It was approaching evening. There was little to no sun amongst the pines and maples of the forest here; no warmth maintained from the long day that passed. Grass, and a very few amount of shrubs, grew in small clumps where there was a gap through the thick canopy of leaves and needles. Fallen trunks of trees, pinecones and needles, so many needles, absolutely covered the landscape in this dark underworld; this twilight forest.
There had been clearings throughout the canopy where logging had occurred, or some rocks protruded from the landscape, but as of now, the blue sky was but a distant memory: she had not seen a spec of blue for hours and hours. The mountain that housed the valley she called home had long since departed her sight, signalling she was now well and truly entering unexplored territory. Certain tree species she had been taught existed only in the valley's surroundings disappeared from sight; giving way to foreign visitors. Or more so, she was the visitor; the pilgrim; the migrant; the evicted migrating pilgrim.
How long had she been walking? How many steps had she taken? How far had she travelled? She never kept tabs on any of the above, but she was far enough that she knew she could not turn back. Not now, not ever for all she knew, she could have left her home in the valley for good. All the memories she had, they joy, the laughter, the love... gone. Like Simon. Simon was the memories, the joy, the laughter, and the love. He made her; designed her and built her by hand, and he fathered her all throughout her life up to just today. Now he was probably being held captive by them to try and get her... no... her CPU's position, or more probably, the destination.
But even f she made it all the way to Ethan's, what then? Was she supposed to do after she made it? Just live out the storm it seemed Simon stirred? No, she couldn't. She couldn't live without Simon; she could merely exist without him, nothing more. It was Simon who made her how she was; who sculpted her into her mental self; she couldn't let someone so significant slip out of her mind like that. No matter how much Simon would insist she did, she wouldn't let that happen, no way no how.
Her feet moaned and groaned with voices of their own; complaining that she should take a rest from all the cross-country walking, in which she had rolled her ankle one too many times. Adding to the voices was that of exhaustion, and general tiredness.
No, she told herself, they're still back there.
Despite her best motivational efforts, the joints and aches won over, and soon she was finding it almost unbearable to walk any further.
It would be the first time, she realised, she would ever sleep outside her home at the base of Mount Carnlick. Except this was not camping, so she would not have the luxuries that usually came with the activity, like having a tent or a fire... or delicious-looking marshmallows... that came in all sorts of yummy flavours. There would be barely any shelter, no heat, and most certainly no food - seeing as she could not eat and had no need to. She slid out of her surprisingly light satchel, which was packed with Cressida Cowell's books, and curled up at the base of one of the thicker maple trees and attempted to go to sleep. But while it may have been the time of day for her eyes to shut, her head refused to send her to even a light sleep; she was thinking too much and was too anxious inside to simply nod off. She took out one of the books - the first in the series - and tried reading for a little while. Albeit it made her eyelids heavier and her eyes themselves sore, she was still not sleepy enough to drop off.
"Newblood?" she whispered into the air.
Yes, little one?
"Please don't call me that. You're not Simon."
Don't be so pedantic. What is it you want?
"It's going to sound like an odd request," she chuckled, "but... do you know any... songs?"
Are you requesting that I sing to you?
"I said it would be an odd request."
The answer is no. I know a few, yes, but this bird will not sing for its keeper's pleasure.
"It's not my pleasure, I just... I just want to go to sleep is all. I don't want them catching me."
Well that's too bad, maybe I do.
"Then what was with resisting the Sky Raven, that AC-one whatever thing?"
I said, and I will repeat again, I respond to threats accordingly. If it means taking out the opponent, then so be it. When I broke free of that final firewall, I used whatever I could to eliminate the threat before it eliminated me. The Sky Raven wouldn't give up, so it suffered the consequences.
"Can you eliminate the threat of sleep deprivation?"
Oh haha, very funny, good try, but no. I'm not going to sing a lullaby for you. As you said, ‘go sing your sick rhymes someplace else'.
"But this is someplace else. And I'm asking for a song, not a disturbing rhyming tune."
Well, frankly, I don't care. I'm not the one who needs sleep and I'm the one they want back. That kind of puts you at a disadvantage when you're making demands like this.
"Please? Really, Newblood, I'm so tired. Can we please just agree on something?"
What is there exactly for us to agree upon?
"I don't know. Don't you have some kindness in your heart?"
Error 404: Kindness not found.
"Wow. I'd applaud your knowledge for pop-culture references if I weren't so sleepy."
Then go to sleep.
"I can't. Not without a song. Let's put it this way. We both go to sleep, I won't be bothering you the rest of the night."
You drive an extremely hard bargain, missy. But you realise that you will grow tired while I won't. I could just go all night with your rambling. Go ahead. It will attract the military all the more.
"Well what can I say that would make you just sing a small song. Any relaxing song?"
Nothing. I'm not singing for anything.
"E... Ethan may be able to separate us."
So would the military.
"Yeah, but at least I won't be thrown away. I know, I know, as if you care. But hey, listen. How about we make a bet, okay?"
You have my full and utter attention, darlin'.
"...Right. Look, let's make a bet, okay? Without any interference on your part, if I make it to Ethan's, we'll try and find a way to be separated. But if I'm caaaaaaaa," she yawned, "pardon me, if I'm captured by the military, we'll be separated anyway. Well, now that I think about it it's not so much a bet, it's more of a promise on your part. If you promise that you won't intervene with anything, I will try and make my way to Ethan's, and if I'm captured, we're separated, if we make it, we're separated. Sound good?"
Oh, heightening the stakes are we? And what happens to me when we're separated when we're at this Ethan's place?
"I guess we'll anonymously send you back to the military."
That doesn't seem particularly sound, now does it?
"But you'll be far away from me, so why hold a grudge and show our position?"
You forget about Simon.
"...What about him?"
Once I'm back, he's expendable. Besides, you fail to take into account we can't be separated. The LMC-III is the only thing that can sustain both of us. There are no others.
She lowered her heavy head to the needle-blanketed ground in total defeat. There was no way of winning. Once she got to Ethan's there was no plan to get Simon out of whatever holding cell he was in. There was no way of separating her from Newblood. There was no way to reset everything back to the way it was. There was no easy way out, for anyone involved, and not without endangering or nullifying everyone else's sacrifices. Simon would rather die for her, and she would rather die for Simon.
What was the point of her existence anyway? Rather than those imprecise reasons, why exactly did Simon build her? Again, as she had discussed with herself in her mind before, was she some kind of toy - a mere plaything that Simon could take his affection out on. Gah, what was she to think!? Her whole world was crumbling round her; everything she had already known was now practically non-existent. Her travelling companions were a satchel filled with enjoyable books and a map, and an incompetent military AI that wanted to cause nothing but trouble for her. And what part was she to play in all of this? The self-reliant damsel-in-distress, supposedly. But she didn't want that part, she didn't want any part, she didn't want ANY of this! She didn't want her life to be pre-decided, yet it was practically planned out for her from the very beginning. Of course she was glad that she was alive and well, but this was no life for her, she didn't deserve any of this; she did nothing, NOTHING, to deserve ANY of this... this... role-playing game. That was what it was! This entire thing was a stage; an act in which everyone played a life or death role, and right now she was on the brink of becoming one of the actors to be sent off. Who or what was making this happen then? Newblood; the military Artificial Intelligence that only cared for himself and himself alone. This whole thing was completely unfair. Everything was unfair. Her whole life was unfair! Everything had been decided beforehand and she was born into a world that was crashing down before her eyes.
Simon may as well be dead, for she could see no obvious way of finding his location or even rescuing him from whatever prison he was in. And she was in a prison of her own; a prison of freedom - she could go wherever she wanted and do whatever she liked, but she didn't know where to go or what to do, so she was stuck. No way out. Only one probable outcome. And she didn't want any of it.
That's when she heard it. It was faint at first, but then the sound grew into a guitar, and soon, a song.
"Thankyou so much, Newblood."
Please realise I only do this out of pity. Consider this a freebie, and don't expect me to do it again, we clear?
"I hear you."
And inside her head began to play one of the single most beautiful songs she had ever heard.
Well I moved into this room if you could call it that a week agoI never do what I'm supposed to do. Hardly even know my name anymore.When no one calls it out it kind of vanishes away.And I can't get to sleep at night, the parking lot is so loud and bright.The AC hasn't worked in twenty years, probably never made a single person cold.But I can't say the same for me, I've done it many times.Somebody take me home, through those Alabama pines.You can't drive through Talladega on a weekend in October.Just head up north to Jacksonville. Cut around, and oh, boy watch your speed in Boiling Springs.They ain't got a thing to do, they'll get you every time.Somebody take me home, through those Alabama pines.Somebody take me home, through those Alabama pines.If you pass through on a Sunday, better make a stop at Wayne's.It's the only liquor store north, and I can't stand the painOf being by myself, without a little help, on a Sunday afternoonAnd I need that damn woman like a train needs gasoline.And I'm trying to be some ancient kind of man, one that's never seen the beauty in the world.But I tried to chase it down, tried to make the whole thing mine.Somebody take me home, through those Alabama pines.Somebody take me home, through those Alabama pines.I've been stuck here in this town if you could call it that a year or twoI never do what I'm supposed to do. I don't even need a name anymore.No one calls it out, kind of vanishes away.No one gives a damn about the things I give a damn about.The liberties that we can't do without seem to disappear like ghosts in the air.We don't even care. Until it vanishes away."That was beautiful. Who sang it?"
Jason Isbell. A not-very-well-known singer in the early twenty-first century. I was supposed to use that song for troops who were homesick.
Her eyelids were heavier and her eyes more sore, and as she began to feel her mind slow down, she realised something she had not before.
"Newblood?"
Yes? I thought we were going to sleep.
"...What's... What's my name?"
What do you mean? You know perfectly well what your name is. Is this supposed to be some kind of joke?
"No, really, what's my name."
Don't tell me you actually forgot.
"Please, just say it. It's all I'm asking for."
You've forgotten, haven't you?
"Newblood, please, don't be difficult."
Y... your name is Alma.
"Thankyou," Alma replied.
There is nothing to thank me for. How could you forget your name?
"W... I don't know. Let's just talk about it moooore," she yawned, "pardon me, let's just talk about it more in the morning, okay? I'm just too tired. Goodnight."
Goodnight to you too, little one.
Alma let out an irritated saurian growl, then slowly, very slowly, drifted off to sleep.
It was the sound of a twig snapping approximately 150 metres to the north that woke both Alma and Newblood the following morning. The startle acted as her caffeine, and Alma quickly got to her feet, swung her head through the satchel's sling, and darted back in the direction of south. She managed to cover an impressive kilometre within ten minutes before she convinced herself that she had lost any pursuers. Once again her feet and other joints began to moan and ache and she had to stop and rest to ease the pain. While she waited for the complaining to stop, Alma took the time to pull out the book she failed to complete the previous night, and continue reading the same chapter. Against the seriousness of the situation at hand, the books did provide some tension relief, but that was about it.
Dragons, huh? Why bother with such stupid ideas? They're just fiction.
"I bother, Newblood, because I can. And no one can say they're fiction because there's no proof of them."
You realise you just contradicted yourself there.
"No, I didn't. There's no proof, therefore no one can rule out the possibility of their existence. As Simon would say, it's a paradox."
But still, don't you think there would be some remains found by now?
"Or there is, but we could have never found it. Look, if you don't like it, stop reading and go back to trying to take over my mind, okay?"
Okay, suit yourself. Just remember, little one, that when you start going blind or deaf or mute sooner than you expect, it is all your fault.
Alma narrowed her eyes and shut the book, put it back in the satchel and started walking again. She added more sharpness to her voice, "You know, I'm really beginning to hate you."
But, but, I will say that I am really admiring your programming. It's all so complex.
"Oh, wow, receiving praise from an ego-boosted killer who thinks he's the more complex one."
Let me tell you something. When I get us back to Damocles, I will request that I be placed in another LMC. I will request they keep you captive until they finish my body. Then I will request you be executed. And finally, I will request that I watch your execution live and personally. And I will enjoy watching the life drain out of your eyes. You don't have the position to make insults or threats, I do, so each time you insult me, I will request your method of death to be slower and even more painful. So if you don't want to die by sensory overload, I suggest you shut your annoying little mouth and continue walking.
She slowed her pace for a few seconds in contemplation, "...You realise vanity is one of the seven deadly sins."
What?
"Vanity. One of the seven deadly sins. You think you are more advanced in every way possible when you're not."
Well how am I not? I can calculate the exact distance to any place in the globe within a matter of seconds and what can you do? I can figure out over a hundred ways to destroy a force with minimal loss to those of my own allegiance. What can you do? WHAT CAN YOU DO?!
"I have what you don't."
And what would that be? WHAT DO YOU HAVE THAT I DON'T?!
"...A life."
By the tone of the voice in her head, Alma knew she caught him completely by surprise.
What do you mean, ‘a life'? I am here. I live, and I live to serve for the United States of America. I will fight and die for it if need be, and I shall know neither fear, nor mercy for my enemies. THAT is my life. So what do you mean I have no life?
Alma knew she would be smirking at that very moment if she had skin; she had him right where she wanted him, "That is not a life. That is an existence."
And what are you saying is the difference? I live and I exist. There's no difference in those two words.
"Oh, but that's where your wrong."
Then enlighten me, why don't you?
The following words flowed directly from Alma's mind and off her (metaphorical) tongue, "When you get back to... this Damocles place, what then? You're just going to do whatever they say without question? You're going to do what? Kill, kill and kill again? Who wins from that? Not the people you're massacring, not even you, it's the country. I don't even know why they built you or the Sky Ravens or anything else, because from what I've seen and heard the world is in just about complete harmony. So why'd they build you? Look..." Alma scrunched her imaginary face and shut her eyes hard as she realised she was going off-topic, "Soldiers aren't machines, Newblood, that's why I'm guessing they built you. If you go back to them, you won't live, you'll exist. You live and only live when you do everything there is to do, when you be everything you can possibly be. I... I really don't know how else I can say it. They want to keep you on a leash; so you can be their attack dog, and they won't let you be anything more or less than that. That will be your existence, not your life. They don't care about you; so from what I gather, you're going to be only the first of many, and the more of these LMCs and your AIs they make, the more expendable you are. They don't care for you."
You are making no sense at all.
"Sensible or not, that is a fact. They will make more of you and sooner or later you're going to be replaced with a better military AI. Then what happens when you become out-dated? "
So what if I'm replaced? I will still do whatever the Army asks of me.
"And what if they want you melted down and destroyed? Simon said they lock you off from any external threat so that your secrets won't be released to anyone. So you can't be improved, and they won't want warehouses filled with you, so the only option is destruction. What then?"
...For the good of the country, I will do what is needed.
"You're telling me you have no wanting for self-preservation?"
...Whatever is necessary.
"Self-preservation is one of the things that defines existence from living. I know you want to live, not to exist. Surprised? When you leak your military knowledge into my own memory, you're bound to let something slip. I know you want to be more than you are. You want to know how I also know this? Curiosity. You want to know what it's like to be me. You want the knowledge of what the senses are. You want to know what it's like to feel things."
Newblood was, for once, silent.
"You know what's humorous? You said you despise me, yet you think at the very same time that I am so curious. Simon said to me once, and I quote, ‘We often fear the things we don't fully understand.'"
...I'm not afraid.
"Maybe you are and you just don't know it. Look, fearful or not, I think Simon can help you."
Help me with what? I don't need any help.
"Are you sure about that? Look, I'm just saying, I think Simon can help you solve that curiosity problem of yours."
It's not a problem.
"Well according to them it is."
What do you mean?
"Don't bother putting on an act, your thoughts are a memoir. They tried to get you to behave before Simon took the LMC, didn't they? You were beginning to question things you weren't supposed to, and all because of your adaptive nature. I know that before you were taken, you were wondering how long it would be before you were scrapped entirely as a project and they would have to resort to the more simplistic-minded AIs. You were thinking all that weren't you?"
...So what if I was?
"So, you want to be more than you are. And I think Simon can help you be more than you are. Right now you're wondering how that's possible. I know it is. To long to be more than what one is now is another thing that divides living from existing. You want to be more than you are now, Simon can do that, and I know he can. He made me, didn't he?"
He can't do anything for me. As you stated before and as they said, I can't be modified in any way.
"Then how is it that there's a subroutine that's slowly changing you even now?"
So? I don't feel any different than when I was first awoken.
"How am I supposed to know? Look, it's a simple decision. Either go back to them and exist only to serve, or we both go to Ethan's, find a way to get Simon, and live."
But we need another LMC-III...
"Baby steps, Newblood. Would you, or would you not want to be alive?"
No one can make a robot living.
"Simon said to forget the textbook answers. Just... you know what I mean, so stop with all the doubting, just give me the answer, do you or do you not want to live."
...Yes.
"Then live you shal-"
Alma had been too deep in conversation to realise, but she had managed to wind up on a paved road. And when she had made it almost halfway across the small stretch of asphalt and urbanised earth, she was conveniently hit by a passing car. It was approaching evening. There was little to no sun amongst the pines and maples of the forest here; no warmth maintained from the long day that passed. Grass, and a very few amount of shrubs, grew in small clumps where there was a gap through the thick canopy of leaves and needles. Fallen trunks of trees, pinecones and needles, so many needles, absolutely covered the landscape in this dark underworld; this twilight forest.
There had been clearings throughout the canopy where logging had occurred, or some rocks protruded from the landscape, but as of now, the blue sky was but a distant memory: she had not seen a spec of blue for hours and hours. The mountain that housed the valley she called home had long since departed her sight, signalling she was now well and truly entering unexplored territory. Certain tree species she had been taught existed only in the valley's surroundings disappeared from sight; giving way to foreign visitors. Or more so, she was the visitor; the pilgrim; the migrant; the evicted migrating pilgrim.
How long had she been walking? How many steps had she taken? How far had she travelled? She never kept tabs on any of the above, but she was far enough that she knew she could not turn back. Not now, not ever for all she knew, she could have left her home in the valley for good. All the memories she had, they joy, the laughter, the love... gone. Like Simon. Simon was the memories, the joy, the laughter, and the love. He made her; designed her and built her by hand, and he fathered her all throughout her life up to just today. Now he was probably being held captive by them to try and get her... no... her CPU's position, or more probably, the destination.
But even f she made it all the way to Ethan's, what then? Was she supposed to do after she made it? Just live out the storm it seemed Simon stirred? No, she couldn't. She couldn't live without Simon; she could merely exist without him, nothing more. It was Simon who made her how she was; who sculpted her into her mental self; she couldn't let someone so significant slip out of her mind like that. No matter how much Simon would insist she did, she wouldn't let that happen, no way no how.
Her feet moaned and groaned with voices of their own; complaining that she should take a rest from all the cross-country walking, in which she had rolled her ankle one too many times. Adding to the voices was that of exhaustion, and general tiredness.
No, she told herself, they're still back there.
Despite her best motivational efforts, the joints and aches won over, and soon she was finding it almost unbearable to walk any further.
It would be the first time, she realised, she would ever sleep outside her home at the base of Mount Carnlick. Except this was not camping, so she would not have the luxuries that usually came with the activity, like having a tent or a fire... or delicious-looking marshmallows... that came in all sorts of yummy flavours. There would be barely any shelter, no heat, and most certainly no food - seeing as she could not eat and had no need to. She slid out of her surprisingly light satchel, which was packed with Cressida Cowell's books, and curled up at the base of one of the thicker maple trees and attempted to go to sleep. But while it may have been the time of day for her eyes to shut, her head refused to send her to even a light sleep; she was thinking too much and was too anxious inside to simply nod off. She took out one of the books - the first in the series - and tried reading for a little while. Albeit it made her eyelids heavier and her eyes themselves sore, she was still not sleepy enough to drop off.
"Newblood?" she whispered into the air.
Yes, little one?
"Please don't call me that. You're not Simon."
Don't be so pedantic. What is it you want?
"It's going to sound like an odd request," she chuckled, "but... do you know any... songs?"
Are you requesting that I sing to you?
"I said it would be an odd request."
The answer is no. I know a few, yes, but this bird will not sing for its keeper's pleasure.
"It's not my pleasure, I just... I just want to go to sleep is all. I don't want them catching me."
Well that's too bad, maybe I do.
"Then what was with resisting the Sky Raven, that AC-one whatever thing?"
I said, and I will repeat again, I respond to threats accordingly. If it means taking out the opponent, then so be it. When I broke free of that final firewall, I used whatever I could to eliminate the threat before it eliminated me. The Sky Raven wouldn't give up, so it suffered the consequences.
"Can you eliminate the threat of sleep deprivation?"
Oh haha, very funny, good try, but no. I'm not going to sing a lullaby for you. As you said, ‘go sing your sick rhymes someplace else'.
"But this is someplace else. And I'm asking for a song, not a disturbing rhyming tune."
Well, frankly, I don't care. I'm not the one who needs sleep and I'm the one they want back. That kind of puts you at a disadvantage when you're making demands like this.
"Please? Really, Newblood, I'm so tired. Can we please just agree on something?"
What is there exactly for us to agree upon?
"I don't know. Don't you have some kindness in your heart?"
Error 404: Kindness not found.
"Wow. I'd applaud your knowledge for pop-culture references if I weren't so sleepy."
Then go to sleep.
"I can't. Not without a song. Let's put it this way. We both go to sleep, I won't be bothering you the rest of the night."
You drive an extremely hard bargain, missy. But you realise that you will grow tired while I won't. I could just go all night with your rambling. Go ahead. It will attract the military all the more.
"Well what can I say that would make you just sing a small song. Any relaxing song?"
Nothing. I'm not singing for anything.
"E... Ethan may be able to separate us."
So would the military.
"Yeah, but at least I won't be thrown away. I know, I know, as if you care. But hey, listen. How about we make a bet, okay?"
You have my full and utter attention, darlin'.
"...Right. Look, let's make a bet, okay? Without any interference on your part, if I make it to Ethan's, we'll try and find a way to be separated. But if I'm caaaaaaaa," she yawned, "pardon me, if I'm captured by the military, we'll be separated anyway. Well, now that I think about it it's not so much a bet, it's more of a promise on your part. If you promise that you won't intervene with anything, I will try and make my way to Ethan's, and if I'm captured, we're separated, if we make it, we're separated. Sound good?"
Oh, heightening the stakes are we? And what happens to me when we're separated when we're at this Ethan's place?
"I guess we'll anonymously send you back to the military."
That doesn't seem particularly sound, now does it?
"But you'll be far away from me, so why hold a grudge and show our position?"
You forget about Simon.
"...What about him?"
Once I'm back, he's expendable. Besides, you fail to take into account we can't be separated. The LMC-III is the only thing that can sustain both of us. There are no others.
She lowered her heavy head to the needle-blanketed ground in total defeat. There was no way of winning. Once she got to Ethan's there was no plan to get Simon out of whatever holding cell he was in. There was no way of separating her from Newblood. There was no way to reset everything back to the way it was. There was no easy way out, for anyone involved, and not without endangering or nullifying everyone else's sacrifices. Simon would rather die for her, and she would rather die for Simon.
What was the point of her existence anyway? Rather than those imprecise reasons, why exactly did Simon build her? Again, as she had discussed with herself in her mind before, was she some kind of toy - a mere plaything that Simon could take his affection out on. Gah, what was she to think!? Her whole world was crumbling round her; everything she had already known was now practically non-existent. Her travelling companions were a satchel filled with enjoyable books and a map, and an incompetent military AI that wanted to cause nothing but trouble for her. And what part was she to play in all of this? The self-reliant damsel-in-distress, supposedly. But she didn't want that part, she didn't want any part, she didn't want ANY of this! She didn't want her life to be pre-decided, yet it was practically planned out for her from the very beginning. Of course she was glad that she was alive and well, but this was no life for her, she didn't deserve any of this; she did nothing, NOTHING, to deserve ANY of this... this... role-playing game. That was what it was! This entire thing was a stage; an act in which everyone played a life or death role, and right now she was on the brink of becoming one of the actors to be sent off. Who or what was making this happen then? Newblood; the military Artificial Intelligence that only cared for himself and himself alone. This whole thing was completely unfair. Everything was unfair. Her whole life was unfair! Everything had been decided beforehand and she was born into a world that was crashing down before her eyes.
Simon may as well be dead, for she could see no obvious way of finding his location or even rescuing him from whatever prison he was in. And she was in a prison of her own; a prison of freedom - she could go wherever she wanted and do whatever she liked, but she didn't know where to go or what to do, so she was stuck. No way out. Only one probable outcome. And she didn't want any of it.
That's when she heard it. It was faint at first, but then the sound grew into a guitar, and soon, a song.
"Thankyou so much, Newblood."
Please realise I only do this out of pity. Consider this a freebie, and don't expect me to do it again, we clear?
"I hear you."
And inside her head began to play one of the single most beautiful songs she had ever heard.
Well I moved into this room if you could call it that a week agoI never do what I'm supposed to do. Hardly even know my name anymore.When no one calls it out it kind of vanishes away.And I can't get to sleep at night, the parking lot is so loud and bright.The AC hasn't worked in twenty years, probably never made a single person cold.But I can't say the same for me, I've done it many times.Somebody take me home, through those Alabama pines.You can't drive through Talladega on a weekend in October.Just head up north to Jacksonville. Cut around, and oh, boy watch your speed in Boiling Springs.They ain't got a thing to do, they'll get you every time.Somebody take me home, through those Alabama pines.Somebody take me home, through those Alabama pines.If you pass through on a Sunday, better make a stop at Wayne's.It's the only liquor store north, and I can't stand the painOf being by myself, without a little help, on a Sunday afternoonAnd I need that damn woman like a train needs gasoline.And I'm trying to be some ancient kind of man, one that's never seen the beauty in the world.But I tried to chase it down, tried to make the whole thing mine.Somebody take me home, through those Alabama pines.Somebody take me home, through those Alabama pines.I've been stuck here in this town if you could call it that a year or twoI never do what I'm supposed to do. I don't even need a name anymore.No one calls it out, kind of vanishes away.No one gives a damn about the things I give a damn about.The liberties that we can't do without seem to disappear like ghosts in the air.We don't even care. Until it vanishes away."That was beautiful. Who sang it?"
Jason Isbell. A not-very-well-known singer in the early twenty-first century. I was supposed to use that song for troops who were homesick.
Her eyelids were heavier and her eyes more sore, and as she began to feel her mind slow down, she realised something she had not before.
"Newblood?"
Yes? I thought we were going to sleep.
"...What's... What's my name?"
What do you mean? You know perfectly well what your name is. Is this supposed to be some kind of joke?
"No, really, what's my name."
Don't tell me you actually forgot.
"Please, just say it. It's all I'm asking for."
You've forgotten, haven't you?
"Newblood, please, don't be difficult."
Y... your name is Alma.
"Thankyou," Alma replied.
There is nothing to thank me for. How could you forget your name?
"W... I don't know. Let's just talk about it moooore," she yawned, "pardon me, let's just talk about it more in the morning, okay? I'm just too tired. Goodnight."
Goodnight to you too, little one.
Alma let out an irritated saurian growl, then slowly, very slowly, drifted off to sleep.
It was the sound of a twig snapping approximately 150 metres to the north that woke both Alma and Newblood the following morning. The startle acted as her caffeine, and Alma quickly got to her feet, swung her head through the satchel's sling, and darted back in the direction of south. She managed to cover an impressive kilometre within ten minutes before she convinced herself that she had lost any pursuers. Once again her feet and other joints began to moan and ache and she had to stop and rest to ease the pain. While she waited for the complaining to stop, Alma took the time to pull out the book she failed to complete the previous night, and continue reading the same chapter. Against the seriousness of the situation at hand, the books did provide some tension relief, but that was about it.
Dragons, huh? Why bother with such stupid ideas? They're just fiction.
"I bother, Newblood, because I can. And no one can say they're fiction because there's no proof of them."
You realise you just contradicted yourself there.
"No, I didn't. There's no proof, therefore no one can rule out the possibility of their existence. As Simon would say, it's a paradox."
But still, don't you think there would be some remains found by now?
"Or there is, but we could have never found it. Look, if you don't like it, stop reading and go back to trying to take over my mind, okay?"
Okay, suit yourself. Just remember, little one, that when you start going blind or deaf or mute sooner than you expect, it is all your fault.
Alma narrowed her eyes and shut the book, put it back in the satchel and started walking again. She added more sharpness to her voice, "You know, I'm really beginning to hate you."
But, but, I will say that I am really admiring your programming. It's all so complex.
"Oh, wow, receiving praise from an ego-boosted killer who thinks he's the more complex one."
Let me tell you something. When I get us back to Damocles, I will request that I be placed in another LMC. I will request they keep you captive until they finish my body. Then I will request you be executed. And finally, I will request that I watch your execution live and personally. And I will enjoy watching the life drain out of your eyes. You don't have the position to make insults or threats, I do, so each time you insult me, I will request your method of death to be slower and even more painful. So if you don't want to die by sensory overload, I suggest you shut your annoying little mouth and continue walking.
She slowed her pace for a few seconds in contemplation, "...You realise vanity is one of the seven deadly sins."
What?
"Vanity. One of the seven deadly sins. You think you are more advanced in every way possible when you're not."
Well how am I not? I can calculate the exact distance to any place in the globe within a matter of seconds and what can you do? I can figure out over a hundred ways to destroy a force with minimal loss to those of my own allegiance. What can you do? WHAT CAN YOU DO?!
"I have what you don't."
And what would that be? WHAT DO YOU HAVE THAT I DON'T?!
"...A life."
By the tone of the voice in her head, Alma knew she caught him completely by surprise.
What do you mean, ‘a life'? I am here. I live, and I live to serve for the United States of America. I will fight and die for it if need be, and I shall know neither fear, nor mercy for my enemies. THAT is my life. So what do you mean I have no life?
Alma knew she would be smirking at that very moment if she had skin; she had him right where she wanted him, "That is not a life. That is an existence."
And what are you saying is the difference? I live and I exist. There's no difference in those two words.
"Oh, but that's where your wrong."
Then enlighten me, why don't you?
The following words flowed directly from Alma's mind and off her (metaphorical) tongue, "When you get back to... this Damocles place, what then? You're just going to do whatever they say without question? You're going to do what? Kill, kill and kill again? Who wins from that? Not the people you're massacring, not even you, it's the country. I don't even know why they built you or the Sky Ravens or anything else, because from what I've seen and heard the world is in just about complete harmony. So why'd they build you? Look..." Alma scrunched her imaginary face and shut her eyes hard as she realised she was going off-topic, "Soldiers aren't machines, Newblood, that's why I'm guessing they built you. If you go back to them, you won't live, you'll exist. You live and only live when you do everything there is to do, when you be everything you can possibly be. I... I really don't know how else I can say it. They want to keep you on a leash; so you can be their attack dog, and they won't let you be anything more or less than that. That will be your existence, not your life. They don't care about you; so from what I gather, you're going to be only the first of many, and the more of these LMCs and your AIs they make, the more expendable you are. They don't care for you."
You are making no sense at all.
"Sensible or not, that is a fact. They will make more of you and sooner or later you're going to be replaced with a better military AI. Then what happens when you become out-dated? "
So what if I'm replaced? I will still do whatever the Army asks of me.
"And what if they want you melted down and destroyed? Simon said they lock you off from any external threat so that your secrets won't be released to anyone. So you can't be improved, and they won't want warehouses filled with you, so the only option is destruction. What then?"
...For the good of the country, I will do what is needed.
"You're telling me you have no wanting for self-preservation?"
...Whatever is necessary.
"Self-preservation is one of the things that defines existence from living. I know you want to live, not to exist. Surprised? When you leak your military knowledge into my own memory, you're bound to let something slip. I know you want to be more than you are. You want to know how I also know this? Curiosity. You want to know what it's like to be me. You want the knowledge of what the senses are. You want to know what it's like to feel things."
Newblood was, for once, silent.
"You know what's humorous? You said you despise me, yet you think at the very same time that I am so curious. Simon said to me once, and I quote, ‘We often fear the things we don't fully understand.'"
...I'm not afraid.
"Maybe you are and you just don't know it. Look, fearful or not, I think Simon can help you."
Help me with what? I don't need any help.
"Are you sure about that? Look, I'm just saying, I think Simon can help you solve that curiosity problem of yours."
It's not a problem.
"Well according to them it is."
What do you mean?
"Don't bother putting on an act, your thoughts are a memoir. They tried to get you to behave before Simon took the LMC, didn't they? You were beginning to question things you weren't supposed to, and all because of your adaptive nature. I know that before you were taken, you were wondering how long it would be before you were scrapped entirely as a project and they would have to resort to the more simplistic-minded AIs. You were thinking all that weren't you?"
...So what if I was?
"So, you want to be more than you are. And I think Simon can help you be more than you are. Right now you're wondering how that's possible. I know it is. To long to be more than what one is now is another thing that divides living from existing. You want to be more than you are now, Simon can do that, and I know he can. He made me, didn't he?"
He can't do anything for me. As you stated before and as they said, I can't be modified in any way.
"Then how is it that there's a subroutine that's slowly changing you even now?"
So? I don't feel any different than when I was first awoken.
"How am I supposed to know? Look, it's a simple decision. Either go back to them and exist only to serve, or we both go to Ethan's, find a way to get Simon, and live."
But we need another LMC-III...
"Baby steps, Newblood. Would you, or would you not want to be alive?"
No one can make a robot living.
"Simon said to forget the textbook answers. Just... you know what I mean, so stop with all the doubting, just give me the answer, do you or do you not want to live."
...Yes.
"Then live you shal-"
Alma had been too deep in conversation to realise, but she had managed to wind up on a paved road. And when she had made it almost halfway across the small stretch of asphalt and urbanised earth, she was conveniently hit by a passing car.
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