by Ann Aguirre
He had given up on trying to move, and that didn’t bode well. To succeed in his new form, he had to try. His former mechanical build had been too damaged for her to possess any sense of how he had interacted with the world prior to the crash, and he’d clearly never inhabited flesh. Therefore, their cumulative knowledge hovered around zero.
Qalu wasn’t the sort to give up easily, which explained ten cycles of devotion to work that had yet to bloom fully. The rest of her clan had resigned themselves to her “tinkering,” and they mostly ignored her efforts or expressed amusement at her infinite perseverance. “Anyone else would have quit by now” summed up their sentiment, and she relished how startled they would be when they realized she had succeeded at last.
I can’t take credit right away. Not until Helix is an unqualified success. I must teach him to be Tiralan.
That necessity firmly in mind, she grasped his forelimb and lifted it, trying to demonstrate his range of motion. Instantly, he recoiled, wrenching away with an instinctive horror that stilled her. She drew away with slow, careful motions.
“Did I hurt you?”
“No, but I felt it. I have never felt anything. Intellectually, yes. Emotionally, sometimes, but physically? Never.”
“Then you have sensitivity to tactile stimuli. I’ll take care in the future, and I will never touch you again without explicit permission. Is that satisfactory?”
“Yes. I think I might be able to tolerate it with some preparation, but it’s so strange. Your skin and my…skin? Touching. And I could feel…” Helix trailed off, seeming unable to describe his perceptions accurately.
They could work on that. Qalu already anticipated the unrivaled joy of teaching him everything about the corporeal world. She tried to imagine what it would be like to transition from an ephemeral life, one of data and energy, to a more tangible existence, and she failed utterly.
“We’ll work within the boundaries you set. If you require my assistance going forward, I can don protective gear to eliminate the more intimate contact.”
“That would be preferable,” Helix said at once.
Qalu was already wearing a traditional swator for warmth as much as anything, as the research facility could get chilly, particularly in the evening cycle, and the suns were already setting. Tomorrow, the light would be a long time coming, as one binary star eclipsed the other every ten intervals, resulting in a short, gloomy sunspan. But she could add coverings elsewhere, and she pulled them over her limbs to prove her good intentions.
“May I?” she asked.
“If you must.”
“That’s not permission.”
Helix emitted a low sound she had never heard from a Tiralan before, and it sent a chill through her with its hostility. “Proceed.” Carefully, she touched him with the material between them, and he regarded the point of contact with an unreadable expression.
“Is that better?”
“I do not mind.”
Reassured, she demonstrated how his body could move, showing him the motion herself, then manipulating his limbs for a more concrete example. In time, he replicated simple gestures, though using delicate or fine implements proved impossible. Finally, he snapped, “Enough.”
While she might have argued, there was no opportunity. A clatter arose outside, proving that her hypothesis about “no interruptions” had been incorrect. Panic fluttered through her. I’m not ready. I didn’t tell him my plan.
“Qalu!” a cheerful voice called.
Oh no. It’s my foremother. Qalu had multiple maternal units, but none of them showed as much interest in her personal affairs as this one.
“Where are you? Fiddling with your gadgets again? I’ve arranged four potential matches. You’ll meet them in good grace or disappoint me severely.”
No time.
Quickly, she said in a low tone, “No matter what I say now, do not contradict me. Do you understand? It is vital you cooperate.”
“Understood,” said Helix, though it was apparent from his expression that he had no idea what she meant.
She turned, widening her eyes to offer a friendly welcome, and she tilted her head forward so her head tendrils fluttered forth in a respectful manner. If she were truly as recalcitrant as her foremother suggested, she would not offer either of these greetings.
Inatol brushed past the niceties, hurrying into the room to display the matches she had selected. Qalu restrained a long-suffering sound. Presenting Helix as a suitor was the only explanation that her foremother might accept with regard to an unknown person in Qalu’s residence. Otherwise, she would insist on sending Helix to clan housing, where he would certainly give away his true nature.
“As you can see, I have already found my own mate,” she said, indicating Helix with a respectful twitch of a forelimb. “We have been corresponding on the galactic matching service, and he has just arrived for us to continue our courtship more directly.”
“My auditory inputs are malfunctioning,” Helix said, a trill in his voice that communicated panic. “As I cannot possibly have processed that correctly.”
Qalu increased her volume, speaking over him. “See? Everything is as it should be; he’s perfectly handsome, and it’s very late. You should return to your own residence before the dark grows even colder.”
“Who are you trying to fool?” Inatol snapped. “There are no Tiralan colonies, so it’s impossible that you—”
“You’re forgetting the ancient diaspora,” Qalu cut in, frost practically forming on her words. “The Titan V outpost exists. And you will offend Helix with your intolerance.”
She held her breath, hoping this gambit would solve two problems in one stroke.
Inatol paused as if she might argue, but finally said, “I have no wish to offend. Since it’s rude for me to linger uninvited while you are hosting a guest, I’ll notify you beforehand and return at a more convenient time.” That was a straightforward statement indicating this wasn’t over.
Qalu tried to conceal her relief over the reprieve. “Thank you. I’ll contact you soon and you can get to know Helix better then.”
Grateful to Helix for remaining silent, she escorted her foremother out.
[ 2 ]
Prior to this moment, Helix had not believed it possible for an AI to hallucinate, but that was the logical explanation. Perhaps his hardware had been damaged; therefore, he had created this elaborate illusion, possibly as a manifestation of his regret over past wrongs. Otherwise, why else would a Tiralan be claiming he was a prospective mate she had met—on the galactic matching service—the same one he had used to deceive Zylar?
On some level, he was intrigued by this ability to create such a vivid dream, but also unsettled by it. He had no experience with what organic life forms referred to as “dreams.” Helix never slept and he certainly never created complicated fantasies.
He needed to wake up in truth and evaluate how badly his chassis was damaged. But no matter how hard he tried to exit this delusion, he remained locked into this flesh form that refused to do his bidding. Qalu was quite graceful as she returned, her movements light and fluid.
She’d shocked him with the deceptive statements she made to her progenitor; he recalled that there were other titles used on Tiralan. Odd that he could retrieve random, trivial data regarding Tiralan culture—such as the fact that pair-bonds were rare, as most Tiralan favored larger amorous and/or platonic love groups—while the past half cycle was blank in his memory. If he could have gotten up, he might have fled; not that he suspected it would help.
When Qalu returned, he said, “Explain.”
“I didn’t want to vex you while you’re recovering, but…” She took several nano-spans to convey a bizarre scenario, in which he would play a leading role while pretending to be her potential mate.
“Let me see if I have parsed this. My existence may be imperiled if they discover you downgraded me into a meat bundle. Therefore, I must cooperate, purporting to be your love interest, to deflect susp
icion from your clan and the science coalition.”
Her head tendrils fluttered in reaction. Helix sifted through his recollections and drew out the awareness that this meant relief. The Tiralan had a complex and subtle system of body language, including limbs and tendrils, and if one wasn’t well-versed, one could easily misinterpret verbal responses by overlooking the nuances of gesture.
“That’s correct.”
“I do not believe in any of this. I’m convinced my data-collection systems must be malfunctioning, but I am interested to see where this strange…dream takes us.” The word “dream” was not one he had used in relation to himself before, but it was the only one that applied to the situation.
Qalu stilled. “You posit that I am a figment of your imagination? Why a Tiralan? We are not gregarious, nor do we travel off-world often. My foremother is correct about that.”
He’d known that. It was why Zylar had thought his fictitious Tiralan match was a misfit, a rare soul willing to leave her clan. “You mentioned a diaspora.”
“You’re not familiar with our history? The tale spans volumes, but I suspect you’d lose patience with an unabridged rendition.”
“I do prefer efficiency, yes.”
“Then the crux of it is this—we were brought from our ancient homeworld long ago by an advanced race. Their names are lost to time, but they traveled in vast pyramid ships and we considered them to be gods. They took a number of us and seeded our line throughout the universe. We thrived on Tiralan, and there is one small outpost elsewhere, Titan V. There may be other lost colonies. According to the old writings, it’s possible we may yet encounter our brethren among the stars, though it’s likely they would not look precisely as we do.”
“Due to deviation along evolution paths,” Helix said.
“Precisely.”
“You did an excellent job in summing up the issue. Then I collect that you’ve intimated I come from Titan V. Would I not find it difficult to adapt to life on Tiralan after being reared on a space station? I expect there might be physiological issues.”
“It is…a challenge,” she admitted slowly. “But I’ll come up with a plausible solution. Perhaps Titan V offers therapy and nutritional supplements to ensure there’s no loss of bone density or muscle mass.”
“Wait a moment, I’ll check…” Normally, he would be able to retrieve this information instantly but the numbers didn’t come. He ought to be able to calculate the odds that a Tiralan reared in space would be able to adapt to life on the ground. “What have you done to me? I can’t even do simple mental calculations any longer! I should know if someone in my situation could acclimate on Tiralan!”
“First, that’s not a simple calculation. There’s an incredible amount of data to process, and your capabilities are different. Learning to use them effectively will require time and effort.”
“You keep saying that,” he said irritably. “But everything is terrible and slow, my mind most of all.”
Her posture indicated she intended to deploy humor. “Blame yourself. You just said this isn’t real, so is there some reason you would punish yourself in this fashion?”
Helix uttered a soft, despairing sound, one the Tiralan throat was comfortingly suited to express. “Yes.”
Her forelimbs and her head tendrils drifted toward him, expressing the desire to comfort, but she did not touch him. Even if this fantasy served as penance, as he lay trapped in the wreckage of the ship, it still reassured him that she would keep her promise and not foist unwanted intimacy on him. That burgeoning trust was critical, as he couldn’t currently fend for himself.
She said only, “I’m sorry to hear that. Perhaps I can help you heal.”
“Healing is an organic process.”
“You’re part of that world now,” Qalu noted. “More to the point, I meant mental damage more than physical. You can be harmed in the same way any sentient being can.”
Once she expressed it that way, he was forced to concede she had a point. Her kindness was unexpected, as was her concern that he might be experiencing an emotional wound. A strange feeling swelled, similar to how he had felt when he considered Zylar being taken from him, but not exactly the same. He would need to research various emotions and how to identify them because while he had words to name the concepts, he didn’t necessarily know how such sensations would manifest, especially in a biological unit.
“Thank you,” he said finally.
Perhaps this dream was part of that process—the healing one. This gentle Tiralan could be the conduit that allowed him to move past self-recrimination for the Tiralan he had invented to manipulate Zylar.
Before she could respond, the weird feeling expanded and his insides lurched or rumbled; he had no context for what was happening. It was adjacent to the pain for which she had medicated him, but more like…discomfort?
“What’s wrong?”
“I am not certain.” Reflexively, he pressed against his abdomen and then with a joyous start, he realized he’d moved. Not by ordering it, just by doing it. Instinct, not command.
That was what she’d been trying to explain earlier, about how he needed to believe this body belonged to him, and it would naturally do as he wished. Awed, he raised one limb, then the other, overwhelmed by the sheer satisfaction of it. Qalu was practically vibrating with excitement, and her eyes widened as his insides emitted a horrible sound.
“You’re hungry. I’ve been nourishing the prototype via nutrients in the tank, but you’ve never actually eaten. You must feel hollow.”
“Correct,” he replied.
“I’ll get you something to eat. Since you won’t have preferences yet, I’ll bring a few of my favorite dishes for you to try. It’s going to be so exciting to discover what you enjoy!” Her pleasure was genuine and unfettered.
It was a bit strange to imagine anyone taking this much delight in offering him various nutritive packets. While she was gone, he managed to get off the surface he had been lying on, landing on his lower limbs, only to find them awkward and ungainly. Helix took a few steps and promptly toppled over. Grimly, he hauled to his feet and repeated the process, falling five more times before he made it to the next room, an open space with technology similar to what they used on Barath. The interfaces were different, the Tiralan used an entirely different symbolic system. Luckily, he could read it.
This room was sparsely furnished, geometric shapes and clean lines. Darkness showed through the view panels and everything was washed in warm light, gilding Qalu’s bronze skin. Her scales held a flicker of heat, red tones, and—he had no idea why he was noticing any of that. How exceptionally odd. She made musical sounds as she presumably gathered sustenance.
The less Helix thought about what his body should be doing, the easier it got. An inkling stirred, that if this was not a delusion, one day this form might be much more intuitive and capable than the mech unit had been. He stumbled up to the meal service unit, and she nearly dropped the container she was holding. “You’re walking. Already! I’m so proud of you.”
It was baffling how pleased he felt when she praised him.
This felt like a momentous occasion, though Qalu couldn’t have said why.
Possibly because it heralded the beginning of her glowing reputation as an incredible innovator in the field of biosynthetic life science. She sang as she put together their meal, creating some with the manufacturer and preparing other dishes with her own hands out of fresh ingredients. Typically, she didn’t take that much trouble over her own food, eating whatever was most convenient, but since this was the first food Helix had ever tasted, it ought to be special.
Soon, she had an impressive spread ready for him to try. Empirically, she knew how much caloric intake he required, but she wouldn’t mention that. He could eat whatever he wanted. But she realized he had no idea how to go about that. His limbs were clumsy and he didn’t know how to use utensils. She’d never considered how many basic tasks would require a tutorial, but he might get anno
yed if she tried to explain.
Quietly she demonstrated, picking up the scoop, and after a brief hesitation, he copied the gesture with impressive dexterity for one who was unaccustomed to performing such tasks. Qalu nudged a dish toward him–her favorite, roast nornroot in a seasoned sauce. She watched his expression as he ate and the dawning wonder as the taste flowered for him, subtle and soft at first, with a heat from the various spices that bloomed over time, gaining complexity and savor.
“This is…” It was endearing the way he simply stopped speaking when he lacked the capacity to articulate what he was experiencing.
“Delicious?” she suggested.
“I lack any basis for comparison, but I… like this. Very much.” With greater enthusiasm, he tackled other dishes, making faces now and then—he didn’t care for the stewed algae at all—but he always went back to the roast nornroot.
“So do I. It’s my foremother’s recipe, and she programmed my manufacturer personally, as if I can’t input the proper ingredients and ratios.”
“I am unable to evaluate this statement for accuracy, as I have no progenitors.”
“You’re not acquainted with the one who created your initial…” Now Qalu hesitated, wondering how to phrase it in a respectful manner. “Neural matrix?”
“That information is unavailable to me.” His head tendrils quivered, possibly an instinctive expression of confusion or distress.
Since he had a Tiralan body, those gestures would come naturally, even if he didn’t realize the significance. “Would you like to know more about your creator?”
“I… have never thought about it–never questioned my antecedents. It’s common on Barath for affluent households to have an AI manage the smart habitat. I was fortunate to be valued for my conversation and companionship as well.”
“It sounds as if you were happy there. The situation must have changed, or you wouldn’t have left.” Qalu wouldn’t pry, but she was curious. Not that he seemed to possess the most critical piece of information: why he’d crashed on Tiralan.
