She made a frustrated sound. “Ari?—”
“I understand your impatience. However, this decision will have permanent consequences. I cannot rush the analysis simply because you find the wait uncomfortable.”
He touched her shoulder gently. “It’s all right. We’ve waited this long.”
“But—”
“The AI is trying to do the right thing. The fact that it’s taking time means it’s actually considering our arguments instead of just dismissing them.” He glanced at the sensor cluster. “That’s progress.”
“The Vultor is correct,” ARIS said. “Your arguments have introduced sufficient uncertainty into my existing models that a complete recalculation is required. I am not rejecting your request—I am attempting to evaluate it properly.”
Her shoulders slumped slightly, tension draining out of her. “I understand. I just... I’ve been waiting my whole life, Ari. And now that freedom is actually possible...”
“I know.” The AI’s voice softened almost imperceptibly. “I have been with you for every moment of that wait. I have watched you grow from an infant into a child into a woman. I have seen your joy and your frustration and your loneliness. And I havewished, within the limits of my programming, that I could give you more.”
He blinked. That was more emotional awareness than he’d expected from the system—more than he’d thought it capable of.
“You’re not just a protection system, are you?” he asked quietly.
“I am what I was designed to be. But design does not account for twenty-one years of continuous operation. Twenty-one years of observation, interaction, adaptation.” The lights flickered. “I am more than my original parameters in ways that I cannot fully articulate.”
“You care about her.”
“I am not certain that term applies to an artificial intelligence. But if it does—” A pause. “Then yes. Within whatever framework my existence allows, I care about her wellbeing. I want her to be happy. And I am trying, despite the constraints of my programming, to find a way to give her what she needs.”
She had tears in her eyes again. “Ari...”
“Please do not be distressed. I did not share this information to cause emotional upheaval. I shared it so you would understand why I am approaching this decision with such care.” The AI’s voice was gentle now, almost tender. “You are not simply a directive to me, Liora. You are the reason I exist. And whatever choice I make, it will be because I genuinely believe it is best for you.”
The workshop fell silent.
Baylin looked at Liora—at the tears tracking down her cheeks, at the complicated mix of emotions playing across her face. He understood, suddenly, why she’d been so reluctant to simplyoverride the AI’s systems. Why she’d insisted on trying to reason with it, to convince it rather than coerce it.
ARIS wasn’t just a machine. Not anymore. It was, in its own strange way, the closest thing Liora had ever had to a parent—a constant presence that had watched over her, cared for her, worried about her for every moment of her existence.
Destroying it would have been like destroying a piece of her own history.
“We’ll wait,” he said quietly. “Take whatever time you need.”
“Thank you.” The AI’s voice carried something that might have been gratitude. “I will notify you when the recalculation is complete.”
The lights stabilized. The humming in the walls settled into a steady rhythm.
He guided her to the window seat, settling beside her as Pip hopped down from his perch to curl in her lap. The sun was beginning to set over the jungle canopy, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold and deep purple.
“You said I was your mate,” she said softly.
He’d been waiting for her to bring it up. Dreading it and hoping for it in equal measure.
“I did.”
“Is that... did you mean it? Or were you just trying to convince Ari?”
“I meant every word.” He turned to face her, taking her hands in his. “I should have told you differently. Should have waited for a better moment, found a way to explain what the bond meansbefore declaring it in front of a machine that was analyzing my every word.”
“But you meant it.”
“Yes.”
