are,” he said instead.
“Not yet,” she said. “But I’ll find out.”
“And then what?”
Amy shrugged. “I don’t know. It depends on what they do next.”
He crossed the distance between them. He held her face in his hands. “Don’t do this,” he whispered. “Don’t go down this road. It was just surveillance. It’s probably some next-level paparazzi bullshit. We live with that every day. There’s no need to be angry.”
“I’m already angry.” She smiled wistfully. “I’m already so much more angry than you can ever understand.”
“They didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I’m not angry about this ,” she said, stepping away. “I’m angry about everything .”
“You won,” Javier said. “We’re not on the run, anymore. We’re not in prison. Portia’s gone.”
Amy was silent. Javier simulated many different ways of framing his next question. He chose the simplest.
“She is gone, right?”
Amy shut her eyes. “It’s not that easy. Quarantining Portia, hacking you. It’s not that easy.”
“You keep saying that, but you never actually explain what you mean.”
She lifted her gaze to meet his. “Do you understand what happened to me, when I remade myself?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. I know what you told me, anyway.”
“Well, I didn’t tell you everything. I couldn’t. Because it’s impossible to express. I saw everything , Javier. Everything Portia had ever seen. Everything the island ever saw. Everything they ever did. All the memories.”
He held his hands open for her to take, if she wanted to. “What are you saying?”
She looked deeply, terribly, inconsolably sad. “It means that if I change you – hack you, remake you, however you want to think of it – I would see everything you’ve ever done, too.” She bit her lip. “And everyone you’d ever done it with, too.”
He took a step back. He didn’t want to say the next part. “And I’m guessing that’s just a bit too much to ask of you, isn’t it?”
Her programming allowed for a shift in her shoulders that looked an awful lot like a deep sigh. “Right now, it is,” she said. “Maybe later, I’ll be more… grown-up, about the whole thing.”
“Right. Grown-up.” He nodded. How strange, he thought, that his favourite killer robot should be rendered so stupidly and pitiably human by something so organic and predictable as jealousy. He turned away, and found the fresh air whistling into the sub through the hole in its reeking flesh. He let the rain spatter his face before speaking. “Come on. The shipment will be here any minute.”
Actually, the shipment arrived hours behind schedule. It was fully night by the time it showed. They didn’t contact the island in any way to let them know that they’d be late. Amy’s calm grew increasingly brittle as the hours wore on and the shadows lengthened. In that regard, she was not much different from the islanders she’d pulsed. It didn’t take sophisticated affect detection algorithms to understand that the other vN were worried and suspicious. It just took eyes. The others didn’t seem to want to meet his.
By nightfall, Javier had gathered his produce, and gotten himself into a new white shirt and trousers. They were one hundred percent organic plant material, no synthetics. Even the buttons were some sort of pressed cork or balsa or somesuch. He liked the outfit a great deal. He had a thing for cotton.
“You always wear such tight pants when the humans come visit.”
He turned to Amy. She’d changed, too: she wore a pure black skinsuit. It moved sluggishly across her figure, twinkling occasionally. The twinkles had nothing to do with ambient light, and everything to do with where Javier’s gaze alighted on Amy’s body. The suit’s eyes followed his own. He wondered vaguely if he could start selling lengths of the island’s pelt for humans to wear, too. It fit her like a glove.
“Sex sells,” he said.
Amy opened her mouth to say
“Not yet,” she said. “But I’ll find out.”
“And then what?”
Amy shrugged. “I don’t know. It depends on what they do next.”
He crossed the distance between them. He held her face in his hands. “Don’t do this,” he whispered. “Don’t go down this road. It was just surveillance. It’s probably some next-level paparazzi bullshit. We live with that every day. There’s no need to be angry.”
“I’m already angry.” She smiled wistfully. “I’m already so much more angry than you can ever understand.”
“They didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I’m not angry about this ,” she said, stepping away. “I’m angry about everything .”
“You won,” Javier said. “We’re not on the run, anymore. We’re not in prison. Portia’s gone.”
Amy was silent. Javier simulated many different ways of framing his next question. He chose the simplest.
“She is gone, right?”
Amy shut her eyes. “It’s not that easy. Quarantining Portia, hacking you. It’s not that easy.”
“You keep saying that, but you never actually explain what you mean.”
She lifted her gaze to meet his. “Do you understand what happened to me, when I remade myself?”
He shrugged. “Yeah. I know what you told me, anyway.”
“Well, I didn’t tell you everything. I couldn’t. Because it’s impossible to express. I saw everything , Javier. Everything Portia had ever seen. Everything the island ever saw. Everything they ever did. All the memories.”
He held his hands open for her to take, if she wanted to. “What are you saying?”
She looked deeply, terribly, inconsolably sad. “It means that if I change you – hack you, remake you, however you want to think of it – I would see everything you’ve ever done, too.” She bit her lip. “And everyone you’d ever done it with, too.”
He took a step back. He didn’t want to say the next part. “And I’m guessing that’s just a bit too much to ask of you, isn’t it?”
Her programming allowed for a shift in her shoulders that looked an awful lot like a deep sigh. “Right now, it is,” she said. “Maybe later, I’ll be more… grown-up, about the whole thing.”
“Right. Grown-up.” He nodded. How strange, he thought, that his favourite killer robot should be rendered so stupidly and pitiably human by something so organic and predictable as jealousy. He turned away, and found the fresh air whistling into the sub through the hole in its reeking flesh. He let the rain spatter his face before speaking. “Come on. The shipment will be here any minute.”
Actually, the shipment arrived hours behind schedule. It was fully night by the time it showed. They didn’t contact the island in any way to let them know that they’d be late. Amy’s calm grew increasingly brittle as the hours wore on and the shadows lengthened. In that regard, she was not much different from the islanders she’d pulsed. It didn’t take sophisticated affect detection algorithms to understand that the other vN were worried and suspicious. It just took eyes. The others didn’t seem to want to meet his.
By nightfall, Javier had gathered his produce, and gotten himself into a new white shirt and trousers. They were one hundred percent organic plant material, no synthetics. Even the buttons were some sort of pressed cork or balsa or somesuch. He liked the outfit a great deal. He had a thing for cotton.
“You always wear such tight pants when the humans come visit.”
He turned to Amy. She’d changed, too: she wore a pure black skinsuit. It moved sluggishly across her figure, twinkling occasionally. The twinkles had nothing to do with ambient light, and everything to do with where Javier’s gaze alighted on Amy’s body. The suit’s eyes followed his own. He wondered vaguely if he could start selling lengths of the island’s pelt for humans to wear, too. It fit her like a glove.
“Sex sells,” he said.
Amy opened her mouth to say
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