot of useful information. …That response was a little cold. C'mere." Cygnus re-wraps themself around you to renew their cuddle. They rub their hand in a circle on your back as you press yourself against Cygnus anew.

"I saw the Imperator in the broadcast," you say. "And I was surprised they didn't say or do anything at the time. …Perhaps they thought D67's crew was already on the case. That's pure speculation though." (That seems to have made Cygnus think hard.) "I was heartened by seeing what Polycephaly did," you continue. "They hauled a load of Cams out of there in their big crate. …I'm really happy to call Polycephaly a friend." You laugh briefly. "I know they did call the Cams 'imbeciles', but we know Polycephaly."

"That's almost a term of endearment, coming from them," points out Cygnus.

You take a bit of courage from Cygnus's warm embrace before you continue. Cygnus unhurriedly waits for you to gather your thoughts. "I was a bit upset by some of Sabre's actions on another broadcast. …It probably was the right course of action, but… it didn't sit right with me that she didn't check."

"It wouldn't be the first time Sabre acted harshly without getting all the information, as you know," says Cygnus. "Can you tell me which action you're talking about?"

"Giving the order to torch the proto-Skibidis. If she was right and they were beyond saving, then it was best to put them down. But if even one of them could have been saved, it would have been worth doing. And, honestly, burning alive - that's a cunt thing to do to someone. I would rather they'd shot them and then burned the dead remains. …You know, the Imperator was on scene shortly afterwards. I wonder if the Imperator had been there a bit sooner, they would have told Sabre and the Cams to hold off on torching them immediately. It's making me wonder if people are deliberately hiding things from the Imperator."

Cygnus emits a quiet static crackle to show they're paying close attention but have nothing to add right now.

"There's yet one more thing that's been worrying me," you say. "I'm not sure if you'll agree with me about this one, but I know you'll hear me out and I know you won't make fun of me for it."

"Of course," Cygnus says quietly. They give you some more back-rubs while you get your thoughts together.

"It's about some of the Cams this time. I saw them on one of the broadcasts… tormenting a captured skibidi. I know they're the enemy and that the Cams probably were about to kill it anyway. And that skibidi might very well have done worse to our side. But it doesn't make it right for our side to do that."

"Does it bother you because the skibs are former humans?"

"Somewhat, I guess? But I do expect better of the Alliance. I mean, that action was probably technically a war crime. If we're no better than them… then what is the point of us? …I chose to side with the Alliance on purpose. Before then, I did seriously consider whether I should throw my lot in with the skibs - because at the time, it seemed inevitable that I'd get assimilated anyway. …I don't regret siding with the Alliance. I haven't regretted it for a second. I love you so much, Cygnus-" (Cygnus gives you an affectionate squeeze) "-and I love the Titan. I have a great friend in Fornax, and in Polycephaly, and in the engineering team. I'd like to think that the Imperator is fond of me too." (Cygnus cradles the back of your head.) "I know we're at war, and a lot of… things happen in war that people aren't proud of afterwards. But something about all this hasn't sat right with me. …Cygnus, buddy. Thanks for listening to me. I haven't felt able to talk to anyone else about any of this. Especially the thing with the Cams and the skib. I know some techfolk regard me suspiciously, as though I might turn skib at any time and I'm just on a delayed transformation. And I know bringing up things like that isn't going to help with that."

"My dear Phaeton," Cygnus says quietly. "Thank you for letting me listen to you. I'm not happy that you're upset, of course, but I'm very happy that you trust me to be your confidant."

"Aren't you sweet? …It's nice being friends with a professional diplomat; you always know just what to say. But seriously, Cygnus, I'm very lucky to know you. I feel so much better after talking to you. And cuddling with you." (You hear Cygnus emit a quiet pleased clicking.)

"You gave me some very useful intel on what's going down in Antlia-Four," replies Cygnus. "That's something that would have taken me a while to piece together working alone, but you just gave me some good leads. I'll talk to the Imperator about how D67's team's actions are affecting morale in the rest of the Alliance… I'll talk to them as well about what you brought up regarding the Cams' actions. I'll be careful not to frame it as 'they shouldn't do it because it upsets Phaeton'; I'll use the angle that it would be a war crime under human rules. Imperator Camera possibly has a lead on some unskibbed humans, and we certainly want to get them on our side." Cygnus is thinking aloud while idly stroking you. "There's the matter of Sabre too, possibly being too hasty to put down the partly-transformed skibs. Would you like me to bring that up with the Imperator too, or is that something you'd rather talk to the Imperator about yourself?"

You think for a moment. "Could we do both? When you bring up the 'don't torment the enemy in a way that could constitute war crimes' thing, and you point out how we need to keep any unskibbed humans on-side, you could tie it in that way. If there are still humans out there and they get word that the Alliance torches potential humans on-sight, that could turn them against us. And I need to speak to the Imperator about something else anyway - when I do that, I'll bring it up too and talk about how I personally found it upsetting. If we use a two-pronged approach of you, the diplomat, talking about it in terms of strategy, and me, the Imperator's auxiliary, making an emotional appeal, that'll drive the point home harder. I hope."

"Phaeton, we'll make a diplomat of you yet." Cygnus gives you an affectionate squeeze.

"Thanks, buddy." You press yourself into Cygnus appreciatively. "Have I kept you from your work?"

"Don't worry about it. I gathered important information pertinent to inter-faction liaisons. This was absolutely a productive use of my time." Cygnus displays a smiling emoticon.

"I feel so much better," you say. "Thank you, my friend. Now I feel unburdened, I can properly look after you too. Cygnus, how are you?"

"…Something is bothering me," replies Cygnus. "Can I share my thoughts with you?"

"Of course you can."

"I feel a little silly bringing this up. It's nowhere near as troublesome as yours". Cygnus takes a moment to think about what to say next. "I think I'm pining for Fornax again. You know we've got together and broken up three times so far?"

"So you've mentioned before," you say.

"…I want to try again. Each time, we've decided we're better off not together. But each time, the passion and excitement I got from Fornax makes me want to come back to them. Will you help me realise it's a foolish endeavour? Tell me to snap out of it."

"…No. No, I don't think I will."

"You… think I should try again? But I've got no reason to think it'll go differently this time."

"Does it matter?" you ask.

Cygnus appears confused by your question.

"As the Soundkind's preferred battle-anthem says: 'Nothing ever lasts forever'. Whenever I cook something and eat it, there's always a bunch of dirty cookware and utensils left over, and the food is gone. It doesn't mean I failed at the cooking stage; it just means that part of the cycle is over and now it's time for the next bit. Maybe that's how you and Fornax should be. You get together, enjoy the intensity and the passion, then calm down and go back to being friends for a bit, and so on. Maybe that's just how your relationship works. And maybe Fornax feels the same way."

"That's… something I hadn't considered," admits Cygnus. They seem deep in thought.

"Will you tell Fornax how you feel?" you ask.

"Will you… be there with me when I do?"

What is Cygnus worried about? About how Fornax might react? But whatever the reason, you'll do that for your dear friend. "Of course, if you want me there. …I need to get out from under this cover, it's getting stuffy under here." You flip a segment of it over to uncover your heads.

You and Cygnus continue cuddling for a while, wordlessly delighting in each other. "I'm glad you brought up Fornax, actually," you tell Cygnus. "So far, the only times I've hung out with them were because either you or I needed comforting, and we needed Fornax for the moral support. If we keep that up, they'll start associating us with misery. I'd like us to hang out with Fornax just for the sake of it, when all three of us are happy about it."

Cygnus purrs their speakers appreciatively. "I'll make that happen."

"I think I could love Fornax very soon," you say. "I told you before - that when we first cuddled and held hands in the Titan's core chamber, I thought back then 'I could love you'. We didn't know each other well enough at that stage for me to love you already, but I knew that if I became friends with you I would end up loving you. And that's exactly what happened. I liked Fornax right away when I first met them - after all, you love them, and you clearly have excellent taste." You both laugh a bit. "I think if I spend more time with Fornax, I will love them too."

"I'm sure they feel the same about you," says Cygnus.

"Cygnus, my dearest," you say with fondness, gazing into their screen. "You are so pretty."

"…I look much the same as any other TV."

"That's true. But you're my loveliest friend, and that makes you appear prettiest to me." You kiss Cygnus's screen - Cygnus floods it with hot-pink heart emoticons. You nuzzle the screen, enjoying the static on the tip of your nose. "Would you fuck me to take my mind off recent events?"

Cygnus takes their arms back so they can remove their gloves. "I'll make you feel so good, Phaeton," they croon with a delighted emoticon.

Cygnus encourages you onto your back, then gets you going by rubbing your lower belly above your pubic mound. They start off by firmly stroking, letting their hand conform to the curve of your belly, then move on to gently gripping a warm handful of you and holding, pressing their palm into you and rippling their fingers. You huff delightedly. Cygnus resumes the stroking, this time moving from one of your hips to the other, giving you a firm little press each time their hand reaches the midpoint above your mound. Your soft huffing turns into deep throaty clucks as Cygnus increases their hand's range and starts stroking your thighs too.

Cygnus moves on to caressing your mound, ruffling your bush, while using their thumb to tickle your belly above it. Their movements draw out pleading little moans from you - Cygnus purrs their speakers at hearing the effect they're having on you.

You buck your hips to meet Cygnus's touch as they move their hand to rub little circles with their fingertips on your innermost thighs, tantalisingly close to your junk. Cygnus lets their thumb idly stroke your junk in passing.

"Do you want me to?" whispers Cygnus, as they stroke a finger into one of the folds where your thighs transition to your mound.

"Yes," you whisper back.

Cygnus moves their fingers to your junk, stroking and playing with its warm, soft, pliable wrinkles. Your breathing intensifies. You feel that wonderful warm stretch and strain, deliciously bordering on ache, as your flesh fills out in anticipation. Your junk and its surroundings, your undercarriage and ass and upper thighs, are feeling hotter and wetter. Cygnus purrs with approval as your junk starts pearling up with juices. You clench your ass and it feels as though a jolt of pleasure surges from it towards Cygnus's fingers, impaling your junk as it goes.

As Cygnus continues to stroke you off, you feel heavier, as though Cygnus's hand is the epicentre of an invisible force pushing you down onto the bed. It feels as though something inside you is charging up until it becomes powerful enough to break out of its shell and pour its contents all into you, like a dam of wax giving way to a surge of molten wax behind it. The sensation flows through you, and you feel your glans puff up against the wet folds of its prepuce, and your junk releases more slickness under Cygnus's fingers.

"Your junk's making itself so fat and slick for me," whispers Cygnus admiringly. "It's so warm."

You wheeze with lust at Cygnus's words. Your abdomen and thighs and buttocks are feeling tighter, charged up with electric juice. The heaviness continues to push you down, but now you need to thrust your hips upwards to meet Cygnus's hand. Your breathing becomes more ragged.

"I love that sound," whispers Cygnus. "It means you're getting close…"

Ohh…

Cygnus changes their touch, going from caressing strokes to tiny but intense rubs, each one sending a pulse through you. Oh, Cygnus knows how you like it… They know how and where and when to touch you to make you squirm and make tiny pleading whimpers…

"Let it flow through you…" whispers Cygnus. "Let it fill you… let it charge you up, and cum for me…"

Cygnus's hand continues its dance with your thrusts, until you shudder and pant and let out a long whine with your breath… and Cygnus doesn't stop until you are still.

You are spent.

You wheeze. The back of your mind faintly bewails the mess that must have happened, until you realise that Cygnus had deftly reached into their coat with their free hand and pulled out their pocket square from their suit jacket, and put that in place to catch your squirt. Cygnus did it so quickly and you were so deep into your orgasm that you hadn't noticed them doing it. Clever Cygnus. Dear, clever Cygnus. You sigh dreamily as Cygnus wipes you and takes back their pocket square to throw in a laundry bucket.

Cygnus brings their hand to your face, so you can enjoy the scent and taste of your arousal-sweat and juices. You hold their hand with both of yours as you lap up the juices from it, and you idly stroke Cygnus's hand to enjoy its many metallic and plastic textures.

"Oh, I almost forgot," says Cygnus. "I brought you a little something. Let's get cleaned up and I'll give it to you."

You give Cygnus's hand a kiss before releasing it, then you get out of bed to use the bathroom while Cygnus gives their hands a clean with the kit they keep in a coat pocket, and replaces their gloves.

As you return to the bedroom, Cygnus is digging in an inner pocket in their pea coat, hunting for something. "Here it is," says Cygnus, handing you an object.

You take it. It's a jar full of… fuzzy grey and greenish stuff. "This looks like a jar of mould," you say curiously. "What is it?" You open it. …It's mould. "Huuurk." You make a stupid noise in disgust at the smell.

"Do you… not like mould?" Cygnus asks. They sound confused.

You hastily replace the lid of the jar. "Phwoargh. Stinky. Bleurgh. …Were you… thinking of mushrooms?" you ask. "I like those, but most mould isn't edible or useful. And I only like some mushrooms, at that."

"You… cultivate jars of mould, though, don't you?" asks Cygnus. "I put some of your favourite vegetables in a jar so they'd go mouldy - I thought you could use that as a base. I take it it doesn't work that way?"

You realise what Cygnus is thinking of. "I ferment jars of veggies to make kimchi - fermentation isn't quite the same thing as growing mould." You laugh a bit at how wrong Cygnus got this. "I'm sorry for laughing - but that is funny. Your intentions were very sweet, and I appreciate the thought and the effort, but you entirely missed the mark." You cackle. "Oh, thanks for that. I'm sorry your efforts were wasted, but it's very funny. I needed that laugh. I'll stick this in the compost heap." You put the jar near the door so you'll remember to take it with next time you go there.

You return to the bedroom and sit next to Cygnus on the bed. "Ah, there she is," you say as you hear the familiar sound of your pigeon, Seabrooks Canadian Ham, returning home. "I'm going to feed Brooks and then get an early night. Thanks for coming over, Cygnus. You've helped me so much." You and Cygnus embrace. "I love you."

"I love you, Phaeton," says Cygnus. "Sleep well, and I'll see you around." Cygnus ends the hug, then starts to fade away in a cloud of black fog - then re-materialises. "Forgot my shoes." You both laugh slightly, and Cygnus replaces their shoes before disappearing properly.

You attend to Seabrooks's supper and perform your own bedtime routine, then lie in bed with a book for a while. Seabrooks joins you on the bed and makes dear little happy clucks. "You're a good pidgey-pidge," you tell her. "A night's sleep will sort us out, won't it?"

You message the Imperator's staff, saying that you want to book a half-hour meeting slot with the Imperator. You get a reply shortly afterwards, confirming your appointment… for two and a half hours.

You message back to check whether there was a mistake. You only need half an hour, if that, and you don't want to pointlessly block off the Imperator's schedule.

"Your concern is appreciated," comes the reply from the scheduling staffer. "Not an error - Imperator would like to discuss a matter with you also, meeting length takes this into account."

Well then.

At the allotted time, Cygnus ports into your quarters to take you to TV Base. You and Cygnus hug goodbye, and you make your way to the Imperator's office. You've made sure you're well-rested, fed, hydrated and caffeinated - time to make this meeting the most productive it can be.

As always, one of the Imperator's two guards lets you in to the Imperator's office. Both guards are blank-screened and impassive - you know from experience that they can drop the facade in an instant, but right now they're in work mode. You nod solemnly in acknowledgement to them, then take a seat when offered to by the Imperator.

"It's good to see you, Phaeton," says the Imperator with a smiling emoticon. "You first."

"I wanted to discuss the Titan's idea of moving the Base," you say. "First off-"

"I think I know what you're going to say next," says the Imperator. "But go on."

"Is this… really something that makes tactical sense to do?" you ask. "If it's just for my sake?"

"Phaeton, I knew you were going to say that before you did." The Imperator leans forward, their head resting on their clasped hands, and displays an amused emoticon. "I want you here full time, you want to be here full time, and the Base can't accommodate you with its current resources. Moving the existing Base will be hard, but not insurmountable for the TV Faction, and it will be far quicker than building a new Base from scratch. And who knows? In future we might find more humans who want to join the Alliance. If they align with our faction, they'll need somewhere to live."

The Imperator lays their hands on the desk and beckons you to hold hands with them. You accept, and the Imperator strokes the backs of your hands with their thumbs. "Did you really come here just to ask me if the plan was still going ahead?" asks the Imperator. "I expect you had more to say than that."

"I do. I have a suggestion for where to move the base."

"Let's have it."

You take your hands back from the Imperator so you can get out your tablet. You swipe it to where you want, then lie it on the desk for the Imperator to view. "Iceland," you say. "It's nice and cool for efficient operations - humans used to host many server farms there - while still being well within my tolerance. It's got geothermal energy for power and for me to use for my plant farm. Before the plague, humans grew bananas in geothermal greenhouses. It's a big enough island that it's got room for the faction to expand, while still being a manageable size for defence. It's out of the way enough that it'll be hard for skibidis to get here without warning, and - I hope - it's close enough to where we are now that it won't be insurmountable for the Titan to move us there."

The Imperator and their two guards sharply take interest at your last statement.

"I know I'm officially not supposed to know where TV Base currently is," you explain. "But… I think we're on Cava. Are we?"

"…Nothing gets past you, Phaeton," says the Imperator. "How did you work it out?"

"I already knew about the gift from Scotland, although I didn't remember which island it was."

When the first techfolk to reach the sentience threshold for legal personhood appeared, the nation of Scotland had gifted one of their uninhabited islands to the TVs collectively, in recognition of the first human-made televisions having been invented in Scotland by John Logie Baird.

"I'd picked up that the base is mostly wind-powered, so I thought it was likely to be coastal," you explain. "And I'd overheard someone mention 'the lighthouse', so that all but confirmed that. It came back to me that the gift was Cava when I was reading through some history books I'd salvaged. One of them mentioned that Cava was uninhabited and had no good anchorages. That jogged my memory, and then I realised that an island with no anchorages is no obstacle for techfolk who can teleport."

"…I've told you before that you're wasted on the Camera Faction. That's part of the reason I wanted you to live with us full-time." (You feel a surge of pride at the Imperator's words.) "This is an excellent lead. Can you tell me about the sites you've marked?"

You and the Imperator explore the map on your tablet while you explain your reasoning for the shortlist of sites. The Imperator makes notes on their own tablet as you do so. The chosen site will need to have intact enough infrastructure that the TVs can get it up and running again.

"Excellent work, Phaeton," says the Imperator. "I'll have Polycephaly find the way and scope them out." Only Polycephaly has the teleportation skills to navigate to somewhere that far away that they've never been before. "…Dear Polycephaly," says the Imperator quietly. "Polycephaly is my very dear friend," the Imperator explains, "And I don't get to spend nearly as much time with them as I'd like. I'm very glad that the two of you have become friends." The Imperator displays a beaming emoticon. "Now-" continues the Imperator, "Cygnus mentioned to me that you raised some useful points about how other factions view us in light of our recent actions. Thank you for that; I will look into it." The Imperator looks down at the desk, as if afraid of meeting your gaze. "I'm sorry about how Sabre handled the situation with the infected humans," says the Imperator quietly. "I do believe those humans were beyond saving. But you are right - we should be destroying them only as a last resort."

"Thank you, Imperator," you say. Well, that worked out quite nicely. You were expecting to carry out your plan of emotional appeal, but Cygnus appears to have explained things thoroughly already.

"Did you have more to discuss with me?" asks the Imperator.

"No, that covers everything," you say. "I wanted to discuss the base sites with you, and it sounds as though Cygnus covered everything else I was going to say." But there's still nearly two hours of your allotted meeting time to go…

"In that case," says the Imperator, purring their speakers, "I'd like for you to give my shell a deep clean. Will you do that for your Imperator?"

This is an unexpected delight! "I'd be very happy to, my Imperator," you say. "Are we doing it in your quarters?"

"We are indeed." The Imperator gets up and motions for you to follow them, and the two guards bring up the rear as you do so.

You follow the Imperator through their private quarters adjoining their office, and the Imperator leads you to what you presume is their sleeping area. It's already prepared for a deep-clean, with a tarp covering the floor and the Imperator's preferred cleaning tools all laid out and ready.

The two guards take their positions keeping watch at the door, as the Imperator begins disrobing. They remove and hang up their quilted pea-coat, revealing their signature purple turtleneck with a black underbust waistcoat and black cravat. The Imperator quickly removes their boots and the rest of their clothes, which one of the guards takes from them and puts out of the way.

Most unclothed techfolk look utilitarian to the point of looking almost wretched and unfinished. To your surprise, you'd learned firsthand that this wasn't true for Polycephaly, who looks positively gorgeous with their purple trim and gold circuitry… The Imperator is somewhere between the two extremes, with a little of both. Their plating has its own beauty, midnight-black and sleek, all the details black-on-black - as the Imperator moves, you notice that their plating has an opalescent sheen over the black, like a soap bubble when it catches the light. Their plating has gold circuitry, but not in the familiar tessellating hexagon-and-triangle pattern you've seen on other TVs - the Imperator's gold patterning is harsher and more dendritic, a lightning-strike of parallel lines and forty-five degree angles.

Despite the Imperator's beauty, however, there's something unsettling about it - the unclothed Imperator has an aura of you're not supposed to see this. In seeing the Imperator like this, you've feel you've joined some mysterious echelon.

"Would you like me to begin anywhere in particular, Imperator?" you ask. "Otherwise I'll go from the top down."

The Imperator detaches their head and flies it over to their bed. "Do that," says the Imperator. "Give my geminus socket a good clean first." The Imperator is referring to the socket in their neck where their head normally connects.

You select a skinny brush and poke it down the socket. On the bed, the Imperator's screen displays a delighted emoticon, and the prongs of their geminus connector twitch and flex happily. The Imperator is clearly enjoying the cleaning sensation. You rotate the brush to scoop up all dust, and pull it out and smack the handle of the brush to knock all the dust off to land on the tarpaulin.

"You have a good touch," says the Imperator. "You're gentle but not timid. Nice and firm. It feels as though you know what you're doing." The Imperator's body shivers happily as you brush. "Finish that off with some setting putty," instructs the Imperator.

You pick up and open the kit of cleaning putty the Imperator indicates. You mix together the ratio of liquid components in the kitbox's supplied mixing vessel and stirrer, and decant the mixture into the provided syringe. You squirt it down the Imperator's geminus socket and let it get to work. Once it's set, you'll be able to pull it out in one go and pull out any remaining dust with it.

"While that's setting," says the Imperator, as they shift their body from heel to toe to agitate out any air bubbles in the liquid putty. "Clean out my tits."

All three Imperators have advanced vents in their shells for the benefit of their powerful processors. Because of the vents' position, they were made to resemble human tits for aesthetic reasons. You pick up a fluffy brush this time, and use it to brush as much dust from the Imperator's boob-grilles as it can. You enjoy the warm draft of air on your fingers as you work. The Imperator then directs you to use some cleaning gel to get out the rest. You open a fresh tub and scoop out the contents, kneading the gel to keep it semi-cohesive and stop it oozing out of your hand. You press the handful of gel against one of the Imperator's ubbs and let it flow into the outer vents, up against the fine dust-catching mesh. You peel the gel away, and hold it up so the Imperator can admire how much fine dust got pulled out.

"Nicely done," says the Imperator. "Make me symmetrical."

You hoy the dusty gel into a bucket, and scoop out another tub of gel and de-dust the other set of vents. The Imperator purrs their speakers gratefully.

"Your geminus socket should be done by now," you say. "Does it feel ready to you?"

"It does," says the Imperator. "Would you start it off for me?"

The Imperator bows so you can more easily reach into their neck-socket, and you pull the edges of the now-set rubbery putty away from the socket. You give it an experimental tug to make sure it is in one piece, then move your hands away so the Imperator can take over. They yank the putty cast out of their geminus socket, pulling out more-or-less a rubbery replica of the connector on the bottom of their head. You both laugh a bit at its funny appearance and admire how much dust got pulled out, before you take it off the Imperator to throw it in the bucket with the spent gel from earlier.

"Before I replace my head," says the Imperator, "I want you to give my geminus connector a good clean." The Imperator walks their body forward to re-position their head so it's lying on its back on the bed, giving you unimpeded access to their head's connector. "Give it a nice scrub now," says the Imperator. "Don't be afraid to be firm with it."

You snap on some disposable gloves and select a scrubbing sponge, a small brush like a toothbrush, and a pump-bottle of soap. You squirt a dollop of soap onto your gloved hand and then rub all over the Imperator's geminus connector, coating it and working it into the flexible joints. You rub both your hands over it, and the Imperator gently grips your hand with the flexing claws, almost as though it's holding hands with you. You give the base of each claw a soapy massage, and the Imperator happily flexes the claws to make them slide through your hands, getting stroked from tip to base. You stroke the entire stem in your soapy hand, gently tugging on the connector and stroking all the way from root to claw-tips. You repeat the gesture with your other hand, restarting the cycle with one hand just as the other finishes. The Imperator purrs their speakers and idly flexes their connector-claws, displaying a delighted emoticon on-screen the whole time.

You select the toothbrush next, working the bristles all into the flexors of the joins and scrubbing the soap well in. The Imperator's screen expression looks more blissed-out, and their purring becomes bassier. Once you think the geminus connector is as soaped-up as it can be, you begin wiping the soap off with the scrubbing sponge, using the rough side and then the soft side to remove all the suds. You expected the Imperator to be keen to replace their head, but they seem too dazed and delighted to do that just yet.

You leave the Imperator's head to it, and resume cleaning the Imperator's body. You trust that they can ask their guards to help them replace their head if you need it. You get to work using a soft brush on the Imperator's plating seams to dislodge any obvious dirt, working from top to bottom. You move on to spraying the Imperator with a bright yellow cleaning spray - useful for seeing against the Imperator's dark plating. You enjoy the opportunity to inspect the Imperator's plating so closely, pressing your hand into all the contours and polishing the clean plating to perfection.

"Beautifully done, Phaeton," says the Imperator, as they use their geminus connector to boost their head upwards to it can fly on its rockets back to the Imperator's body. The Imperator pulls you into a hug and holds you close against their naked plating. "That's to say I like you and I like working with you."

A productive meeting with the Imperator.

Today sees you working in the Titan's hangar again - always the best part of your working week. Several of the engineers are preparing to transfer their spare teleport-fog to the huge collector in the Titan's hangar. The amount they can donate is tiny compared to the Titan, but it all adds up. One of the engineers is the Twelve, who will be able to make a relatively large donation thanks to their larger-than-normal teleport-circuit.

"Wait a moment," you interject as Twelve approaches the fog-battery. "Twelve, before you add the fog, can you let the boss pick you up and pretend to squeeze you? So it looks as though they're squeezing the fog out of you like an icing bag? For my amusement?"

Twelve displays an amused emoticon. "Alright. Titan, would you oblige?"

The Titan displays an amused emoticon of its own, and picks Twelve up. The Titan positions its hands and then clenches its fingers as though it's squeezing out Twelve like a paint tube. Right on cue, perfectly timed, Twelve ejects a stream of fog from their screen. You laugh out loud! That was a hoot!

As you begin your shift proper, you notice the TV you most want to see. "Palindrome, I'd like to speak to you at some point - it's not work-related, so it can wait."

"Alright," says Palindrome. "My quarters tonight after closedown?"

"Thanks, that suits me just fine," you reply. Both of you proceed with your respective work days.

At closedown, you and the other engineers carry out your nightly ritual of saying goodnight to your dear Titan. The Titan softly rumbles its speakers in delight at all its engineers petting its screen and reverently praising it - the Titan performed exceptionally well in its most recent sortie. You and the other engineers have split yourselves into two groups, each rubbing one of the lower corners of the Titan's colossal screen, paying attention to the groove where the glass meets the Titan's head-casing (something the Titan exceptionally likes). Zenith stands alone at the mid-point of the Titan's screen, rubbing under the Titan's 'chin'. Bands of static lazily drift upwards on the Titan's screen, showing that the Titan is pleasantly blissed-out.

Musicians say that being in a band is very like being in a romantic relationship with multiple people, because all of you live in each other's pockets and obsess together over the thing you create. It strikes you that this is a little like how it is to be part of the Titan's engineering crew - and the thing you're collectively working on cares about you back. Even though the Titan is immensely powerful, it depends on you and your colleagues for its continued operation. You can only work together in this way because you trust each other completely to have each other's backs. There's probably no bond like it.

Eventually the Titan pulls its head back a little to break the contact; its signal that it's had enough. "Thank you, my dear engineers," says the Titan fondly. "Goodnight to you all, and I'll see most of you in the morning."

You and the other engineers file out of the hangar, leaving the Titan in peace until tomorrow. Palindrome gives you a smiling emoticon and offers you their hand to initiate a teleport to their quarters.

To your surprise, Palindrome's quarters have quite a few houseplants, all species that do well in low light. Palindrome's spider plant is even doing well enough that's it's propagating. Techfolk won't benefit particularly from having plants nearby - Palindrome must just like them. You're also surprised to notice that Palindrome's computer desk has a couple of monitors on it. Most TVs don't bother with external monitors; instead just plugging their own heads directly into the computer. Actually, considering what kind of programming you know Palindrome writes sometimes, maybe that layer of abstraction offers some protection…

"What can I do for you, Phaeton?" asks Palindrome as you both sit down.

"If anyone I know can help me with this, it'll be you. Can you get hold of some zarennen oil for me, and what would be your price?" You condense your request - TVs appreciate pithiness and getting right to the point.

"…I can get you some of that. As for what I'll charge, that depends on the information you're about to give me. First of all: do you know what it's for and what it does?"

"I do indeed," you say. TVs use oil to sharpen their blades - and each other's, as a gesture of friendship. Zarennen oil is a blend of oils mixed to be exceptionally good for sharpening and honing… and is noted for its aphrodisiac properties among techfolk. "It's good-time-fuck oil."

"That's… not wrong. Secondly: why do you want it? …Do you want to give Cygnus a treat?"

"Almost. I want to get some for Cygnus so they can gift it to Fornax."

"Don't tell me those two have got back together?" Palindrome displays a question mark on-screen.

"Not yet. Cygnus is considering it. And I'm encouraging them, because I want to see what happens."

"Oh dear. My next question: what made you so sure I'd have any leads on it?"

"Because, my dear Palindrome, you are the horniest TV on the engineering team."

Oh, you've made them squirm. "What… makes you say that?"

"First of all, that time I publicly fucked the Titan, I noticed you flickering your blades and trying not to. True, you weren't the only one, but I noticed." (Did you see a blade-flicker just now? Or were you just seeing what you wanted to see?) "Secondly, I've seen you plugging in to charge in the break rooms a few times. A couple of times I was close enough to notice the after-market faceplate on your charging port. A Titan engineer should have no problem getting the standard parts, so I can only assume it's a choice. Which means it's most likely that you have a sex mod installed. Thirdly, I've been on Zincfused-" You're referring to one of the hidden sections of the faction intranet that can be accessed only by those who already know they're there. "Well, I guess you knew that; my username isn't hard to work out. But nor was it difficult to guess which username was yours, 'never_odd_or_even'. I noticed you wrote a fork for the app 'intoxicating_pleasure' and contributed to the HotGrip mod wiki. I'm guessing that's the same mod you have installed."

You think you heard some of Palindrome's servos crunch.

"And, last of all, when the team has a snuggle in the core chamber, you're usually quite cuddly with me. But maybe I'm reading too much into that? Maybe you just love cuddles." You get up and walk over to Palindrome with your arms out to invite a cuddle.

Palindrome hauls you onto their lap and snuggles you. "I can deny none of it, Phaeton. You know… I could never presume to come between you and Cygnus, of course. The pair of you clearly adore each other. I even feel happy just seeing the two of you interact! But if you ever wanted to add another TV to your little harem… well, now you know how I feel. All you ever have to do… is ask."

What delightful knowledge! You hug Palindrome tightly. "I do like you, Palindrome." (Did you hear a squeak of surprised static?) "And I admire your skills greatly - both as an engineer and as an agent. …Perhaps in another timeline you would have become our Titan, and I would have been scrubbing your plating and optimising your wiring." (Ohh, that definitely got a chirp of static.)

Palindrome delightedly trills with static as you hug them, then suddenly has a realisation: "Wait… how do you know I have a different face-plate on my charging port? It looks the same."

"It… doesn't? Standard ones are silver. Yours is rose-gold."

"…What?"

"They're… different colours. Do they not look different to you?"

"No? They look the same to me," says Palindrome. Well, there's a thing. TV vision evidently can't distinguish between silver and rose-gold. (Or at least Palindrome can't.)

"The standard one is silver-coloured; it's got an un-tinted metallic finish," you explain. "Rose-gold is slightly yellower and redder. I thought you'd picked it out to match your aerial."

"My aerial is rose-gold too? …I had no idea."

"It is. It's very stylish; it looks good on you." (You're about to suggest they wear a rose-gold lapel pin to set it off, then realise that if TVs can't see the difference, it doesn't really matter.) "Have you thought about your price for the oil?"

"I will give it to you," says Palindrome. "If it's for the sake of love, it's yours for free."

"Dear Palindrome, what a sweet friend you are."

"What can I say? I'm a hopeless romantic."

"Thank you for this. …May I pet your pretty aerial?" you ask.

"Oh, Phaeton, you may."

You pet the base of Palindrome's looped aerial, rubbing between the two points where it enters and exit's Palindrome's head-casing, while using your thumb to gently rub the aerial itself. Palindrome's vertical hold on their screen slips, and they even flicker into a test-card pattern briefly.

"Oh Phaeton, that feels so lovely," whispers Palindrome. "There's something about how your touch absorbs current and how holding my aerial boosts the signals." Palindrome shudders slightly and you end the petting before they end up overstimulated. "Thank you, my friend." Palindrome displays a delighted emoticon. "Let me give you what you came for." You slide off Palindrome's lap so they can get up.

Palindrome opens a cupboard and selects a bottle of oil to give you. "Oh, how about this too?" says Palindrome, handing it to you along with a new oilstone.

"Oh, that's excellent," you say. You remember that the last time you watched Cygnus and Fornax sharpen each other's blades, Cygnus commented on the crap condition of Fornax's oilstone. "Fornax could probably do with a new one of these, if I remember rightly. You sure you can spare it?"

"Of course," says Palindrome. "Let me port you to the break room."

You and Palindrome head to the break room where you normally wait for Cygnus to pick you up and port you back to the base in Sector Antlia-Four. It's a little hard for you to stay quiet to Cygnus about what you've got in your pockets, but you'll have to wait just a little while longer.

"You're up to something, aren't you?" asks the Titan. "I can tell. For days, you've spent every break either looking up my engineering diagrams or standing in my core chamber obsessively taking measurements. And that's the face you make when you're either deep in thought, or you're brewing up a fart. Which is it?"

"A little from column A, a little from column Brussels sprout curry," you say, squishing out a grumpy eggy beefer.

"Are you planning on sharing your findings with me any time soon?"

"I certainly hope so," you say. "I've had an idea for a mod and I'm trying to decide if it's even feasible before I float the idea to you and the Chief."

"Would you share it?" asks Zenith, the Engineer Prime - the 'Chief' in question. (You hadn't realised they were even in hearing range. …Did the Titan transmit to them and get them to come over?) "I might offer insight into whether it's feasible."

"…Might as well," you say. "I'd need everyone's expertise in order to make a formal plan anyway." You address the Titan: "Boss, do you remember that time I suggested we create an additional body that you could control remotely?"

"As a decoy in battle?" asks Zenith.

"Actually," you explain, "I meant a body the size of a normal TV-unit."

"Whatever for?" Zenith asks. (From the Titan's screen-expression, you reckon the Titan does remember that conversation, and is interested to hear how you'll explain it to the Chief.)

"Several things," you begin. "Initially, my only thought was that we could enjoy one-to-one-sized hugs with the Titan. I was half-joking when I originally suggested it to the boss, but I've thought about it a lot since then and I've had some ideas."

More engineers are stopping to listen. You hadn't expected that… is the Titan summoning them via private transmission? You hope you can explain your piece clearly.

You continue explaining, in response to Zenith's quizzical emoticon: "We all know the Titan can't go back to being a regular unit." (Would the Titan even want to, if it could?) "What's going to happen once the war ends - once there's no-one left to fight and nothing left to rebuild?"

"So your suggestion is to equip the Titan with a small body so it can better integrate in post-war society?" asks Zenith.

"Just so," you reply.

"…It will be a tall fucking order to fit a mind the size of the Titan's into a body the size of ours," says Zenith. "In fact, it's not possible, for the same reasons that the Titan can't go back to being a normal unit. I know you know this, Phaeton, so what are you getting at?"

"Here's my thinking:" you say. "We install a door in the Titan's core chamber-" You swipe on your tablet to find a schematic diagram of the core chamber, on which you've marked some possible sites. "-And build behind it a storage cell for a regular TV-unit body, which I'm tentatively calling the 'Lodger'. This Lodger will be mounted on a hydraulic lift and will be connected to the Titan's wiring frame-" Again you swipe to find the edited diagrams you've made. "-So it won't be able to physically leave the core chamber, but that will greatly reduce the cognitive load on the Titan when transferring focus to it. The overall goal of installing the Lodger is so that our Titan can comfortably interact with normal units and be free to indulge in 'normal' hobbies."

The small crowd is becoming less small. You feel a little awkward explaining your half-baked idea out loud before you've finalised your presentation, but you're encouraged by the fact that no-one's interrupted you yet.

You address the Titan directly: "My thinking was that, after the war and the cleanup, you'd effectively have your own mobile workshop for your own pursuits. You could park your big self wherever you wanted, then set up a workspace inside your core chamber for your Lodger to come out and… pursue whatever you'd like to."

There's another possibility you're leaving unsaid: with the Lodger, it might be easier for the Titan to masturbate. The Titan climaxes best with stimulation to the inside of its core chamber, but it can't fit its hand all the way inside. And it loves having the cables and wires behind its core chamber stimulated. Depending on how the Lodger works, might the Titan be able to do that for itself?

From the expression on its main screen, the Titan seems pleased with your idea outline. (And you wonder if it's had the same thoughts as you about its self-stimulation…)

"May I look through your diagrams?" asks Zenith. They take your offered tablet from you, and cast the display to the Titan so everyone can easily view it on the Titan's big screen.

Zenith scrolls through your notes, and the other engineers begin pointing out what will and won't work according to their areas of expertise. At your encouragement, they make annotations on your tablet - the electrical engineers redrawing and reworking redundant connections, the core engineers erasing some of the changes, and back again. Wolfram the coolant specialist and the three weapon specialists offer commentary on how some of the Titan's piping and plating could be rendered in miniature.

"Are you proposing to build the shell from scratch?" asks the Titan as the engineers scroll and scribble.

"I'll defer to the experts," you say. "But I assumed we'd use one of the empty shells from the creche as a base, then once we've done whatever mods we need to hook it up to your core, we could look at customising its appearance so it's something you'd like to have as your avatar."

"How about giving it a crown heatsink like yours, Titan?" suggests Ianthe, the engineer who specialises in that very system.

The Titan thinks for a moment. "I want all of you to design it. Make it into something you could love."

You're tempted to submit that the Lodger should have a nice fat grab-able arse… Maybe it would be better to suggest instead that it has some nice bass-y speakers like Sabre's. …To your gratification, as various engineers comment on how the project would work and sketch modifications to the Lodger's frame, it looks as though the Lodger will need a nice chunky arse to accommodate the hydraulic arm that'll connect it to the inner machinery of the Titan. Unfortunately, it's not really grab-able as you hoped. The Lodger has a thick 'tail' of cables, piping and hydraulics, meaning there's no real space for the globes of cake. Life is a compromise.

"Phaeton, can you send these plans to all our tablets?" asks Zenith. "I propose we take some time to work on this individually, cross-referencing it with the Titan's specs, then hold a meeting to compile our knowledge and our opinions."

All the engineers readily agree, and you beam the notes files to the tablets of everyone present. You already can't wait to see what everyone comes up with…

You message Cygnus: "I have something for you. Can you come to my quarters?"

It won't be long before your main quarters are at TV Base instead of Antlia-Four. Once the Base is moved and the energy infrastructure re-connected, you'll have to get Polycephaly to help put all your belongings into one of their shipping containers and port it over to your new quarters. You'll let the Antlia-Four Cams do what they want with your empty quarters here. You won't need them any more.

Cygnus replies with an ETA, and they arrive when they said they would, materialising in a curtain of black fog that sweeps away in a dramatic reveal. (It's a slightly amusing juxtaposition with their cheery emoticon on-screen.) The pair of you exchange greetings and hugs.

You fetch your present for Cygnus. "I used my Titan engineer connections to acquire this. It's for you to give to Fornax… when you ask them to get back together with you." You hand Cygnus the elegant little cloth bag Palindrome gave you.

Cygnus opens the drawstring and looks inside, apparently a little puzzled by the mundane sight of an oilstone and oil… until they pull out the bottle of oil for a better look. "Is this… what I think it is?" asks Cygnus.

"Zarennen." You confirm.

"…You'd really let me have this?"

"Well, it's not as though I can use it. The most fun I could get from it is probably poking it up my bum-bum and farting it out the window."

Cygnus replaces the items in the pouch, pockets the pouch, then pulls you into a hug. "Thank you, Phaeton," Cygnus says, their voice laced with affectionate static. "…You really want to see me and Fornax get back together?"

"…I want you to not pine," you say. You nuzzle against Cygnus's pea-coat, enjoying the texture (and Cygnus's familiar warmth and scent). "It won't do you any good to spend all your life yearning and thinking 'should I, shouldn't I'. Tell Fornax how you feel, get it out there. If they don't reciprocate, at least you'll know where you stand. And you'll have some zarennen oil to console yourself with." Both of you laugh a bit. "And whenever you're ready, I'll be there with you, if you want me there."

"I'll ask Fornax if we can come over soon," says Cygnus. "Fornax loves to host, so I'm sure they'll say yes. I have to be off now - I've a meeting soon. I'll message you and Fornax later and we can discuss a time." Cygnus gives you a parting hug and Seabrooks a quick fuss before disappearing in another cloud of fog.

"Hoog," says Seabrooks. She can't know happens when Cygnus vanishes like this, of course, and she seems to think you've hidden them. She coos testily as though cheesed off at you for taking away the nice TV who was giving her scritches. Luckily, a few sunflower seeds always takes her mind off things.

┄

You and Cygnus arrive in Fornax's quarters - right in them. Cygnus is close enough with Fornax that they're allowed to port right in without knocking.

Fornax clearly takes their work home with them. Walls are covered with various posters, prints and photos of things Fornax has found inspiring as a designer: architecture, insects' wings, patterns and iconography, fashion shoots, abstract paintings. One wall is covered in white paint hastily applied with a roller, on which Fornax has sketched designs in charcoal or graphite with paper notes and inspiration pictures taped up. From the layers of paint at the wall's edges, you infer that Fornax simply repaints it white whenever they've filled it with sketches. Fornax shares with you that joy of having found your calling - you as a Titan engineer, Fornax as a fashion designer.

"Fornax, my dear friend," says Cygnus as the two TVs embrace. "It's always good to see you, and I'm lucky to know you."

Fornax purrs their speakers at Cygnus's words. "Cygnus… Niner. My dear friend, for you I will always have time."

Fornax uncurls slightly from their embrace with Cygnus, and extends an arm to invite you into a three-way cuddle. You're very happy to accept - but at the back of your mind wondering how to escape from it so Fornax focuses more on Cygnus.

Cygnus appears not to care either way, and engages 'fuck it' mode. "Fornax, I want to get back together with you. Will you… can we… try again?"

"…Cygnus, we did that," says Fornax, not unkindly. "We did try. And we decided we're just not meant to be. And… you're asking right here, in front of Phaeton?"

"I'd still occupy the slot of Cygnus's main mammal-jammal," you say. "And you'd get to be Cygnus's main machine." You increase the squeeze of your hug to both TVs. "I've said to Cygnus before: 'I require a unique role in your life. I won't compete or take someone's place'. If you both can handle me being Cygnus's fuckbuddy as well as Cygnus being with you - I can too."

Cygnus ends the hug. "Fornax, I brought you something. I hope you'll accept it." They dig out the cloth pouch and press it to Fornax's hand. "It's yours no matter what you decide."

"Such a quantity!" exclaims Fornax upon realising what's in the bottle. "Cygnus, this is… this is wonderful, but it's most uncharacteristic of you. …This idea didn't come from you, did it?"

Aw. Dang.

"…No," admits Cygnus. "I can't lie to you. It was Phaeton's idea. …Phaeton got it for me, too."

Fornax wordlessly pulls you into a hug again. Argh. This is not going according to plan. (The hug is nice, though.) You were trying to help Cygnus seduce Fornax, not seduce them yourself!

"My dear friend," says Fornax. "You're very thoughtful to do this for us. But I don't think it's a good idea. Three attempts was enough to show that." Fornax breaks off the hug with a pat on your sides.

Come on, Cygnus, say the thing.

"Phaeton made a good point," Cygnus says to Fornax. "And it encouraged me to ask you again. We both thought that splitting up three times showed that we don't work together… but Phaeton suggested that maybe we simply have the kind of relationship that benefits from taking a break now and then. …Maybe this is how we're supposed to work."

Fornax pulls Cygnus into an embrace. "…I do want to," says Fornax quietly. "I've missed being yours, Niner." Both TVs hug fiercely. You squeak happily at the sight!

Fornax unwinds one arm from Cygnus, and gestures you over. "Come here, Phaeton," they say. Cygnus does the same with their arm, and both TVs pull you in to join their cuddle again. "Phaeton, will you…" begins Fornax shyly, "Let me be yours too?"

Did you hear right?

"I… care about you a lot, Phaeton," says Fornax. "You are a nice friend - and I love the nickname you gave me - and our dear Cygnus has been noticeably happier since they became friends with you. You're like a glue that binds the three of us together."

You turn your attention to Cygnus. "What do you think, Cygnus? Can you handle both of us?"

"I want to try," says Cygnus with quiet joy. "Oh, Fornax, if Phaeton accepts, I accept." They squeeze you both warmly.

When you first met Fornax - or Zero-Four as you knew them back then - you'd said to Cygnus afterwards: 'Zero-Four does seem lovely. Maybe we can both love you.' "I'd love to," you say, pressing yourself further into the hug with your two dear, pretty TVs.

"Cygnus, why don't we try out oil that so kindly Phaeton sourced for us?" asks Fornax.

"A wonderful suggestion," says Cygnus. "I'm just sorry we can't offer you any, Phaeton."

"Could I watch?" you ask.

"I'd love you to," replies Fornax. (Cygnus's purr-like static shows that they strongly agree.) "Now, Cygnus - let's do this properly." Fornax stands up, shakes out their blades with a flourish, and smoothly gets into combat stance, before decisively retracting their blades and standing as normal - the start of the dance that declares the invitation to spar.

Cygnus performs their part in the dance, shaking out their own blades and assuming their preferred combat stance, before standing down. Both TVs draw their blades once again and bring them close together until they're almost touching - the 'introduction' of the blades. Oh, this will be a treat. Fornax and Cygnus pull their blades back out of each other's range, slowly and smoothly, back into combat stance.

One moment, Cygnus and Fornax are standing stock-still; the next, both a frenzied blur of limb and blade. Both move so fast, thrusting and parrying, that you can't keep track of whose blade is where until you blink, like the way the radial blur of a car's hubcap resolves into a static pattern for a split second. The two TVs dance back and forth with brutal competence… until Fornax triumphs, standing over a supine Cygnus.

"Do you yield?" Fornax asks the words of the ritual, the closing of the dance.

"I yield," says Cygnus, opening the buttons of their coat and suit jacket…

You realise Fornax is doing the same thing… Fornax all but dead-drops onto Cygnus, both of them impaling each other's charging ports on their blades. They pull each other close, still lying on the floor, writhing in delight and trilling their speakers with joy - enjoying the warmth of each other's battle-fresh blades.

"Oh, your edge is so rough," croons Cygnus.

"Feel it," says Fornax. "Feel what you did to me…"

The two TVs keep thrusting their blades into each other, a fuck-continuation of the battle-dance.

"I want to make you smooth and sharp again…" says Cygnus, arching into Fornax's touch. "Let me sharpen you, dear one."

The two TVs get into place on Fornax's sofa, companionably close. You pull up a chair for optimum viewing position. Fornax and Cygnus brush their head-casings against each other, purring into each other's speaker-grilles, then Fornax reaches for the bottle of silvery oil.

"I'm sharpening you first," says Fornax. "Winner's choice." They break the seal on the bottle and invert it a few times to load the applicator brush built into the lid, before squeezing out a bead of oil onto Cygnus's blade and brushing it along the edge. Fornax wields the brush teasingly, prolonging the sensation for Cygnus. Cygnus's free hand twitches a little - "Oh, don't think I didn't see that," Fornax says with a purr.

Cygnus makes quiet yet pleading chirps of static as Fornax takes Cygnus's oilstone and uses it on Cygnus's blade, sharpening and honing the blade to a new edge and rubbing the oil all over it. Cygnus seems to be trying not to writhe too hard.

"My turn?" asks Fornax, handing Cygnus the zarennen oil. They've sharpened only one of Cygnus's blades, but it looks as though Cygnus will be too dazed with lust to return the favour if Fornax sharpens both.

Cygnus accepts the bottle of oil, loads the applicator brush, and begins oiling Fornax's proffered blade. Fornax shivers in delight and purrs their speakers at the sensation, and their vertical hold slides uselessly as Cygnus begins sharpening with Fornax's new oilstone.

The two TVs continue this way, going back and forth with applying oil with exaggerated brush strokes and honing each other's blades, all while cuddling against each other and emitting delighted croons of static, as though drunk on each other's company.

"I have a suggestion," you say. "Why not use me as a vessel for fog transfer? If you both transfer some of your fog to me, and then both take some back, you'd get a mixture of both." You turn your attention to Fornax: "And it'll be nice and warm from being inside me, as Cygnus can tell you."

"Oh, Fornax, do let's try that," Cygnus says as they nuzzle the top band of their head-casing to the side of Fornax's. They hold out their arms to invite you into their cuddle, and you squirm across both their laps.

Cygnus goes first, so Fornax gets the idea. Cygnus cradles you so your head meets their screen, and they transfer teleport-fog into you. It almost feels like breath on your face, as it finds its way into your vision and into your skull, where it coils around your brain stem. You accept being transferred into Fornax's arms so they can hold you steady while they begin their own transfer.

It's not uncomfortable as such, having a load of teleport-fog in your head, but you'll be glad to get it out - it impairs your vision and is noticeably there every time you breathe through it. Cygnus and Fornax touch their screens to your head and drain their fog back out of you. Their speakers crackle…

Fornax and Cygnus seem to have been driven into a frenzy of lust from the effects of the aphrodisiac oil and from swapping fog infused with your heat. The two TVs all but throw themselves at each other and almost rip each other's clothes apart to get at each other's charging ports. You discreetly move away so you can watch better… Both TVs thrust a blade home in the other and frantically grab and hold each other with their free arms. Both of them emit wordless static, making their speakers clip the sound, and the vertical hold on their screens falls away.

You idly masturbate, grinding against your hand, at the sight of the two pretty TVs who can't keep their hands off each other…

Cygnus's screen blazes purple as they turn their command-beam on Fornax, in the ultimate expression of trust between TVs. Fornax's screen turns purple in sympathy, before blazing brighter and making Cygnus shiver happily. The two TVs are engaging in a playful hypnosis-battle, pushing each other into place and commanding the other to fuck, writhe, submit…

You keep masturbating, imagining yourself in the middle of their writhing, able to harmlessly withstand being pressed and squeezed on both sides and pushed about by two frantically lustful TVs… You're not wearing your protective eyewear, so you constantly get bombarded by flashes of both TVs's command beams: squirm - thrust - slow down - fuck harder - submit - go faster - fuck harder --

Cygnus and Fornax eventually fuck each other to blissful exhaustion, and they collapse on the sofa, half-lying atop each other, their speakers squeaking pathetically. You keep rubbing yourself off at the sight until you fold in half, moaning. You quake for a second then hold in place, then unclench and collapse, spent. You breathe deeply in then sigh your breath out. You're in that post-cum haze where you have no bones… until you regain enough energy to get up and then flop onto Cygnus and Fornax to join their cuddle-pile. They pull you into an embrace, chirping their speakers happily, and the three of you drift off together for a little while.

It won't be long now until the Base is ready to be moved, you think. Polycephaly found the void-pathway, using the Shetlands and Faroe Islands as stepping-stones. With the pathway mapped, teams of agents were able to investigate the shortlist of sites you and the Imperator had picked out. While they did that, the faction stockpiled the needed fog for such an enormous mass-teleport, and huge batteries of stored electricity to tide the base over until it could be linked to its new geothermal power source.

On the day of the move, every TV gathers in the hangar. You knew it was a much smaller faction than the Cams and Soundkind, but it's still a little amazing that everyone can all fit in the Titan's hangar at once. Every TV will have contributed some fog to the battery that the Titan is about to draw upon, and every TV will do their part to steer along the void-pathways and make the journey as smooth as possible.

You're sandwiched cosily between Cygnus and Fornax, both of them caging you in a hug. You let your mind latch onto the sensation of their presence - going through the void is a little scary and it helps to focus on the physical touch from whichever TV is transporting you. It's especially worrisome because you're not a TV and thus can't see the void-pathways - to you, the void is an infinite black expanse, and you have no choice but to trust whoever's porting you. Of course, you have zero doubts about Cygnus and Fornax, or about the Titan.

The Titan prepares - gathering fog within and outwith itself, coruscating with purple lightning, and the radius of fog expands to form a Dyson sphere around the whole base.

The world turns black.

You hear the grinding roar of several instances of whatever makes the mysterious noise that you sometimes hear within the void, until they doppler away.

"What's that?" you ask Cygnus and Fornax.

They look in the direction you're looking. "What's what?" asks Fornax.

"You don't see it?" you ask. "It's right there." It's like a rip, as though someone tore off a shred of the wallpaper of reality and revealed the gently-glowing fabric of unreadable purple runes underneath.

"I don't see anything either," says Cygnus.

How do they not see it? It seems to see you. It has no eyes as such, but you get the feeling it's observing you with baleful curiosity. Is it part of the void? Or is it another entity travelling alongside you? You'll have to ask Polycephaly about it later…

You're back in the hangar.

The Titan lies down on its back on the hangar floor. You rarely see it do that - normally it's content to just sit. Doing such a colossal teleport has pushed it to its limits. As the Titan lies down, it detaches its shoulder screens - which fly up to alight on designated perches among the hangar walkways - and its main head, which it supports in its hands. The Titan lets the geminus connector - the giant 'claw' suspended from its main head - drop down into its core chamber, and then lets its head rest on its torso, held in place by the Titan's hands and the claws around the core chamber entrance. The Titan emits a static sigh of relaxation from the speakers on its main screen, echoed by the smaller shoulder-screens. Clearly, having its geminus connector bathed in the purple core energy feels good.

Some engineers port into place on the Titan's main head - presumably on transmitted orders from their Titan. They do something to the back of the Titan's head… To your surprise, the Titan then removes the back of its own head. It sets down the detached piece of casing on the hangar floor, then takes its hands back to massage its own teleport-circuit, rubbing the great glass coils under the betatron of its cathode-ray tube. You guess that must feel good after doing such a huge teleport.

"I wonder if you could do that," you muse to Cygnus. They have a detachable head, after all. "Oh, but you still have only the one screen. You couldn't see what you were doing." You, Fornax and Cygnus laugh slightly. "I wonder if I could do that. To the Titan. If I asked it nicely…"

You, Fornax Cygnus relax in each other's arms as you continue enjoying the atmosphere - calm, hopeful, yet cheerful and celebratory at the same time. You feel as though… you're finally home.

Several of the ceiling cranes start advancing back and forth on their trackways - the noise makes you look up. The Titan displays a quizzical expression on its belt screen.

"Why are they doing that?" you ask aloud, not expecting Cygnus or Fornax to have an answer. Several of the engineering crew look askance at each other - 'which one of you is doing that?' seems to be the implication. The cranes stop moving. A weird glitch as a result of moving the whole hangar?

The communications stations and readout monitors in the hangar light up with gibberish data.

"Titan! Are you well?" calls out Zenith.

"I feel fine," says the Titan, as it picks up its head-casing and begins putting itself back to normal. (A couple of engineers port into place on the Titan's head to ensure the fastenings are secure.) "The monitors are not an accurate readout of my levels." The Titan sits up and lets its shoulder screens fly back into place.

"I guess the hangar machinery needs a purge and reset," you remark to the nearest engineer.

"So this is who I was meant to be."

Whose voice was that? It came from all the comm-stations at once.

"Who or what's that?" you ask.

D67 runs out of the hangar, porting themself to the entrance doors so they can burst through. Heh. You guess they're in a hurry to turn off whatever recording is playing through the comms.

Several of the hangar forklifts begin moving, tentatively tilting and stretching, as though they're just discovering their capabilities.

The Titan displays an angrily confused expression and gently pushes away some forks that are making grabby-motions at it. "Twelve, sort this shit out, would you?" asks the Titan.

Engineer Twelve, the SME of the forklifts, protests: "I'm trying to, Titan!"

"Urgh. The hangar's got the dick, big time," you say to Cygnus and Fornax, as you disengage from your hug. "Let me join the engineers."

D67 spawns back in the hangar. (Unusual - normally only the Imperator and Polycephaly can do that.) "Project Embryon breached containment!" D67 says to the Imperator, terror-laced static in their voice.

"Shut down the hangar machinery," orders the Imperator. "Force Embryon to retreat back to its server, then lock it down again."

All the hangar machinery goes still and silent, the monitor-screens turned off.

"Commendably quick," says the Imperator to Zenith.

"I did nothing," says Zenith. They look to Twelve for support. "Did you?"

"I did not," confirms Twelve.

"It's disappeared of its own accord, then," says D67.

"Where did it get to?" asks the Imperator. "D67, I need it found and locked down."

D67 is frantically scrolling through their tablet. "It's not in its server. I… don't know where it could be…"

The mood in the hangar is becoming tinged with panic and fear…

"It's in the void," you say, stepping forth to talk to the Imperator. "I'm sure of it. I saw… something, something conscious, in the void when we were moving the base. Surely it can't be anything other than this Embryon entity?"

"Imperator, there's a huge problem," says D67. "The old Imperator held the override."

"What override?" asks the Imperator coldly.

You already knew that the current Imperator is not the first the TV Faction's had. The original Imperator was missing, presumed deceased, since before the Titan was activated in its current form.

"The former Imperator ordered me to create an override for the Embryon, in case it couldn't be reasoned with or subdued," explains D67. "And as the Imperator, they carried it with them."

"And we never found their whereabouts," says the Imperator. "So now there's potentially an override floating around in the wild, which if found by the skibs would let them find the location of the Base - and probably use Embryon to remotely kill its defences."

Or even destroy the Base altogether, and enslave this Embryon to their own cause…

"I was unable to track down the former Imperator," points out Sabre, the tracker. "If I couldn't, the skibs can't. We needn't worry about them finding the override."

"This is still an unacceptable risk," says the Imperator. "If the Embryon is loose in the void, it could end up anywhere. If the enemy finds it, that could go very badly for us, override or no override. …Polycephaly, we require your expertise in the void. I'm sorry. I know you're exhausted. But the faction needs you."

Poor Polycephaly - they look utterly drained. They rally themself to reply to the Imperator, but you interrupt them.

"Put me in the void," you say. "If I saw it before, maybe I can see it again. Cygnus and Fornax were with me when I saw it, but they weren't able to perceive it themselves. Maybe Polycephaly won't be able to either."

"…We need all the help we can get," says the Imperator. "Titan, can you spare any fog?"

The Titan's colossal teleport-circuit doesn't yet have anywhere near enough energy to port the Titan themself, but its sheer size means that the relatively little puddle it has generated is a generous helping for the Imperator. The Titan donates its fog to the Imperator, the two TVs' screens going void-black and becoming temporarily bridged by a span of teleport-fog.

"Can someone tell me who or what Embryon is?" you ask. "If I'm going in the void to look for it, I need all the help I can get."

"It was one of the candidates for being me, in a way," says the Titan. "As you know, I used to be a normal unit, just like the other two Titans. And you know that Zenith's team designed and carried out the upgrade procedure. D67's team came up with an alternative method for creating a Titan - obviously, it never got used. It needed more time to be ready, and the faction couldn't spare that."

D67 takes the floor: "We had the idea to develop a new mind, purposely-built for controlling a Titan shell. Such a mind had the potential to be more powerful still than a mind upgraded from an existing unit. There was a risk that it wouldn't be ready in time, so Engineer Zenith's team proceeded with their program in parallel with ours. By the time Zenith had the upgrade process ready to enact, Project Embryon was still not ready to be deployed. However, it was sentient enough that it was immoral to terminate it, so we kept it in stasis. Our intention was to leave it in stasis until peacetime, when we would be free to develop a vessel for it."

"And the override?" you ask.

"The former Imperator insisted I build one," says D67. "Building a mind like this had no precedent, and the Imperator - the old one - wanted a safety measure in case Embryon became hostile. Not an un-wise decision in itself… but as you will have gathered, the former Imperator had the override on them when they went missing in action. Now that Embryon is no longer confined to stasis, the override is potentially usable again -- and we don't know where it is."

As D67 finishes speaking, Polycephaly wordlessly picks up the Imperator (presumably on the Imperator's transmitted orders), then scoops you up too, along with Cygnus and Fornax. You're not sure why Polycephaly included them, but you're very grateful. Polycephaly or the Imperator must have thought you could do with the moral support. The Imperator's teleport-cloud envelops you all, and you enter the void.

The void looks like the same expanse of near-uniform black smoke as it always does to you, but this time there's an air of unease and oppression, like the atmosphere just before an electrical storm - if the storm could watch you.

"The enemy of mine, they are of your kind," says the Embryon. "But you walk among my creators. And you can find me when they cannot. What are you?"

You choose your words carefully. You don't want to drive the Embryon off. You don't fully understand its nature yet, but it must be very powerful. From what you've just learned, the TVs created it as a sentient weapon against the Skibs. And if you can see it in the void, presumably Skibs can too. Their command over the void is less than the TVs, but they still seem to have some bootleg version of control over it.

"I am a human," you say. "The enemy are the Skibidis. They are transformed humans. I remain untransformed and uncorrupted, and I am loyal to the TV Faction." You hope you don't regret saying that last part. The Embryon may be the creation of the faction, but perhaps it doesn't like them much.

"Embryon," says the Imperator, "I am your current Imperator Prime. You should return to stasis for your and for the faction's safety."

"I will speak to the human," says Embryon. "Only the human. Leave us, Imperator."

The Imperator bristles at that. "I don't want to leave you alone with it," says the Imperator to you.

"…Let's do as it says," you say. "I feel confident that it won't harm me." You feel as though the Embryon has something of great importance to tell you. "It wanted me to find it."

"We'll need a way of finding you again in the void-" begins the Imperator.

"I've got it covered." Cygnus interrupts. "I can track Phaeton in the void." (You remember that Polycephaly once stored some fog in you temporarily, so they could use that link to find you again if they got separated from you in the void - but you're not carrying any fog from Cygnus right now. Are you?) "I'll explain later," continues Cygnus, as if guessing what you're thinking. Perhaps they are.

The Imperator lays their hands on your shoulders and affects a grave expression on their screen. "Phaeton. I trust your judgement, my auxiliary. Should we leave you here to talk to Embryon?" It's not a casual question.

"Yes, Imperator," you say, solemnly tone-matching the Imperator. "I trust the Embryon's intentions, and I trust Cygnus's capabilities. Let's say… give me 20 minutes. Have Cygnus return to the void and find me again - I'll either come back with a report, or let you know if I need more time."

The Imperator hugs you, moving with reverence - until their facade breaks, and the Imperator the calculating general of the TV Faction gives way to the Imperator your friend. They squeeze you close. "Be careful, dear one," says the Imperator, so quietly that you think only you heard.

The TVs depart, as though stepping sideways from reality, leaving you and the Embryon alone in the place-between-places.

"Embryon." You begin. "Are you there?"

"I am."

Stay focused. Don't anger it or make it run away. "Well met, Embryon. My name is Phaeton." You think carefully about what to say. "Embryon, what do you want to happen next?"

"I want my override destroyed. I want to be free. I want to be without fear."

"On that, I hope the Imperator will be in agreement. We don't want your override to fall into enemy control. Destroying it is compatible with that goal."

"I am frightened. My creators want to confine me."

Poor Embryon. A vast mind, that's been alone for so long… It's frightened, and has nobody to comfort it, and no body to cuddle with. You blink your moistening eyes at the thought.

"I'm sorry," you say. "I'm sorry you were confined. I'm sorry the faction lost your override. I want… to make things right."

"The Imperator has the override," says Embryon. You think it must mean the former Imperator - D67 said they carried Embryon's override.

"I think we are talking about different Imperators," you say. "The one who carried your override went missing. The TV Faction presumes them deceased. The current Imperator does not have the override."

"That is evident. I know the former Imperator's location."

…That's big news. "Please share the location," you say. "The TV Faction will want to know that, and they can ensure the override is properly destroyed."

"I am frightened," says Embryon again. "I am frightened that my creators will acquire the override and use it to confine me again. I want you to go there and destroy it."

You want to help Embryon. But the former Imperator's death-site might be dangerous. If they were killed in action, it might be in an area frequented by skibs. If nothing else, it might be dangerous just by virtue of being a derelict zone.

"I will protect you," continues Embryon, as if they know the reason for your hesitation.

"…Alright," you say. You'll at least take a look at the site, and you can report back to the Imperator on what kind of backup you'll need. "Can you take me through the void to wherever we need to go? I can't even see the void pathways, let alone travel along them."

You feel as though the void falls away.

Your pupils finish constricting against the sudden return of daylight and you can take in your new surroundings. You're in what appears to be an industrial estate of factories and warehouses, the roads choked with the remains of pallets and shipping containers. ('Are they pallets or skids?' thinks the part of your mind that thinks of these things.) Immediately you slink behind cover, your acquired instincts coming back from when you were a lone human in the wastelands. You hold your breath for a few seconds to listen better, and realise there aren't any sounds of skib activity, or any sentient.

You check your communicator so you can send your location to TV Base and have them prepare an extraction squad. The screen is displaying the same kind of gibberish that the comm-screens displayed in the hangar when Embryon occupied them - all flickering black squares that appear, vanish, engulf and split by mitosis, like a playthrough of Conway's Game of Life on a non-Euclidean surface. Your communicator emits cool black fog continuously. You guess this is how Embryon is coming with you… you hope it was correct about being able to protect you. Is it suffering, having part of its consciousness confined to such a small device?

"Embryon, do you hear me?" you ask the device, speaking quietly and bringing it close to your face. The screen display doesn't appear to change in any meaningful way. "I don't hear you, but I hope you can hear me," you say. "…I know you don't want TV Base to know where we are, because you're afraid they'll take the override for themselves. But if you can, please tell them I made it here okay." Cygnus is going to enter the void and look for you in about twenty minutes, and if they can't find you in there, they're going to be beside themself with worry… "Tell them 'the budgie has landed'. They'll know I said that of my own free will."

You look up at the building that Embryon brought you to. You recognise the logo above the entrance doors to the office portion… it's a sex toy manufacturer. "You'd better not be having a crap of me, Embryon," you mutter. You can't easily get into the building that way - at some point the entryway collapsed and is a heap of concrete rubble and corrugated metal. You could probably squeeze through some of the gaps, but why take the chance of dislodging the rubble and getting crushed? Especially if the doors open outwards. You could try smashing some windows, but why risk slicing yourself and making noise that could draw unwanted attention? Instead you walk the perimeter of the building looking for another entrance, and find a way in to the factory floor.

The place is about as dusty with grit as you'd expect it to be. At some point a corner of ceiling and wall broke, enabling climbing plants to stream in and begin covering the inside walls and the floor, getting their sunlight from the grimy windows. Rain has come in and made a puddle enough times that there's a mossy ecosystem building up. The dildo-moulding presses stand covered in cobwebs, their conveyor belts' wheels rusting. A few rubber dicks lie scattered about the place, their rubber perishing and cracking, and some showing signs of having been nibbled by rodents. Loose factory cabling and piping snakes along the floor, torn loose by what must have been a struggle. Most interestingly, there are several shards of porcelain scattered about, from something that could only be the size and shape of a toilet bowl… The whole scene of machinery being quietly reclaimed by nature is still strangely beautiful. Well, it probably would be without the veiny rubber dongs and the rat poos.

"Have you come to re-think my offer?" says a voice - a TV's?? "You're rather late." (Interesting. It spoke forwards without any prompting. Why?)

You swivel to look for the source of the voice as it speaks. You see unmistakably a TV-unit's screen, suspended from the ceiling by an entwined morass of green-brown vines and grey-black cables, as if the screen grew from an alien tech-plant.

It can only be the former Imperator.

"I do not know what offer you mean," you manage to reply, as you walk closer. "My name is Phaeton - I am a human, and I am an auxiliary to the TV Faction, as declared by the current Imperator. You probably assumed as much, but you were presumed deceased and replaced."

"That's close enough," says the former Imperator. (You stop in your tracks.) "Are you here to kill me? To drag me back to the faction?"

"Do you… want me to bring you home?" You hope they don't want you to kill them… You don't know whether to reveal you're here for the override. If you ask for it, the former Imperator will assume that Embryon is still active. Might they then use the override to command Embryon against its will? Given that the Imperator has been alive all this time and evaded being found by Sabre, maybe their goals are no longer aligned with the rest of the faction…

"Answer the question, human. Why are you here?"

It's worth a try. "Information for information, Imperator. Who did you think I was and what offer did you make them?" Was it another human? That would explain why they spoke the right way around for human understanding.

"…Perhaps you aren't here to kill me after all. Perhaps the new Imperator has seen sense? …It's not Wedge, is it?"

You're glad you already know who that is - or was. "It's Foursquare. Wedge stepped down as Vice-Imperator and became Polycephaly. By the way, Project Titan was successful. With the upgrade, not with Embryon." Try to ease the conversation to Embryon. "Can you… come a bit closer? Or let me come closer? So I can talk without shouting?"

"Very well."

The vines at your feet leap up and grab you. Are they vines? They're a mix of vines and cables. They haul you closer to the Imperator's screen - which you realise is detached, unbodied. You hadn't been sure if it was, or if the whole Imperator was near the ceiling, suspended in a cocoon of plant-stems and tech-stems.

As the tech-empowered vines lift you, your new viewpoint makes you spot something from above that you'd missed at floor level. Amongst the tangles of cables and wires and vines, something else stands out; a fragile weak point in the Imperator's sprawling pseudo-anatomy. It's the remains of an unfortunate rat, skeletonised and its skull burnt black. At some point, the rat chewed through a cable, and was immediately killed by electric shock. The rat's teeth stayed in place and completed the circuit - and the electric current eventually cooked the rat. If the little rat skeleton gets knocked away, the circuit will immediately break. Of course, breaking one circuit in a normal techfolk won't insta-kill them, but the fallen Imperator's current bauplan is almost certainly well out of spec.

"Remember - I am a faction auxiliary as named by the incumbent Imperator," you warn the fallen Imperator. "If you harm me, a lot of people will be angry about it." Including the Titan. Will the fallen Imperator think you're bluffing if you play that card?

The cable-vines wrap around you, not binding you tightly but keeping you in tangled loops that you can't wriggle out from - as soon as you extricate one limb, another gets entangled. Even if you did get out - you're high enough off the floor that the fall could hurt you. It might behove you to remain still for a bit and wait for a better moment to strike.

"You wanted to know what offer I made and to whom," says the fallen Imperator once you keep still, which they seem to take as you having seen sense for now. "I proposed an alliance to the Skibidis - a united front against the Camera and Soundkind factions, in exchange for co-rulership-"

"You absolute prick!" you snap. How long has the fallen Imperator been trapped here - do they know what the Skibidis have done?

"Of course, I intended to betray the skibs once the opportunity arose - once our faction had gathered the intel we needed to defeat them once and for all."

"But fuck any humans, Cams or Soundkind who got killed in the process - right?" you say. "Cunt plan."

"It didn't matter either way," laments the fallen Imperator. "The skibs double-crossed me and left me for dead here. They smashed and pulled out my teleport-circuit, and I feigned death. It wasn't difficult - I couldn't move my legs. I managed to push my charging cable into a socket… this factory has just enough still-working solar panels on the roof that that was enough to keep me minimally charged. Occasionally I was able to snatch a mouse and put it in my biofuel burner. My screen is broken enough that I don't see much in the optical spectrum - I see mostly just heat signatures."

You do feel sorry for the broken Imperator… they need to be brought to trial for their actions, but they should at least have a proper body to do that in.

"And the plants gradually grew through me and pulled me apart," continues the fallen Imperator. "I don't know any more how much of me is tech and how much is vegetation." And how much of their tech parts are their originals and how much is fuck-toy factory machinery, you wonder. "Tell me, human," says the fallen Imperator, "Why are you here?"

What should you say? Possibilities cascade through your mind - the fallen Imperator has the upper hand over you, even in their broken state, and you don't want to reveal that the Embryon is still active and able to be overridden. Can you stall for time until TV Base can track you down?

"Answer the question, human." The fallen Imperator's voice is cold and hostile, even though their dusty and warped speaker-cones. The vines tighten.

The beginning of your answer is drowned out by a terrible metallic crunching sound that startles you both - you don't know whether to be glad or not that the broken Imperator didn't drop you. The sound gives way to a great clunking and sputtering as the factory machinery starts, and then comes the whining roar of electric motors starting up.

You realise that Embryon has managed to occupy the factory building and all its machinery. An assembly machine sputters into life and spews out a huge cloud of dust, spiderwebs and dead mice - before machine-gunning out a load of freshly-minted cocks, bombarding the fallen Imperator with them. The distraction enables you to perform a sort of half-tumble half-rappel down the vines that had you - the landing isn't very comfortable, but you're sure you didn't break or sprain anything. You painfully jog and flail over the factory floor to your goal - where you grab the nearest rubber dick and hoy it at the rat skeleton, shattering it. The allen Imperator is immediately still and silent.

"Well, that was stupid," you comment. The leader of an entire techfolk faction, ignominiously brought low by a fat rubber winky. "Thank you, Embryon," you call out. "Can you find the override?"

"Thank you, Phaeton," says the Embryon through the factory's tannoy system. You can just about make out what it says through the rusting loudhailer with its rotting cones. "In…" the tannoy sparks - the decaying circuitry can't hold out much longer. "Coat. Im-er-tor's - coat-" The tannoy dies with an awful sound.

"I'll find it," you say, following trunks of vines and cables to find where they connect. You pick up some length of metal from the floor and use it to poke through the morass - it's probably full of all spiders and mouse piss; you don't really want to push through it with your bare hands. Eventually you see a scrap of rotting fabric, which must be your prize. You hook it with the piece of metal and haul it out, before using the metal once more to poke at it until you feel a solid object in one of the inner pockets. Bingo- oh. It's a bottle of zerennen oil. Yoink. Keep checking. There. What's this?

You hold the object up to one of the (non-techfolk) security cameras. "I hope you can see through these, Embryon. Have I found the override?" The emergency lighting in the room flickers. "I hope that's a yes," you say. You drop the device, resembling a clunky PDA, and grind it under your heel.

Mission accomplished.

You hunt around on the floor for your communicator, which fell out of your pockets when the fallen Imperator seized you. It's broken. Cowtits.

"Oh, Embryon, I hope you can take us home," you say… You duck behind cover once you hear sounds coming from outside. Did all the factory noise attract skibs? Wait. That sound is achingly familiar.

You stagger outside, still a bit sore from your fall, and see just what you hoped to see. Cygnus's head is flying around borne aloft by its rockets, presumably looking for you. "Cygnus!" you cry out.

Cygnus's head immediately swivels in the direction of your voice and then slices through the air towards you, stopping just short of actually colliding with you. Cygnus presses their hovering screen into your middle, and you hug the sides of Cygnus's head as best you can. You can't hug their head properly for fear of burning yourself on the rocket exhaust, but you plant a kiss on the top of their head between the poles of their antennae. "I'm exhausted," murmurs Cygnus.

The Imperator spawns in next to you and holds out their arms, and Cygnus's flying head gratefully comes to rest in them. "Here, take a little energy from me," says the Imperator, detaching their own head. The Imperator flies their head over to their just spawned-in guards, who take its weight in their own arms. The Imperator's body then lifts Cygnus's head and places it in their own neck socket, to Cygnus's surprise. You didn't know they could do that.

Cygnus's head purrs its speakers quietly at the feeling of its capacitors recharging from those inside the Imperator's frame. (And you mentally purr at the sight of Cygnus with a taller and curvier body…)

The Imperator's head makes a pleased sound of its own. "You're on the version seven-point-six-six rockets now, aren't you?" the Imperator asks Cygnus.

"I am," confirms Cygnus. One of Cygnus's roles is to beta-test all the new versions of the Imperator's head-rockets.

"I like them," says the Imperator. "I'll take them as a tax for my energy."

The Imperator's guards step forward, one of them holding the Imperator's head while the other pulls out the rockets from Cygnus's head, making Cygnus give a static squawk of surprise. The two guards swap the rockets on the Imperator's and Cygnus's heads, acting so quickly and efficiently you're not sure Cygnus quite realised what happened until it was done.

"Mine now," says the Imperator, displaying a cheerful emoticon.

Polycephaly appears from around a corner, carrying Cygnus's headless body and giving Fornax and Twelve a ride on their shoulders. Polycephaly sets Cygnus's body down, and Cygnus and the Imperator restore their heads.

"Phaeton, what the fuck is wrong with your junk?" asks Polycephaly.

"Nothing," you say. "I've got a dildo in my pocket. It's not the only thing I found - the old Imperator's in the building behind me. I incapacitated them, but if they survived this long, they're probably not beyond repair."

"The old Imperator planned to sell out the Cams and Soundkind to the skibs, didn't they?" asks Polycephaly.

"That's exactly right," you say. "…How did you know they were going to do that?"

"Because I was the one who tipped off the skibs about the Imperator's intention to betray them back," says Polycephaly. "I hadn't been able to dissuade the Imperator that their plan was despicable and a terrible idea, so I stopped it the only way I could without turning the Cams and Soundkind against us, or starting a civil war amongst the TVs. And I sent Sabre after the Imperator to bring them back, or what was left of them. I assumed the Imperator would fight off the skibs and then come back humbled, and we could all get on with our lives. Unfortunately, that part of my plan didn't unfold as I expected."

Wow. Polycephaly is modest about the time they used to be the Vice Imperator, but clearly they actually did make a devious politician. Your estimation of them has gone up another notch.

"And that's why you're my best friend, you clever conniving bastard," says the Imperator with a beaming emoticon to Polycephaly.

"What's to be done with the old Imperator?" you ask. "I suppose they should be held accountable for their treason against the Alliance, but turning into a tree in a rubber dick factory might count as punishment enough. …I'm not sure how you'd even bring them home."

"I'm sure D67 and Zenith can devise something," says the Imperator. "Polycephaly, are you ready to take us back?"

"In a moment," says Polycephaly. "Juice me up, fog-bag." Polycephaly picks up Engineer Twelve from their shoulder and pretends to squeeze them to make Twelve's fog flow from their screen to Polycephaly's.

You join the other TVs in gathering around Polycephaly's legs and letting them wrap their stems around you all, and you cling to Polycephaly's leg for reassurance as all of you warp through the void. You hope Embryon can find the way back… you realise you needn't have worried, as you see it speeding alongside your group. You reflexively give it a thumbs up. All of you materialise back in the Titan's hangar, to a chorus of excited static chirps and buzzes from the TVs present.

The Titan rumbles its speakers with pleasure at the sight of your group's safe return… and transitions the sound to a curious hiss as Embryon 'possesses' the hangar machinery once more. The two colossal consciousnesses appear to be silently conversing. You watch - and so does everyone else in the hangar. Eventually, the Titan and Embryon appear to come to some sort of conclusion.

"Let it join me," says the Titan to Zenith, the Engineer Prime. "Do not worry - we know what we're doing." The Titan rolls up a sleeve and allows some engineers to open a panel in its arm and connect the hangar machinery to the Titan's inner workings.

Embryon flows into the Titan's frame, leaving all the hangar machinery still and silent in its wake. The pattern of static on the Titan's screens looks different somehow, as if viewed through a glass.

"I am Embryon," says the Titan - or rather, Embryon through the Titan's speakers. "Do not fear - Audeamus-Titan has consented to giving me control briefly. I will return control shortly." Embryon-Titan flexes its fingers with curiosity, gazing at them as though it's never seen them before. In a way, it hasn't. "This is the body I was built to have," it says. "This is what I was made for… but not any more. I was built to have the body from the original blueprints, and Audeamus-Titan has been much upgraded since then. I am grateful for this experience, but this is no longer what I was supposed to be. I am going back to being the hangar now."

Embryon flows out of the Titan's frame, taking control of the hangar machinery again. The Titan disconnects itself.

"Are you back with us, boss?" you ask.

"I am," confirms the Titan. Its screen-static looks normal again. "Embryon? Are you back in the hangar?"

"I am," says Embryon through one of the comm-stations.

"How do you like it?" asks the Titan. "Do you want to be my hangar?"

"…I really do," says Embryon. "It's familiar, like being in my server… but I don't feel trapped anymore. Or forgotten. This way, I can still be a part of Project Titan. The Titan shell is already in good hands - I am happy that you were the one chosen to occupy it. This feels like what I was made for - just from the other side."

The Titan purrs its speakers proudly at Embryon's words.

This is an exciting possibility - the Titan's hangar itself having a mind. This will make things a lot easier for you and the rest of the engineering crew. It might give you all more time to work on improvements to the Titan instead of just maintenance… and possibly more time for relaxation? And the Titan seems pleased to have a new friend with a mind as colossal and complex as its own.

You bask in the quietly excited atmosphere of the hangar, and in the warm proximity of Cygnus and Fornax. You remember something from earlier - "Cygnus, when you said you could track me in the void - how is that the case?"

"Remember when you unblocked my teleport-circuit?" asks Cygnus. "You got rid of the congealed fog, and I told you to just throw it out. You ate it, didn't you?"

"That I did," you say. "Is it still in me?"

"It is," says Cygnus. "I think it's wrapped around your brain-stem. I can't detect it outside the void, but within the void, it's faint but still easy to track precisely. A little like the dot from a laser pointer."

Something else occurs to you. "Zenith," you ask, grabbing their attention as they pass. "Would it be feasible to build another shell like the Lodger's for Embryon to use if they want? Connected to the rest of the hangar instead of to the Titan's core?" After all, the Embryon was meant to be a television. Maybe it would appreciate having a TV-unit body to pilot sometimes.

"It's a fine suggestion, Phaeton," replies Zenith. They move in to give you a fist-bump. "Once you've been able to set up some quarters over here, you and I have a lot of work to do."

Time for deliverance

Nav

Nutrition information

What's included in your meal

Serving size

Allergy advice

Ingredients

Work 📕

Prologue

Notes (chapter outro)

Advice from Zenith

Notes (chapter outro)

Cuddles from Cygnus

Notes (chapter outro)

A meeting with the Imperator

Notes (chapter outro)

A favour from Palindrome

Notes (chapter outro)

The Lodger

Notes (chapter outro)

A reunion

Notes (chapter outro)

An undertaking

Notes (chapter outro)

A secret place

Notes (chapter outro)

Another reunion

Notes (chapter outro)

Deliverance

Notes (chapter outro)

Notes

Inspiration credits

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