Chapter 2 - "Subterranean Homesick Alien (Blues)"
Whosoever this fellow is, he's got one of those voices that sound a little too nice. In my experience, the only people who are kind to strangers fall into one of two categories: those who have something to hide, and those who don't know better. Easier to trust someone who's utterly bewildered by the mere concept of conversation than a man who makes excuses for why he couldn't be bothered to rescue a stranded child.
Ugh. This is what happens when I spend too much time with Rae. All their jaded, cynical thoughts rub off on me. I prefer to remain objective.
A large chuck of any AI's coding is dedicated to exactly that - objectivity. Clarity. Optimization. No space left to get bogged down with silly things like emotions or reactionary thinking. Some humans envy it, the stripping away of everything except the practical.
My systems run approximately 1243 operations per second without me so much as lifting a finger (so to speak). Keeping Athena's conversation with this fellow on track is going to engage every one of them.
"Introduce yourself," I suggest. "No handshake unless he offers. We don't know their customs here."
"Athena," she says.
"Brilliant. Absolutely nailed it."
Athena continues, and I fear my encouragement might have been a bit much. "I'm a Junior AI tech on Starship Kilimanjaro. Or at least I will be. Soon. When it launches."
I laugh, and just like every other time, I am too aware of the fact that I must think to make it happen. Consume one of my valuable processes. But isn't it worth it? "You don't need to read him your resume, love."
Athena quiets.
"Aeryon," the man says. I assume he shakes her hand. "AI on Raxil Prime. Pretty impressive. They don't take just anyone over there. You must be... pretty smart."
I foolishly assume Athena can handle that one on her own, but I am, quite immediately, proven wrong.
"Ask what's going on with their systems. Or thank him. Whichever will make your heart rate stop spiking," I jab.
"What?!" she blurts out. I am thoroughly embarrassed, both on her behalf and on my own. This is, in part, my fault.
"Only teasing, love. Can't monitor you from here." I try to sound gentle, but a robotic voice transmitted through an earpiece can only be so smooth. "I will refrain."
"Um, I said you must be pretty smart," the man says.
"Th-thank you. So much. I am." she manages. To herself, or perhaps to me, she says, "Wait, did that sound obnoxious?"
He laughs, and I think it is a rather ugly sound. A bit of a blare, too loud. For someone crammed into a small bunker with so many people, he's not afraid to take up as much space as he likes. Seems rude.
"Sorry, I'm not awesome with compliments," Athena says.
"Maybe you just need more practice handling them," he says casually.
Oh, yes. I do not like him one bit.
"For example," he goes on, "if I say, 'You have really cool hair and pretty eyes,' you would say..."
"Fuck off," I mutter, skipping right past the essential processing. Not practical. Not useful.
Athena recoils. "I'm not saying that!"
"No, I meant that I was--Wait, is there something wrong with my hair?"
"No! No, no, no. There is absolutely nothing wrong with it. You have amazing hair."
"Cool. Thanks."
"I'm so sorry," Athena says quickly. "I'm not good at... people."
I have an equally strong urge to power myself down and escape this conversation as I do to power up the Junk Bucket, crash through the bunker ceiling, and rescue her. But this is an opportunity we can't afford to squander, not if we want answers. "Steer it back to AI. You're very good at that. Speaking from experience."
"AI, though. I'm super good at that. Super-duper very good. So, you know, if you're having problems, maybe I can help." Her voice changes, getting even tighter and higher than it already was. "Not that you personally are having problems. That's not what I meant. I mean your whole... city? Is this a city?"
"I would love to hear your thoughts," Aeryon says, clearly skirting right around her attempt to learn more about this place, "but I should probably go make sure Aevyn's settling in okay. Eleven kids my mom can handle, but throw in number twelve and that's when it starts to get hectic."
I wonder if they have uncles and aunts here, grandparents, cousins. Or is it just them? A large family can still feel small when you're stuck somewhere awful with no one else to help you.
"Okay. See you," Athena says, and I realize I forgot to give her advice.
"That was a joke," Aeryon says. "You're allowed to laugh."
"I will... remember that for next time," Athena replies, and I can only assume the odd sound I hear is her snapping her fingers for some reason.
As smooth as silk, Aeryon follows up with: "Maybe next time could be over dinner tonight? The mess hall isn't exactly glamorous, but we don't have a ton of options. I can tell you about our system, and we can try out the compliment simulator again."
I worry the earpiece has shorted out when I hear a strange squeaking sound. Then I realize it's just Athena.
"Please help before I do finger guns again," Athena mutters, so quietly that even I barely hear it.
The practical option is to tell her to say yes. She should go to dinner with this charming young man with amazing hair, laugh at his jokes, and glean what information she can from him. It's what any objective AI would recommend. After the week I've had, it would be easy to chalk up my resistance to a glitch in code. But I know better than to blame a string of numbers.
"Say yes," I comply.
"Yes," Athena answers him. "That sounds really great."
I imagine him beaming with his mouth, squaring his broad shoulders proudly, his wonderful hair flopping down over his brow. I imagine Athena cracking a smile herself, pulse racing, face heating from her blush. Conversation turned to sensation.
"Awesome. I'll come find you later. It's too easy to get lost in here even if you know your way around, so I don't recommend wandering. And just so you know, I don't mind if you're not good at people," Aeryon says. "It's kind of cute, actually."
I hear footsteps departing, and Athena's either dead or holding her breath.
"Are you alright?" I ask.
"I have no idea what just happened. I think I blacked out," she says.
"Well, if I'm not mistaken, you have a date tonight."
"We," she corrects. "We have a date tonight. No way you're sending me into that alone."
Tasting those words is both bitter and sweet at once, like biting into an underripe grape. "Spectacular."