He’s taken independent action. He’s lied, even if it was for Zylar’s benefit.

Yet the uncertainty as the ship breaks the atmosphere, powering out into the silent stars troubles him. Alone, as he’d never been, with no one to share his doubt. Part of him strains against this decision, as he wasn’t created to chart his own course; service lies at the heart of his existence. What am I without a purpose? Who am I?

There are no answers to those questions, just endless stillness.

Because of Zylar’s suggestion, he sets the nav system for Gravas Station without knowing what he’s meant to do there. He’s piloted the ship before, but never has it belonged to him, like it’s his skin and bone, gliding through the stars. At some point, he begins to enjoy the freedom, because he could go anywhere, do anything. There’s nobody to give him orders anymore or set tasks for him to accomplish. En route, he collects data because he can, chasing streams for no other reason than curiosity. Even here deep in space, there are access points.

The stars glow with an energy that he can sense if not see, and he processes the sounds they make, bursts and rumbles monitored by the ship he inhabits. Each sounds a little different, but briefly, he wishes he could appreciate their colors as a person would. No, that’s a futile wish. He’s a sentient being, and that must be enough.

Time passes; distance is traversed.

Soon he’s docking at Gravas Station, wondering why he’s here. Wondering what Zylar meant for him to find. Perhaps it was a random suggestion, nothing premeditated.

The ship requires fuel. Even if he finds nothing of value on station, he cannot travel onward without acquiring it. Stealing is morally incorrect, but he’s untroubled by the concept of ownership. One could also argue that it’s morally incorrect to hoard resources that others require.

He recalls Zylar’s warning. He must pretend that there’s a reclusive organic on board, directing his activities. His safety and freedom depend upon maintaining this fiction.

Helix glides from the ship’s database into the mech unit that will permit him some limited physical exploration. The interface feels strange and limiting; moving about through meat space is awkward. At first, he bumps into walls trying to leave the ship, unaccustomed to such navigation.

The mech body is clumsy but fuel-efficient. He loses track of time exploring the station with no need to sleep or eat. He observes. He learns.

Each day, the same child greets him. Her name is See-ra, and soon she follows him as if they’ve somehow become…friends? Is that the proper word? She chatters brightly, never caring if he answers. Sometimes he does, because her persistence is remarkable.