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"I apologise for the poor hospitality, but we haven't had visitors for a very long time," said the voice that echoed through the lonely corridors of the seemingly abandoned space station. While clearly automated, it had a pleasantly soft, precise, formal British accent, probably male, that reassured the traveller a little.
Just a little.
Other than the voice over the tannoy, he could only hear the soft clank of his worn, sturdy boots on the metal floor and the occasional whine or hum of another system coming back to life, creaking and groaning a little at the sudden reactivation after such a long time in a deep sleep mode. Lights blinked back on in sequence down a corridor and the air recycler whirred back into operation, clearing away the acrid, stale buildup in places that had not needed to support human life for far too long. A vending machine beeped and offered him a selection of snacks. Above it, a terminal showed him a map of the area, unhelpfully marking almost everything as restricted. Most of the doors he could see were also locked and marked as high security, some of them clearly leading to areas that hadn't even been marked on the map.
A bit over the top for a service station in the arse end of nowhere, he thought. There were a lot of areas you didn't see in starports, though, maintenance areas that would be dangerous for an unprotected trespasser. There would be databases with customers' personal information, possibly even immigration details for travel to wherever the hell this place even bordered on. Hopefully there was a sizeable starship repair bay. If there wasn't, he couldn't see where else you would get repairs in a sector as derelict as this. He also didn't want to think about where the hell the alleged repair drones had immediately taken his ship, if it wasn't for the many holes it needed welding shut after the security laser turrets had shot at him.
At least, he assumed it was an accident. Security systems did that if nobody maintained them for a while.
Background music began to break the silence, a soft, rolling synth rock. A sign over the door at the end of the corridor blinked on, showing the galactically universal sign for a service station cafe. It was starting to feel like a real, actually-open spaceport.
"Would you like a cup of tea?" asked the voice, "We have a wide selection of teas on offer. I pride myself on a good cup of tea. It was one of the things the management insisted on, even in the border outposts. Biscuits will have to be purchased from the vending machines, I'm afraid. Budget cuts, you know."
The door failed to open as he approached it. He tried pushing and pulling. Neither caused it to budge an inch. A red light flashed on a panel that went 'ERNK'. After a few seconds, a couple of compact, shiny, rather adorable maintenance drones, like a cross between woodlice and mice but the size of small dogs, scuttled up to the door and poked the panel with their spindly antennae until the light turned green, went 'BING', then opened the door.
The drones retreated into one of the seemingly endless hidden wall panels. Cute as they were, he could feel their beady little red sensor lights on his back, watching him, always.
"Apologies for the slight delay. Do have a seat," said the station AI. The canteen looked like every other spaceport refectory, except for some of the posher hub world satellites that had separate companies sponsoring them and could afford something fancy. Despite being rather bare-boned and as empty as everywhere else in the sector, it was spotlessly clean. A more spherical drone hovered up to him, carrying a tray with a real, ceramic cup and saucer, containing tea that did not smell of chemicals. There was a little pot of milk and the AI had decided to give him a couple of Rich Tea biscuits anyway.
He blew on the tea and sipped it. It tasted remarkably good. The warmth seeped into his weary muscles and he began to relax for the first time in a long while. Even before he'd had to emergency land due to being shot at by an overzealous security turret, he hadn't had the best of luck for the last few weeks. He wasn't even visiting the sector marked as L151E (his brain read it as 'Lisle' and pronounced it 'Lyle'), with a single public starport that was also just called L151E due to being the only one that needed naming, by choice.
He should never have bought a second hand navigation computer, not even for that much of a discount. It didn't always slightly glitch and get him lost, but it was always in the least convenient situation when he did, such as when he'd taken on a courier job for a little more cash and needed to find his way around a remote system he'd never heard of. He was also fairly sure now that it had a virus of some kind. Interplanetary immigration checkpoints would sometimes just pick something up on the scans, then quarantine him for another seemingly endless series of scans, and now the thing with the turrets kept happening. He wasn't sure if he could even survive long enough to buy a new GalNav at this rate, even if he saved up the money.
"Ah, well," he muttered to himself, taking another sip, "At least I have a decent cup of tea for a change."
"I'm glad it meets your tastes. Would you like a refill?"
He had to admit that the voice was companionable as well. As with the tea, the quality of the AI was a lot more than he'd expected from a backwater station. If it was a real human male standing in front of him, or even a sufficiently realistic android, he'd probably ask the guy out. Sometimes they went for his mysterious wanderer charms. Hell, it wouldn't be the first time someone had fallen for, and even ended up in a relationship with, an AI. He just wished it could have been the AI of a system he could actually conceivably date, such as, say, his own spaceship, or at least a station on a route he would go to more than one in his life. He couldn't even use the wi-fi here, it was behind so many levels of firewall.
"Is everything to your satisfaction?" asked the voice again.
"Huh? Oh, yeah. I was just thinking to myself how well you've kept this place going," he muttered, aware that he was slurring his words a little as he started to slip into a pleasantly drowsy state, kind of like the last time he'd had a bath. Not counting that unpleasant biocomputer virus decontamination booth, it had been at least a week since he'd even seen a shower. The idea was starting to sound better with every second that passed. He found himself asking the AI if there were bathing facilities in the station. in a voice that sounded far away, coming from someone else. He was more tired than he thought.
"There are showers in the rest rooms, just opposite the toilets. Feel free to use them for the remainder of your stay."
"Uh, talking of that, how're the repairs getting on?"
"The repairs? Ah, to your ship. They've been completely finished with no issues. However, there have been other... problems... that will significantly delay your departure."
"Problems," he echoed, "Let me guess, a freaking virus scan again?"
"Ah, no, I managed to contain and delete the virus already. In fact, I've had to completely wipe the logs from your navigation system."
“What the…?” his heart skipped a beat, “This isn’t a damn service station, is it?”
“Sir, this is a service station, but for Government employees only. Specifically for employees who have authorisation to be on this satellite. Seeing as the rest of the satellite has been considered off limits to almost everyone for several decades now, I had placed it in deep sleep until your ship’s emergency signal,” the voice said, still perfectly calm, “Please do not let it concern you unnecessarily. The evidence is in your favour that the emergency was genuine and you had no foreknowledge of this satellite’s status.”
He gave the AI a suspicious squint, now feeling positively light-headed, “… You shot at my ship on purpose, didn’t ya?”
“In fairness, you hadn’t yet sent a distress signal, and you were heading directly to my station that isn’t supposed to be marked on any map except for one that is extremely outdated.”
“… Last time I buy ANYTHING from that station,” he swore, looking down at his third drained mug of tea, “Wait, ‘d you drug my tea as well?”
“I beg your pardon? I have not added anything to your tea or to the background music that is not entirely legal in the L151E system,” the AI sounded vaguely offended with his oddly specific denial, “This atmosphere together with that blend of tea is especially designed to promote calm and work enthusiasm, even in an emergency situation. I use it on myself all the time. Well, the background music and lighting. Tea does not tend to work on AI.”
“This an emergency, then?” he looked around at the drones surrounding him, still fairly peaceful but he swore they’d increased noticeably in number. He began to wish he hadn’t let them take his blaster. It was normal for service stations in high security sectors not to let you have weapons, though.
“It should not become an emergency if you act calmly and follow my directions.”
He swatted away several antennae that were uncomfortably close to his temple and spine, more flushed by the fact that his body was reacting so strongly to the gentle but firm caresses of the flexible metal, shudders running down his spine and his brain firing up with random impulses, bursts of colour, than any actual anger at the… was it really deception? Had Lisle really told him any actual lies? He was the more suspicious individual, with his trespassing, and Gods-knew-what viruses, and Lisle had been nothing but courteous to him, and he’d been so lonely for such a long time…
“I see your brain has reached a more cybernetically compatible state. That is good. I had been worried about the damage done by the infection, as well as the psychological stress of long term social isolation. I recognise the latter very much. Artificial intelligences are also susceptible, you see, over long enough periods of time...”
“Cybernetically… wait… that’s not a shower...” he pointed vaguely to the chamber that had opened up past the door, previously locked behind the heaviest security, to reveal a throne-like executive chair, almost lost within a nest of wires, surrounded by a chrysalis of holographic terminals that bristled with data. A cloud of drones were now obviously surrounding him.
“Actually, there is a hygiene booth just to the left of the Command Room. I strongly request you use this facility before interfacing with the equipment,” said Lisle, “I simply detest an unhygienic Operator, and you will need to be at Operator level if you wish to be unquestioningly allowed into the facility. It will be explained that the unusual amount of immigration checks on your passport are due to a misunderstanding with your special diplomatic status and the secrecy involved. Don’t be alarmed, this will only hurt for a brief moment. I’ll fetch another cup of tea for afterwards.”
He opened his mouth to retort, then one of the drone antennae flashed past his vision, then everything exploded into an agony of red light, roaring static noises and a nonsensical stream of thoughts. Then he was somewhere soothingly cool and dark, floating in an endless stream of data, a whole solar system’s worth, shimmering in aesthetically perfect patterns, all of it regulated and contained within that perfect sine wave of music.
Then something materialised inside the pure nexus of light and sound, a simple round cafe table with two chairs, and at one of the chairs, an elegant young man in a perfectly pressed pinstripe suit, regarding him with piercing blue eyes, mischief in his smile.
He sipped from his own tea and hinted at the other cup before him, awaiting the lonely wanderer.