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She begged. It wasn’t a request. It was a very odd, strangled, ask that he would not mess with him. If he did, he would learn his true origin. If he made even the smallest change, he could destroy him. Quinn was updating all systems, but Watson was the one that needed to stay exactly the same.
Watson could hear them both, but he did not comment upon it.
“The Digitized Praetorian Consciousness you’ve designated Watson will not be harmed. The last step in the retrofit will be reconnecting him to the ship’s new systems. He may be pleased to learn that this will include the new drone bay for emergency external repairs, reactor maintenance, and general maintenance, as this will give him some physical agency once again. By personal choice, I have decided to do no further harm, as I have seen the purpose many of my inventions have been turned to. I consider digitized consciousnesses to be a valid form of life just as any other.”
That voice of his remained placid, but there’d been a break in it. She heard that small fracture when he mentioned his inventions. She knew Paradigm was responsible, but he felt guilt. The mental abuse weighed heavily upon him, that much was clear. Neglect could be as harmful to a person’s psyche as anything else. Combine that neglect with knowing you had played a role in countless deaths? It was little wonder he wasn’t good with people.
She realized the depth to which she had wounded the man on the other end of the communicator. It had been a joke to her. For him it had been yet another time an attempt to connect with a person had ended with pain.
“I’ll take your silence as confirmation that you find this agreement equitable. Thank you for your cooperation.”
The shields clicked off, and the drones retreated, Kira floated alone, drifting in the void of space.
Are you alright?
“I feel like you should be asking him that.”
I’m not worried about him.
Adjusted the aim on the control pad, the thrusters kicked to life. She had supplies that needed to be returned to the Eikos. She let out a shudder at the idea of having to arrange quarters under West and instead sought the station’s quartermaster. Arrangements were made with a little bribing to keep the room under a different name.
QUINN
Quinn found, on the third day after she’d taken up residence on the Eikos, that his drone came back with a little paper sack instead of the usual food tray. With the bag under the thin wrapping rested a box of chocolate-covered almonds with sea salt wrapped and tied in a neat bow.
He met it with a frown. He eyed the treat for a moment, then opted to open the paper sack. Par for the course, there was a sandwich. No note or anything. Just a plain thing that had some sort of mixture in it. The sandwich smelled vaguely fishy, but not in a bad way. The chemical analysis showed eggs, mayonnaise, and pickles.
He chose not to respond, giving no message of thanks this time. The bag and box were returned to her room neatly folded. Not quite forgiveness but he did, in his own way, say that he understood that it was meant to be an olive branch.
The next day was the same: the generic meal the Eikos provided, then a bag lunch from Kira, and a snack of some sort. The Eikos crew only sent what was of nutritional value with nothing special. Kira usually did earth inspired food, but occasionally she would give him something alien yet certainly edible.
On the third day after she started the deliveries, Quinn pinged her communicator with a single verbal message: “Thank you, your food tastes better than what Eikos provides.”
The following day, his lunch included a handwritten note on the sack itself. “Any preferences?”
His response came at an odd hour. They usually did. He didn’t treat his body well, often ignoring its physical demands far longer than he should. “No.”
After several minutes passed, another response came. “Not being difficult, I haven’t tried many things.”
Trying to peaceably make amends in some regards, even if it was beyond him why he was doing so, he kept busy to ignore analyzing it.
The next night, with his supper, sat an insulated silver cup with a mixture of sugar, water, cream, and crushed vanilla beans, a straw beside it and another note. “Had to sneak this one out.”
Quinn returned the silver cup to her in the evening via drone. It had been cleaned so thoroughly, she could see her reflection. A note left in the cup.
‘Thanks.’
Later, when he retired for the day he decided to ask reopening a line of communication audibly, “Is there anything you would like to know about the status of the ship?”
“No,” she said softly in return.
He didn’t disconnect right away.
“I trust your work,” she continued.
“Okay, thank you.” He’d paused before saying it, then the communicator went silent. He manually flipped it off.
Sometimes he’d get something special with lunch, sometimes with dinner. In one package, she threw together some snickerdoodle cookies. His readout said she’d substituted cinnamon, but found a suitable replacement.
