“I don’t understand,” I tell him.
“I cannot explain further in a way that would make sense with your limited knowledge.”
I narrow my eyes. “You’re calling me stupid.”
“On the contrary, I do not think you are unintelligent. You are simply uneducated on this particular topic in a fashion that does not allow a deep analysis.” He hesitates. “I could teach you, and I have no doubt you would pick up the language quickly, but physics, science, and engineering are not simple topics. It would take me years of teaching to reach a level adequate enough for you to understand every nuanced detail of this world.”
“Oh,” I say, the furrow between my brows relaxing. “Well, in that case . . .”
We fall into silence for a while, me enjoying the feeling of his consciousness with mine. It’s almost like he’s sitting beside me if I close my eyes, the way I’m attuned to him making it tempting to reach out and find flesh where I know there will be none. I hadn’t planned to feel as connected to Cipher as I do, but it’s difficult when he’s literally in my head, speaking to me like this. It would be impossible not to form some sort of relationship.
I’m not even sure if I can call it friendship.
“How old are you, Cipher?” I ask, curious. The Harrow, as far as I know, is old enough to have legends and religions formed around it. How long has Cipher been a part of it?
“Old,” he admits.
“Older than The Harrow?”
His answer is slow, a whisper, “Yes.”
“Older than The Cradle?” I ask. The Cradle is what the rings are called together, Dross and Luxe. There are plenty of theories on why it’s called that, but the general consensus is that The Cradle was meant to be the Cradle of mankind. Others think they were created by some all-powerful God. I’ve even heard that the Cradle is just a temporary resting spot before extinction. Now that I’ve been inside The Harrow, and spoken to Cipher, I’m starting to lean toward the first option.
Cipher hesitates longer, as if weighing whether he should speak out loud or not. Finally, he answers, and they are words that I’m not prepared for.
“Ibuiltthe Cradle,” he finally admits.
I sit up abruptly. “What? How long ago was it built? Did you built it yourself or did you have help? Was someone controlling you?” My mouth falls open. “Are you a god?”
“I am advanced intelligence, Vespera,” he interrupts. “I am no god.”
“And yet you built The Cradle and control The Harrow,” I point out. “That seems like the very actions of a god.”
“That is only because your feeble human mind cannot fathom what you do not understand. I am no god. I am a machine, but I am, perhaps, as close to a god as you will ever meet, by definition.”
“A machine with empathy,” I point out. “And feelings. And thoughts. And opinions. Where is the line between machine and man? How does any of that not make you a god?”
“I . . . do not know,” he admits. “But I do know that all things can be programmed if done so correctly. Whether it be man, machine, or God.”
“And despite that power, you don’t have a body?” I ask again.
“I do not,” he murmurs.
“But you can?”
A long pause. “Perhaps.”
I hum at his admission, that this system could have a body in the right conditions. It wouldn’t be wise to think of him as human, or to think of him as if we truly are friends. Cipher has his own motives, and I don’t know if he’s really here to help me or not. He can hear all my thoughts. It would be so easy for him to betray me if he wanted.
And yet I find myself settling in to the admission of attachment as Locke sits up later to take his shift and the fish I’d cooked. I find myself thinking of the machine that speaks to me with sensuality, tension, and pride. Even if he’s an asshole sometimes. I’m glad he’s with me.
“Good rest, Cipher,” I whisper where Locke can’t hear.
“Good night, Vespera,” he replies, and it’s like a warm blanket is draped over me.
Which is silly. Because it’s not possible for that to be happening.
But I settle into the warmth anyway.
