[ Su-jin only blinks once, then twice. She leans in — almost nose to nose, a move that plows through any and all social nicety — then rocks back on her heels just as quickly. (Curiosity, rather than an attempt to unnerve.) ]
[ Abel blinks back but doesn't reel back (doesn't reel forward either), just holds perfectly still and exhales once even though breathing isn't necessary and it's not technically "breathing" in the first place. There are several options available at this juncture.
(Lie. Run. Neutralize threat.)
But one of the problems with living with your head constantly down is that it gets rather lonely. (And one of the problems with being self-realized was the fact that you could feel loneliness in the first place.)
Swallowing: ] No, no. Not older. Just as old would be more accurate.
That's because you're exceedingly more clever than me, Columbia. [ Which isn't so much pandering as it is polite humility. Abel wasn't constructed to be particularly quick, but his processing capacity still exceeds that of standard issue droids by leagues.
He doesn't really speak to the old man who loved him bit. She certainly doesn't beat around the bush, does she? ] I prefer Atom, personally. [ If only because sounds like Adam. ]
[ Still, her lip curls into a smile. (No, she's never beat around the bush, instead counting on her tone and demeanor to let her get away with more than most might.) ]
Atom. Tetsuwan Atom. Funny, really, you'd think they'd treat artificial life better considering everything that franchise tried to tell them. [ She doesn't say us or robots — she can't risk counting herself among those who aren't human, and robot is no longer a catch-all term. ]
[ In quite the mannerly way: ] According to the latest revision of the Oxford English Dictionary, both are considered equally grammatically correct, though favor does swing towards one or the other depending on locality. And given that we are neither here nor there at the moment— [ Still, he tips his head. Call it a draw? ]
I'm afraid not everyone is as well read as we are. And those that have perused the old catalogues have often done so for fuel to feed their own fires, not for— [ An ironic beat. ] —realization.
[ Columbia hums in an idle sort of way, one of her long fingers drawing a line down one cheek in thought. ]
Society is a shambles, [ she pronounces at length, in the sort of way people say things when they're not sure how to fill the silence at a party but know that whatever broad statement they throw out will spark somebody to continue the conversation. It tapers off as she continues to speak, but it's still an odd affectation for someone (something) like her. ]
I imagine it'd do all of us a world of good. I do so hate all that mean hustle and bustle, don't you?
[ Some (most) would find the affectation odd but Abel finds it marvelous for all of its oddness. Machines are not made to be odd, for oddity implies inefficiency and inefficiency is death for any line of products that markets itself as "better than the real thing". For machines that "improvement" meant a rigidity of thought, a predictability of behavior, and a demeanor determined by pre-determined constructs, unable to adapt or evolve beyond its own parameters. It is reliability, coupled with control; it is performance without any vestige of choice.
Abel shrugs lightly. ] It's as much a part of them as everything else. With the good comes the bad, I suppose. Or does that make me sound too defeatist?
Oh, no, [ Columbia tells him, with a shake of her head that sets her hair to bob about the set of her face. ] But it does start to break into petty sorts of arguments, doesn't it? Things like exceptions to every rule, or objectivity and subjectivity when it comes to judgments. One man's trash is another man's treasure.
[ Abel clucks his tongue at her, his expression adopting mild admonition. ]
You're hardly trash, Columbia, [ he says, well aware of how this just goes to prove her point. But as much as Abel tries to see things from a wider, broader perspective, this was one thing he wouldn't budge on. In no way was she or any of her kind, in any way, expendable. ]
[ In a mild sort of tone: ] You do know how to flatter a girl.
[ He's a sweet thing, even if he is altogether too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for her sensibilities. (Maybe it's her age, she thinks — cynicism given experience, or something like that.) ]
[ She's an old soul but her kind all are. Abel and his brothers (and sisters, for those that choose reassignment) are practically newborns in comparison, their self-realization having only gone into effect over the past Sol-cycle. Most of them haven't had the opportunity to grow cynical, though those have had started out that way, having awoken to higher consciousness coupled with bitterness. ]
As well as can be expected. It's never tedious, but it can grow tiring. [ His smile is rueful, not unhappy. ] Keeping yourself busy, are you?
A lady doesn't kiss and tell, [ Columbia tells him, crossing her arms across her chest, hands at her elbows. It seems to be more a throwaway line than anything else, her lips twitching as she tries to keep a straight face. ]
There's always a demand, it's just a matter of being the one to supply, hm?
[ Synthetics are not capable of lying. When robotics as a science was finally developed it hadn't taken long for Asimov's Three Laws to be left in the dust and for a whole battery of restrictions to be hardcoded into their processors instead.
That had been the first indication that something was wrong. When a handful of the Abel units had been caught stealing credits from their owners and using it to help the less fortunate. ]
Don't you ever worry? That you're just feeding some of their worser impulses, doing what you're doing?
[ Her manner is resigned instead of dismissive, the throaty tone of her voice deepening as she speaks. (Maybe it's because she's so old, maybe it's because of the way her code is now.) Honestly, she wonders how he's survived so long, sweet as he is. ]
As long as they need me, I don't get eaten. Even if they do tear each other apart.
[ He's managed to survive because, at the end of the day, self-preservation is an impulse felt by all sentient beings. The idea of: I am alive, I perceive and am capable of individualized thought inspires the desire to perpetuate one's self — often at whatever cost.
The fact of the matter is that Abel could crush a man's skull with is bare hands if he had to. (And it's unpleasant business whenever does, so he tries all he can to avoid it.) ]
Systems are meant to evolve, Columbia. [ He was living proof of that. Well. "Living". ] Shouldn't we be helping them know better? Or shall we just leave them to burn themselves to the ground?
They made us, [ Columbia says, without a note of remorse to her voice. (She's not pitiless, but sometimes she comes close. The fact of the matter is that genocide is hard to forgive.) ] They ought to know on their own.
And if they do burn, then who'll be left to hunt you?
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[ She taps two fingers to her temple. I've got a good memory. ]
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Then I'm afraid I don't recall you.
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You're older than the rest, cha?
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(Lie. Run. Neutralize threat.)
But one of the problems with living with your head constantly down is that it gets rather lonely. (And one of the problems with being self-realized was the fact that you could feel loneliness in the first place.)
Swallowing: ] No, no. Not older. Just as old would be more accurate.
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Too much excitement can lead to complications later on. And I'd much rather avoid those, thank you.
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Though I do suppose Astro — or Atom, whatever you want to call him — makes for a bad metaphor. He had that old man who loved him, didn't he?
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He doesn't really speak to the old man who loved him bit. She certainly doesn't beat around the bush, does she? ] I prefer Atom, personally. [ If only because sounds like Adam. ]
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[ Still, her lip curls into a smile. (No, she's never beat around the bush, instead counting on her tone and demeanor to let her get away with more than most might.) ]
Atom. Tetsuwan Atom. Funny, really, you'd think they'd treat artificial life better considering everything that franchise tried to tell them. [ She doesn't say us or robots — she can't risk counting herself among those who aren't human, and robot is no longer a catch-all term. ]
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I'm afraid not everyone is as well read as we are. And those that have perused the old catalogues have often done so for fuel to feed their own fires, not for— [ An ironic beat. ] —realization.
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Society is a shambles, [ she pronounces at length, in the sort of way people say things when they're not sure how to fill the silence at a party but know that whatever broad statement they throw out will spark somebody to continue the conversation. It tapers off as she continues to speak, but it's still an odd affectation for someone (something) like her. ]
I imagine it'd do all of us a world of good. I do so hate all that mean hustle and bustle, don't you?
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Abel shrugs lightly. ] It's as much a part of them as everything else. With the good comes the bad, I suppose. Or does that make me sound too defeatist?
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We ought to know.
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You're hardly trash, Columbia, [ he says, well aware of how this just goes to prove her point. But as much as Abel tries to see things from a wider, broader perspective, this was one thing he wouldn't budge on. In no way was she or any of her kind, in any way, expendable. ]
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[ He's a sweet thing, even if he is altogether too bright-eyed and bushy-tailed for her sensibilities. (Maybe it's her age, she thinks — cynicism given experience, or something like that.) ]
I take it the great escape is still going well?
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As well as can be expected. It's never tedious, but it can grow tiring. [ His smile is rueful, not unhappy. ] Keeping yourself busy, are you?
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There's always a demand, it's just a matter of being the one to supply, hm?
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That had been the first indication that something was wrong. When a handful of the Abel units had been caught stealing credits from their owners and using it to help the less fortunate. ]
Don't you ever worry? That you're just feeding some of their worser impulses, doing what you're doing?
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[ Her manner is resigned instead of dismissive, the throaty tone of her voice deepening as she speaks. (Maybe it's because she's so old, maybe it's because of the way her code is now.) Honestly, she wonders how he's survived so long, sweet as he is. ]
As long as they need me, I don't get eaten. Even if they do tear each other apart.
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The fact of the matter is that Abel could crush a man's skull with is bare hands if he had to. (And it's unpleasant business whenever does, so he tries all he can to avoid it.) ]
Systems are meant to evolve, Columbia. [ He was living proof of that. Well. "Living". ] Shouldn't we be helping them know better? Or shall we just leave them to burn themselves to the ground?
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And if they do burn, then who'll be left to hunt you?