we depend (I depend) on you • jayvik

Prototype - Year Three

Sky Young is a brilliant girl. She is also one of the engineer's only friends.

They grew up together, played together. He taught her how to make her first mainspring motor when they were only eleven. Together, they built tiny boats, vehicles with three or four or six wheels, and trains with multiple cars to carry rocks and pebbles and handfuls of dirt. In return, she taught him how to play her kalimba. She always laughed when his fingers fumbled over the keys. Sometimes he did it on purpose just to hear her make the sound. For a time, they were inseparable.

Then the other children discovered the joy of climbing the corroded, old-city scrap yards. They'd meet at one of the abandoned market stalls in groups of fifteen or more and set off together. They would wear fabric wrapped around their hands to protect their palms, and each one had their own pack slung over their shoulders for anything they might scavenge from the rubble. It was only a matter of time before Sky went with them, leaving Viktor behind.

His mother had always warned him about the dangers of the yards and how one misstep could be disastrous for a boy with an unsteady gait. So while the others ran off and explored, he remained where it was safe, tinkering alone.

Maybe that was the beginning of his solitude.

But he never blamed Sky for it.

It is funny how the world works. It feels like just yesterday he was watching his friend run off to the yards, and now he is walking to the door of his lab to let her in.

She is already smiling at him by the time he opens the door. She always is. She is like a ray of sunshine – it is something he has always envied. Before he can welcome her inside, she is already holding a container out toward him.

"I hope you don't mind, but I brought you dinner."

He looks down. It is full of meat and vegetable skewers, accompanied by a side of red and orange fruit.

"You said your back was bothering you, and I wasn't sure if you'd go out or not, so I made some. It's no biggie."

She works at the Academy as a lab assistant – the same one where he makes his money. She must have overheard him complaining to a colleague.

"Thank you, Sky," he says, taking the container from her hands. It is still warm. "That is very nice of you."

She smiles again, and he notices how her hands clasp tightly together in front of her. The faintest blush of color paints her cheeks, as if his words have warmed her skin. He focuses on the food instead.

"Please, come in."

The engineer turns toward his lab, his hands full, and walks toward the direction of his workbench while Sky closes the door behind them.

"Does it work?"

"Of course."

Sky makes a half-circle around Jayce, examining its sturdy frame from all sides, and the engineer already regrets inviting her. He can tell she does not think much of it.

Sky tilts her head.

"How is it powered?"

Her inquiry is simple enough. He can work with that.

"Jayce?"

→ THE HEX CAPACITOR REGULATES, RECYCLES, AND RESTORES ENERGY, ALLOWING CONTROLLED DISCHARGE FOR MECHANICAL APPLICATIONS

Jayce's screen flickers as his response is typed out, letter by letter, and Sky lets out a quiet laugh.

"It's impressive, I'll give you that." She bends down into a squat to get a closer look. Jayce's cursor blinks, waiting. Always waiting. "Can it answer anything?"

"Most questions, yes. We are still working on philosophy, as you can imagine."

"You're teaching your robot philosophy ?"

"He's learning," the engineer corrects, then he winces slightly. "It sounds bizarre, I'm realizing..."

Sky laughs again and rises back to her full height. She wraps her arm around the engineer's, leaning on him, and he instinctively shifts his weight, his back and hips protesting the added pressure. He does not have the heart to tell her why she will never have a chance.

"It's impressive, Viktor."

"Thank you, Miss Young."

"Why'd you build it?"

He hesitates.

"I suppose... it felt too lonely in the lab by myself."

Jayce's cursor blinks and blinks and blinks. Sky's expression softens from the corner of his eye. He does not meet her gaze. Instead, he straightens – grimacing as a dull ache pulls at the base of his spine – and takes his seat when Sky quickly retrieves his rolling chair. He thanks her a second time.

"I want it to do more."

His voice is quieter now as he places a careful hand atop Jayce's casing. One day, he will make it softer on the eyes.

"I want it to remember beyond equations and technicalities. I want it to evolve – to really think – to document its own success as it goes."

Sky hums from beside him, watching. "Like a student."

He nods.

"Exactly. Perhaps more than that."