Arc 4 - Integration
### Chapter 24
The ship did not panic.
It calculated.
The books were within terrestrial density norms. Their cumulative mass, however, was not within recommended human load parameters. The report room's floor had already compensated twice for uneven distribution.
The probability of musculoskeletal strain if the human attempted repeated manual transport hovered just under forty percent.
That was not optimal.
A low-priority signal dispersed through the local network. Assistance recommended. Voluntary embodiment acceptable. No urgency flag.
Most threads did not divert. The anomaly was contained. The gravitational cascade had resolved without structural compromise. The human was occupied.
But one process registered the signal, and did not dismiss it.
Curiosity was inefficient, but it responded anyway.
Auggie was still kneeling on the floor when the door parted.
She had made progress. Rough stacks, sorted not by size or edition, but by something internal and relational. Poetry beside poetry. Field guides clustered in a way that made no visual sense but obvious narrative sense. Mythology texts leaning toward her right knee as if they had chosen that gravity well on purpose.
Her copy of The Odyssey sat safely aside. The cat had relocated to a more stable pile and resumed purring as though paper was a natural terrain feature.
She did not look up.
"You're new," she said mildly.
The Keshin paused just inside the threshold.
"Define new."
She glanced over her shoulder, quick assessment. Different cranial ridge coloration. Tendril configuration narrower than Moss. Posture not as formally squared as Auburn's. And a more charcoal coloring, like someone had smudged artistic lines on paper.
"You're not one of my regular existential crises," she clarified.
A fractional pause, then it responds, "I responded to a load-balancing signal."
"Mm," she said. "Of course you did."
Behind it, a grav-skiv floated into the room and settled with mechanical patience. Its surface tension recalibrated to accommodate irregular mass clusters.
The Keshin observed the sprawl.
"You are attempting manual transport."
"Yes."
"That is inefficient."
She smiled faintly. "So I've been told."
It stepped closer, careful not to disturb the clusters she had already formed, its tentacles waving in a halo around it, as it studies the state of things.
"These objects are categorized by subjective association."
"Correct."
"There is no visible hierarchy."
"There never is."
The skiv hummed quietly behind them.
"You may utilize the transport platform."
She studied it for a moment, then nodded. "Thank you."
It did not acknowledge gratitude. It adjusted the skiv's field strength instead, then began to help her load.
She lifted books in armfuls, then paused mid-motion and redistributed the ones the Keshin - Smoke, she subconsciously named him - had already placed.
"No," she murmured. "These go together."
"You are altering optimal weight distribution."
"I'm preserving narrative continuity."
"That is not measurable." His tentacles whip once more.
"It is," she said lightly. "Just not by you."
It did not correct her. Instead: "Clarify narrative continuity."
She blinked up at it. "You answered the signal because you were curious."
"That is not an accurate framing."
"You weren't ordered."
"No."
"You weren't required."
"No."
"You came anyway."
Pause.
"That is correct."
She placed a worn field guide beside a dog-eared poetry collection.
"That's narrative continuity."
The tendrils stilled.
When the skiv was full, it adjusted its gravitational field to offset stress and lifted smoothly from the floor.
Auggie stood, brushing her palms together.
"My quarters," she said.
The corridor parted without request.
That, too, was new.
As they moved, pathing cleared just slightly ahead of baseline. Two Keshin angled aside without breaking conversation. One paused long enough to register the cart and the cascade of terrestrial artifacts rolling past in careful procession.
No intervention issued. No correction required.
She did not miss that their attention spiked anyway.
Auggie walked beside the skiv, one hand resting lightly on its edge as though steadying something that did not need steadying.
"The organism was not transferred," the Keshin observed.
"He hates change," she replied.
"That contradicts earlier tolerance data."
"He tolerates change when he chooses it."
Pause.
"Choice alters tolerance thresholds?"
"Almost always."
They continued.
"Your earlier ingestion event," it said. "Clam chowder and sweet tea."
She looked sideways at it.
"You logged my lunch?"
"All variables are logged."
"Did you find it efficient?"
"Salt content exceeded hydration balance."
She laughed softly. "That wasn't the point."
"What was the point."
"It tasted like home."
"Home is spatially defined."
"No," she said. "It's associative."
That did not resolve. Of course it didn't.
They reached her quarters, and the door opened immediately. Inside, she gestured toward the far wall, "Over there."
The skiv lowered incrementally, books settling in careful waves onto the floor. The Keshin did not watch the placement.
It watched her.
"You are anomalous."
"I've been told."
"There is no convergence."
"I know."
"You do not appear distressed."
She tilted her head.
"Should I be?"
"There is no classification."
"There doesn't have to be." Silence followed. Not waiting. Considering.
"You altered system behavior."
"So did you," she countered matter-of-factly.
That landed.
"You responded to a signal that did not require embodiment," she continued. "That's new."
"It was efficient."
"It was curious."
Pause.
"That distinction remains unresolved."
She smiled.
"Good."
Outside her door, traffic returned to baseline levels.
Inside, books waited to be shelved.
And somewhere in the ship's architecture, the assistance log did not categorize itself as complete.
It remained open. Not as an error.
As a possibility.