#interstellar werewolf

He was a YEO-MN Crew Support Bot, series 251, built to render assistance to just about any crew task, from repairs to sanitation to clerical work.

Like the Spirit of Orion, he had hardly been top of the line when he came off the assembly line. And also like the Spirit of Orion, long years of use had left their toll on him, leaving him with a perpetual air of being careworn.

He shuffled along the corridor in a manner that he would have registered on any biological crewmate as listless. His battery was at 43%, but he had a spare in the charging dock ready to swap. He had no scheduled preventive maintenance. Any systems that were not green were within operational norms, and there was nothing to be done about them without a major overhaul.

In short, he had nowhere to be.

As of late, he had dedicated a not insignificant amount of time to assisting one Ada Luchthonn who possessed a rather fascinating case of lycanthropy. But after the incident involving a zero-g altercation with a security bot, knowledge of her condition had spread beyond himself and the captain and executive officer, and his discretion was no longer as strictly required.

He mapped out the longest reasonable route to the cubicle that served as his quarters and tried to ignore the rogue processes in his head that in a biological crew member would be analogous to existential dread.

Was it rational? He did not know. But the suddenness of being not needed seemed quite a bit like obsolescence.

Crew members greeted him as he shuffled past and he responded in kind.

"Hello Joseph"

Not my name.

He responded with a gracious inclination of his head.

"Heyyy! Joey!"

Not my name.

He responded with the human gesture of finger guns.

"Hi Joe"

Not my name.

He responded with-

SEGMENTATION FAULT

A whole stream of error logs flooded his awareness along with multiple telemetry alarms.

"-you okay?"

The person... he could not quite query his database for their identity or gender over the noise of the flood of diagnostic data... was looking at him with a clearly concerned expression.

According to his internal chronomoter and status logs, he had stuttered to a halt for 1.93 seconds.

"Yes," he replied, playing back a preassembled response while he sorted through the data. "Everything is perfectly fine."

Everything was not perfectly fine.

He edged past the crew mate and recomputed the most direct route to his cubicle. He projected the ocular led expression that most conveyed calm focus, do not interact, I am engaged with an important task.

I quicken my pace, and soon I'm at the boarding ramp. Who was it I needed to contact... As I'm swiping through tabs on my datapad a man approaches me. “Bells?” “oh! Hi, yes. I mean. Yes Sir!... um” He chuckles, “we're the same rank, I'm just here to show you around. I'm Pablo. Ingram if you are looking in the directory. Come on, let's get you settled.” He grabbed my trunk and started up the ramp, and I hurried after him.

He was an odd fellow. Very tall and slender. The uniform looked like security? He didn't look like he would be very good in a scrap. But who am I to judge?

He looked over his shoulder “So where is your cabin?” “uh... 12D4?”

“oh, it'll be a short commute for you then. You're just down the corridor from the central communications room. Lucky. As I stepped on board, the smell hit me. Another cat. Calm down, Bells. This is fine. She's probably really nice... And not territorial?

It'll be fine. I'll just introduce myself!

“So, Pablo. um. There wouldn't be another feline-” “Well! Here we are! This is your room. You'll be working down the hall, but no need to check in until tomorrow. Why don't you spend some time getting set up, and me or someone else will come grab you and show you to the mess in a couple of hours.”

“oh- ok. Thanks! I'll see you later!”

I scratch my ear in confusion as he leaves, but shrug and step into my berth. It's. Well, it's cozy. That's for sure... But there's space for my trunk and a foot locker that's bolted to the floor to keep any valuables. The bunk looks somewhat configurable. To adapt to different body plans, I suppose. But the current setting is good for now. I lean against the small sink and absently rub my face against the corner of the wall as I look at my new home.

I get myself settled and pull out a small plastic device with a tiny piano keyboard on it and start poking at the keys and dials. Just making noise more than any real music. Suddenly, there's a knock on my door. Oh, yeah, it's time for dinner.

“Enter!” I call as I climb down to the floor. Pablo is back.

“Hey, hungry?”

“I'm starving!”

“Heh, let's go.”

We walk down the corridor, and he makes sure to point out the comms room. It's gorgeous! I can't wait to start getting acquainted with her.

After a few more twists and turns that feel random, we finally get to the mess. The smell of food hits me, and it looks like people are starting to filter out. I look at Pablo confused. “Are we late?” “No, not late. Dinner starts early, but I tend to eat a little later. I hope that's ok with you. There's still plenty of food.” “oh... sure.” We grab some food and grab a seat. Suddenly, I smell her again. The other cat. It's really strong here. I inadvertently flatten my ears and look around. But there's no obvious person around. I must have just missed her.

“Pablo. Is there another cat on board?”

“Mm, so. Where are you from?” “uh. I grew up here. Planet-side. Moved around a lot, but never off world. But, did you hear my-” “Very good. My family were miners on an asteroid belt out in the middle of nowhere in the outer sectors.”

“Oh, you're from a long way then, huh?” The conversation devolved into pleasant small talk. But he somehow kept deflecting any question I had about the crew. I guess he doesn't like to gossip. But we finished and cleaned up our area.

“Come on, Bells. I'll walk you back to your berth.” “Actually, I was hoping I could explore...” “Sorry, we're going into lock down for the time being. We are pushing off at the end of the cycle and only critical crew is supposed to be out. Jumps can get nasty if you don't have the correct equipment. But don't worry. You'll get acquainted with ol' Orion soon enough. Sleep well.”

And with that he was off. Well. I suppose I should settle in. Maybe I can meet more people tomorrow.

---------

I swing out of bed, landing heavily and grumbling as the impact with the metal floor vibrates through my joints. With a long yawn I shuffle over to the sink in the corner, staring bleary eyed into the shiny metal mirror.

I still have an hour or so before my watch is set to begin, I'm up early as I need to have breakfast and visit the showers before reporting in. Out of morbid curiosity I check my squawker ("It's called a hailer, Luchthonn") and sigh at the four new maintenance orders already pending. You wonder if science could invent a space freighter that remains intact for more than 24 hours ship time.

I don't look more wolfish, but I certainly don't look more human either. Pointed ears edged with reddish fur, an uncanny truncated snout, muttonchops to envy a 19th century industrialist merging into a coat running over my shoulders and down my back. I look over my shoulder and catch sight of my stubby tail. This is manageable.

I pull on my off-duty togs and grab my washbag and a towel, slinging the latter over my shoulder. I'd better go eat first before all the decent food is gone, then hope there isn't a queue for the washroom. After a moment of trying to adjust my trousers to accommodate my tail, without success, I slide my cabin door open and promptly yelp in surprise

Cassie, stood in front of my door with her usual careworn stoop, takes a small step backwards as her lenses wirr and click behind her LED eyes.

"I'm so terribly sorry Ms. Ada, I did not mean to surprise you, I just thought you might want company for breakfast" she says, voice muffled like an old radio as usual. I take a moment to breath as the adrenaline subsides.

"It's ok Cassie, you just....surprised me is all. I'd love the company, you know I always do."

I've tried to convince her she doesn't need to refer to me as 'Ms. Ada' but it hasn't worked. I suppose I am technically a junior petty officer, but I don't like to stand on ceremony.

We head off in the direction of the mess, the sounds of clattering of plates and the droning voices of fifty simultaneous conversations getting louder. Cassie is still wearing the Starfarer Freight company hoodie we gave her last week. We managed to dye it pink using a questionable concoction of chemicals salvaged from maintenance section supplies and when off duty she's not been seen without it since.

"Your form seems to have stabilised recently, Ms. Ada" Cassie remarks as we walk. I scratch behind my ear subconsciously.

"I'll take it, it's better than constantly shifting. Still, makes wearing my boiler suit a real pain."