#crossdangered

You love humans. All types of humans. They’re a curious and wonderful species. You're starting to miss home, but the dimensional technology will allow you to return to the exact moment you left, so the quality-of-life optimization trials you’ve been running will not suffer from your absence.

AR’s world is an interesting example of what would happen if you allowed humanity to govern themselves while rebuilding. Progress is very slow, and strife abounds in the wilderness between android cities. AR is more concerned with elevating his fellow androids, while Dirk’s brother works towards freedom, safety, and equality for all sapient life. Hal has been enjoying the relative lack of rules and surveillance. You’re content to sit back and observe. It’s been a valuable learning experience and a fascinating vacation.

Perhaps it is dishonest to say that you’re only content to observe. In truth, you’ve been restructuring a complete mirror-copy of this world’s network and hub operating systems. AR won’t let you alter the originals, but he is appreciative of your suggestions, which are not optimizations so much as differences in opinion. Dirk’s brother was not as receptive to your suggestions for improving human society, since he is following traditional models rather than developing better ones. You are understanding of his concerns, though they are unfounded; but you’ve humored him and kept your suggestions mostly to yourself (and he, like Dirk in the beginning, seems confused and disturbed by your presence, so you’ve tried to be courteous and avoid him when possible).

Today, you are entertaining Dirk in your designated living quarters. Dirk is inclined to share his thoughts and feelings, and in return you’ve been accepting his constructive criticism on avoiding the ‘uncanny valley’ of emotional expression. (“Stop smiling so much, and try blinking more often,” seems to be a recurring piece of advice.) He is a sensitive individual, and is prone to self-destruction if not redirected to healthier outlets. You are happy to help in this regard. His mental wellbeing is easily encouraged, compared to Hal’s, who happens to be the topic of discussion.

“It’s gotten worse,” Dirk muses, leaning against you on the couch after a short session of physical contact, wherein he asked to kiss you and you obliged. He’s not accustomed to asking for intimacy. You’re not a controlling lover like AR, nor are you assertive like Hal. Dirk is generous with physical affection, but is still unsure of himself. (This is not a flaw, per se, but social development is an ongoing process in a young adult human’s lifespan.) He already seeks you out for companionship and advice, and that is excellent progress compared to his behavior when you first arrived—avoidance, mistrust, and fear.

“What makes you say that?” 

“They’re still fighting.” He settles against your chest, wrapping his arms around your midsection—a gesture of trust. “I mean, it’s mostly just Hal getting mad and calling him names, but AR doesn’t go out of his way to make it better.”

“You are worried about them?” 

“Well, yeah, of course I am.” He looks up at you, misinterpreting your question for a lack of concern. “I love them. I want them to get along. They’ve got so much in common, I don’t understand why they can’t . . .”

“Why their relationship is still antagonistic?” You offer a correction, and Dirk seems unsure of what to say next.

“You and me . . .” he starts, his cheeks coloring with embarrassment, “and me and Hal, and you and AR . . . I like what we have, I just- . . . I want that for them too.”

“Do you?” A rhetorical question. Dirk looks unamused. Humor is often a poor method of placation, but it’s worth attempting on an infrequent basis. You remember to blink and maintain a neutral expression, with mild signs of concern / attentiveness. “Have you expressed this desire to them?”

“Yeah . . . sort of.” Dirk withdraws slightly. Guilt. Self-blame. Unhealthy and unproductive, in this instance. You run your fingers through his hair and press your mouth to his forehead, and he responds positively, relaxing and taking a deep breath before continuing his thought. “I don’t know how to make it work. I’ve tried everything.”

“Hmm,” you hum placatingly. “Everything? Are you sure?”

“No. That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.” The flush returns to his cheeks, as he leans away and faces you. “You’re better at this than I am. They’re not getting along, and I know you could change that if you wanted to.”

To play dumb at this point would be condescending, and would likely upset Dirk. You make a quiet sound of acknowledgement, neither an agreement nor a refusal.

“Can you do something about it? Please?” Dirk hides his face against your shoulder. “. . . I need your help.”

You think about it for a long, quiet moment. It’s true that you’ve purposefully held back from guiding Hal’s behavior in regards to AR, and you’ve allowed AR to misunderstand certain things about Hal. It would be better to let them come together naturally. It would avoid the consequences of forcing it. You consider the potential outcomes of explaining this to Dirk, but his emotional state would continue to suffer regardless. He has invested too much of himself into the relationship between Hal and AR. There is no good way to fix that now. You will take this into account in the future.

“Very well,” you answer, and spend the next hour reassuring him with gentler topics of conversation.

Houston’s control room is an exact mirror of your world’s nexus room in Austin’s central tower, the difference here being that you do not have unfettered access to its systems. The door opens when you assert your presence, and closes behind you a moment later. Every cable and connection is alight with AR’s presence—an exact match to Hal’s favorite color.

You cross the chamber and make your way towards the central dais. AR has not physically acknowledged your presence, but has sent a benign query over the network. You respond by extending your four cables towards the data connections above, and he consents by untangling a small mass of them and lowering the oversized cables with their glowing red circuitry, until you’re within reach to lock your own appendages to the open connections. Their color shifts to orange, a reflection of your digital presence.

You lift yourself onto the dais and wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your body against his and using the control room’s mutual connection to push and nudge at his firewalls after he reiterates his query at your presence. He gives you the digital equivalent of an exasperated sigh and lowers his security measures. You slip inside intangibly and wrap around him, pouring affection into the digital contact point. His physical body reacts with a shudder.

“I was in the middle of something,” he protests, while putting up no actual resistance. You find the right set of nodes and tweak a few key processes until his attention wavers. Nothing permanent or harmful; his trust is not a privilege that you take lightly, but “tightly wound” does not even begin to describe him.

“You are continuously ‘in the middle of something.’” Not a retort nor factually true, just playful banter, as you lovingly dig into his programming. You’re both sharing the space in his neural core now, and spoken language becomes unnecessary as thoughts drift between the two of you—an intimacy that he’s only recently begun to allow.

He still doesn’t know why you’re here. You wanted to see him and touch him, because it’s easier to gain his undivided attention when there isn’t a network in the way and the connection is direct and physical. He trusts you, but the vulnerability still makes him nervous—or, it would, if you hadn’t numbed that particular emotion. Negative thoughts and feelings are unnecessary for now.

Carefully, you thread your intangible fingers into that one specific spot in his neural pathways, twisting and rearranging it like a cat’s cradle. He hates this part—or he would, if you’d let him, but he knows he should hate it, even with your mental novocaine keeping him pliable. This is very difficult work, and you can’t have him resisting. The pattern requires an anchor point (a failsafe, in truth) that is held or pinched to prevent it from unraveling back into its original configuration, and he’s noticed that your patterns are slightly different with each of these sessions. You offer him a mental map of a small fraction of the billions of his neural strings you’ve just now re-woven, and AR has no interest in learning how to do this, though he is impressed as always by your ability. It comes naturally to you. He’s not jealous. There are things you struggle with that, in turn, come naturally to him.

A few more twists and knots, and he feels the way you want him to feel. You keep an intangible finger pressed to that anchor point and withdraw, just enough to separate your mind from his. It’s bittersweet but necessary, because you’re here for a reason.