Unexpected Visitors
The dove stood motionless on the desk.
Its feathers were immaculate, snowy white, almost glowing beneath the ship's low lantern light. Around its neck hung the brass compass Duncan had been searching for, and resting near its clawed feet lay a very familiar obsidian-bladed knife.
Duncan stared, slack-jawed.
The dove stared back, as if equally baffled.
Which, for a dove, was impressive. Interpreting facial expressions on birds was never easy, but somehow Duncan knew—he could feel the emotion behind those tiny, glassy-red eyes. The bird's left eye turned toward him with quiet scrutiny, while its right eye… wandered aimlessly across the ceiling like it was chasing invisible insects.
"A… dove?" Duncan finally muttered.
He blinked hard, half-expecting the bird to vanish, but it didn't. It remained rooted to the desk, tail feathers neatly folded, head tilted just slightly—mockingly, almost.
A dozen questions collided in his brain at once. Why a dove? Why now? Why was his missing compass hanging from its neck like a ridiculous trinket? And the knife—how had that gotten here?
He could barely string the thoughts together. In the increasingly bizarre circus that was the Vanished, was it still possiblefor something normal to happen?
While Duncan stood dumbfounded, the dove gave a sharp little hop and marched across the desk. It approached him, craning its neck, puffing out its chest, and then—
"Coo."
A deep, guttural coo that echoed a bit too loudly for such a tiny creature.
Duncan narrowed his eyes, glancing down at his captain's coat.
"I mean, I suppose a bird companion is kind of standard for sea captains," he muttered to himself. "But it's usually a parrot. A dove is just… confusing."
The bird, as if offended by the comment, nodded solemnly.
And then it spoke.
In a voice that was distinctly female, oddly monotone, and slightly mechanical:"Teleportation complete."
Duncan choked on his own breath.
He stared at the bird in absolute silence for a full three seconds, the way one might stare at a talking ham sandwich. He recalled the first time he met the talking goat head in the navigation room—and the shock that had accompanied it.
But that had been day one. This was now. He'd lived aboard the Vanished long enough to grow jaded.
So he only hesitated for a moment before green fire flickered to life in his right palm.
The spiritual flame danced over his fingers as he met the dove's gaze. His voice lowered, calm and deliberate.
"Where did you come from?"
The dove cocked its head.
Then it replied, staring with one eye at Duncan while the other wandered lazily:"Address invalid. Please check coordinates or contact your system administrator."
Duncan's entire body went still.
The words. The phrasing. The vocabulary.
They didn't belong to this world.
They weren't like the cryptic mutterings of cultists, the flamboyant declarations of goat-headed figures, or even Alice's overly polite speech. These were the kind of phrases only someone from his world—the world of Miles Walker, once an engineer in a sprawling, wired city—would understand.
And the bird just kept strolling around the desk like it owned the place.
It nudged the obsidian blade toward him with its claw and, in that same weird, chipper tone, announced:"Take up this solar battle axe and embrace the glory of combat!"
Duncan's chair scraped loudly across the wooden floor as he shot to his feet.
The sound echoed across the room, sharp and violent.
The dove simply blinked.
This wasn't right. This creature—it didn't belong. Not here. Not in this world.
Duncan could feel it in his bones. The vocabulary, the tone, the absurd references—it was all wrong, and it pointed to only one possible source: him.
Or more precisely, the person he had once been—Miles Walker, the man from Earth.
Before he could act, a voice crackled inside his head."Captain? Are you all right in there?" the goat asked, suspicious and concerned.
Duncan didn't move. His voice stayed cool.
"I'm fine."
"Alice is waiting outside—should I—"
"You handle it."
"…Understood, Captain."
Duncan exhaled, glancing toward the navigation room door. He could hear the faint remnants of Alice's attempts to flee, only to be re-cornered by the goat's relentless conversation.
She was suffering.
But this... this was more important.
He turned back to the desk—only now, he noticed something he'd missed before.
A thread.
From the green flame flickering in his palm, an impossibly thin strand of fire extended outward—like a spider's silk. It shimmered in the air, barely visible, before fading into the empty space between them.
And from the dove's body, tucked beneath its pristine wings, another faint wisp of green flame extended outward—disappearing at the same point in space.
Duncan's eyes narrowed.
He raised his hand and snapped his fingers.
The dove vanished from the desk.
Reappeared on his shoulder.
It pecked playfully at his hair and chirped, "Coo!"
He snapped again.
It returned to the desk.
The compass glittered on its chest, reflecting the green firelight like a polished lens.
"…You're linked to this thing," he said quietly, eyeing the brass compass. "A projection? A vessel? Or…"
He reached out.
His fingers passed through the compass like mist. He felt only the soft fluff of feathers beneath it.
An illusion.
The dove bobbed its head, then squawked in a sing-song voice:"It's Thursday, and you know what that means—discount nuggets! Send me fifty credits and let's party!"
Duncan twitched.
Twice.
He tried again. Same result. The compass wasn't real. Not here. Not now.
Which left one unsettling conclusion.
"…You are the compass now?"
He sat down slowly, carefully, eyes locked on the bird. His thoughts spiraled. The projection. The spiritual displacement. The sudden disappearance of the compass—its reappearance on this inexplicable creature…
It all began with that compass. The tool that sent his soul across dimensions. The thing that connected him to places he had no right being.
This bird was part of that.
This dove, with its ridiculous voice and bizarre references, was the physical result of pushing the compass too far.
Not just a consequence—perhaps a transformation.
He needed to call it something.
Something appropriate. Something simple.
Duncan drummed his fingers on the desk and spoke quietly: "I think you need a name."
The dove tilted its head, both eyes finally aligning, staring directly at him.
"Name?" it echoed in that flat mechanical voice. "Name confirmed: A.I."
Duncan blinked. "Aye?"
"No. A.I. Letters. Artificial—"
"I know what it means."
He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing deeply. "Fine. A.I. it is. God help me."
The dove cooed once more, proud and puffed up.
And in that small, dimly lit captain's quarters—atop a ghost ship sailing through haunted seas—the most unholy alliance in two worlds had just been forged:
A ghost captain and his mechanical dove.