Chapter 5

[May 22, 20XX]

Perhaps because I had previously devoted most of my energy to maintaining my own safety, by the time I noticed again, the discomfort caused by the fusion had diminished to a tolerable level. Now, I only needed to accumulate more energy to activate the Biocomputer’s reorganization program.

My relationship with my shelter provider was relatively pleasant—if one ignored the communication barriers caused by our language differences.

Today, the shelter provider insisted on naming me.

I politely informed him of my real name once more: “Qikeliyah Frandostali.”

“Hmm?” The shelter provider raised his eyebrows. “Chocolate?”

“Qikeliyah,” I corrected his pronunciation.

“Chocolate!” He burst into laughter—I had already learned to recognize this expression that required the use of most facial muscles—”I’m fluent in Chinese, buddy! From now on, I’ll call you Chocolate!”

I didn’t understand why he wore this expression of joy. In my opinion, he shouldn’t have been so pleased with his poor pronunciation. However, given the significant language differences, managing to approximate my name to this extent was commendable enough that I didn’t begrudge him some praise.

[May 23, 20XX]

The shelter provider brought back a dark-brown, bittersweet block-shaped food.

“Chocolate,” he said, pointing at it with a strange smile.

—I decided to retract yesterday’s praise for him.

[May 24, 20XX]

Some of the mimetic instincts were deeply embarrassing.

This species called “cat” had a habit of using licking as a method of bodily hygiene—I wasn’t worried about ingesting shed fur from metabolic processes or parasites native to this planet, but I was very bothered by the fact that the mimetic species would nonchalantly clean itself with its tongue right after using its forelimbs to bury its waste.

I tried to overcome this biological instinct, but with little success.

Mimetic transformation was an emergency measure designed to ensure the survival of Starfarers in the event of unexpected incidents on alien planets. The Biocomputer would fully simulate the species with the highest survival probability within the scanning radius and forcibly mimic all its behaviors to prevent the transformed individual from exposing themselves due to cultural differences.

Survival came first—but the developers of the mimetic application clearly hadn’t considered scenarios involving cleaning [beep—] with one’s own tongue.

I eagerly awaited the day the Biocomputer would reorganize: even if it only took shape internally, I could change the mimetic target and undergo a second transformation.

I increased my food intake, which made my shelter provider somewhat uneasy.

“Chocolate’s been eating a lot lately,” he was talking to Brother Zhao again (I scoffed at the name he had forced upon me). “Could it be indigestion?… Oh, right, I forgot to ask you last time—how old do you think Chocolate is?… Do you think it’s normal for a three-month-old cat to finish an entire bag of cat food in ten days?… No, it seems energetic enough… Yeah, it’s grown a bit… Okay, I’ll take it for a checkup this weekend.”

After the call ended, the shelter provider lay on the sofa and stared at me.

I tried to ignore his gaze but accidentally started licking my forelimbs again.

—Damn biological instincts!

[May 25, 20XX]

I found a way to deal with the mimetic instincts.

While the shelter provider was out, I thoroughly investigated the entire nest and discovered water outlets in two rooms called the “kitchen” and “bathroom.”

The water-dispensing device was simple—just lifting the switch would release a flow of water.

I could use clean water for hygiene now.

[May 26, 20XX]

Today, the kitchen and bathroom doors were both closed.

The shelter provider was clearly displeased with my unauthorized use of the water-dispensing device (“If you’re smart enough to turn the faucet on, then be smart enough to turn it off! When the property management called me, I thought something serious had happened—turns out it was just you, you little troublemaker!”).

The drainage systems on this planet were far too primitive.

[May 27, 20XX]

The shelter provider gave me a bath.

Although he insisted it was for hygiene, I suspected he was still holding a grudge over my unauthorized water usage.

I hated that pungent chemical liquid—it was extremely harmful to the mimetic species’ sensitive sense of smell.

[May 28, 20XX]

Another trip to the hospital.

After being turned over and examined several times, Brother Zhao concluded that I was “healthy.”

The mimetic disguise was flawless: the shelter provider’s concerns about excessive eating were masked by the simulated biological growth.

After alleviating the shelter provider’s worries, we didn’t linger at the hospital—but as we were leaving, a small incident occurred.

My shelter provider and I encountered an unfamiliar male member of the dominant species at the hospital entrance. The other seemed to recognize my shelter provider.

“Ah-Ning,” the male said hesitantly, “you…”

My shelter provider didn’t respond and simply walked past him, holding me.

Back in our nest—”our” nest, I realized I was beginning to develop a sense of belonging here—I sensed that the shelter provider was in low spirits.

It was hard to explain why I felt this way: I still couldn’t fully interpret his expressions and body language, and I was still learning the dominant species’ language—but I knew his mood was poor.

If I could pinpoint the source of this feeling, perhaps I could better understand this species.