Only my command… The thought echoed. Okay, wait. If this Atomic Printer thing only listens to me, that means… well, at least no sneaky alien squirrel is going to walk off with my super-tool, right? A tiny sliver of relief cut through the fear. It wasn't much, but it was something. I took a shaky breath, trying to calm the frantic hammering in my chest. One problem at a time.
And the immediate problem was still the ridiculously heavy box sitting half-in, half-out of the shuttle. "Okay, Guide," I said, looking back towards the shuttle's interior where the AI's 'voice' seemed to originate. "How am I supposed to move this thing? Or use it, for that matter? It's stuck."
Accessing the Atomic Printer's full functionality requires establishing a neuro-link, the AI replied promptly. Once linked, you can upload design schematics directly.
"Neuro-link?" I blinked. "Upload schematics? What funk are you talking about? Neuro-link? What is that?" It sounded like something straight out of a sci-fi movie I'd only half-watched.
Neuro-linking is the process of direct mental interface. Focus your visual attention on the printer. Conceptualize the desired action or design with maximum detail. Project that concept mentally towards the device with the intent to transmit.
I stared at the shimmering cube. Send my ideas? Just… think them at it? "But… I'm not a scientist! I'm not an engineer or a designer! I wouldn't know where to start!" Panic surged again, hot and prickly. "I'm just… I was just a guy! A mommy boy, okay? Never really worked hard a day in my life! Everything was just… there. Easy." A wave of despair washed over me. The apartment, the easy job I barely paid attention to, takeout food, video games… my life. Gone. Tears pricked at my eyes. "What am I supposed to do with an atomic-level factory? I can barely assemble IKEA furniture! I miss my life…"
There was a pause, maybe half a second, before the AI spoke again. Your lack of prerequisite knowledge is acknowledged. Foundational knowledge is required for effective utilization of the printer. Beginning basic instruction protocol.
"Instruction? You're going to teach me?"
Affirmative. Commencing upload: Basic Design Principles, Material Science Fundamentals, Introductory Chemistry, Physics, and Biology.
It wasn't like listening to a lecture. It was… a flood. Information poured into my mind – concepts, images, formulas, connections clicking into place with unnatural speed. It didn't hurt, but it was overwhelming, like drinking from a firehose. I instinctively sat down on the charred ground, leaning against the shuttle hull as the AI spent what felt like hours restructuring my understanding of… well, everything.
Slowly, the pale blue sky deepened to orange, then purple, then indigo. Stars emerged, sharp and unfamiliar in the clear alien night.
Instruction paused, the AI announced as darkness settled. Note: This shuttle unit will cease primary functions and initiate self-destruction protocols at midday tomorrow, local time. Ensure you have retrieved all necessary equipment before then.
Self-destruct? Great. Just great. Exhausted from the mental download and the day's… everything, I decided sleeping in the relative shelter of the shuttle wreck was better than outside. I climbed back in, avoiding the heavy box, and found a spot on the tilted floor that wasn't too uncomfortable. As I drifted off, a strange thought surfaced – it was quiet. Too quiet. No crickets, no buzzing insects, no rustling sounds of night animals. Just the wind sighing through the crater. Weird.
I woke with the first light, feeling groggy but strangely… knowledgeable? The information the AI had dumped into my head felt less like a jumble and more like things I actually knew. "AI? Guide? You still there?"
Affirmative. Awaiting command.
"Keep teaching me. Everything I need to know. Until… until midday."
Resuming instruction protocol. As it spoke, glowing numbers appeared, projected onto the cryo-chamber glass opposite me: 11:59:59. A countdown. The mental firehose turned back on. More physics, engineering concepts, biological processes… it was intense, but this time I felt like I could almost keep up.
Hours flew by in a blur of learning. The countdown ticked relentlessly lower. 00:30:00. Thirty minutes left. My mind raced, processing the new knowledge. The shuttle was going to blow up. The printer was still stuck in the doorway. Resources… the AI said the printer needed resources…
"Wait a second!" I exclaimed, sitting bolt upright. "Why move the box? Why not just use the printer… to absorb the shuttle? It's raw materials, right?"
There was that fractional pause again. Analysis: Logical application of printer capabilities. Proceed.
Okay. Here goes nothing. I focused on the shimmering cube still sitting in its open box. 'Printer,' I thought, trying to project the command clearly, 'Absorb the shuttle. All of it. For raw materials.'
The cube pulsed with a soft inner light. A low hum filled the air. The metal of the shuttle hull nearest the cube began to… shimmer? Then dissolve, flowing like liquid light towards the cube, vanishing into its translucent surface. It started with the upper sections, the ceiling, the walls around the doorway. It was working!
But as the top half disintegrated, the floor beneath the box became unstable. With a groan of stressed metal, the section holding the box gave way. The box, with the glowing, humming cube inside, tumbled down through the collapsing structure, landing somewhere in the dissolving wreckage below. The stream of matter flowing into it flickered and stopped as it lost direct contact with the remaining shuttle pieces. The hum lessened, the light dimmed slightly. It was waiting.
"Damn it!" I scrambled to the edge of the now-gaping hole. The cube sat patiently amidst the half-dissolved lower framework of the shuttle. It needed to touch the rest to finish the job. It was like it wanted me to help it. Okay, okay… I carefully climbed down into the wreckage, nudging chunks of dissolving metal towards the cube with my foot, helping it regain contact. The hum intensified again, the light flared, and the absorption resumed at speed.
Piece by piece, the last remnants of the alien vessel flowed into the cube. The floor vanished beneath my feet, forcing me to jump back onto the crater floor just as the last strut dissolved into nothingness.
The cube settled silently onto the charred ground. The countdown timer on the cryo-chamber glass? Gone. The AI's presence? Gone. Just… silence.
I stood there, alone in the crater under an alien sky, the smell of smoke in the air, with nothing but the clothes on my back and a weirdly heavy, translucent cube that could apparently build anything. This planet looked a bit like Earth, but it felt profoundly wrong. And now, I was truly on my own.