Work Text:
“Hello.”
He opens his eyes to the sound, white filling his vision before simmering down to a calm haze of blues and greys. The sudden influx of stimuli overloads his senses, his processors working hard to keep up. Tiny shockwaves erupt across his skin, waking up the sleeping sensors underneath. He takes a breath, immediately registering the air’s components as his eyesight clear and shift into focus.
A man sat on a chair by his right, gentle eyes fixed on him. There’s a small crease between his eyebrows, a slight downturn of his lips. He recognizes it as [worry]. He opens his mouth to give his introduction but no sound comes out.
“I guess it hasn’t finished uploading.” The man mumbled. “If you can hear me, blink twice.”
One, two blinks.
The man smiles, his mouth turning up to form a gentle curve. This must be [relief], he thinks.
“Your voice file hasn’t finished uploading so we will have to wait for a little while.” The man says, checking something on the computer next to him. “In the meantime, shall I read you a book?”
The book the man read to him was something he already knew word for word, the entirety of it already saved on his database. But the man’s voice was something new to him. He registers every difference in pitch and timbre, every intonation and nuance in breathing. His brain recalls a [gentle breeze] in response, his collected data automatically saved deep inside his memory.
[…]
The progress bar had finally moved to 60% and Kun sighed in resignation. When he had set out on creating a custom voice file, he wasn’t aware of how much work it entailed. He only had very few data to work with and most of them were far too old. Too old in terms of what? His mind sarcastically supplies, but Kun waves it away. His phone had stopped working for quite some time now but he was still able to extract its contents: A couple of videos and voicemail. He threw the phone into the micro incinerator right after.
He only knew the basics from college, from a roommate who tried to make money by conning some gullible people. He reported it right away and his roommate immediately got expelled. Back then, he knew that it had been the right thing to do despite whatever circumstances his roommate might’ve had. It’s ironic how he ended up using that knowledge in the end, on a spaceship millions of light years away from Earth. Kun had never believed in religion but somehow this felt like karmic retribution. A life for a life, the universal rule that worked even in the deepest reaches of space.
The progress bar approached 98%. He put away the book he had been reading, tucking it under a couple of other books. He didn’t really care for it, its contents barely making an impression on his mind. But he needed a distraction, especially from the pair of cool blue eyes that stared intently at him. Right now, at the edge of his project’s completion, he stood between doubt and unreality. He had almost wavered moments ago when he felt that piercing gaze trained so intently at him, so foreign yet familiar. The whole time his hand rested on the small button that would stop this once and for all.
But he looked again. And in those blue eyes, he saw himself.
The file’s progress had just approached 40%. He chose to wait.
[…]
“My name’s Qian Kun.” The man said.
“Hello, Qian Kun.” He replies, his introductory protocols kicking into gear. “It is nice to meet you.”
Qian Kun lets out a smile, this one different from the smile he had shown him before. There was no gentleness this time, yet he hasn’t registered any [sadness] from it either. He decides that he likes the other one better.
“You can just call me Kun.”
“Hello, Kun. It is nice to meet you.” He pauses. “Will you give me a name?”
Kun’s eyes widen. This is [surprise], he knows immediately.
“Your name… is Ten.”
He barely registers the new difference in Kun’s voice this time, transfixed on the [sadness] in front of him. It’s there in Kun’s eyes, the strange smile on his lips, the downward slope of his shoulders. His brain recalls [pain], and he immediately scans the other’s body for any injuries. He doesn’t find any.
He looks up, wanting to ask if he is fine but his protocols resume once again. He had been given a name and so he must introduce himself.
“Hello, Kun. I am Ten.”
“Nice to meet you, Ten.”
There it is again, that oddness in Kun’s voice. Ten registers [pain] again but he knew he wouldn’t find anything this time either.
[…]
They move onto the sun room, Kun mumbling to himself as he checked Ten’s vitals on his tablet. The vocal file still hasn’t installed properly yet, limiting his conversations with the other. Not that he has made any attempt at proper talk, especially after their first one. He had been taken aback by the question that he had answered without thinking.
He had never meant it, meant for this little pet project of his to manifest into something so personal and intimate. While he had kept the possibility at the back of his mind for him to examine and pry into when he’s not busy trying to keep himself from losing every bit of his sanity, he knew that he could possibly not be able to go back.
Nausea churns in his stomach and he blinks, his vision tossing like a ship in rough sea. He vaguely realizes that he’s having a panic attack today of all days, and he doesn’t even flinch when the tablet hits his foot. All of his hard work at keeping it together, acting like he may not be stranded in the middle of fuck knows where and when, starts to crumble and fall away.
There’s a hand on his arm, softly gripping. He looks up and sees unnatural blue eyes looking at him with concern. He lets himself be led towards one of the cushioned seats, sinking into the squeaky chair lifelessly. He notes that the voice file still wasn’t working properly yet and he Tencan’t help but feel relieved, not sure if he could still keep himself together if Ten started talking using his voice.
Ten hands him a glass of water wordlessly, his mouth pressed into a thin line. He accepts it, thankful for the distraction. The water tasted stale and smelled like it had gone through thousands of pipes, which as mostly true. Strangely enough, this grounds him back into the present. Kun thanks the gods of hundred times recycled water for their help, if they ever existed. He lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding, feeling like he had just learned what breathing felt like. Beside him, Ten cocks his head in puzzlement, his eyes roaming over his body the way doctors do. No doubt he’s checking my vitals, Kun notes absently, remembering the small detail from the manual Sicheng left behind for him.
There was silence, although Kun was sure that if it wasn’t for the faulty voice file, they’d be talking right now if Ten’s numerous attempts at trying to speak were anything to go by. Kun opts to ignore him, his brain still fuzzy and disconnected from his body. He cant deal with whatever it was he decided to bring upon his tiny space tin can right now, and he’s not sure if he ever will be.
A warm hand settles on his and Kun almost jumps out of his skin, startled. Ten doesn’t move his hand away though, his hold on kun’s hand steady as a rock. He’s staring at him again, blue eyes gazing straight into his as if he wants to communicate something. Kun isn’t sure if what he’s seeing behind those eyes is genuine worry but he wants to believe all the same.
“I’m fine,” he croaks out, his other hand coming to rest on Ten’s. He doesn’t know why but he pats the other’s hand reassuringly, “Thank you. For keeping an eye out for me.”
Ten looks from their touching hands, then up to his eyes again. There was still something – doubt, worry – flickering behind his gaze but he settles for a soft smile. Kun tries not to look away, wills himself to look at him straight on, but fails.
He stands up, trying to keep himself away from Ten as discreetly as possible. “I should probably check on your voice file, see what’s wrong with it.” He gives the other a tight smile, trying to inject some semblance of warmth but he can’t do it, the uneasiness from earlier still lingering at the edges.
Ten nods, his hands moving back to his sides. He looks at Kun expectantly, as if waiting for a command. Kun doesn’t know if he will ever get used to it.
“You can stay here if you like. Or you can explore if you want to.” Kun tells him, already walking out of the room. “I’ll just call for you when I’ve already fixed the file.”
He breaks into a jog as soon as he’s out of the room, trying not to think of what he left behind
[…]
Ten stares at Kun’s fleeing form, even after the other has already disappeared from sight. He doesn’t know why, but he has been reading weird signals from Kun earlier. There was [pain] again and [sadness] but surprisingly enough, there was also [fear].
Was Kun afraid of him? His chest burned at the thought, feeling something close to the [pain] he had registered from the other earlier. Why would Kun be afraid of him? He tried his best not to use much of his strength, the protocols kicking into gear right away. He knew he was much stronger, and could easily break the other’s arm if he wasn’t too careful. But was it enough to elicit such a strange reaction from him?
He lets out at inaudible sigh, something he had learned signified [frustration] and he knew right away that that was what he felt. He wanted so badly to talk to Kun, ask him questions about himself and maybe even chat about anything he wants to. But the fact that he can’t frustrates him to no end. And the fact that Kun might be afraid of him, has him [worried] greatly.
The sun room starts to dim. Ten looks around him, sees stellar clouds move into view before the room plunges into darkness. He feels [fear] and for some reason, it makes him want to run to Kun. He blinks, shifting his eyes into night vision, but the ship’s system had already picked up the sudden change in brightness. The room’s lights turn on automatically, bathing everything in cool, blue light. Ten decides to sit on one of the chairs, his mission earlier already abandoned. For some reason, he feels [lonely].
[...]
Kun would like to believe that he isn’t an irresponsible caretaker, although his behavior in the weeks that followed The Incident, as he’d taken to calling it, proved otherwise. He had taken to hiding in his office for days (or what he considered as days), with the excuse that he was busy fixing the corrupted voice file. It was only when Ten managed to hack into the security system and barged into his room, looking visibly disgruntled, did Kun give up.
Ten had taken to waking him up every sunrise, making full use of his now working voice program. Kun still hadn’t installed the original file -he had pushed it into a random folder on his computer, to be worked on someday (maybe never, his traitorous mind supplied). While he probably would never get used to hearing the default voice file greet him every morning, the visible joy on Ten’s face was something he could definitely live with it.
He repurposed one of the old beds in the room next to his, outfitting it with a power outlet so Ten can “sleep” at night. The sight of him, standing still in the dark, his pupils flashing blue as he charged, was something Kun would like to forget. While he’s fully aware of what Ten really is, the disparity between reality and fantasy had started to blur most of the time that he would sometimes… forget.
There was only so much he could do in his tiny tin cocoon, only so much that could distract him. He’d wonder if his mind had started playing tricks on him; if cool blue had somehow managed to shift to the dark, warm brown he was so used to, or if the cool, robotic voice he would hear every morning had mellowed into something sweeter, more human . And then he’d look at him, look at Ten (that’s not really Ten, his other self whispers in the background), and Kun just wants to believe.
[...]
It’s breakfast time. As usual, Kun would be busy cooking their meals, puttering around the small kitchen contentedly. Ten loved watching him like this, carefree and relaxed. While Kun had stopped being [afraid] of him, the [sadness] still lingered around the edges. Ten made sure not to do anything that would displease Kun in any way, all the rules firmly etched into his brain.
The [sadness] came and went, and even though Ten had run all sorts of simulations during his spare time, he still couldn’t figure out when it would ‘appear’. Right now, Kun’s in a good mood and Ten kept a keen look on him, looking out for any signs of… something.
Kun started laying down plates on the table, pulling Ten back into focus. He had cooked pancakes, the sweet aroma wafting into the small space, making everything feel [warmer]. Kun had even started humming, clearly in high spirits. Ten unconsciously saved the recording and filed it into his personal memory bank.
A plate piled high with pancakes appeared in front of him, golden yellow and buttery. While Ten did not really need to eat, his systems can break down food into supplemental fuel. And Ten liked to participate in anything Kun did, which was why he had persistently asked the other if he could join him during meals.
The sun had started to come into view, bathing the small kitchen in brightness. The ship’s systems automatically turned off the lights, plunging the room in a semi-darkness. Ten watched as Kun started piling berries (grown from their small garden) on his pancakes, his face a portrait of peace. Satisfied, Ten reached for the bowl of berries, spooning them onto his plate.
A hand shot out, gripping his arm tightly. Ten looked up and found himself staring into Kun’s wide eyes. He barely registered the blaring warning signs that popped up in his vision, his focus on the small box that could be barely seen.
[UNKNOWN]
“Wh-what are you doing?” Kun asked, his voice trembling at the edges. Ten wanted to wrest his arm away, but Kun’s grip was tight.
“I’m just getting berries.” he answered, “Is that not allowed?”
There it was again. [UNKNOWN].
“You’re- it’s- it’s fine.” Kun sighed, finally letting go of him. Ten looked down, seeing the small indentations Kun’s nails had made on his skin. For some reason, he couldn’t think of anything else, couldn’t think of anything to do. Not when Kun’s like this, when Ten cannot even read him.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asked softly. Kun flinched.
“No, no, you did not do anything.” he said, strained. “I’m just- I need to do something important for the next few days. Do not disturb me.”
He stood up from his chair and left the room, not looking at Ten even once.
[...]
("You're not him, you weren't even him in the first place." were the very first words he heard, after weeks of being separated by the cold steel door of Kun's room.)
[...]
After approximately 14600 days, the nearest space station to the giant black hole feeding the whole system, got a distress signal from somewhere even closer to it than they were. After some deliberation, they agreed to send a few people to its location.
Upon arriving, they found out that it was one of the ships they lost to the big cosmic flare from years ago. Everything remained mostly functional, although the communication system suffered most of the hit. The interior seemed empty, until they arrived at the innermost room. There they found the unmoving body of Qian Kun, one of the astrobiologists that was part of the very first mission to this part of the solar system. Beside him, an android sat, his homing beacon the exact same signal the crew picked up weeks ago.
It had been beeping for more than forty years.