What'll you do when you get lonelyand nobody's waiting by your side?

  Fridays are for letting loose.

  That’s the mantra. Laying on the couch. Brew on the ‘side table’ - a repurposed moving box. Anime reruns I’ve seen twice over pying from my desktop. Head a jumble as I let the weed sink in and dissociate. There’s not a lot to look forward to, and I gotta enjoy something.

  I’m tired from work. I’ve got no one to talk to. Drugs and alcohol are my temporary escape. Anime is just a distraction from my antipathy towards the cold hard facts of life. The second shift premium barely keeps me running, week to week. Thankfully, weed is cheap and legal.

  The high controls my mood and I drift by the difficult and painful realities. Avoid harsh thoughts and mellow out. Gazing out the window, stars dulled by the city lights, I can see the waning moon still shine, somehow. My mind can’t help but dance at the surface of dark waters. I’m a catastrophizing mess held together by pharmaceuticals and THC.

  My job fucking sucks. Even at best it’s still mostly hard bor, and- you know what I don’t want to think about that. Pay could be better, but at least I’ve got an apartment to myself, for what little it’s worth. My friends all moved for work, or are on different shifts, or things got awkward and we stopped talking, or all sorts of reasons that leave me with no real company or contact.

  Gotta stop dwelling on it. I’ve already spent, what? Months? Just ruminating about how lonely and sad and bored I am the whole time. Looking over at the desk, my shitty hand-me-down tablet and art supplies call to me. Maybe art can get me out? The thought is pessimistic as always.

  I get up and draw. Doodles. Idly sketching the moon in negative.

  I wonder if I’m just stuck. Trapped in an eternal loop of jobs and positions that I can stand maybe just a little more than the st one. Maybe I’ll trip up and have to actually work hard to improve. Maybe I’ll hit a ceiling and become more stuck than ever. I don’t know. Forget it.

  It’s fucking te on Friday night! I let loose like I should. Like I desperately need. I zone out for a while. Turn the anime down and doom scroll. Shitpost in servers full of friends I might never get to see again. Take a bleary drug fueled nap, then masturbate to the thought of the tiniest most insignificant bit of affection from another.

  A couple hours pass, and, taking advantage of a spark of productivity, I start to tidy my apartment. Dishes are put in the dishwasher and washed. Errant trash goes into the bin. Pour out my bong water and rinse out the piece cause it gets gross if you let it sit. Satisfied with my work, I get a tinge of disappointment, feeling my high coming down.

  Fridays are for letting loose, right?

  Eyeing the dispy on the microwave, the clock screams into my irises. 1AM. I figure I probably shouldn’t smoke anymore tonight, then I wipe the moisture from the bowl of my bong and pack another. Not wanting to miss the fade into nothingness when I fall asleep, I pop an edible for good measure.

  Grabbing a hoodie - the warm one - I pocket my lighter and slip out the door, bong in hand, and lock it behind me. Popping in an earbud, I scroll for something to listen to while I walk up the stairs. Cpton? Nah, maybe Deep Purple. I’ve listened to Machine Head about a billion times, though.

  Watching a bunch of YouTube locksmithing videos while bzed out of my friggin mind actually had some benefits. A quick whim and an improvised rake got me on the roof of my building a couple weeks after I moved in. Given that I'm on second shift, no one even notices when I’m up there, so I hid a camping chair to chill in. Usually I go up to vibe to music, smoke, or both. I’m allowed to smoke inside but I don’t want any visitors to deal with a bad smell, or think I’m just a crusty stoner girl. I’d have to have visitors first, though.

  I gotta set down the bong to pick the lock, not that it’s hard. The jumble of bent paper clips on my key ring goes in the keyhole. A little motion on the pins and the lock turns nicely. I sweep up the bong and let myself out on the roof. The door sms behind me while I make my decision and select an album. Pet Sounds, for now. Wouldn’t It Be Nice rings out in my head. Phone away, holding the bong and digging for my light, I catch a strange noise across the roof. Like someone shuffling a bunch of poker chips? More metallic than that.

  Looking up, I see the strangest thing. For a moment, I think I’m seeing a big octopus. A bulbous ‘head’ seems to stare back, but it has too many limbs. There appear to be dozens, from long white wispy tendrils to gray gripping appendages, with soft orange lines running down them. There’s an uncanny variety, some appendages like a jellyfish, others like squid or octopi. Already alert, it raises itself up, its full height around 4 feet or so, like an animal trying to intimidate a predator. A strange pile of metal segments click and climb up its body, the source of the sound that caught my attention. It’s quickly covered in strange, semi-reflective scales, each around the size of a sand dolr, and it starts to look like some sort of big horrible crab. Cephalopod eyes dot its head at regur intervals, and the ones facing me stare right back as it moves just slightly forward.

  For a few moments, we lock eyes and wonder what the other will do.

  In a daze, unsure if I’m even awake, I mutter, “I’m not high enough for this to be a hallucination.”

  ---

  WW: Wayward 2-17 is getting tired, two remain

  A simple report. Send it back to the field commander. Wait for the rey to buffer then the transponder pings, half an hour ter. Checking the response is just a formality, the contents are known and expected. Two more objects of interest to process before calibration is over. Then the system should be set and one can rex, either in orbit or back on the cruiser.

  Looking at the next object from above a window, this one sighs. The survey algorithms are quite good, after calibration. Without calibration? It can have trouble with objects of differing forms, even though they serve the same basic function. One scrolls through the generated diagrams for the strange apparatus. Were the computer a bit better at rge topologies, the risk of direct contact wouldn’t be necessary. Surveying such items on top of a family home in a poputed area is hardly good opsec. The pitfalls of electronic machines.

  Still, one categorizes the object as another signal receiver, as weird as it looks. A jumble of parallel and perpendicur metal tines, presumably to catch as much signal as possible. One is not a comms expert. A simple selection and the computer makes the connection. On to the st.

  The next location would be a minute or two away if we could authorize the skyhook. Unfortunately, middle density areas such as this are restricted until the local survey is complete. It takes some time to navigate the city. Even with active camoufge there’s difficulty getting around without notice. The pnet's night cycle and the psyche of the popution both seem to work in our favor here, despite all the lights.

  Twenty minutes ter, and one reaches the destination. A small nature preserve, the towering local pnts provide cover from the sky and the lights of the city. There is a single light on a post, next to some furniture. Across from them on the path, a simple object, unsurprising that it was low priority in the survey. Running a finger over it, one ponders the meaning of yet untransted symbols. A sign, of sorts? Dense text and detailed images matching the nearby pnts. Shuffling through the cssifications, one decides and chooses. An analog information panel. Low tech, but reliable for what seems to be a ‘low tech zone’ in the city.

  Another half hour and one finally gets its extraction point. It’ll be a few hours while the skyhook gets into position but the job is almost over. No more obligations other than get off the ground unnoticed. The system will do the more detailed analysis, and one can rex until more input is needed.

  Compatibility testing is expected to start soon, but there’s honestly no rush.

  The maneuvering gear helps greatly with navigation and climbing while one heads to the roof of the building marked as an extraction point. A low-built area, away from the central sprawl, the tallest structures are a group of residential buildings. The skyhook works best the higher you can get, so it’s the natural choice. A quick security check on reaching the top - the access point is locked. Automated surveys imply these roofs are for maintenance and, usually, only accessed during the day. Seems sound, but there’s one out of pce object. It’s probably no concern, as the dominant species seems to produce unnecessary amounts of disposable or unimportant items. There’s random stuff scattered everywhere on this pnet.

  With the area secured and plenty of time, one petitions for permission to rest in the interim. The permission is granted and the tool rig put on passive mode, settling onto the floor. Rexing, one studies the local moon. Bigger, closer, and brighter. Nothing like the three moons on Allocaea. The craters are easy to view from the surface, and one considers the battering it must have taken over millennia.

  What reaction does it draw from the locals? The dominant species, as well as a few less developed creatures, were the highest priority mission upon discovering this pnet. The “Humans” are of particur interest as their nervous systems were almost certainly link compatible. That’s even without mentioning the many less dominant species on this pnet. Attempting contact may be very difficult, though. They ck unity despite the incredibly quick technological developments they've made since their initial discovery. Their global society is not very peaceful or stable. Many humans are estimated to be dangerous to interact with. Given the extreme anatomical differences, they may not find us, the Corda, a comforting presence. These issues are one’s own problem now, with this assignment.

  The issues aren’t really that bothersome, though. The job will be done, and despite the time invested, one should be approved for research after its conclusion. That was the agreement. One would suffer in pursuit of its curiosity rather than fail to explore its fascination. Time passes as one feels itself relieved, just about ready for the unpleasant skyhook ride.

  Rexed.

  So rexed that one’s reaction to the door is far too slow. Clicking, mechanical noises and a creak ring across the roof.

  Adrenaline flushes through one’s system. Panic. The human doesn’t even look up from its data pad as the door loudly sms shut behind it. It puts the pad away and shuffles for something else on its person, noticing nothing. It stands tall, holding some strange water filled object, and it will only be a moment before one is noticed. A finger on a switch puts the tool rig to active. As it climbs back onto one’s body, the human looks up, noticing the noise.

  A moment of tension so thick one almost feels underwater. Eyes lock with eyes. This should not be happening. One hastily sends a terse message to FC

  WW: Compromised by civilian individual, reason for presence unknown, please advise.

  “...I’m not high enough for this to be a hallucination.”

  It speaks, the meaning of the sounds unknown. Pulling its limb out of a pocket, it holds something. A quick motion and the tool rig starts an emergency scan. The human abruptly stops moving, speaking again,

  “Woah! Hi, sorry.”

  One repeats the message to FC, appending another desperate “PLEASE ADVISE”. The human slowly turns its limbs, holding the items aloft. Scan info returns before they’re even halfway up, fed straight from sensory links. No weaponry.

  FC’s response comes through

  FC: EVALUATING, RISKY INFOLINK ESTABLISHED, REMAIN PEACEFUL, APPREHEND IF NECESSARY. STAY SAFE.

  The concern for one’s safety is incredibly concerning despite its supportive tone. It’s not in the command parameters. The info link was expected and hoped for, FC has around an hour of faster communication and a direct feed from the tool rig. Situation depending, the feed should be cut before the comms burst becomes too easy to detect.

  The human takes a few slow steps back, lowering its body and pcing the items on the ground. One realises it still has a finger held up, pointed at the human since initiating the scan. One’s finger snaps back to a more neutral position far too quickly and the human flinches at the sudden movement, before slowly raising its body back up, holding its open limbs up.

  “O~kayyy, I don’t want to hurt you. Can you, uh, understand me?”

  More speech. Language models haven’t even started development let alone speech replication. One hopes FC won’t suggest emergency contact protocols but the thought is cut short by the tool rig feeding anatomical data through sensory links. One responds out of frustration;

  WW: CERTAINLY THERE IS A BETTER COURSE OF ACTION

  The reply comes at almost the same moment we send our gripe. Not a response.

  FC: WW 2-17, NEW OBJECTIVE: ACTIVATE PRIMARY PARTITION AND INITIATE EMERGENCY CONTACT PROTOCOLS. HUMAN OF INTEREST DESIGNATED ‘H1’ PENDING FURTHER INFORMATION

  Incredible frustration gives way to resignation. Acceptance of one’s duty reigns. Reengaging closed pathways in one’s central nervous cluster, Cascade stirs, taking control. The tool rig quietly and deliberately shifts away from cwed fingers. FC’s response to the outburst comes through.

  FC: UMBRAL CASCADE WAS SELECTED, IN PART, FOR STRONG PREVIOUS RECORD WITH FORCED LINKS. H1 IS A NEAR IDEAL CANDIDATE FOR COVERT CONTACT.

  A wince at the sore subject. Of course the human is a strong candidate, FC wouldn’t give the order if they weren’t certain. As a Flora, FC is grown explicitly for making these decisions, despite the objections.

  One approaches the human.

  ViolentR