Ten months wasn't quite enough to turn a former slave into an elite soldier, but having a military grade AI in one's head certainly facilitated things.
She was a fast learner, and soaked up every bit of information with a vigor that bordered on desperation. It was as if she was trying to use it to patch up the holes that she believed the brain injury had ripped into her mind.
He knew that she felt incomplete. Hollow despite them occupying the same space, alone despite him residing within her innermost. She was looking for something, and it saddened him that up until this point, neither of them had been able to find it. He wanted nothing more than to make her feel whole again.
The tides of time had changed the both of them – weathered and seasoned them into something not old, but new. But even after spending months together, that feeling of incompleteness had never quite left her. Still, who they were today had little in common with the shell that had escaped from Riga's clutches. They were no longer on the run. They were on their way to a mission – the most important one yet.
As their vessel cruised towards their destination, he conjured up a memory of a day ten months ago, and watched the events of the past unfold in his imagination to pass the time.
"Ground control to unidentified vessel. Please identify yourself and all passengers aboard, and state your purpose in this space," a voice resounded from the comm interface.
"Amy Larsson," she answered, "This is carrier shuttle A549 Avidity headed towards Degran. We have an invitation from the chancellor."
It was an invitation he had hacked into existence out of nothing, and for a split second they shared the same worried thought about whether it would all work out. They waited in anticipation for a few moments of silence.
"You are cleared for passage to Degran," ground control stated, and she breathed a quiet a sigh of relief.
"Who are your passengers?"
"Excuse me?" she asked.
"You said 'we have an invitation' but I only have your name on the list."
He could feel their heart beat accelerate. She tightened her grip on the shuttle controls until their knuckles turned white.
"Oh. My mistake, apologies," she said, "I am the only passenger."
Relax, he whispered, as if the person on the other end of the line could hear him if he spoke too loud. It will be fine.
After another brief moment of silence, ground control answered. "Very well. Please proceed to shuttle bay fifteen. We will take care of your vessel until your return to the dock. Enjoy your stay."
She exhaled another long overdue breath and sank back into the pilot seat.
That was stupid, she scolded herself.
It was just a blunder, don't be so hard on yourself.
She shook her head, burying her face in her hands. This isn't supposed to happen. I need to be better than this when I'm in control –
He interrupted her by showing her a memory of an image he had always found to be very soothing. It was a nebula in the Hortec cluster that had appeared to him in shades of blue and red and countless other, nameless colors, back when he had seen the world through non-human eyes. He was careful about showing her these images, fearing that her human mind would have difficulty processing the information in them. But just like he was learning to cope with most of the input of her body's innumerable subtle sensations, she was learning surprisingly fast to understand and delineate the information encoded in some of his most complex memories. At the same time, he had become better than ever at understanding the complexity of the spectrum of human emotions. Now, just as he had hoped, she relaxed at least a little bit.
Several seconds of silence passed between them, but he knew what she was thinking without having to peer through the veil she hid behind right now.
It's alright. Nothing bad happened. We are still right on track. You're doing great, Amy, he reassured her.
I really think you shouldn't refer to me as Amy, she thought. Her voice still sounded glum. That's the body's name now. We're both Amy.
So what do you propose I call you, then?
I don't know. Do I really need a name?
Behind the veil, he sensed that she was asking a different question: Do I really deserve a name?
Her struggle was almost palpable to him. In moments like these, he felt infinitely far removed from her side, despite the close confines of the space they shared. And in a strange, intangible way, it hurt him to see her like that – to witness her think like that.
Of course you do! he insisted, Amy - I mean... listen. Who or what do you think I am?
What? she asked, baffled by his question. You... you are Lars. I don't know what you mean.
Yes, I am Lars, he replied. And you are at least as much a person as I am, don't you think? So if even I received a name, back when I was still an android, then surely you should have one now.
She remained silent behind the veil, as she initiated the descent of the shuttle and steered it down towards the sea of clouds. Within barely a few weeks, she had picked up how to pilot a space craft, and these days he barely ever had to take control. Yet it seemed to him that with every passing day, she receded further away into a dark corner of her mind, as if she was hiding from him. He tried to give her that distance that she seemed to need, but he was worried that if she continued to occupy less and less of their shared space, she might one day disappear altogether.
Thank you, Lars, she finally said, as the nose of the shuttle dipped into the clouds. Below them, the surface of the planet came into view, covered in a lush green forest.
For what? He asked, befuddled. Judging from the gloomy shadows behind the veil on her side of their mind, it seemed to him like his attempts to cheer her up had failed spectacularly.
Mostly... for saving me, back then. I think I never thanked you properly for that. But also for believing that I'm still a person.
He didn't know what to answer, so he remained silent. But in that moment he realized that while she may have escaped from Riga and her prison, she was not yet free, and not yet safe. And he wondered if one day, he might have to save her again.
In the subsequent weeks and months, it had turned out that it was easy to make money if you had two minds and a pretty face. It had become even easier once they had realized just how much people tended to underestimate them. She had chosen a name for herself eventually, but it didn't end up helping her sense of self nearly as much as the things he taught her. She became more confident of not just the body's growing abilities, but also her own mind's. And with time, names became less and less important anyway. As Amy Larsson began to build a reputation, on numerous occasions, they had to become someone else entirely.
The shuttle they were on right now was a different one. Smaller, but more modern. Sleek, and outrageously expensive. Luckily, they had been able to acquire it without paying a single credit. It was just a landing craft to take them towards their goal while they had left their own ship farther behind, manned by their remaining crew of three. Or three and a half, more accurately.
They had met them on New Elysium, three androids that had spent the years after the Purge grounded, because every reasonable pilot steered clear of bringing an AI anywhere close to their ship - it might cost them dearly if they were ever discovered. But Amy Larsson had come to the decision that this was better than a human crew, because as smart as the three were, unlike Lars they were not fully autonomous. So it was unlikely that they would ever pick up what was going on with their Commander. Considering the extent of Amy Larsson's own augmentation, the only fully organic being on their ship was a cat that they had come to call Ensign Darwin.
She seemed content with their situation, and she certainly didn't hide as much behind the veil any longer. In their time together, the space between them had begun to fill with many new memories that they had made together. Tonight would certainly make another interesting one. But during their shuttle ride towards Symoa Station, Lars could not shake the sense of déjà-vu. And with this strange and vague kind of recollection came the same ominous feeling he had had, on that day when they had approached Degran, and she had rejected the name of Amy Larsson for herself. He wondered if she was truly safe now.
Lars. I know you're thinking of something. Spit it out, she demanded, interrupting the flow of his thoughts.
He felt caught off guard, and couldn't quite articulate himself right away.
Are you worried about the plan? She asked.
No, he answered. I trust you completely.
Then what are you worried about?
He didn't want to talk about the memories that had preoccupied him, and of his worry for her, and so he had to think of something else to tell her. Softly and carefully, he took control over some of her muscles, turning her head barely enough that they could see their mirror image in the starboard window.
Are you certain this disguise will work?
While her organic eye was adorned with dark make up that accentuated the light grey iris, her augmented eye was covered by a patch of embroidered black velvet, and part of an elaborate and elegant hairdo. She had dyed her hair uniformly black for the occasion, and he knew that she longed to wash it out again already. But for tonight, they had to become somebody else than Amy Larsson.
Absolutely certain, she answered. Besides...
She took back control and looked down at their body. The black dress she had chosen was so short it barely deserved to be described as such. It fit tightly and sported a cleavage down all the way to the belly button.
...I'm fairly convinced people won't be paying much attention to our face.
The thought made him uncomfortable, and he tried to hide that feeling from her. She had insisted on doing this her way, and he was still not sure that it was a good idea. Not because he doubted her abilities, but because he wasn't certain if it would be very healthy for their mind – especially her half of it. The trauma was still there, even though she had tried very hard to hide it all by covering the sharp edges and filling the deep chasms that fractured her side. But he also knew that she felt the need to prove herself. And after all, this was part of her very own plan. She had set their goal, all those months ago, on their way to Epicura.
Their attention was drawn back to the shuttle controls as a hailing signal reached them.
"This is Symoa station control," a male voice announced. "Identify yourself and state your purpose."
"This is Emerald Lakes, on shuttle craft B-14 headed from the SS Mockingbird towards Symoa. I'm on my way to tonight's party," Amy Larsson, on a shuttle craft from her ship, the Blackstar, and on her way to the greatest heist of her career as a pirate, lied.
"Ah, yes. I see. You're a VIP it seems. Welcome to Symoa."
Her lips curled upward in a smile.
This used to be harder, she thought, probably remembering that same day he had reminisced about before.
Because we used to be softer, he replied, as she steered the shuttle towards the docking bay.
Symoa Station was a busy place, well known as probably the most prestigious party location in space, where celebrities, wealthy business people, high ranking officials and even the occasional Neo-Tokyan would mingle. The station proper comprised of several decks filled with nothing but bars, clubs and function venues. But most people associated the name Symoa with the crown jewel of the station: its casino, located on the top most level of the station under a glass dome that provided a spectacular view of the endless expanse of space.
After parking their overpriced, stolen shuttle in the company of equally overpriced vessels, they made their way towards the elevators to the upper levels. On first glance, security seemed to be tight. White-uniformed guards were stationed at every passageway, in front of the elevators and patrolling along the promenades. But the hedonism of Symoa's illustrious clientele seemed to have rubbed off on the station personnel and had made them complacent. Or perhaps all the shady business dealings, conducted in backrooms and behind closed doors of Symoa's various establishments, had trained them in looking the other way much better than in spotting the conspicuous.
Either way, getting into the casino was ridiculously easy. The bouncer took a long look at the woman with the ostentatiously low cut dress, and in the end didn't even check if her name was on his list before waving her through.
Well, if I had known that this would work, I could have saved myself the time of creating the invitation for us, he stated as they moved past the tall man and entered the casino.
Never underestimate the power of human thirst, she replied.
Thirst? An image of a glass water came to his mind.
Not that kind of thirst. She replaced the image with others, and he suddenly felt very uncomfortable.
Lars, what the hell. Stop making us blush.
Me? You are showing me these pictures, and I –
She couldn't help but grin. I'm just teasing you.
I see. I think you're enjoying yourself too much, he grumbled.
As much as he had gotten used to his existence in a human body, there were aspects about humanity he still found puzzling. Their need for physical contact was not at all incomprehensible to him – he could easily understand the concept of pleasure. Perhaps it was the nature of her memories from her time as Riga's slave that had skewed his view on this aspect of human existence.
Most of these memories were from the time before he had awoken inside of her and had called out to her. And worse than the mere recollection of the events were the feelings associated with them. The abhorrence and disgust, the helplessness and the pain. It had taken him quite some time to get used to this aspect of organic recollection - how she would recall not just an event, but the entire state of mind, and sometimes even the physical sensation, as real and horrifying as if it was happening all over again.
She tried to hold that back and bury it all, for both of their sakes, but he still caught glimpses of it occasionally. Even though it was just a memory, what had been done to her was more appalling than anything he had seen humans to do other humans on the battlefield. Because what Riga had done to her was different. It had been personal. And utterly repulsive.
He pushed these thoughts away now, and tried to clear his mind in order to assist her with the mission. As the memories scurried back into their dark corners in their mind like insects met by a bright light, he directed his attention back to the outside world. She was walking through the crowd that had gathered in the casino. Some associate of the Neo-Tokyo elite had rented out the entire place to celebrate his daughter's birthday, or perhaps it was his son's. It didn't really matter to them. Their target was one of the other guests.
She was scanning the room with her uncovered, organic eye, looking for their target. The light from the massive crystal chandeliers that hung from the domed ceiling like droplets of melting glass was not overly bright, but all around them, lines of sparkling and flashing lines adorned the slot machines, card tables and furniture. It was if the entire place had been designed in some preposterous attempt to outshine the stars beyond the window overhead.
Among expensive designer suits and dresses of the Neo-Tokyans, their target still stood out. He recognized the man in a far corner of the room, as one of few guests wearing a grey and black gala uniform.
Null, he softly spoke that odd name she had chosen for herself, as she moved towards the man.
Yes?
Be careful.
Of course, she said. Now, if you don't mind...
Ah yes, of course.
He withdrew from the sensory cortex of the brain, something he had learned to do over time. He occasionally did that to give her some privacy. This time, she had suggested it for his own sake. She wasn't keen on doing what she was about to do, but she was even less keen on having him hanging around in the background to watch.
Now he found himself locked inside, deprived of any sensory input from their body, but still capable to converse with her, should the need arise. It was dark in this place, and quite boring without her.
While he waited, he tried to distract himself with memories, but it wasn't as easy as it used to be to call upon specific ones. For most of his existence, he had been used to storing information in a neat and orderly fashion, sorted and categorized for quick and effortless retrieval. But in here, it was impossible to keep that order. This body was constantly bombarded with sensations to an extent that he would have thought impossible for an organic being to process at all. In that way, there was even more input than what he had experienced with the sophisticated sensors he had had at his disposal as an android.
With every turn of her head, every movement in the corner of her eye, every time her skin brushed against a surface, with every sound, sight, scent, utter chaos encroached upon his order. The machine part of their mind would try to retain it all, but the organic part knew the importance of forgetting the useless and consolidating only the important. To him, that was an entirely new concept.
Over time, he had adapted, and as much as the disorder had upset him at first, he could see a certain beauty in the ostensible chaos of the organic. He wondered if she felt the same about her inorganic parts. By now her consciousness had claimed as much of his circuits as his own mind had made its home between her synapses.
But the conscious sensations weren't the worst part. This body just used different ways to process input – messier, more tumultuous, but ultimately not too different from the way he had always integrated sensory inputs anyway. Instead, it was the experience of a subconscious that he had found hardest to adapt to. The dreams that had begun once they had made memories together. But also the basal instincts, the raw urges. Hunger. Fear. Desire. In an organic body, they were more powerful and relentless than he could have ever imagined. She hadn't felt much of that when he had awakened, but over the past months, it was as if she had learned to be alive again, and graciously brought him along for that terrifying and enlightening experience.
He went through their memories again, in a vain attempt to sort and categorize. Their shared memories were exceptionally hard to process like that, and yet he felt the obsessive compulsion to at least try. Close to the border between human and machine, where the organic part of her brain interfaced with the hardware that had once been a part of his CPU, it was near impossible.
He had reached that border now, and found himself wondering how much time had passed since she had shut him in. Human bodies were frustratingly bad about perceiving time properly, and so deep down in this place, that perception was particularly skewed. Right now, he was fairly certain that nowhere near as much time had passed as he imagined.
From his side of their shared space, he peered across the border to the organic side of their brain, that wild and disorganized space in which most of her mind resided right now. While he was still contemplating whether it was worth the risk to take a peek at what she was doing, he heard her voice.
Lars.
Yes?
We have a problem.
Within a split second, he was on highest alert. He barely resisted the urge to force himself back into the sensory cortex right away – but it wasn't his call. This was her plan, her mission. She was in command.
What happened? he asked instead.
She showed him what had happened, and he wished she hadn't.
In a dimly lit backroom of the casino, she sat on the man's lap, one hand at the back of his sweaty neck, the other stroking along the collar of his shirt underneath the jacket of his uniform. His hands were on her thigh, her waist, the small of her back, on her rib cage just below her breasts, and soon thereafter pretty much everywhere. And his touch hurt. Even his breath felt unbearably hot against her cheek and neck, and it reeked of alcohol.
Lars wanted to take back control of her body just to be able to vomit.
Through her eyes, he watched as she leaned in to whisper something in the man's ear, and slipped her hand between his shirt and jacket. Then she had brought her lips close to his. They only touched for an instant, but he could feel the revulsion well up inside of her as viscerally and violently as if he had been with her at that time.
The man's body had gone limp and her hand had slipped out of his pocket again.
"What are you doing here?" a male voice suddenly asked behind her. She turned, and spotted the bouncer from before.
"I don't know what happened to him," she said. "I think he drank too much or something, he just fell asleep."
Null, why are you showing me all this, Lars interrupted the memory, forced to watch in distraught as the bouncer eyed their body up and down with a mixture of suspicion and hunger in his eyes. Or thirst, his subconscious corrected him.
Just to provide some context before-
Her thought was cut short as he suddenly found himself yanked back into the parts of the brain that allowed him to directly sense what was happening, instead of watching her memory of the past few minutes – just in time to reflexively take control of their legs and nimbly step out of reach as the bouncer tried to grab hold of their body. Time didn't always flow at the same speed inside and outside their mind, and she had just spent less than half a second to bring him up to speed with what had happened in his absence.
"Sorry," she said, facing the bouncer, but Lars knew that it was really addressed to him, for the forceful way in which she had pulled him back to her side.
"Only paying customers get to touch the merchandise," she added, taking another step back.
"What did you do to him?" the bouncer asked, looking at the unconscious man with a furrowed brow.
"Nothing," she lied, "Like I said, he drank a lot, and then he passed out."
"Something's fishy about you," the bouncer said, narrowing his eyes at her. "What's your name again?"
"I'm on that list of yours," she said, stepping back as he approached her slowly. "You should really check."
"What's your name?" he repeated.
Emerald. Lars helped her out.
"Emerald Lakes," she stated.
"I don't believe you. I think I've seen you before..." he said and squinted at her. "Your face..."
Null, didn't you say this disguise would work?
She groaned inside their head. Well, this was never supposed to happen. The whole reason behind the narcotic was to give us a head start before anybody noticed that we had even been here.
Well, we got what we came for, he thought, tightening their grip on the tiny crystal chip they had stolen from the man. I suggest we get out of here.
Fantastic proposal, but... there's a six and a half foot obstacle between us and the door.
You can handle it, he said. You really didn't have to drag me out here.
You really think so?
Absolutely, he thought, not just because he really could have gone without having to witness all that. But if you like, I'll stick around for now. Just in case.
That's just what I needed to hear. Thank you.
He relinquished full control back to her once he felt her confidence had returned. With a sigh, she rolled back her shoulders and slipped the chip into a hidden pocket of her dress in a motion that looked like she was flattening a fold.
"Listen. I don't have time for this," she said, turning towards the door. "Just call a doctor for that guy. I have other customers waiting and –"
Without another warning, the bouncer stepped forward and grabbed her arm.
"Not so fast. Show me your ID and license," he demanded.
"Let go of me," she said in a calm voice.
"Show me your ID," he insisted, leaning down to stare at her on eye-level. "And I'll let go."
"How about this. You let go, and I won't break your nose," she proposed with a sweet smile.
For a moment, the bouncer furrowed his brow in confusion, and then he burst into almost hysterical laughter at this ludicrous suggestion coming from the slim, five-foot-three woman. His laughter only lasted a second though, because she drove her fist into his face so fast and hard that his nose cracked audibly. He recoiled and let go of her arm to cover his bleeding face with his hands, muffling his own cry of pain into more of a moan.
"You little-"
"It's not like I didn't ask you politely first," she said, relaxing her fist again and wiping the traces of the narcotic from her lips with her thumb.
Fittingly, the plant the narcotic compound was purified from was called Widow's Kiss – it had been her idea to use it. It was potent stuff, and it conveniently required a five hundred fold lower effective dose in males than females to act. She had barely put on enough to put the guy behind her to sleep instead of outright killing him, but nonetheless she didn't like having it on her lips any longer than necessary.
Well, there wouldn't have been enough left to knock out someone like him anyway, he noted as he watched the bouncer rise to his full height again.
Yeah. Besides, he doesn't really look like he's in the mood for a make out session.
The tall man had regained his composure and came at her with fury in his eyes and blood all over his white casino employee uniform. She side stepped, and just as he rushed past her, she drove her elbow into his right kidney. He grunted, tumbled, and when he turned to look at her again, she was just in the process of taking off her shoes. He stared at her wide-eyed, probably wondering where in the galaxy the lifeless man behind him had found and hired that crazy bitch.
Good riddance, Lars thought as she kicked her shoes to the side. He hated those things. They were extremely uncomfortable and useless in a fight, unless you wanted to poke somebody's eye out with the heel, perhaps.
"This is my last warning," she said. "I really don't want to hurt you."
"That's a pity, sweetheart," the bouncer growled, "Because now I really want to hurt you."
"You're welcome to try," she said, brushing her hair to the side and lifting her eye patch.
Times had changed, some things had stayed the same. The eye was still pitch black, but now it could do a couple of extra tricks that helped them predict an opponent's movements in a fight. As the augment focused on her target, it made a soft, ticking noise.
For a moment, the man seemed startled, but if he realized what it was that he saw before him, he didn't say or let it show. The bouncer's third attempt to attack her was not as reckless as his first two approaches, but he still underestimated her. He was bulky and slow, and she was small and nimble, and moved around him like it was a dance. He reached for her, but his hands moved through thin air. Behind him she landed a kick to his hamstrings so forceful that it brought him to his knees, and then another kick to his side that forced the air out of his lungs and brought him down on all fours. Most other opponents would have curled up into a ball from the pain, but that man was persistent.
I really don't want to kill him, but I'm not sure if I can just knock him out.
The thought flashed through their mind at lightning speed, and neither of them could say who of them had had it.
Your call, Null, Lars whispered in her mind and pulled back further in an attempt to lessen his influence some more.
Their exchange had only lasted a split second – it was really something they had become quite adept at by now – before she moved in for the last hit. She drove her elbow against the back of his neck, close to where the skull covering the cerebellum connected to the spine. Another cracking sound, and he went down with a muffled groan.
He's still breathing, Lars answered her unspoken question. But he'll be out for a while. And with some luck he'll have a hard time remembering what he saw.
Good, she thought as she put her eye patch back on and turned towards the door of the backroom. And now-
She was about to walk away when a pair of men in white casino uniforms appeared before her in the door frame.
"What the hell is going on back here?" one of them asked at the sight before them. Next to her on the floor, the bouncer seemed to whimper in response.
"Freeze!" the other man now ordered, pointing his weapon at her.
Well, she thought as she raised her hands and stared at the barrel of the gun pointed at their chest. Fuck.