
It had been three days since you had awoken. The ship was still quiet, except for the low hums of enigmatic machines with no apparent purpose. You awake, like usual, to dim lighting and poor rations. Perhaps being on the ship had grown monotonous — it was, perhaps, amazing how little anything seemed to happen in space, a final frontier of malaise.
That monotony is crushed by a voice echoing through the narrow hallways.
Reformatting . . .
Reformatting . . .
Reformatting complete. The Pygmalion is online. Welcome, travelers. Please assemble in the meeting room. Your presence is mandatory.Silence falls once again. A minute or so passes, and the lights around the ship finally brighten, the walls looking more alive and more unfamiliar — as if you must relearn the ship's interior once again. The robots on deck begin to make rounds, nudging and pushing at the ship's passengers to make their way to the meeting room. You hear the doors behind you lock. It seems there is only one path to take.
ENTER COMMAND_
no subject
Yeah, who even does that? I mean— Hell, that's like workplace hazing. We have a policy against that.
[ In Hyperion, "hazing" is basically being nice when it's not expected and making someone so paranoid about getting stabbed in the back that they stab someone in the back. Literally. Or usually, it ends up with an entire unit getting brutally murdered, hence the policy. Do you know how hard it is to replace an entire unit after a workplace murderous rampage? HR is a nightmare. ]
But naaah, that's why I've kept him around. He's a scary dude without even meaning to be? Like he's about as scary as your buddy Abs McGee.