At that, Aspect’s bouncing foot suddenly stops. They lift one mechanical hand to scratch their mechanical head—a learned gesture, certainly, but a startlingly human one. “Aspect.”
“Which memory of Aspect’s?”
Aspect’s optical processors cycle rapidly between on and off in a flicker of artificial light. “Not—a memory. Something—else.”
“A mirroring, then?”
Time seems to drag its heels through the ensuing swollen moment before Aspect says, slowly, every syllable clipped, “Aspect—programmed—Aspect.”
My stomach drops. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“Neither—does Aspect.”
In keeping with the theme of my life as of late, this is technically my fault. Kori confided in me from the start that her mission, and what had drawn her into my forbidden kingdom, was breathing being into a synthetic life-form, awakening Aspect to develop independently of manual programming and pilfered memory installations. Of my own volition, I led Kori to the archives and oversaw the expansion of Aspect’s mechanical mind with my own people’s history. And when that history set Aspect on the warpath with Kori, I returned the Morpheus sphere of purehopeoriginally offered by Lail, Kori’s trading partner.
When the installation showed no immediate effect, we assumed the experiment was a failure. But like any person, it seems Aspect simply needed time to absorb and apply this new information. In fact, the time needed seems to be the strongest indicator of all that this isreally happening.
When we installed data about the Territory Wars into Aspect, they immediately pivoted all their perspectives, a sheer algorithm update.
But the hope sphere took time to sink deeper, shimmering, settling, and slowly lighting up every corner of the mech’s simulated mind. Finally, trulyawakeningit.
If Aspect is telling the truth about programming themself—and for all their faults, I’m not confident the mech would be able to lie successfully even at gunpoint—then this iswhat we wanted.So why do I feel terrible, sickening heat washing over me, like all the air in the room is shrinking?
I look at the optical processors, slowly blinking at my organic gaze, and I swear to the Beyond, I canfeelthem look back.
Two thoughts spear through me in rapid succession.
One: Kori should’ve been the one to see this. It’s like a stranger being the one to witness an infant’s first steps; it feels like as much a stolen experience as every memory plugged into Aspect’s mainframe.
Two: I already have a dayfolk girl in my prison quarter who’s accessed our archives, witnessed me nearly on my deathbed, forced feelings into every fissure of my armor as surely as the rebel’s freezeblade broke through, and even charmed my damned three-headed dog (as has her robot). Icannotafford another rogue element.
A robot having independent thoughts is about the least predictable thing that could be happening. Not to mention that thoughts are a mere half step away fromfeelings, and if I have to reckon with a single additional emotion anytime in this sleep cycle, I’ll collapse in on myself like an old cave.
Damn it all, I was born and built for open warfare at best, aggressive negotiations at worst. All these soft, tender, malleable feelings feel alien, parasitically sucking my focus.
A proper queen would crush the robot’s head like an overripe fruit, maybe tell Kori it was an accident if she wanted to be merciful. But if there’s one thing that’s made itself unbearably clear ever since Kori first crashed out of my star-blown sky, it’s that I am a very different sort of queen than Pagomènos has seen before. Not a daughter of the daylight, certainly. But not a monster either. Just because the Diakópsei and myparents blessed me with claws and teeth doesn’t mean my impulses will always match that potential for violence.
Try as I might, I’ve already disappointed my parents’ ghosts. I kept Kori alive. I guarded her like a beggar would her last coin. I think I can find a way to live with that disappointment, but when I consider squishing Aspect into metallic mush, I realize with startling clarity that worse than that, worse than anything I’ve yet endured, would be the knowledge that I’ve disappointed myself.
I need to keep a safe distance from Kori, but that doesn’t mean I need to discard what’s undoubtedly the greatest achievement of her life—this little mech looking up at me, bright and hopeful and dare I sayalive, the way I undoubtedly looked at Kori upon my first glimpse of the Pagonian sun.
This is a monumental (and monumentally terrifying) achievement for Pagonians altogether. It’s the advent of alife, if the terrible, wonderful, mind-boggling confidence racing through me is any indication. It transcends the barriers between our people. And if Lail’s nightfolk memory of hope is really what triggered it, then this is my achievement as surely as Kori’s. It was the nightfolk who finally brought Aspect to life.
Aspect’s whole body has started to rattle. “Is Aspect—having—a thought?”
“I think you may be,” I say, very carefully, the way one would approach a wild animal, trying to soothe it lest it strike. Behind us both, Russ’s breaths stir. I fear even my dog is beginning to realize the gravity of what’s taking place. “But it’s perfectly all right. Kori knew this might happen. And I’m here to help you through it.”
I think I actually see steam slinking out of Aspect’s shuddering joints. The optical processors are wide and ruby red. “ASPECT—IS HAVING—A THOUGHT.”
Involuntarily, I extend a hand to steady their shoulder, but I flinch away on contact. Aspect is running at an alarmingly high temperature.
“Can Aspect possibly have another thought that involves lower panic levels?”
“Aspect thought—ASPECTTHOUGHT—Aspect might be—having thoughts. Either that or—Aspect was—about to blow—a primary gasket.” Aspect is actively spinning now, on one squeaky foot, like the world’s worst panic-ridden ballerina, spitting out streams of steam as they whirl. “Aspect heard—voices—hissing—in the walls—in the floors—in the—planet—seeking—seeking—”
Even if Aspect is more alive than ever, it’s starting to look like they’re careening toward a very anticlimactic core-software death.
“Seeking—K-K-KORI—” But at their maker’s name, Aspect goes suddenly rigid, even while stammering through the word. “Aspect can—hear them—now—hissing—their snake—voices—closer now—”
