>>5566695“Peedee, you may be a big voidship, but I am your Captain. I’m sure your teacher, or… ‘Control’ taught you about the chain of command. As part of this crew, you must listen to and obey orders, our lives may depend on it.” You chastise the misbehaving intelligence sternly.
The effect is immediate, the compulsion to hand over fire control and the shrill voice in your ears disappearing abruptly together. Only a vague sense of fear and hurt linger on and you note that the avatar on your HUD has similarly responded by deflating back to her usual orange.
“Yes… Captain.” The response comes through as a sulky digital warble.
Satisfied, you relent - easing off the angered pressure but remaining within the ship’s mental space. You had intended to come here anyway, and you can only hope that Peedee’s outburst and your wrathful response has not drawn any unwanted attention your way. It would be best to be quick about this, just in case.
You ‘look’ around the mental control room you’ve once again accessed through your command implant and idly note the messy state of the controls and readouts, scattered as they are amongst blown out switchboards and darkened consoles. You hope that this is merely a manifestation of your current understanding of the ship’s mental command space and not an indicator of just how much your family’s voidship has degraded over the centuries. Like before, you can sense the presence of the ship's mind within the 'room' but cannot see her. Supposedly this place is her refuge from the overbearing guardian AI, though the fact that you've been sharing it with her raises some concerns. What would have happened had you found yourself here having not suppressed the intelligence?
No matter, you are in control once more and you have a boarding craft to fry. You've applied the proverbial stick, now it is time for the carrot.
"Peedee?" You call out, "Are you there?" Your voice sounds strangely distorted in your own ears, like it was run through a poorly tuned comm array.
There's a short pause before a tentative reply comes from the direction of one of the burnt out boards. "Here… Sir." In contrast, her voice in this space seems much more natural - sounding similar to that of a Marrok child trying to speak Standard.
A familiar face pokes out from the hiding place - Peedee's higher detail avatar that you recall seeing in your dead visor pixels earlier. You realise that said visor does not currently obstruct your vision, your uniform appearing in this mental space as if you'd never deployed its suit capabilities. Ignoring the incongruities for now, you affect a small smile.
"You can call me Dallas, Peedee. It's good to be on a first name basis when you're going to be working so closely with someone." You say in a gentle if still guarded tone.
“Together?” The ship’s avatar emerges timidly, ascending to float freely above the various control panels.