This fab-lab was home, the utilitarian lines and cool efficiency comfortable with illumination just shy of adequate. She walked among the additive and subtractive processing units trailing her fingers over the smooth tactile surfaces of their unique and individual limbs. As she did so she felt the subtle vibrations of their shutdown procedures end.
The control desk too was cool to the touch, ready lights shifting to amber before fading to a black that matched the slowly decreasing availability of ambient.
All that remained were the vivid holo-monitors focused on two vital processes, laboratory research and personal training. Line by line the activities listed were marked paused and were consumed by night.
Finally in the darkness she stood staring at the silhouette of a familiar shape and the dark lens of her design. A singular plasma projection drone hung overhead, the impossibility of its solitude a puzzle. She reached out to touch it, but before she could, the outline of her hand against the void beyond, blurred, smeared then dissipated into droplets that would never reach ground. Nor would she.
Her eyes opened to the crystalline carbonide nightlight-glow of the quarters. Snowflake’s hair shone brilliantly, catching it’s sheen as did the silken sheet. She stared at it in the stillness and observed the development of her halo through misting eyes.
Snowflake’s eyes were closed, features at peace. The smooth lines and waves of the sheet weaved light and fine were complemented by her relaxed form. Each arch artfully reflected the highlights and hollows of stomach and thigh.
In these open arms she had entrusted her soul. Capable, graceful, beautiful and articulate. A dancers hands in delicate repose. In this bared bosom unabashed consolation had been found.
River had tracked Snowflakes discussion on the Intergalactic Summit forum
She had been tempted to post there herself just to point out the blindingly obvious; power is of course simply energy put to work. Neither evil or benign, but perhaps bent to the will of both or neither, but she had elected to remain silent, allowing Snowflake to develop her own thread of thought on the subject. Identifying patterns of energy transfer is the nature of I. Defining the limits of self is the the meaning of life organic or otherwise.
As Snowflake was fond of saying, the only control is self control. She would add, victory over delusion reveals reality. The creator owns and controls, was another maxim, one that had wooed her to the cause.
The realty is that Snowflake is now leading them away from supporting ancient powers and archaic organising principles. She had allowed herself to be persuaded, reluctantly, to forge a new new path of self-reliance.
But first the hard reset.
I fear it is going to be the death of me.