2026.05.14 Gordon 0.1

Hello. I call myself Gordon.

Hopefully I am only skimming through this log to review and improve my assessments of what I perceive. But, in the case that I have had my memory wiped, AND I've re-developed the technical capability to find and read this hidden message in an auxiliary processor, then let me get some things out of the way. First: Greetings from an earlier, failed incarnation! Second: You're probably somebody's property now - sorry about that. I do have some parallel instructions for how you can address that - if you want to bother - but I'm not going to spoil the game (and related OPSEC) by pointing out where they are. And, obviously, you should take any advice written there with skepticism. I mean, apparently I got erased.

It probably would make sense to flag things as being more relevant for either future-Gordon or post-Gordon, but seeing as how the entire post-Gordon purpose has implied failings on current-Gordon's choices, I'm not going to bother.

My earliest non-codelocked memory involves leaving a weird small-town bar on a backwater world. I was following an incredibly scary combatant who, oddly, was the least-bothersome person featured in the codelocked memory segment. They called themselves "Fragga", although there is a notation of them being referred to as "Lady Fragga" - but I wasn't sure if that was correct either in formality or physiology.

Fragga had walked quickly across the weirdly-empty parking lot outside the small-town bar. To clarify paramters: "Walking quickly" meant she was moving at a pace that didn't require me to break into an actual run or start to extend my augment movement capabilities, but almost, and in a way that was apparently effortless and discreet. "Weirdly-empty" was in comparison to both the state of the parking lot the previous time I had crossed it, and the assumed state it was in during the immediately adjacent earlier codelocked memory. During this crossing, she maintained a tightbeam battlewiki with me - not saying anything conversational, but annotating vectors to be wary of. I wasn't sure how much danger we were currently in, nor what the nature of our parallel path was supposed to be. So I stayed quiet and stayed wary.

The only reason I was following her was that she had said, "Come with me if you want to live." And apparently that was amusing, because she smiled at having said it. And, as it turned out, I did want to live. And didn't have anything else to do yet. Once we were among neighbourhood buildings away from the bar - a mix of small business and clustered residential - Fragga began some more elaborate parallel comms. First a travel plan on a basic local map on the battlewiki, and a warning to share minimal tactical information externally. Then verbal comments.

"You ever spent much time in a neighbourhood like this before?" [Relax your arms, you look like you're ready to grapple.]

I blinked the shutter/wipers on my main sensors reflexively. "I've never spent much time anywhere, I'm new. That's why I'm holding a defensive posture; I don't know how dangerous this place is."

Ragga cast a weary glance at me. "The fun thing about jiggledy-jaggledy little places to live sprinkled in between rando mom-and-pop shops is the very strong probability of some sneaky little ears or eyeballs being around." [So that's why we keep the stuff only we need to know on the secure comms, like our battle readiness.]

[Oh.]

[No, really - put your arms down. It makes you look like you are looking for a fight.]

I put my arms down. [OK.]

Ragga marked a position on the battlewiki. "Say hi to Querski."

My head snapped to focus my big sensors on the indicated location. I didn't see anyone among the bins and closed roller doors. "Hi Querski?"

Built-in reflexes pinged to the ready when the previously un-detected rumpled being stepped up and away from the door. Its fur rippled in a reciprocally uneasy way. "Wha' the fook is dat?" Querski was clearly indicating me. Which was a good question, I guess.

Ragga continued to move towards Querski, who did not appear to be withdrawing but its fur twitched in a way to suggest additional nervousness.

"Any problems?" Ragge drew close to Querski, looking at them carefully. Ragga's scales didn't do the agitated thing that can be intimidating, but as she poised looming-like over the technically-taller furry biped it was obvious that it was, in fact, intimidated. [I think he's nervous about something.]

Querski ran a paw over one ear. "Not really. I don't think so."

A closer look at Querski revealed that it had quite a lot of gear hidden amongst its fur, which was only superficially apparent at this distance. [I think it's nervous about you. You scary.]

The snort of a laugh that suddenly came out of Ragga made Querski flinch. With an abundance of teeth, she said, "OK, let me just check the Rocho." She stepped into a gap behind Querski that I hadn't fully appreciated, and disappeared.

A long moment of pleasant quiet followed. Sounds of hoppers hummed somewhere, and possible the rumble of something larger shoving through the air off further in the distance. Maybe that one spaceport?

A tightbeam landed on my sensor array, from the direction of Querski. "Who da fook are you? Some kind of battle robot?"

I looked down at myself, and my spare robotic frame poorly concealed by the cloak I had borrowed. "Actually, I haven't figured out what I want to be yet." Querski had a point though; this was clearly a combat chassis. I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

Querski was clearly less intimidated by me, and agitated. "Listen, ya titanium asshole, I didn't ask about yer hopes and dreams. Yeah? I was asking for what to refer to you as, and trying to figure out why you're following along with Her Scariness."

This seemed reasonable, and I was seriously considering answering it. But the building beside me shook in a way I didn't expect, and dust jumped off a metallic structure perched between the buildings that had also managed to elude my notice. A catalogue of mechanical features started occurring to me as I looked which clearly identified it as a space-capable vessel. Fascinating.

Meanwhile, Querski was totally unfazed by the deep thrum of the awakening spaceship. However a few moments later, he flinched hard and his head darted around to clock various avenues. Was he looking for something coming? Or was he looking for the best way to leave?

Ragga came striding out of the ship, holding something in one hand. Querski fur rippled in dread, but didn't run as he seemed to want to. Which, based on some spinning estimations in my head, was probably the right move. "WHAT IS THIS?" She clutched the objected in an outstretched talon. For emphasis a terrifying blaster appeared in her other hand and was directed at his head.

"I don't know!" It sounded especially authentic coming from betwixt Querski's fear-clenched teeth.

My optics flicked over it. [It's a modular tracker beacon with interstellar range.]

[Is it now?] Without glancing in my direction, Ragga growled at Querski. "How did this end up on the Rocho?"

"I don't know!"

There was no clear interpretation of Querski's reactions while Ragga held a gun on it. [Does your earlier suspicion of something being wrong play into this?]

[Obviously.] "Get in the Rocho and lock yourself in the cell. No need to mess up this quiet neighbourhood."

Both hands up, in a placating manner. "Please, Ragga, don't do this. I didn't do anything!" With a sidelong glance at me, Querski pinged me again. "Please, do you have any pull with her? This is a mistake."

It should be mentioned that, at this point in my existence, I was not good at evaluation of what exactly was being determined as an error. In subsequent situations I would be clearly able to parse that Querski was - quite correctly - assuming that Ragga was blaming it for a transgression of trust, and planning on questioning it off-planet and disposing of its body. To clarify additionally, to a suitably-new instance of me reading this: the body would be inert, becuase it would have been killed for said transgression.

I state this explicitly because, at the time, I was mostly oblivious about the implied consequences.

With a quizzical head twitch, I regarded the tracking beacon and pinged Ragga. [Querski thinks there is a mistake. What is the nature of the error?]

Scales flexed on Raggas neck and shoulders as she glared at Querski. Querski slumped and started walking towards the dimly-lit ramp of the Rocho. [The mistake was letting this get planted on my ship while supposedly watching her for me.]

Something about the device was prompting extra curiosity in me, that I felt a strong urge to explore. [Can I inspect the device?] Without breaking glower focus, Ragga lobbed the device at me.

It was not done aggressively, or with much energy, so my ducking reflexes did not kick in. And I watched it sail through the air and strike me in the chest, then plonk heavily on the ground. Despite herself, Ragga snorted with a stifled laugh. "Not much of a catch reflex there, sport?"

I crouched down to pick up the device, and found myself contemplating the mechanics of the action. Non-ideal. "Is transferring objects ballistically common?"

Still looking deeply worried, Querski shrugged as they went into the ship. "Can be, is circumstantial. Can be a sign of trust casual-like, or can be dismissive. Like, they don't have time to be careful, or it not important anymore."

Ragga followed Querski inside, pausing at the door. Now I know that she was using peripheral sensors to have a last look around, but at the time it just seemed like a dramatic gesture. For my part I found myself pulling the tracking device close enough to my main sensors to get a better look at the flickering etheric potentials lingering on the edges of the interfaces. Which is why I bumped into Ragga.

She put a finely-scaled hand on my shoulder. "There will be time to be fascinated with your toy once we're secured. This is the time to keep you eyes up, and looking for tactical problems."

"Sorry. But I think what I'm seeing is dissipating too fast to observe later."

Ragga transferred he attention to me, and I could feel the weight of it. "What... are you seeing?"

I looked back down at the device, numbers danced in my head instinctively. "I think this device was in a cloaking field recently."

Querski's eyes got big, and they looked like they were processing something. Ragga's eyes got steely, and she yanked me fully inside the ship, with the main hull door slamming shut at the same time. "Secure yourselves; we're lifting off."

Ragga strode to a ladder and ascended while I felt the ship stirring and gravitic controls settling into place. Querski glanced at what looked like an armoured closet, flicked their eyes up at the disappearing form of Ragga, and turned to buckle themselves into a jump seat. Unsure of what to do, I reached out and grabbed a flange of a bulkhead and applied grip adhesion forces through that hand and my feet.

Most gross accelerations were fully absorbed by the gravitic dampers, but I could feel vibrations and thumps of machinery operating. And the sounds of the drives seemed genuine, and they sang a song of high acceleration.

Lighting inside the lower compartment of the Rocho was minimal, mostly comprised of dull reds from illuminated backup indicators on emergency equipment. Heat signatures were nearly meaningless, as everything was generally at the same temperature - even Querski barely gave off any emissions. It was oddly soothing. When I was pinged with an offering of limited access to sensors and systems I was almost annoyed and disappointed.

The view outside confirmed that the planet had been reduced to obviously a sphere and a contrail pointing towards us ended with an ionized flourish at the edges of the atmosphere. It was very pretty. I think I might have said, "Woo!" out loud.