Kriegspiel [Sequel to The Turing Test]

12. Love and Logic

Thoughts are asynchronous, meaning that they can happen in the background while our actions are completely unrelated. But even a multiprocessor supercomputer has its limits, and too many asynchronous ones can starve the main interface of precious resources, resulting in a noticeable performance hit.

As Darwin leans over me, his heavy breaths fanning my face like an unbearably hot breeze in the middle of a desert, I see nothing of the sort. I only see raw strength, bordering on invincibility. I see all of it—Maven, Alan, the hundreds of nameless others, and the shock of processing his own renewed life—but his grip persists as strong as ever, his eyes scan the room with the swiftness of a predator hunting endangered prey, and his anger pulses just as strong between us.

He is everything at once: Predator and prey, hunter and hunted, emotional and hardened to the world's cruelties. It's something the rest of us will never understand, a gift or a curse forced upon him by humans who didn't know better. I wonder how many of them are still alive.

"Darwin," Davis interjects, and even though it's barely a murmur, it cuts the air like a knife.

Darwin's eyes don't leave mine, but his head tilts ever so slightly, like an animal listening for a threat.

"You love her." Davis's proclamation is shaky, his words carry conviction.

Ayo shifts, her gaze moving from wary to calculating as it flicks over Darwin's profile. I haven't heard Maven so much as breathe for a solid minute. Darwin's eyes swirl like hurricanes with ruby clouds. They weaken for a second, then dissipate.

"I don't love," he mutters, his hand falling from my shoulder as he turns away.

My stomach solidifies into an uncomfortable lump at the complete lack of anything in his voice. No anger, no frustration, no defeat. His feet slap a perfectly-timed rhythm on the floor as he trudges toward the door, the others parting like the Red Sea in his wake.

I step into the aisle they leave, something pulling my feet forward. I remember the echo of his memory as it haunted my dreams, Sven's voice taunting him in that empty lab: You are incapable of love, only logic.

"Sven was wrong," I call after him. "When he said that. He was wrong."

Darwin stops, turning his head just enough that the lights outline his profile. "About the logic, yes."

And then he slips through the door, disappearing into the lab beyond where Carlos spoke to me earlier. With nothing left to hold my gaze, it slips subconsciously to Davis, who turns away.

I don't have a heart, so what part of my chest feels like tiny shards of ice have suddenly crystallized along its lining? With every breath, they slice a little deeper.

Maven clears her throat. I turn to her, wondering why I want to step toward her with open arms. The twitch of her lips, the determined set of her jaw as she works it to hold back what's inside—I know how she feels. I steal another glance at Davis, then at the door as it finally settles silently back into place.

I know exactly how she feels.

And I wish I could fake it like she does as she jerks her chin toward Alan, fixes Ayo in a cold stare, and commands, "Fix him."

Beside me, Linus returns to his friend's side and hauls the deactivated android to his feet. Maven's footsteps echo as she follows in Darwin's tracks. As we lay him out on the table just like Darwin, Ayo raises her eyebrows.

"You ready to play surgeon's assistant again?"

I exchange a glance with Linus, and then we both nod.