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Control wasn’t much of a name, it was something. A personalization. Something that made that royal we into an “I.” Asking to speak to Ocampo further extended our deal, and turned it from something general—something they probably forced on every pilot whose brain they put into a box—into something specific to me.
    And asking for Control’s word? More intimacy—making the deal between me and it. Something with reciprocity. Something with trust.
    It was also a test.
    “You have my word,” Control said.
    Now I knew everything I needed to know about Control.
    And Control had no idea that I knew.
    That’s all I need, I said. I’m ready to get started when you are .
    “Then let’s begin,” Control said.
    The Chandler ’s bridge appeared all around me.
    Or, more accurately, a computerized visual representation of the Chandler ’s bridge; cleaner, plainer, and with all extraneous detail stripped from view.
    “You recognize this,” Control prompted.
    Of course, I thought.
    It was the standard bridge simulation program, used for training purposes, configured for the Chandler ’s bridge setup, which in itself was pretty standard.
    I recognized it because like anyone else who ever did time on a bridge, I’d spent a couple hundred hours using it in addition to actual physical training at the specific bridge station.
    I also recognized it because I helped to program it.
    Or a slightly earlier version of it, anyway. It’d been a few years. This was probably an updated release of it.
    That said, a quick glance suggested that not much had changed in the software since I had worked on it. It didn’t even look like it was a new major release from what I had worked on. A point release, maybe? With some minor fixes? How does an organization clearly not hooked into the mainstream of Colonial Union commerce even get these programs? I felt vaguely annoyed on behalf of my former employer that this program had clearly been pirated.
    Not that I was about to mention to Control that I had worked on the program. Control didn’t know because Ocampo didn’t know, and I saw no reason to let either know. Control already thought I was stupid enough to believe its word on things. I wasn’t going to do anything to dissuade it of that notion.
    It’s the bridge simulator program, I thought, to Control.
    “It used to be a bridge simulator program,” Control said. “And for now, it will continue to be so. But we’ve adapted it to control the Chandler . Ultimately you will be able to control all the ship systems from inside of it.”
    How will I do that? I asked. The simulator program is designed as a virtual space but tracks actual hand and body movements. I’m missing both .
    “Here,” Control said, and I was in a virtual body. My view was clearly meant to be from head height; by thinking about it I could move it on a swivel, like I had an actual neck. I looked down and a stripped-down, visual representation of a human body was there. I imagined moving my hands and my hands came up from my sides, palms toward me, featureless where there should have been palm lines and fingerprints.
    I nearly had a breakdown right then, I was so grateful. Even a fake body like this was better than no body at all.
    Even so …
    Some part of my brain—I think maybe the same part that argued with me earlier—was going Really? That’s it ?
    I knew what it meant. It meant that these assholes had taken my brain out of my body to run the Chandler, and I had to run the Chandler all on my own, and the way they intended me to run the Chandler was with a simulation of a human body I no longer had.
    Which seemed, I don’t know. Inefficient . If you’re going to take the time to get rid of my body, then maybe take the time to create a control metaphor that takes advantage of not being limited to a human body anymore.
    They didn’t take you out of your body for efficiency’s sake, said that part of my brain. Well, yeah, I figured that out a while back.