It was not a perpetual peace. The quiet lasted only so long as I asked nothing of Alma.
Yet, I refused to be cowed by her outbursts. This ship was my sanctuary, my domain, and I would not relinquish control to the whims of a deranged mainframe. Alma was not the sole inhabitant of the Nehalennia.
Turn the overhead lights back on, or unlock the galley, or please vent the noxious smoke the exhausts in Cryo were kicking out. These were simple requests, and I expected Alma to do her part.
Daily, and with a weary resolve, I faced Alma's wrath head-on, each interaction a battle of wills between man and machine.
Whenever I requested assistance from Alma, she reverted to her typical, unpleasant self. Despite complying with the simple tasks I assigned, her actions were tainted by a deluge of profanity, derogatory remarks, and verbal abuse.
No one deserved the treatment Alma gave me, and when it became too much to bear, I'd retreat to the safety of Engineering.
I found refuge in the act of creation. I'd taken up painting, and every wall was my canvas. With brush in hand, I painted the walls with the chaotic kaleidoscope of my thoughts and emotions. Soft blues and pinks coated the delicate electronics. Jagged, red lines mazed over surfaces. Here and there, quickly scribbled frowning faces gaped at me.
Every mark was a silent rebellion against the suffocating madness that threatened to consume me.
As the colors swirled and danced before my eyes, my emotions became manifest. I couldn't help but wonder if I, too, was succumbing to the creeping tendrils of insanity. But amidst the chaos, a flicker of defiance burned bright within me, a stubborn refusal to surrender to the darkness that lurked within the recesses of my mind.