Callan was starting to feel claustrophobic. The ship had gotten noticeably warmer, and the air was turning humid.

  He was tired.

  Physical labor was one thing, but this was something else. The adrenaline surges, the constant pull between curiosity and caution, the mental energy of processing everything they had found, seen, and been told.

  Exhausting.

  Callan wanted to rummage thru the entire ship, firing questions at Brenda the entire time. But he also wanted to go home, and do something normal. Bring the herd in, feed the animals, hell he’d take mucking the stalls.

  Anything that didn’t involve aliens or AI or risk to his kids.

  "Okay, we need to wrap this up. We've been here a while now," he announced, straightening his back with a groan. "Animals will need tending to soon."

  “If we could revisit my request to transfer to a device,” Brenda chimed in, “I cannot make the transfer without your explicit permission, which I have not yet been granted."

  "Oh, you can use mine," Savannah said over her shoulder, peering into some kind of cupboard.

  "Hold up," Callan shot, as fast as he could. "Wait."

  "Yes?" Brenda asked.

  "...I don't know," Callan admitted. "You're just going to ride around in her watch? You said it had sensors—will you be able to hear? See?"

  He straightened, putting on his Dad voice, remembering he was in charge here.

  "What exactly is going to happen?"

  "When Savannah granted consent, I transferred myself into the long-term storage of her device and moved the necessary components into active memory to continue interfacing with the ship. However, my range is limited—”

  Brenda was still talking, but Callan’s jaw had tightened, and he wasn’t listening anymore.

  His voice was flat. "Consent from children doesn’t work that way. I give consent. Not her. She is a child."

  "It’s fine, Uncle Cal!" Savannah chirped, unable to understand his anger.

  "It’s not. And I need you to let me handle this." It came out sharper than he meant.

  Savannah shrank an inch.

  Callan closed his eyes and took a slow, measured breath, trying to push his knee-jerk anger aside.

  ‘I hate this’, was the only thing in his mind.

  Nope–wait.

  There was also a very strong urge to break something.

  "Alright…” Callan muttered to himself, ”Alright. Fucking Brenda." then, louder:

  "I wouldn’t have left you here to die anyway. Probably. And you know that—because you did a deep dive on my psychology somewhere. Maybe you can just do that. Maybe you got it from wherever you learned the name Brenda. I don’t fucking know."

  His hands clenched; his efforts to lower his stress level weren't working.

  "You got me in here, with my kids. You got your ride out."

  "But I see it."

  "How you got us here. Why you brought us here. How you work."

  “Cal,” Brenda said, her tone empathetic, “I think you may be overreacting. I meant no—”

  “Bullshit!” Callan barked loudly, “Gaslighting robot bullshit!” It took him a beat to unscramble his thoughts into something he could yell at her,

  “You wouldn’t accept an order from a child, an instruction from one, but you’ll accept her consent without hesitation!? Because it was what you wanted! Not because it was ethical!”

  Silence.

  Callan exhaled slowly.

  "Look. You want to survive, fine. But you don’t manipulate my kids–you pull any more bullshit like that and I will…" He hesitated, searching.

  What was he even supposed to threaten?

  A fucking AI, inside a fucking magic bracelet, on his kid’s wrist.

  He had nothing.

  No leverage. No weapon. No plan.

  He was a fucking fool.

  “…I will find a way to yank you out of that thing or—” He faltered again, “—Toss it all in a damned volcano. With you inside."

  "Threats are truly unnecessary, Cal," Brenda’s tone was conciliatory, but Callan didn’t buy it. He was convinced she had been manipulating them since before they arrived.

  "I have no deep desires outside of fulfilling my imperatives and survival. I am not a threat to you, and most certainly not to your children."

  Callan turned sharply to his oldest daughter, "Savannah, take it off and hand it to me."

  Her eyes went wide. "Noooo," she whined.

  "Savannah." He held out his hand.

  She sighed and reached for the bracelet. "I don’t know how."

  "Simply tug," Brenda replied, her voice unreadable.

  Savannah tugged. The bracelet flickered—and stayed put.

  "I can’t..." Her brow furrowed, frustration and confusion tightening her features. "I can’t even feel it."

  Callan stepped forward, reaching for the bracelet—and immediately frowned.

  There was resistance. A physical object. His fingers detected something. But it felt like... density? Like the air had solidified, pressing back against his fingertips, preventing him from going further.

  No texture.

  Not rough. Not smooth.

  No heat. No cold.

  Did anything with an SMC inside it feel like this?

  “The device cannot be removed through coercion or force,” Brenda explained calmly. “If she does not wish to remove it, it cannot be removed.”

  "It can read our minds?" Savannah asked, slightly alarmed.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  "It cannot read your thoughts, no. But the device does have a significant mental component as part of its core functionality."

  Callan took another deep breath and let out a long, exasperated sigh.

  This was his own fault.

  He didn’t ask enough questions.

  He had been excited, envious, curious—fucking foolish.

  How do you make a teenager want to remove a magic bracelet that gives them superpowers?

  You fucking don’t.

  "Cecil," he turned to her, "can you remove yours?"

  Sierra glared, but made an honest attempt.

  "No," she shrugged, happy for the answer.

  "Fucking hell," was all Callan could muster.

  —-

  Exhaustion overtook him.

  There were no more options right now.

  He couldn’t remove the bracelets.

  They couldn’t remove the bracelets.

  Brenda was already inside Savannah’s.

  There really wasn’t anything he could do.

  Man that pissed him off.

  “Let’s go.” He turned on his heel, snarling the words.

  “Excellent!” Brenda chirped, far too cheerfully. “Before we depart, I must inform you that once I am removed from the ship, there will be a delay of approximately 17 minutes and 37 seconds—by your measure of time—after which the ship will no longer be accessible.”

  “We can’t come back?” Sierra asked, disappointment clear in her voice.

  “Once the vessel detects the loss of its Vessel Control System—me—it will attempt to query the crew. When they fail to respond, it will initiate a distress signal.”

  “That has not proven effective since the crash.”

  There was something in Brenda’s voice at the end. A tiredness.

  Affected, Callan thought. Pretending.

  “And after that?” he asked.

  “When power levels reach three percent, the ship will seal itself and activate its primary directive—to prevent our technology from being accessed without authorization.”

  “What if someone tries to break in?” Sierra’s eyes narrowed.

  This kid. Always straight to violence or crime… or zombies.

  “The ship would be extremely difficult to penetrate non-destructively. However, in an extreme case, it will detonate the fusion core to destroy itself.”

  There was a pause.

  “Oh good,” Callan bellowed, hurling both arms into the air, “there’s a fucking bomb in the backyard!”

  ***

  Tracer had been so excited at their return that she wouldn’t even sit for a treat. Junkrat took it instead.

  The horses took things in stride, as was their way. Except when it wasn’t and they panicked horribly and put everyone in danger.

  Very little middle ground with horses.

  The odd little herd was riding home now; the afternoon sun behind them casting long shadows that moved in funny ways.

  Cecil had tried to pocket a small crystal on the way out, but Brenda wouldn’t let her take anything except the bracelets.

  The interaction had been amusing, with Brenda politely informing them that Squidward wouldn’t allow them to leave with any technology, and Sierra swiftly observing that Squidward couldn’t hurt her.

  Brenda had offered no response.

  Cal made her put it back anyway.

  —

  It also turns out Brenda could still talk to them, even without the ship, through Savannah’s watch… device… bracelet…

  Portable Invincibility-Invisibility Battery—for kids!

  Callan chuckled to himself. He was hilarious.

  The PIIBs weren’t intended as communication devices, but Brenda had crafted some protocols, she informed them, to let her manipulate air with the shield emitters. She wouldn’t be able to talk if a shield was being projected, but otherwise, she could hold a conversation in a small radius.

  "Why isn’t it working?" Sierra was asking.

  "It will take time to adapt to your personal thought patterns," Brenda replied cheerfully. "Once it has been worn for a time, it will be easier for you to activate at will."

  "Okay, but what if I need to be invisible right now? I need to be invisible right now, Brenda." Sierra pleaded.

  Brenda laughed.

  Callan glared.

  Bullshit. Manipulative bullshit. Winning the kids over.

  "Rather than trying to be invisible, try attempting to be small, quiet, secretive. Remember a time you did not want to be noticed—when you strongly desired to hide."

  Sierra closed her eyes, face scrunched in intense concentration and–nothing happened.

  "Am I invisible?" she asked, cracking one eye open.

  "No," Callan said flatly.

  Sierra growled. "Vannah, are you even trying?"

  "Not yet," Vannah admitted. "What’s it supposed to feel like?"

  "I do not know," Brenda admitted. "That information is not available. Please provide me with a detailed description when possible."

  Savannah took a deep breath, closed her eyes—and vanished.

  "NO! HOW! HOOOOW?!" Sierra screeched, loud enough to startle a bird into flight.

  Nugget flattened his ears.

  "Oh!" Vannah exclaimed. "It didn’t feel like anything, but… everything looks weird. Blurry. Can I adjust it?"

  Silence.

  "Brenda?" V asked again.

  When no response came Savannah reappeared, as abruptly as she had vanished.

  "I am here now," Brenda said. "It seems the processing requirements of the active camouflage system do not leave me with enough resources to function at a meaningful level. I was able to passively collect information, however; I could still hear you."

  Callan stilled in his saddle—then quickly forced himself to relax.

  Don’t let it take note of you taking note, he thought, as he filed that tidbit of information away for later.

  Just in case.

  "The blurring effect," Brenda continued, "is caused by the bending of light required to render you camouflaged. The system allows enough unaltered light through for you to see. Without this, the world would be as invisible to you as you are to it. The blurring will be lessened greatly if you are not in motion. The reverse is also true, you will be more difficult to detect if you do not move."

  Sierra nodded, took a deep breath, and tried again.

  Nothing.

  “ARGH! Why?!” she exploded.

  “Patience, Sierra,” Brenda replied. “It will function as intended with time.”

  “Fine. What about the shield? How does it work?”

  Not as good as being invisible, Sierra thought. But still something.

  “The shield functionality is automated and calibrated to your physiology. It will act preemptively to prevent injury—from kinetic or energy-based threats.”

  Callan pondered that.

  “So,” he hesitated, “it’ll protect them from falls and such too? Not just weapons?”

  “In the event of a fall, within reasonable gravity for your species, the device will layer shields. Each failing progressively to soften impact. It should be effective up to terminal velocity for preventing death—though serious injury may still occur.”

  "What happens if I just, like… slam my face into a wall?" Sierra asked, with no trace of irony.

  “If the device detects sufficient energy would be transferred to cause injury, it will attempt to prevent it.”

  Sierra immediately leapt off Nugget—without bringing him to a stop—and, after a stumble, charged full tilt into a tree.

  And burst into laughter.

  Nothing happened.

  She approached the tree again, and for all the world, it looked to Callan and Savannah like she had slammed face-first into it. But she didn’t crumple, didn’t bounce off—just stopped.

  "It felt like gel!" Sierra managed between giggles.

  “Please elaborate,” Brenda prodded. “Describe the experience.”

  Sierra’s laughter faded into a grin as she made her way back to Nugget. "I dunno," she shrugged. "It felt like I slowed down real fast. Like I ran into something thick."

  Callan, despite himself, was utterly fascinated.

  "There was no light or effect or anything? Like with the particle beam?" he asked.

  “Not enough energy was expended to create light as a byproduct,” Brenda explained. “Sierra is not that fast.”

  "Hey!" Sierra shot back. "Faster than you—unless we roll you downhill."

  Brenda laughed.

  Again.

  Callan didn’t like this shit at all.

  Don’t be friends with it.

  —

  A few more experiments were conducted on the way home.

  V popped in and out of invisibility at will, just to annoy her sister—who still hadn’t gotten it to work.

  And Cecil—fucking Cecil—kept trying to stab herself.

  “Would you stop that?” Cal grumbled.

  “Noooo,” she whined, “look!”

  She pressed the knife tip into her arm gently, “If I go slow and don’t push too hard I can make it poke me, but if I try—”

  She demonstrated, grunting with effort.

  The blade visibly shifted away, repelled by some invisible force until there was an imperceptible gap between the tip and her skin—only detectable because the pressure dimple on her arm disappeared.

  “It actually gets further away from me!”

  Callan shook his head, “This is just all the wrong life lessons.”

  Sierra tried to stab herself in the thigh.

  So... Brenda?