“Captain, we’re receiving transmission” he jumps from his seat in surprise.

“What? No, we can’t be. It’s been months”

“See for yourself. It’s uploading right now. Narrative in an attempt to disguise painfully bad blogging abilities”

“I thought she was lost in those The Illuminae Files books, by Amie Kaufman and Jay Kristoff. She was sucked in so far, I thought she’d never leave”

“That explains everything” the little guy can barely hold still in his excitement. “Sir, she must have finished it. She’s back. The host is back. We might finally get out of here”

I have to shut up for a moment to think about that one. I gave up on the idea of leaving six weeks ago when the engines went out. Could there really be something out there? What happens when the host starts uploading all over again?

“Sir, do you remember when she was having all those daydreams about doing things a little differently? I thought she was going to give up on us”

“She could never give up on us. We’re a part of her make up. A deeply ingrained mechanism that controls all thought patterns, sometimes she likes to shut us off for a while…” I don’t add that I was certain it may have been forever. I don’t say that after all the negativity, all the other hosts telling her she couldn’t, I was sure she was giving up. She’d kept those guys on over in imagination, but us here in the control room feeding her ambition and the drive to share things with her fellow hosts, particularly in the online world, I was sure we were gone’ers.

“What do we do now?” he asks, looking at me with wide eyes.

I look between him and the words uploading in front of me, truths hidden in fiction. The things she’s wanted to say for so long clear as day, to those of us who know her well, behind all those words waiting desperately for their turn to be heard. “Fuel up the ambition. Then we sit back and enjoy the ride, comrade”

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