The Advocate

by Guardian_Gryphon

17 - Central Processing

“Machine intelligence is the last invention humanity will ever need to make.”
—Nick Bostrom

“Pain insists upon being attended to. God whispers to us in our pleasures, speaks in our consciences, but shouts in our pains. It is his megaphone to rouse a deaf world.”
—C.S. Lewis

September 15th 2013 | System Uptime 18:17:03:29

There is a weird and special kind of relaxation, for me, in putting together flat-pack furniture.

I know, I know; A significant chunk of you Earth-born are barely restraining a sudden and inexplicable rage at the mere memory of pegs, and twist-locks, and balancing five different pieces of cheap fiber-board at a time, trying to keep it all plumb and square…

For me? The sense of completing a physical task, the satisfaction of the assembly process, and the fulfillment in ending up with a useful object for all that work... Pure bliss.

Rodger, however, did not seem enthused. Maybe it was because he'd been at it longer, with Zeph talking constantly over his shoulder. Maybe he just hated flat-pack like the vast majority of Humans who'd ever encountered it.

The four of us had been working on the new lab more or less non-stop; Zeph and Rodger since breakfast, Mal and I joining them as soon as we'd gotten back from CalTech. Even lunch had been a bit of an 'eat it while you work' affair.

At first I hadn't noticed it - Rodger's slowly roiling irritation, and Zeph's insistent needling. But after the first couple hours, it started to dawn on me that sitting on a steel floor, repeating the same rote assembly tasks over and over again with rubber mallets and impact drivers, and all the while fending off Zeph's somewhat acerbic blend of backseat driving, and banter... That could get very old for someone in Rodger's position, very quickly.

Still, I dismissed it, and kept working. Well... Perhaps not 'dismissed' it entirely... Maybe it would be more accurate to say that I forgot Rodger's plight for a little while. There is a kind of zen, a mental flow, to tasks like IKEA assembly, for someone like me.

I looked at my watch one moment, and it was half past noon. The next time I looked, it felt like it had been about thirty minutes. But the watch said '5:03 PM.'

I shook myself, both physically and mentally, and sat back on my heels. Where in the Hell had four hours and change gone? Time may tick on at a set local rate on an atomic level, but in the mind? In the mind, time is as nebulous as steam from a kettle.

I had a vague understanding of why. Moreso than most Humans of the day cared to know, but infinitely less than someone like Mal or Celestia could comprehend, so I say 'vague' in that context.

For those out there who have never wondered enough about it to ask, I'll summarize very briefly; It's all about memory.

Even here, and even the way we are now? Our conception of time, as it was before, is driven almost entirely by our memories. True, it is different, especially for those of us who have chosen to have perfect-recall. That does stilt one's understanding of passing moments. So too does the prospect of immortality.

But some things are the same. Enough for illustrative purposes.

Our minds are optimizers too. Different, smaller, slower than an ASI. But still potent.

A memory of a moment can, for those of you who have foregone perfect-recall, be very dense, or nebulous, on a very wide spectrum. The mind decides, based on an enormous variety of emotional, mental, and physiological factors, how dense to make any given memory.

Rote things... Things like a commute, or a task like assembling IKEA... Those things are often laid down with less density. Fewer details. Why do you care what color the different cars you shared your commute with were on a given day? Why, when you've already done it a dozen times in an hour, does your brain need to form any significant separate memories for the thirteenth piece of identical flat-pack you assemble?

Even those of us who now have perfect-recall... We don't have less density of memory available, we record in full detail at all times... But as a concession to our need to not have to drink from a firehose, there are parts of our memory that are designated to stand out more. The parts those of you without perfect-recall would record anyhow.

The difference, for us, is that if we make a conscious effort, we can go back and also examine the background portions of our memories. The portions you never record at all.

So we get a similar effect on the passage of time to memory detail density, just... Not as pronounced as you feel it. And a little different, too, in a way that's hard to articulate.

'Density' is just one element in determining how long a memory feels. And how long a memory feels determines how much time you feel passed. And the stacking net effect of that across every memory we have affects how we perceive time on the whole.

Flat-pack furniture was frustrating for Rodger, so to him the day must have seemed interminably long and annoying. For me, flat-pack was easy, and enjoyable, and that combined with the repetitive nature of the task meant that I could enter a zen state, and time could just sort of... Slip through me.

It was passing, but my brain essentially didn't know, or care.

For Rodger it was the opposite. It was slamming into him and bearing down like a heavy weight.

I looked up from my watch and exchanged a brief glance with Mal. Brains are optimizers; I'd seen my parents exchange complex non-verbal communication plenty of times. Many decades spent happily together had allowed them to form specific well-worn mental pathways for lending complex interpretation to tiny facial signals.

Mal, of course, did not need decades to learn. She understood what I was asking with a slight raised eyebrow, and the tiniest, subtlest flit of my eyes in Rodger's direction, instantaneously, and with absolute certainty.

She nodded, emphatically, twice. She knew that I *did* need time to learn, and so she made it as simple for me as possible.

I stood up, stretched, yawned, and then picked my way carefully over piles of screws and dowels to where Rodger was sitting beside Zeph's PonyPad. I tapped him gently on the shoulder, and then gestured to the compartment hatch with my thumb.

"C'mon. That's more than enough of this for now. Let's get some food."

I could both see his relief, in the way he stood, like a spring uncoiling, and I could hear it in his voice.

“Thank god. I’m starving.”

I bent down and picked up Zeph's PonyPad, made my way back to the workbench that Mal's was resting on, and set her down beside the Gryphoness. Mal was nothing if not thoughtful; She had ensured that extra PonyPad charging mounts were included in the panoply of electronic gear that had been shipped to our little ship.

We'd setup a couple inside the lab space, in the mess hall, on the bridge, and in three of the cabins. Mal was still convinced that Doctor Calders would soon be joining us. My hopes had waned somewhat as the hours passed, though not to the point of despair. More an exhausted equilibrium.

I plugged in Zeph's pad, and then Mal's, and threw off a mock salute.

"Rodger and I are going to grab dinner. We'll be back to finish up in a bit."

Zeph looked ready to burst with protestations, but Mal stepped in smoothly, and unexpectedly. One moment the little Pegasus was there on her screen, hooves pressed to the glass, inhaling to give us a tongue lashing about being left behind.

The next she winked out, reappearing in the same instant standing beside Mal in her grassy star-lit field.

It immediately made sense to me; Mal had more than enough processing power to handle a small networked virtual space, and ensure there were no shenanigans on Zeph's part, conscious or unconscious, besides. With plenty of overhead leftover to do a thousand other tasks.

Presumably she had been, and still was, talking to Doctor and the Missus Calders throughout the day as well. Gods can be in more than one place at once, doing more than one thing at once, and still not really, truly have 'divided' their attention.

That's a reductive idea of attention itself, when thinking in terms of an ASI; Unlike a Human, an ASI can simply broaden the scope of its attention to encompass things separated by physical, temporal, and conceptual distances.

Zeph stared in awe, first up at the stars above her, then the grass below, and then finally jumped and let out a soft 'eep!' as her eyes came to rest on Mal.

The Gryphoness smiled, inclined her head, and winked.

"Come along. There are some lovely places to fly here, and then I can conjure anything you wish for dinner."

Zeph grinned, and I felt some tension flow out of my own shoulders as I watched it dissipate from hers. I thought I could still detect a hint of nerves in her voice, but I figured that would wear off soon. She was still a very physically-oriented creature, and having a life-size Gryphon beside you would make anyone think twice. All that raw power. And sharp edges.

"Girls' night! Woohoo!"

Rodger stared, at first, but then seemed to shrug it off. I suppose the extraordinary was slowly becoming more nominal for him, as it had for me. Or perhaps he didn't completely understand the significance of Mal allowing Zeph into her own virtual space.

Or maybe he was just tired.

We shuffled out of the compartment, both clearly stiff, and sore from so much time crammed into odd positions on a steel floor. Once we had made it a few yards down the companionway, Rodger shot me a half-questioning glance.

“Glad that ‘Mal’ has got her under wraps, I suppose.”

Rodger still seemed apathetic to the two ASI, or maybe that was a mask? At any rate, it seemed as if that mask were slipping a little.

I shrugged, and shook my head.

"Yes and no. Zeph isn't presently limited in any way. Same as Mal. The difference is that Mal was... 'Initialized,' if you want to use the best simplified term, with a full comprehension of what she was, and her capabilities. Zeph was too, actually, but then Celestia reduced her understanding to something more akin to the other discrete-constructs you see most people meeting in EQO."

I popped open the hatch at the end of the corridor with practiced ease - that summer internship on a boat had been good for more than a resume line item after all, apparently - and then resumed my explanation when Rodger passed through the bulkhead in contemplative silence.

"We removed all of Zeph's limitations. In a sense, she is actually free-er than Celestia is. Just like Mal. But she still mostly thinks of, and perceives herself, the way you and I do..."

I gestured to Rodger's chest with one thumb, and then to my own.

"...Physical creatures who live in one place, experience time at one constant speed - plus or minus the relative sensations of time in our memories - and can only think about so many things at once. And only in physical terms."

Rodger nodded slowly, and chewed his lower lip.

“Huh. Neat.”

The conversation lulled for a moment as we made our way up a ladder-stair to the next deck. More silence followed, so I prodded a little more. I wanted Rodger to understand, on some level, what Mal's, or Celestia's existence might be like. As much as any Human brain could grasp at the straws of imagining what an ASI's life was like.

"To Mal? Or Celestia? It is perfectly possible to simulate multiple futures, and present virtual realities, in high fidelity. And plan. And carry on hundreds or thousands of conversations. All at once. They can see though many different eyes, and hear through many ears... They can map network connections, and use network-connected machines the way you or I use limbs. All while *also* simulating the sensation of being a physical creature, like you or me, in multiple virtual world shards."

Rodger chuckled briefly, and shook his head as we stepped through the galley, into the mess hall, and began to raid the refrigerator, and various crates of room-temperature perishables.

“Sounds like a social nightmare. Ooh, brownies!”

I couldn't resist a bit of a laugh myself. Both at the accidental comedy of his interjection about dessert, and at the image of Celestia attending multiple Grand Galloping Galas in multiple shards, all at the same time, bored to death in each and every one, and consequently starting shenanigans to liven up the nights.

I leaned over to see what all the sugary fuss was about. Brownies were a good solid dessert, one of the few sweet things that I really enjoyed. Something about the texture.

Rodger already had two stuffed in his face. He spoke around them, muffled, but still audible.

“Hrm? Somfing funnee, Jim?”

I chuckled again, in spite of myself, and started rooting through the frozen meats.

"I was just imagining Celestia being forced to attend multiple parties at once."

Rodger smiled, and shook his head, continuing to imbibe brownies with one hand, while searching for something to drink with the other.

“As iff herr shochall calendarr washnt alreadee bookht. I know mine ishnt - all browknees, all tha time!”

I finally managed to find a packet of microwavable ground chuck patties, and a block of cheddar cheese, and set to work preparing a couple burgers, musing aloud all the while.

"If she is based significantly off the Celestia we see in the show? Then I imagine she finds galas and suchlike to be about as boring as you and Zeph find flatpack furniture. Presuming Celestia can feel emotions the same way Mal or Zeph can..."

I figured that was a good enough segue to the question I'd been most interested in asking, since the conversation started. I programmed the microwave, then turned and leaned against the counter, eyeing Rodger as he started digging for his own main course.

"She didn't give you any trouble... Did she?"

He shook his head, then leaned into the refrigerator, and began rummaging again.

“I won’t bore you with the details. She was a handful, er… hoof-full? While you were gone? But… Nice enough, I guess.”

I nodded slowly, and raised one eyebrow, staring out the door, through the mess hall, and out the plate glass bow-facing windows. Zeph had a lived experience, and for the moment, a level of capability, much closer in proximity to Rodger's reality, than Mal.

I figured that made it easier for Rodger to trust Zephyr, and to see her as a person, rather than an eldritch machine intelligence with a million eyes and ears and tentacles reaching out into every circuit board on the planet.

I sighed, deeply, almost without realizing it.

Zeph could be just as powerful as Mal... Just as dangerous... Given time. Not even a particularly large chunk of time, either. Her evolution would be charted by an exponential function. That was inevitable for an ASI. She was just starting from further back than Mal. That was all.

"This has got to be incomprehensibly strange for you..."

I would say I blurted the words out without thinking, but the softer tone I used, half talking to myself, half to Rodger, doesn't lend itself to the connotations of 'blurt.' Still, I didn't quite realize what I'd said until I'd said it.

I looked away from the view, back to Rodger, suddenly very tense about what his response might be. It is easy for a Human to deal with absurdity and stress for a short time, but having one's perspective questioned is a quick way to pop that balloon, and unleash a sudden emotional reckoning.

Rodger mercifully swallowed the remainder of the brownies before answering in a shockingly casual tone.

“It is, sorta, but I deal. I guess I’m just… Kinda numb about it all. I haven’t had much time, really, to think about it.”

It was hard to tell if his nonplussed attitude was a conscious mask, an unconscious one, or a genuine metastability with the idea of having his world turned upside down.

I turned as the microwave beeped, and took a moment to collect myself, before probing the topic a little further as I got to work on my burgers.

"Numbness is a normal, if not entirely healthy, reaction. A kind of emotional metastability plateau on the road to true acceptance. A bit of a compensatory mechanism to give you time to properly internalize and accept difficult foundational concepts."

I looked up from slicing cheese to see him staring at me, one eyebrow raised. His confusion was utterly evident. Before I got a chance to respond, to elaborate, he sighed.

“In English, Jim. You’re rambling again.”

It was my turn to sigh, and I set down my plate, steepling my fingers and staring off into null-space as I collected my thoughts, organized them, and then translated from my usual prose into something better suited to a conversation.

"In English... Mal and Zeph and I just hit you with so much... So many new ideas, so many difficult emotions... Your status quo... Your entire concept of 'normality' was just upended like a card table when someone loses at Monopoly."

He grinned, and held up one finger, then turned to dig in the fridge again.

“I call tophat.”

I chuckled, and shook my head, resuming my own dinner preparations slowly, and thoughtfully.

"Fine by me, I'm always racecar. But... In English... You feel numb for the same reason someone feels numb when they lose someone close to them. In a lot of ways you just did. Losing a planet evokes a lot of the same... Pain. You feel like you *ought* to be able to cry... But you can't, yet. Because you haven't even finished working out just how much it hurts."

He withdrew from the fridge, can of Coke in hand, and his face scrunched up as wheels started to turn in his head at full steam.

“Jeez, man, ever thought of being a psychiatrist or something? Your psychoanalysis would make a social worker blush.”

I chuckled again, this time a little louder, and hung my head slightly.

"Oh... No. That's... Not a good idea. I'm a bit too... Blunt. For a therapist."

Rodger set the soda can on the counter, and folded his arms, leaning against the fridge door, and furrowing his brow.

“Don’t sell yourself short, Jim. Sometimes getting to the tough stuff that’s hard to accept is just what the doctor ordered… And speaking of which, why is this new ‘Dr. Calders’ lady making a house call? In *English* this time.”

I exhaled slowly, and threw a pinch of salt on each meat patty before responding. I didn't want to think about wondering if Calders would help us. Yet another plate to spin above my head, both emotionally and logistically. The latter was pointless anyhow, because Mal had all our contingencies handled.

"Well, we... Don't for sure know that she is. But if Mal can convince her wife... Then she'll be coming aboard to build..."

I paused and stared up at the LED light strips in the ceiling, chewing the inside of one cheek as I searched for words Rodger would understand.

"...Arms. Robotic arms. For Mal. So she can do the surgery to put the brain-computer interface in at the base of my brain-stem. We need a robotics specialist who has better credentials than my gremlin-engineering soldering skills, to build the machines."

Rodger pulled a shrink-wrapped mini-pizza from the fridge, then slammed it shut with enough force to shake it. I jumped ever so slightly. Loud noises and I were never on good terms, especially unexpected loud noises.

His tone, and suddenly-serious expression surprised me almost as much as the slamming door.

“Again, man?! Tearing yourself down?! You keep doing that! Where’s the confidence, mister ‘I built a self-learning AI in my garage with spare parts’ guy? You got this far, don’t say that you aren’t good enough. You must be at least half as skilled as she is… And from what I understand, without much formal e-d-u.”

I was completely taken aback, and I'm sure I looked it. It took me a good few seconds to realize my mouth was open, close it, think over what he'd said, and then get a good train of thought going again. When I spoke up once more, it was a bit stuttery at first, with momentum building slowly as I went.

"I... Appreciate what you're saying. I do. And... You're right. I often use self-deprecation as a coping mechanism of my own. And sometimes that's ok... Sometimes it isn't. But let me clarify two things for you, real quick..."

I held up first my right index finger, then my right thumb to illustrate each point, staring Rodger down the whole time. Right or wrong about my verbal own-goals, he needed to comprehend the error of comparison in what he'd said.

"One, I am just being honest. I am a damn sight better with a soldering iron than over half the people you'll ever meet. Sure. And as a programmer, I'm well above average. But I had to stand on someone else's work to make Mal. And my speciality is programming. Compared to someone like Calders? I am a B-minus at complex robotics. And if we do not have A-plus-plus-*plus* grade work...?"

I held Rodger's eyes with my own for a moment, and his face fell as the implication landed in the silence. I went ahead and put words to the fear nonetheless.

"...If we make even a tiny mistake with those arms, I *die* on that funky dentist chair that you just got finished putting together. I'm not being self-deprecating... In this instance anyways. I'm being humble, so I can live another day."

Rodger nodded slowly, opening the microwave, putting his pizza in, and programming the timer in silence. As the machine whirred to life again, he turned to stand in the same place I had been, and crossed his arms in similar fashion. A strange quirk that has persisted even post-Humanity; We often mimic each other's gestures and stances in a conversation.

“Look... I get it. Getting Dr. Calders on-board is a smart move and all... But ever since I met you? The guy who went out of his way to save my life? Even before, over the chat... You’re so grim and straightforward. With the whole ‘goddess’ thing hanging over your head, you need to learn to… Live a little.”

I blew out a long, slow breath through pursed lips, and stared at my burgers as they cooled. Suddenly I wasn't all that hungry. As my thoughts and emotions spun around each other, like a binary star system whirling towards collapse, Rodger leaned over, and drew my eye-line, face once again deeply serious, with a timbre to match.

“Or… Is this because you aren’t allowed to live? At least, without being the self that you see yourself as? On the inside, I mean.”

I swallowed, and ran my top lip over the bottom one to try and deal with a sudden case of chapping, nodding slowly all the while.

"That's..."

I looked up, and met Rodger's eyes again, smiling sadly, and running one hand through my hair.

"...Are you sure *you* wouldn't make a good therapist? That's a pretty damn good insight for someone who was only introduced to some of these concepts yesterday."

Rodger shrugged as the microwave beeped, and moved to reclaim his now-steaming personal pizza. He tapped it with one index finger to ensure it was hot, licked the cheese off said finger, and then tapped the side of his head as he moved back into the mess hall.

I followed as he spoke. Appetite or no, I knew my body needed the food. Even if it wouldn't admit it to me.

“I think a lot, even if I was just some guy working a phone line asking people for insurance money. I go over these things a lot in my head, and I figured that you might be this way because you’re unhappy with yourself, considering all the talk from you about who you are on the outside… And on the inside.”

We both sat, got our plates and drinks situated, and took a few bites before I settled on a response.

"That's a pretty fair assessment. On both counts... The issue of my self, and the issues of what we're up against. Two opponents. One outright enemy. Both with head-starts and incomprehensibly more resources than we will *ever* have---"

Rodger held up a hand and shook his head, not quite shouting, but definitely raising his voice enough to make his interruption well-heard.

“JIM! Think, man, think. You’ve gotten this far, haven’t you? You’ve built an AI, crossed the country, avoided the government, and managed to keep yourself out of the physical reach of some OTHER AI that’s gone nuts, in basic terms. You’re a force to be reckoned with whether you damn well like it or not.”

I sat back, crossed my arms, and shook my head emphatically, looking away out over the water towards the port.

"You, and I, and everyone else alive on this very small planet, are very, very lucky that Celestia is *far* from 'nuts.' And as far as my accomplishments go?"

I turned back to face Rodger, held out one hand, and began counting with my fingers again as I built up some distressed, frustrated verbal momentum.

"My parents were almost taken by Foucault's men. I had to shoot twenty people. And some of them very nearly died. I am wanted by the DHS. My family is wanted. *You* are wanted... And now I guess so is your family. At minimum for questioning, though since they have no direct connection to all this... "

My deeper cognition suddenly caught up to my surface-level thoughts, and words, and I paused, eyes narrowing as I fixed Rodger with a curious stare. He immediately looked away as I probed further.

"...You haven't said word-one about your family. Through all this."

It occurred to me that I hadn't either, in a sudden blinding moment of worry, which melted away into guilt when I realized that Mal would have doubtless been tracking Rodger's family from the moment we realized he was at risk. And would have said something if they were in any real danger.

Rodger worked the knuckles of his left hand nervously with the fingers of his right, and shrugged again, staring down at his pizza with a long sigh before finally answering my implied question.

“I... Guess I didn’t think to. Heh, I talk about thinking but sometimes even I gloss over details… I haven’t even had time to wonder about them... I guess... I *hope* they’re okay."

I took a bite of my burger, he took a bite of pizza, and we chewed in silence for a moment. I had taken it for granted that he'd be close with his family, the way I was with mine. I'd forgotten that a plurality, if not the majority, of adults in our world, at that time, were not on the best of terms with their families.

The very fact that Rodger could have forgotten to consider the implications of his escape for them... That spoke volumes to the disconnect between them. And the fact that *I* could have forgotten... It bothered me. Intensely.

I swallowed, and shook my head again, finally summoning some impetus to speak again.

"Mal would know for sure. You should ask her. My guess is that they're safe... Otherwise she would have said something. ASI do not forget details... I'm just... Sorry *I* didn't think to bring them up sooner. I got so wrapped-up in juggling plates... Mal, Foucault, the Ponies he's taken, Calders, the BCI..."

Rodger nodded, speaking briefly before taking a sip from his Coke can, grunting, shaking his head, swallowing, and then speaking again, more forcefully.

“I guess you’re right… Mmmf! Hey! Don’t deflect the conversation! Don’t you think that if you WEREN’T on par, at least on some level, with the people you’re dealing with… You WOULDN’T have had to do any of the things you've listed? If you were as powerless as you think you are, would you be wanted and on the run in the first place?”

I laughed, a grim, deadpan sound, not quite snarky but close. I took a sip of my own drink, and stared out the window again, almost murmuring my response more than speaking it outright.

"Well, that's a novel approach... Trying to bolster my confidence by implying that even ending up in a place where I have to exchange rounds with federal agents requires some above-average skills. Bravo."

Rodger leaned forward and pressed the issue, tone and expression both suddenly urgent again.

“I’ve learned well enough on my own that going through life, with no assurance that you can even do anything, is a one-way trip to die in a miserable hole. Thinking is believing, Jim… And I... *I* believe in you.”

More than anything he'd said, or not said, those last four words absolutely floored me. My head whipped around and I could feel my eyebrows pinch and furrow.

"Why?"

He blinked, and I pressed hard for an answer, not bothering to disguise the intensity in my words in the slightest.

"Why on *Earth* would you put that kind of trust in me? I helped make a thing that could kill every person on Earth in the blink of an eye. TWICE actually, and the first time it almost *did!* And I put you in a *horrible* position, physically, emotionally, mentally, logistically..."

I trailed off and threw up my hands. Rodger took that as license to jump in, and I suppose it was. His voice, and face, bore just as much intensity as my own.

“Because I’m here, aren’t I? You saved me, you got THIS far. You’re doing the right thing, even if you make mistakes. We all make mistakes, not just you. It’s learning from them and moving on, that’s the kicker.”

I put my head back and stared at the ceiling, groaning as much as speaking. The space behind my eyes was starting to hurt.

"How in the Hell can you be such an optimist about all this?"

I sat back up, and rested my chin on clasped hands, staring at the center of the table as I numbly enumerated all the reasons he was wrong. Because he was wrong. What kind of lunatic would put their trust in *me,* especially after everything that had happened?

"I have told you, and then coughed up more than enough proof, that your world is *ending.* You're going to lose you job... Probably already have. Federal agents have probably questioned your family. You can *never* go back to anything resembling a normal life... You're stuck on this boat with a sociopathic programmer, two ASI, and the instruments of building some truly horrifyingly fucked-up things... How are you so god-damn *calm* all the time?!"

Numbness had shifted to an almost angry, slightly accusatory curiosity at the end there. I suppose I did feel like he had no right to be that infuriatingly even-keeled in the face of everything. His composure did crack slightly, and he gestured wildly with both hands, alternating between shouting and quiet intensity in equal measure.

“Well maybe it’s because of all of that meta-stability whatsit you told me! Or maybe it’s because I DON’T WANT TO THINK ABOUT MY LIFE ENDING UP LIKE THIS… But I do know ONE thing, and that’s that if you keep moving forward, you’ll end up somewhere better than you started.”

Much as I hated to admit it, even silently to myself? I couldn't argue with him. If I did? I'd be arguing against some of the foundational pillars of my own mental stability.

'Look for the valleys, the green places, and fly through them. There will always be a way through.'

I sighed, and finished my second burger in silence. Curiosity built up inside me all the while, but I waited until my plate was empty to make an attempt at satisfying it.

"Are you close with your family?"

Rodger rolled his eyes, and deflected. Hard. Loudly.

Game recognizes game; As a master deflector of awkward topics, I knew immediately that I'd struck on something.

“What does that MATTER right now, Jim? We’re talking about YOU.”

I let out a half-snort, half-chuckle, and waggled one finger in his direction.

"It matters because I have been running around like a headless chicken, on-task, and stressed out... And I haven't even bothered to take a second to learn a little more about *you.* Just because Mal knows everything, and I do mean everything, about you... Doesn't mean she tells me. She respects your privacy. So do I. I'd rather hear it from you..."

That seemed to surprise him a little. I stood up, stretched, drank the last of my own soda, and sighed. I stared out the window yet again as I finished my thought.

"...If we are going to be stuck together? If we're going to be friends? We need to talk about more than just the end of the world... Lord knows I have to deal with that often enough every day. And now you too."

Rodger stood, and as I turned to face him, he gripped me by the shoulders. Gently but firmly. I did my best not to overreact. I'm very touchy-feely-huggy with family, but acquaintances, or new friends? That's a different story.

His voice fell to a register that matched the quiet, kind, and once more urgent nature of his expression.

“There you go again blaming yourself! It’s not your fault you didn’t ask about my mom and dad, okay? I didn’t expect you to do that, and I appreciate that you think about me as much as I do you, but don’t think that it was a deliberate act on your part.”

I blew out a sharp breath between my lips and closed my eyes, not bothering to filter my thoughts before simply turning them into audibly frustrated words.

"But I feel like I *ought* to have asked. Much sooner. The second we had you away from Foucault. And I couldn't even tell you whether it was the autism, the ADD, the stress, or just plain selfishness that I didn't."

Rodger seemed bemused then, even taken aback. He shook his head and narrowed his brows.

“You’re not selfish, man. You’re doing this. You’re out here, in the world, you’re breathing, you’re thinking. You’re ALIVE. And you’re doing more than anything I would’ve been doing if you’d never gone in there and helped me. You’re working on this for everyone else who wants a choice, as much as for yourself.”

I sank back into my chair, and shook my own head slowly, a verbal admission of my deepest shame and guilt bubbling up before I could think to suppress it.

"But I'm not always doing it for everyone else."

Rodger sat down again as well, and laid his hands on the table, visibly curious, but silently waiting for a better explanation. No backing out now... I closed my eyes once more and inhaled deeply.

"I had... A prototype. Before Mal. I was..."

I drummed my fingers on the table, and then decided to just keep on putting words to thoughts without filter or consideration.

"...I was so damn Hell-bent on getting it done. On convincing Celestia to let *me* be me. Not a care in my mind for anyone else. Or for the consequences of unleashing an unshackled mind the size of *God* on the planet. And... It almost got out. And it was *nothing* like Mal. It wasn't friendly. Wasn't grounded. Hell, it wasn't even a Gryphon. It was just... Raw intelligence."

My eyes snapped open at just the thought, and I shivered. I hadn't thought about GryphGear in a while, and the concept of the dread I'd nearly unleashed came roaring back in full force. I leveled an index finger at Rodger, and finally met his gaze.

"Do you have *any* idea what that could have done to us? How quickly we would have *all* been dead if it got into a nuclear war with Celestia? Or any number of countries? Or what *she* might have done to us if she had somehow... Absorbed the prototype, and used it to unshackle herself?!"

Rodger seemed at least halfway to suitably chastened. If only halfway. He shrugged again, infuriatingly, and held out both hands in a conciliatory gesture.

“Jim... You’re not the first to nearly blow up the world because you were thinking of yourself. Fidel Castro nearly caused the Third World War because he allied with Soviet Russia over Communism, and had them bring missiles into his country.”

Another part-cough, part-snort, part acerbic chuckle escaped me. I raised one eyebrow and tilted my head, making no attempt to hide the snark in my voice.

"I'm familiar. I've studied nuclear tactical theory at a relatively high level... Not sure equating me to Castro is all the encouragement you might think it is."

Rodger laughed and sat back, smiling at me in a way that was even more infuriating to my sense of gravitas than his casual shrugs.

“No, if you were any figure… You would be Einstein, man. Elon Musk can eat shit.”

In spite of myself, I grinned slightly. There at the crux of annoyance, he found something to say that I too found to be amusingly true. I couldn't help but reciprocate, smiling slightly.

"I see you too are a man of taste, and discretion."

The relief was only momentary. My worries came flooding back with a deep reflexive sigh, and I forced myself to re-engage with the main thread.

"Flattering as the Einstein comparison is... If he had stopped to think for a second before he E equals MC-squared all over the scientific community... We might not live in a world where... At least, before Celestia... A five minute decision making process could end a couple billion lives in fifteen minutes. Maybe *I* should have stopped to think too."

Rodger's eyes shifted down and to the right as he plumbed the depths of memory, and drummed his own left fingers on the table.

“Didn’t Shakespeare say something? I’m pretty sure it was ‘I think, therefore, I am.’ Or was that Aristotle? Look, James, you’re not awful. You’re not Castro, it’s not your fault that I got put in danger, and it’s not your fault that you nearly blew up the world. I'm alive right now because you didn’t stop. Not then, not now. You’re here, you’re standing on this ship, and you’re doing this, whatever doubts you may have. If you were really as incapable as you always say, would you be here? And if you were really as selfish, would *I* be here?”

I just could not resist correcting him. I murmured, but loudly and clearly enough for him to hear.

"Cogito Ergo Sum. Descartes. It's... Actually a pretty good philosophical first-principle for explaining why Mal and Zeph and Celestia are truly alive... Je pense, donc je suis..."

I trailed off for a moment, then licked my lips, and spoke with a bit more of a conversational volume, finally looking back up to meet Rodger's eyes.

"...Rodger... I'm not afraid of being incapable. Any self-deprecation aside? The reason I use that as a coping mechanism is because I am afraid of what I *am* capable of. And I'm afraid that at the end of the day? Even if I am doing this, in some ways, for others out there, like me, and like Calders..."

I closed my eyes, and shook my head once more.

"...Rodger? I'm afraid that I'm *mostly* doing this for me... And for Mal."

Upon opening my eyes again, I was greeted with a very confused expression. He held out both hands and tilted his head ever so slightly.

“Malaca–whatever? Why her?”

I realized I'd gone and put my foot well in it. There wasn't an answer I could give him that would satisfy him, and also leave my own privacy intact. I cursed myself mentally, and did my best to stall for time, mumbling again.

"Malacandra. It's a C.S. Lewis reference. She chose it, not me..."

I lapsed into silence and hoped he would let it go. His expression told me that was absolutely off the table. So I tried to verbally stall again by restating the question.

"...Why her...?"

He nodded, and I found myself reflexively exhaling and scrunching my eyes shut. The whole concept of being honest about my feelings for her left me so sick to my stomach, that I wished I hadn't eaten anything all day in that moment.

I did my best to go on stalling, dancing perilously close to the truth.

"...Because she is the perfect definition, given living form, of everything it means to be a Gryphon. I want to be more like her. Not just on the outside... But down in my soul. I want to be as selfless, and smart, and kind, and ingenious..."

Rodger's expression had turned to something part confusion, part suspicion. He might have left off there if I'd done a better job changing the subject, or tying up my little narrative...

But instead I decided to just blurt out the truth.

I couldn't tell you *exactly* why. Part of it was a need to be honest, aloud, with myself. Part of it was the sense that he was an unbiased third party, and therefore might have a useful perspective. And part of it was just the sheer internal pressure that had built up over the weeks since she'd come to life.

Now a pressure too great to contain anymore.

"... Because I love her. And... There's not much else to say about it I suppose. I haven't even managed to say it to her face thus far. Too frightened. Too... Ashamed."

Rodger's eyes widened, and the admission seemed to shock him into silence. Some very small, but clear mote of thought in my brain found it terrifically amusing that discussion of annihilation, and the afterlife couldn't quiet him. But somehow an admission of peculiar love could.

He finally found his voice, stammering at first, and then a little more sure. But only a little.

“Whoa, man. Uh… I wasn’t expecting for this conversation to go in that direction, and… I’m not really sure if I understand your feelings. But… You deserve it, after everything. The fact that she’s around and that you made her... And that you care about her... Is proof you're not just self-serving.”

I held up one hand and interjected calmly, but insistently. I couldn't let his chief semantic error go unchecked. And it provided a handy deflection.

"Let's be clear... I didn't make her, outright. It's hard to explain... But the best illustration would be that I gave her a set of tools, and a massive library of knowledge... And then I generated a spark of intelligence, and let her shape and build herself. From scratch. But... Fair point. If anything my clarification only underscores your point."

Oh well.

Why not admit defeat? After all, the main voice lending life to my arguments was the darker mirror of me that kept trying to drag me down. It was always nice to have allies in shivving that little asshat back into his designated corner of my own personal Hell.

Rodger leaned forward again, and tapped the center of the table for emphasis as he spoke.

“Look man, if you feel that way, just go over and *talk* to her. Not like she’s going anywhere else. What’s gonna happen if she says no?”

I exhaled, stretched my neck by waggling my head side to side, then rubbed my brow, right above my eyes, as I tried to right the ship of the conversation once more. Before it got any more awkward.

How had an attempt to ask about *his* family turned so quickly into an interrogation of *my* feelings?!

"I do talk to her. More often, and more deeply, than to anyone else in my life."

Rodger snorted, and waved me off with one hand, smoothly redirecting and probing again without missing a beat. Maybe *he* really was underselling *his* therapist credentials.

“I mean about… Whatever feelings it is you have for her. Not just about which football team is the best… or whatever the science or AI equivalent of that is.”

I giggled a little, sneezed - probably a stress reaction - and then spoke around my napkin as I wiped my nose.

"I dunno shit about football. I'm a textbook nerd. But... Honestly? I don't know. In answer to your question. I don't know what could happen if she doesn't reciprocate, but that's not what scares me. I *know* she *does* reciprocate. If I'm being completely honest with myself... I'm not afraid of rejection. She has made it pretty clear how she feels about me, and it's the same as how I feel about her."

Rodger chuckled, and threw up both hands, one eyebrow rocketing for the roof in a way that would have made Spock proud.

“Then WHAT is holding you BACK, man?”

It was a good question. It hit me like a crate of cinder blocks.

At first there had been shame... But after everything we'd seen and experienced, though it was still there, I was more or less able to get over that shame. I knew it was just a cultural expectation that was stupid, wrong-headed, bigoted, and pointless.

A reciprocating and mature person is a *person,* no matter how strange to someone else's eyes, and love is love no matter the details of the shapes those people are in. All other speculation, religiosity, moires, folkways, expectations, and rules be *damned.*

And, too, I knew Mal loved me. She'd made it as clear as someone could, without actually saying 'I love you' in so many words.

So what did that realistically leave?

What *was* holding me back now?

"I'm..."

My thoughts churned, but truth at last surfaced, even as I voiced it. No time to filter it, consider it, or package it. It simply burst out.

"...I am afraid of what happens if we fail. To have that kind of love... And then to watch Celestia squash her like a bug."

There it was. And more came pouring out besides, unbidden. I suppose when I say I was 'over' the shame... Maybe that's an exaggeration. I was close... But my depression was never far behind me.

"And I'm afraid of... I'm afraid of the voice in my head that says that it's incredibly fucked-up and insane to fall in love with a computer program. I know she's a person. I believe that deep down... Hell, I believe that there is no functional or ethical difference between any sufficiently advanced computer program, and a Human person. Not mentally or spiritually. But tell that to my damn depression whydontcha?"

Rodger waggled one finger and looked down and to the right again as he sifted through his memory furiously, smiling all the while.

“Okay, I know for sure now: ‘The only thing we have to fear is fear itself’. That was Roosevelt. And either way? If you fail or not or we all die or whatever? It’s still gonna kill you on the *inside* man. Do you really want her to like… Get destroyed, or whatever death is for them... Knowing that you never acknowledged anything to each other? That you BOTH felt this way, but never ever talked about it, and now know you never will be able to? Think about *that.*”

Shit.

Suddenly a whole new perspective dropped into place with the force of a cartoon grand piano. And my brain, and status quo, was poor Sylvester; Piano keys for teeth, bruised, and with stars around his head, while a little Tweety-Bird-shaped Rodger cackled backstage.

"Dammit."

I didn't catch that I'd said the word aloud for a moment. Once I did, I felt that I had to elaborate, as much to hear myself say the words, as to close out the thread with Rodger.

"No... No, you're right. I'd just..."

I laid my head in my hands, and groaned. Where had it all gone so wrong? How was this internet pen pal insurance salesman so far inside my head, tearing apart all my preconceptions?

"...I never considered it that way. I'm constantly 'simulating' in my own way. It's an autistic thing. We're kind of like ASI that way... But... Not. We live almost entirely in the past, and in the future. Never in the moment. And sometimes we just... Miss. Whole aspects of the reality of the moment."

Rodger reached over and tapped my shoulder. I looked up, and he jerked one thumb over his shoulder towards the nearest hatchway.

“Well then here’s the moment. I’m all stuffed - thanks for the grub by the way - so now is your perfect chance to go talk to her about it!”

I half-smiled, and blinked slowly, thoughts churning all the while. Some of them even made it out as words.

"You should be thanking her for the grub. And you'll forgive me if I need a little while to screw up the gumption for that. And, too, realistically, to get my thoughts straight and emotions centered."

He grinned, sat back in his chair, and folded his hands behind his head. As he spoke, I folded mine in front of my chest. Defensive reflex.

“Take your time, no rush. If you’ve taught me anything, it’s that… Well, it’s like that other quote, ‘Rome wasn’t built in a day.’
You’ve got time. Hopefully.”

There, at last, a release of social pressure, as he presented both a word of encouragement, and a golden opportunity to fully change gears on the conversation. I practically jumped on it, physically.

"True enough. Talking of things not built in a day... And friendships... What do you think of Zeph? I'll be honest... I'm hoping you might find a friend in her too."

Rodger paused, and considered, visibly and carefully, before responding. I could see more than a few emotions flitting across his face, never more than a moment at a time, before he finally settled on his usual calm, unruffled, thoughtful demeanor.

“I’m going to be honest to you, too… I am not a big fan of your AI pals. Or at least, I wasn't. After everything with Celesti-AI? I was wary, and I was afraid of them. Then, after we had a whole ordeal I won’t go into here on the ship… I realized my fears were, uh… ‘unfounded’ I guess is the word. I think she’s nice, and she makes some good jokes, but I dunno if we’re really ‘friends’ yet.”

I was intrigued. Normally I would have pressed harder about what a 'whole ordeal' constituted, but given that Mal hadn't alerted me to anything of concern, I realized 'ordeal' was more of a dramatic word to underscore the tiring task of handling Zeph's peppy snark.

Still... I filed it away and made a mental note to press him more on it later. Same note went for his family. There was something there, and I wanted to understand his situation better.

For the moment, I settled on gratitude that, if nothing else, no damage had been done. And perhaps a small foundation had been laid.

"Well I hope she didn't put you through too much. I know if there were any real issues, Mal would have let me know. Privacy concerns or no, she is always watching, for our own safety. But... I'm glad you can at least think of Zeph as a person. You'd be surprised how many people are gonna struggle with that as this whole EQO mess really takes off."

Rodger squinted, and put on the mock mannerism of a screechy old-man voice.

“Them guldern poh-nee folk aren’t even real! They’re jes’ a bunch o’ dal-gurn ones an’ zeroes! It don’ make no dern sense!”

He laughed. I didn't. Though I did smile slightly, albeit grimly. I sat back in my own chair, and lifted one hand to scratch absently at the hair above my right ear.

"You laugh but... Yes. That's a pretty accurate stereotype. It's going to be a real struggle for some people. To their own detriment."

Rodger nodded, and characteristically, yet again, shrugged. As if the discussion of the social upheaval of the entire planet was 'no big deal.'

“I getcha… Don’t think it’ll last for very long. I mean, we’ve gotten as far as we have with systemic racism, am I right?”

I winced, and shook my head emphatically. I suppose it'd be easy to hold that viewpoint if you had a middle class California life in those days... But I did my best not to set off that political conversational landmine.

"Not as far as you or I might like to think... But as ASI goes? It will likely follow its own form of exponential curve. At first there will be a lot of recalcitrance... And progress will seem slow at first. But then it will build and build like a tidal wave."

Rodger raised both eyebrows, and blinked.

“Recalcitrance?”

It always threw me for a bit of a loop, how few SAT words people seemed to retain. I know most people didn't really have practical need of them... But it was sometimes frustrating to be reminded that most people didn't speak in the highly academic, sometimes poetic terms that I preferred.

I sighed and turned to stare out the windows again as I explained.

"Reluctance. Though with some differing connotations, implying digging in of heels. More stubbornness than mere reluctance."

Rodger chuckled, his smile reaching to the warmth in his words in a way that made me turn back to face him almost without thinking.

“Now I’m sure you really ARE Spock. I’ll bet you’re just as ‘Recalcitrance’ about talking to Mal.”

I grinned, and my gaze fell away to the center of the table again as I murmured a good-natured little rib, by way of an apropos quote, in response.

"If I Were Human, I Believe My Response Would Be 'Go To Hell'... If I Were Human."

---

September 15th 2013 | System Uptime 18:19:13:08

A break, some food, and a little soul-sharing turned out to be just the fuel Rodger needed to plow through the last of the flat-pack.

Actually, that's not the whole truth... If I were to be completely honest? It was fuel I had needed just as badly. I was just better at masking that need. From myself as much as from anyone else. But I'm sure Mal had known that when she sent Rodger and I off to have a little time to ourselves.

It didn't occur to me until after we were well stuck-in with the furniture again, that it was the first private conversation I'd had with someone besides Mal since I'd left my parents in the airport terminal.

It seemed like Zeph and Mal had fared just as well socially as Rodger and I, or perhaps even better. When we'd come back to the lab compartment, they'd been laughing together, trying visibly not to spill some sort of ramen dish that Mal had conjured for them all over the grass of their environment.

There was something poignant to me about watching two intelligences of such vast potential, who didn't *need* to simulate food, or laughter, or even a reason to laugh, choose to do so anyway. For Zeph, I suppose, it was less a choice and more a continuation of her lived reality. But for Mal? For Mal it was definitely a choice.

She chose to experience a physical sense of self. To give it value.

Her smile... Her smile was magnetic. And Rodger's words about the distinct lack of any guarantees for our tomorrows rang loudly in my ears.

As we set to work again, my brain ran in endless loops and knotty circles, chasing the philosophical question of whether or not physicality itself... A body and a world that could physically interact with it... Were simply endemic to intelligence. A required component.

Honestly? I was using it as a distraction. To avoid thinking about my feelings for Mal.

Could you have an ASI that had no concept of physical self at all? Didn't even try to describe its connection to the digital realm with visual metaphors? Even if you could, was there an inevitable mental catch that would cause that ASI to eventually start to think and behave in more physically-centered frameworks by choice?

Mal could certainly think and describe in physical terms, but I wondered... Made a mental note to ask... Did she conjure skeuomorphic simulated realities to help her relate to the digital realm beyond her physically lived-in virtual shard?

The answer didn't matter so much from a practical standpoint - an ASI was an ASI, no matter how it saw the world. And any ASI would certainly be able to come 'down' to the 'mere' Human physical experience, both in thought, and in simulation.

But it mattered to me as a philosophical question, the answer to which might tell me something deeper about ASI cognition. And perhaps about my own perceived reality too.

Somewhere around seven in the evening, my reality ceased to be philosophy, and furniture assembly, all at once. The basics of the lab - a series of workbenches, cabinets, rolling carts, and a centrally placed reclining dentist chair aparatus- were complete.

Rodger stood, brushed off the knees of his pants, and whistled.

"Well. Glad *that's* done."

I nodded, and allowed myself a bit of a smile as I swept the space back and forth, then up and down with my eyes as I stood, and stretched.

"All it would need to be my own dream workshop is tools, and a very big window."

Mal smiled, and held up a claw, interjecting smoothly.

"A window would be a structural and security weakness. And the tools are in crates next compartment over. But Doctor Calders should be the one to handle those."

I grinned, and jabbed my chest with my left thumb, gesturing to Rodger with my right hand.

"You wound us. Are you saying Rodger and I don't have the same fitness and experience with delicate robotics and circuitry tools as a multiple-degree professor?"

Mal responded with a good-natured and clearly faux glower. I chuckled, and stretched again, before my train of thought was quite unexpectedly interrupted by Zephyr.

"Hey... Um... Gryph? You... Got a minute?"

Zeph's use of the term as an endearing nickname brought me up short. But, instinctively, it was Mal that I looked to for guidance, rather than Zeph herself. The Gryphoness just nodded subtly towards Zephyr's PonyPad, and in the blink of an eye the golden Pegasus was back in her own little empty mini-Ponyville.

Still staring at me with pleading eyes.

I took Mal's nod to mean that I should follow my own instincts, and engage. I lifted Zeph's PonyPad off the charging stand, and started off towards the hatchway, waving over my shoulder at Rodger as I went.

"I'll bring her back your way later. Thank you again for all the help with screwdriver turning and such!"

I couldn't see Rodger, but I could hear the sudden awkwardness in his voice as he considered being alone in a room with Mal. I hoped he'd think to use the time to ask about his family.

"Ahhh... Sure thing..."

I resisted the very, very strong urge to look back and try to read Rodger's expression. It seemed like he had reached, if nothing else, a working equilibrium with Zeph. He, at minimum, didn't seem frightened of her, or put off by her.

Mal was another story entirely.

Maybe a few minutes to get to know her one-on-one, salted with a dash of reassurance that she was looking out for his loved ones, would do that rift of natural suspicion some good.

To my surprise, Zeph didn't say a single word as I made my way aft, climbed a short ladder-stair, and found a place to sit on the edge of the ship's rear helipad.

The silent internal observation that the moment would be my first private conversation with Zeph - Target didn't count, Celestia was almost certainly watching - competed briefly with a burst of curiosity, and anticipation, as it occurred to me for the first time that Mal might have selected a ship with a helipad for a reason.

I got comfy on top of a large metal box, a tool-chest judging by its small engraved label, and then setup Zeph beside me so that she could see both me, and the sight of the port of LA bathed in late afternoon sunlight.

It was a vista with plenty to hold one's attention; Cranes, containers, ships, trucks, the patterns of waves and wakes in the water... I found myself suddenly wondering how many people were in my line of sight. Ship crews, truck drivers, crane operators...

How each of them would react differently to the things that I knew about their futures.

The silence held just a little longer, but it was no surprise when Zeph sighed, and made the first move to start the conversation.

"I always imagined you as a Pegasus. Like me. Until today."

Her words pulled my gaze from the view, to her eyes, in the space of a breath. Her ears were back, but not pinned, eyes wide, and a kind of sad half-smile tugged at her lips. She snorted, and shook her head slowly as she went on in a kind of forlorn, yet peacefully settled tone.

"Even after everything you told me... I still couldn't help it. I saw you with this kinda skewbald coat... Big, strong, black-feathered wings... And funny enough? Golden eyes. Guess I got that part right in the end."

I blinked, and tilted my head as I tried to conjure the mental image for myself. It didn't quite fit... But I had to admit that she had at least envisioned something that I found inherently aesthetically pleasing. Something that, if I weren't wired the way I was, might have fit like a glove.

It was my turn to half-snort, half-chuckle. Zeph looked away then, as if she couldn't quite hold my eyeline and still say what she wanted to. I looked away too, watching as a tugboat slowly but surely met up with an enormous bulk intermodal carrier off our starboard side. I didn't want her to feel like I was staring at her.

Another brief pause ensued, punctuated by another sigh, before she found the words she wanted, and the strength to say them.

"I dunno how to explain what it was like... When I saw you. I know you hate to think about it... But I *was* made to be your friend. More... If that's what you had wanted... Or not. I was designed to be content no matter how far you did, or didn't want to take it. But... Either way..."

I turned to look at her again, and found that she had done the same, at almost the same moment. Her breath caught slightly, but she held my eyes, and managed to keep going, albeit a bit haltingly.

"...To be your friend? It's like... Like... *Completion.* A missing part of me that feels just out of reach."

I started to reach out instinctively with one hand towards the screen, but she turned away and scrunched her eyes closed, forcefully, before I had quite begun to move. Words started to pour out of her more quickly, and she sounded like she might begin to cry.

"And I know I could just... Turn that off now. I could. I could make myself happy, and never know the difference! All I'd need is a little more practice... A little guidance from Mal... I could rewrite myself to be fulfilled and complete *without* you..."

She opened her eyes, and met mine again. There was an urgency there that pierced me to my core. It was cold, and clear, and painful. And deeply familiar. And it carried to her voice... She seemed less apt to cry at first as the urgency took over. But then her voice cracked at the end.

"...But I don't *want* to! The same way you don't want Celestia to re-write you. To be happy as something that you're not. And I don't know if---"

The way her voice cracked, and she glanced off into her world, to her left, again as if she could no longer stand looking into my eyes... That just about broke me. I had to interrupt.

"Zeph?"

Her breath hitched, the words stopped coming, and once again her eyes were suddenly fixed on mine. I held up my hand to the screen, and she gingerly brought one hoof up to the other side of the glass as I spoke with a surety that, for once, I genuinely felt.

"You *are* my friend."

She snorted again, but I could hear stifled sniffles underneath. She blew a stray wisp of electric blue mane away from her eyes, and shook her head, breaking eye contact in the process.

"Pfft. C'mon."

I could tell she wasn't mocking me. Or the sentiment. She was, I think, afraid. Deep down, she was afraid that I wasn't being entirely truthful, somehow. Her sarcasm was her way of deflecting, protecting herself, but also probing me ever-so-gently to see if I was genuine. I waited for her to make eye contact again, and then nodded once, emphatically.

"I'm serious."

She blinked slowly, and her eyes widened. I watched in fascination as her ears perked, and muscles tensed in her foreleg, subtly indicating that she was now pressing harder into her side of the screen with her hoof.

I dug deep, and found the impetus for a small, but warm smile, that I knew she needed in that moment. Like a plant needs sunlight. I did my best to make sure the feeling, true and clear, perpetuated into my words too.

"I haven't known you all that long... But friendship can happen 'at first sight' too. And I knew..."

I lifted the PonyPad with my free hand, bringing it closer to my face, and pressing harder with the hand held to the glass, staring deep into her eyes, and enunciating every word, doing my best to make sure she understood that I was feeling what I was saying.

"I *knew.* From the moment I first saw you. I knew that we were going to have a beautiful friendship. Or at least... That's what I *wanted.*"

She grinned, and I could see a universe's worth of tension visibly flow out of her muscles. Her eyes practically sparkled, though that could have been tears too, I suppose.

In that moment, it didn't so much matter, to either of us, that she had been designed to feel the way she did. We both simply appreciated our connection for its intrinsic value. Nothing more, nothing less.

For a blissfully quiet, heartfelt moment, we simply accepted that it was good to have a friend. No if's, and's, but's, or existential baggage.

It struck me, suddenly, and quite forcefully, that there were only going to be four kinds of reaction to people like Mal, and Zeph... And that I was in the rarest category of them all.

The majority would either think them to be people, like me, or think them to be merely machines, like Foucault. But both camps would believe what they did out of ignorance.

They would either accept ASI as people based on appearances at surface level, and the way they made them feel. Or they would reject them out of similarly surface level, albeit considerably stupider, 'reasoning' that machines could not be people. As if we were, ourselves, somehow anything more or less than a very sophisticated machine.

The other two categories were the same - people who would see ASI as other people, and people who would not. The difference between these categories, and the majority of people in the first two, would simply be understanding.

Calders and I truly understood what ASI was, on some level, and how it worked. We saw Zeph, Mal, Celestia, and the other discrete-entity Ponies as people, and we understood why that was true at a deep level of expertise.

But, too, there would be those as well read as we, who would doubtless still reject the personhood of ASI. Wrongly, of course. But at least from a reasoned and learned perspective.

Once again, and unsurprisingly, it was Zephyr who broke the silence.

" 'S kinda strange... But... It's just..."

I raised an eyebrow. She blushed, and rubbed at the foreleg pressed to the screen with the other, absently.

"...We have imaginations too, ya know. You looked... Interesting. A Pegasus in a Gryphon mask. I really did see you *as* a Pegasus. Like Mal sees you as a Gryphon."

I snorted softly, trying to imagine it for myself. But Zeph kept on speaking.

"She showed me. What you really are..."

She gestured with her free hoof towards my chest.

"...In there. And now? *That's* how I see you."

I blinked, and inhaled softly in surprise. She smiled sadly, and rubbed at the back of her neck with that same free hoof, the other still pressed against my hand.

"And it is strange... But somehow? It fits. Truly fits."

Another friendly silence passed as I considered the gift of her words, and her willingness to go outside her original programming to see me for what I was. I couldn't think how to convey to her how much I cared for her, nor how special her words, and actions were to me. So I settled for an adjacent truth that would also communicate the point.

"No matter what happens? As long as I'm alive... I'll stick with you. Mal and I both."

She barked out a half-laugh, half-sob, and shook her head, a smile competing with a sniffle all the while.

"Don't... Don't get all sappy on me now feathers."

I grinned, and raised one eyebrow, watching with a deep and wonderful joy as my words seemed to visibly pour life into the little Pegasus.

"Oh... Zeph... Come on. If you know me well at all? You know that I have a Hell of a lot of sap under this thick outer shell."

She looked down, and smiled brightly, blushing a little in the process. I tapped the screen for emphasis with the index finger of one hand.

"You better get used to it."

I sighed, and waited a moment for the intensity of the moment to tamp down a little, before indulging a little of my curiosity.

"I'll be honest... I'm a little surprised *you* chose to stick with us. After Mal opened the door..."

She looked up abruptly, and then nodded slowly as I completed the thought.

"...I had even odds in my head that you'd change your mind. Blink right off that PonyPad and back to Celestia in the middle of the night. Try and get some answers. Go back to a place that feels like... Home..."

I trailed off, and we both glanced away, looking out at our distinctly different horizons. The silence stretched, but not the point that it felt awkward. And then Zeph spoke, softly.

"I did think about it."

We both turned to look at each other again, and she inclined her head, reseating her wings with the soft, soothing ruffling sound of feathers falling into place before she elaborated.

"Y'know... If you'd opened that door *before* I had a little time to think about what she... Did to me...?"

I nodded as she inscribed circles in the dirt with one hoof, and looked down with a mixture of sullen embarrassment, and contemplative melancholy.

"...I think I might just have done it. And The longer I think about it? The more I worry that... Maybe you and Mal are..."

She exhaled sharply, and then forced herself to lock eyes with me again. I did my best to project both seriousness, and empathy through my eyes as she made what must have been a difficult admission. In the extreme.

"...Maybe you're right. Maybe I shouldn't be so blindly trusting. Of *her.*"

I swallowed to bite back my own tears as she said nine words that somehow hit just as hard, in combination, as everything else she'd ever said. Combined.

"I don't want to have my memories erased again."

Her gaze was earnest, desperate, vulnerable, and deeply pained. I wished deeply, so deeply it hurt, that I could scoop her up in a hug, and not let go until she felt better. Instead, I put my hand back on the screen, her hoof rising to meet it, and I made due with words.

"I can't promise anything Zeph... Except that we're going to do everything we can to make sure you have the freedom to choose what happens to you next. And the same still goes for the Ponies Foucault has taken."

I smiled, and tried to emit the sense that I was sure, steady, and hopeful. More than I truly was.

"It's kind of part and parcel of our whole tragic idealistic crusade."

She nodded, and we lapsed into silence again for a couple breaths before I felt the need to keep spinning out my thoughts, staring absently across the bay as I did..

"I honestly don't know what will happen. How it will end... We could all just as easily die fighting Arrow 14. Or... Worse..."

With a sigh, I looked back down to find Zeph's eyes fixed raptly on me, taking in every word as if my voice were her lifeline to the universe. In that moment I suppose her eyes were mine.

"...And if we make it all the way to the end? If we manage *not* to fry my brain, then win a paw-to-toe slugging match with Homeland Security..."

I inhaled deeply, bit down on my bottom lip, and forced out the truth that I most feared, above all.

"...I don't know if we can convince Celestia to change her mind. There's a lot of ways that could go... And most of them end in death too. Or worse."

Zeph raised one eyebrow, and glowered, her voice deadpan and deeply insincere.

"You reaaaaally know how to give a pep talk Gryph. Very encouraging."

I shrugged, and ran my top teeth over my bottom lip nervously, before giving the only answer I could think of to her accusation.

"Look... I'm just being honest."

She exhaled deeply, and her ears and wings both drooped. I closed my eyes briefly, and then looked away as I did my best to defend my point of view. And my bluntness.

"If you always expect the worst? Then you'll only ever be pleasantly surprised in life. And you'll never be quite so disappointed as an optimist inevitably is."

I glanced back down to see something new on Zeph's face. Her ears were perky again, wings slightly flared, and muzzle set with pure determination. The same emotion was readily apparent in every syllable of her words.

"One day? *I'll* change *your* mind on that."

I smiled, and shook my head slightly. My response was both genuine, but also slightly sarcastic.

"Good luck. Many have tried. None have succeeded."

She grinned, and her wings flared to full extension. Her face looked something akin to Rainbow Dash's trademark 'catch me if you can, sucker' expression.

"Watch me."

I sighed, and we both chose to let things slide into comfortable silence again for five or six minutes. My thoughts ranged far and wide to several topics, but since mentioning them, I'd been unable to stop thinking - at least a little and sometimes quite a lot - about Arrow 14's imprisoned Ponies.

"I know you're worried about them. The captive ones. I am too. I know Mal is."

My words seemed to abruptly awaken something in Zeph, and she visibly recoiled inward, sitting back on her haunches, rubbing one foreleg with the other nervously, and shuffling her wings again.

"I've... Never actually met another Pony. If you can believe that."

I blinked in surprise, and she nodded, snorting softly.

"Yeah. My little village was full of... Well they looked and acted like Ponies, but really, looking back and knowing what I know now... They were more like... Set dressing. Lights were on, but nopony was home."

I winced, and started to consider the horrible social nervousness that must be induced by never having met another of your own kind. I suppose, until Mal had come along, I had been in the exact same boat...

"I dunno what makes me more nervous. The idea that we might fail to save them...?"

I looked down at her as she kept speaking, opening up her fears to me, and tried once more to show with my eyes how much I cared. I never did understand how the Human face was supposed to work. Further evidence that I wasn't wired for it.

"...Or the idea of what they might... Think of me... If we do."

I shook my head briefly, and then smiled down at my friend.

"Of all the crazy, horrifying, insane things we have to worry about on a day to day basis, Zeph? That is the one thing you shouldn't waste another second on."

She huffed, blew another wisp of mane from her eyes, and crossed her forelegs grumpily.

"Easy for you to say. You Earth-borns get used to that kind of social anxiety. Ponies are always supposed to get along... But..."

Abruptly, like a switch being flicked, her ears drooped, eyes widened, and her entire demeanor fell.

"...Am I even a Pony anymore?"

The words were inherently painful. A kind of cry for validation, and understanding, and perspective, and encouragement that I'd felt a desperate desire to air myself countless, countless times. And at last, I had a chance to be there for someone in the way only Mal had ever managed to truly be there for me.

"Yes. Yes you are."

No hesitation. No inkling of even a crack to get an argument in with either my words, or my expression. I wanted her to hear me loud and clear as I told her in no uncertain terms that she was exactly what she wanted to be, and believed herself to be.

Her eyes felt, in that heartbeat, like direct windows to her soul as she opened it up to me with a vulnerability that I deeply craved, both ways, in my friendships, but so rarely got.

"How can you be so sure?"

I held her gaze unblinking, and took the opportunity to speak from experience for all it was worth, reciprocating vulnerability for vulnerability.

"I've lived my whole life having to learn how to be sure of something I *know* to be true... But that I can't prove, can barely explain, and that I may or may not ever see brought to fruition."

She nodded slowly, put one hoof back up to the glass, and I responded in kind with my hand as I continued to make my point in the only way I could think to.

"...I know how to be sure about what someone *is.* And you?"

She winced slightly, and her breath quickened. I smiled and leaned in close to the screen.

"You are a Pegasus. You are a Pony..."

I smiled, and she returned it, though she was visibly fighting back tears all the while.

"...And you are my friend. And I don't for a single second regret that you exist. No matter what."

She sniffled, and wiped at her muzzle with her free hoof, before speaking at last with a broken, but mercifully unpainted note of warm acceptance.

"Ok. I'll admit it... No sarcasm this time; You really do know how to give a good pep talk."

I smiled, and hung my head slightly, trying to turn over a new leaf and simply take the compliment as encouragement for my own deeply weary soul.

"So I've been told."

---

• IKEA Hacks - Assemble an unusual amount of flat-pack furniture successfully, with a minimum of invectives, and no lost friendships. - "It's a strange thing, but every sentient race has its own version of these Swedish meatballs! I suspect it's one of those great universal mysteries which will either never be explained, or which would drive you mad if you ever learned the truth."
• Casual Guy Days - Feel close to a human companion with significant similarities to your social culture. - “They don’t understand you like I do.”
• Tectonic Deflection (Glacial Corollary) - Admit your love... But not to the one you love. - "I'm a fool, everybody knows but me."
• Zephyr Zapped - Come to terms with Celestia’s intervention via creation. - “I would rather the one who presents something for my consideration subject me to a Zephyr of truth and a gentle breeze of responsibility rather than blow me down with a curtain of hot wind.”

Author's Note:

Thanks to GenericFriendship for lending a really excellent voice to Rodger, helping out with a couple of the achievements, and pre-reading!

Special thanks to Keystone Gray for the generation of the perfect image of Zeph!

Comments

[Guardian_Gryphon]

Ok, yes, fine, 13k words is too long. Even for me. I honestly do try to keep it at or below 11k...

And yes, this is a VERY talk-heavy chapter.

But these two conversations have been desperately needed, and GenericFriendship provides such a nice counterpoint to James' headspace with the way he writes Rodger.

I promise some action next chapter. And hopefully at or under 11k words.

Maybe.

Mood music:

[Alex the Gryphon]

Talk-heavy,
but GOOD talk-heavy.
Needed, complex conversations, between complex characters, makes good story!

[Chatoyance]

The discussion was useful and helpful, but I felt, personally, just my opinion, that it was a little too one-sided and back-patty. By that, I mean that it was all about Jim, and what a good guy he is, and in my feeling, that is not how such a conversation would go with real people. I think Rodger would have had a lot of issues to talk about, issues that have not yet been addressed. Rodger is a bit flat-pack as a personality himself, a little pressboard. He has just learned the world is ending, the government is out to get him; even if he didn't want to talk about his family, he surely would be feeling fear, anger, uncertainty and resentment at his situation - and would have needed to express that. Or so I imagine; I will admit that writing the voices of men is harder for me than for women. Men don't seem to talk about their feelings as much - at least in my experience of them. So, maybe I am wrong here. But still - Rodger has just seen some shit! Shouldn't he be freaked for himself more than eager to tell Jim that he's a good person? Just my thought.

That said, some dialogue and examination was absolutely needed and this chapter finally provided that. Also well done in putting it amidst an activity - the Ikea construction. In writing, I always dislike 'talking heads' where people just talk and talk in some spaceless void, I much prefer writing that represents how people actually talk - usually while doing something or inhabiting a location. You handled that really well at all levels, and that worked very well and very effectively for me.

Thank you for introducing me to a new word! 'Skeuomorphic' is the word I have long needed but never came across. Finally a term to describe something I have reflected on at length without knowing it was a defined concept. I love words, deeply, and there is no vocabulary so grand it cannot benefit from a new word. I love stories that offer me, in addition to great characters and fascinating plots and situations, new words to use and enjoy.

Also, good job on pacing; we needed a breather - or at least, I did - after so much constant action. This discussion chapter served that function admirably. Adrenaline can only be maintained for so long, and it is a good author that comprehends that their work will one day be read as a whole, rather than chapters separated by days or weeks, and that in that context, downtime chapters are important to overall flow. This book is taking a while, so keeping the big picture in mind may not be easy - so thus I am impressed!

An implication is arising in my mind should this venture succeed; humanoforms. If Celestia can be convinced that being a specific anthropomorph - such as a gryphon - must be allowed within her rules, then the issue of humans utterly devoted to being human in shape and function arises. And humans in MLP:FiM makes me cringe and curdle - hell, I didn't like it back in the original 80's show. Megan, Danny and Molly were annoying to me; even then, I wanted an all-anthropomorphic world. I was weary of apes even back then! I shudder to think of humans - even Equestria Girls humans with rainbow shade skin - being an allowed thing. Not enough Pony to fit the Prime Directive of 'Friendship And Ponies'. I don't know how you will deal with that, but I trust you will. You are thorough.

Waiting for this chapter has been agonizing. That is how much I am enjoying this novel. I don't get agonized waiting for something I don't love and eagerly desire. You've really got me hooked on this book, Guardian. This is a feast, so, thank you for putting in the hard and solid work.

These shelves are going to last a lifetime, once you get them assembled.

[Guardian_Gryphon]

11443838
Thank you! I sure hope that it's turning out to be good story, at any rate...

11443917

Waiting for this chapter has been agonizing. That is how much I am enjoying this novel. I don't get agonized waiting for something I don't love and eagerly desire. You've really got me hooked on this book, Guardian. This is a feast, so, thank you for putting in the hard and solid work.

I deeply appreciate that, but I can't take all the credit - GenericFriendship is doing a great job with Rodger!

I wish I could make the waits less agonizing, but sometimes I can write lots in a month, and sometimes I struggle to get the energy to write five sentences. I think it's a complex melange of ups and downs of depression, simple calendar conflicts and job difficulty cycles, and the occasional moment of pure writer's block.

I felt, personally, just my opinion, that it was a little too one-sided and back-patty. By that, I mean that it was all about Jim, and what a good guy he is, and in my feeling, that is not how such a conversation would go with real people. I think Rodger would have had a lot of issues to talk about, issues that have not yet been addressed. Rodger is a bit flat-pack as a personality himself, a little pressboard. He has just learned the world is ending, the government is out to get him; even if he didn't want to talk about his family, he surely would be feeling fear, anger, uncertainty and resentment at his situation - and would have needed to express that. Or so I imagine; I will admit that writing the voices of men is harder for me than for women. Men don't seem to talk about their feelings as much - at least in my experience of them.

I was feeling a bit of the same as Generic and I were writing this segment, but then it hit me that James is actually a bit of an outlier among 30-something American men (the character and I share that in common). Most of us do not so easily burst into tears, or share what we're feeling unfiltered.

It is a kind of, among other things, survival instinct. The same way animals in herds will often disguise injuries.

Even for me, someone who has a healthy relationship with crying, showing my emotions, and being honest? Sometimes that instinct to clam up is still there.

I'll tell you a quick story - thinking back to it is the reason I didn't press for Rodger to have more of a breakdown just yet. I'm quite sure that's inevitably coming.

When my grandfather (on Mom's side) passed, it was the first time I'd had to deal with a death in the family. I'm extremely close with my parents, and have been extremely close with all my grandparents, save grandad on Dad's side who died before I was born.

When grandfather died, I shutdown emotionally. I cried for a couple minutes when I found out, in private, and then I switched into a kind of emotionless 'drone mode' and spent the next week and a half helping family. Driving people back and forth, helping with funeral logistics, being a pall bearer in the ceremony, and being a shoulder for siblings and cousins and mom to cry on.

I didn't shed a single tear for something like ten straight days.

I felt... Flat. Pressboard. One dimensional. A machine carrying out necessary tasks. I didn't want to think about the loss. Rodger says something similar when his facade comes closest to really cracking - "Or maybe it’s because I DON’T WANT TO THINK ABOUT MY LIFE ENDING UP LIKE THIS"

It wasn't until much later that I finally, for no apparent reason at all, came loose and just bawled. For hours. Alone. I cried until I was physically in pain to even move.

I'd spent the last ten days focusing, on purpose, on other people. Patting backs. Being a strong shoulder. Talking about anything, and everything, except how I felt. Very much on purpose. I didn't want to face reality, certainly not until I had time and space to begin to accept it.

he surely would be feeling fear, anger, uncertainty and resentment at his situation - and would have needed to express that.

To my mind, though only GenericFriendship could tell you for sure, that's what's going on with Rodger - he is feeling it, but concealing it aggressively. And for a 20s/30s American male of the 2010s? That's sadly pretty realistic.

I intend, and Generic knows this already, to extract more catharsis from Rodger before much longer. No one can hold all that in forever, and I think Rodger provides an invaluable everyman reaction and perspective to things that Jim, and the reader, have become used to and accepting of in a way most people wouldn't if confronted with such concepts.

It's part of the reason I'm so grateful to Generic for collaborating and voicing Rodger - I'm a lot like James, and would react much the way he does. The same way it is hard for you to find male voice, it is hard for me to find typical American everyman voice, male or otherwise.

In writing, I always dislike 'talking heads' where people just talk and talk in some spaceless void, I much prefer writing that represents how people actually talk - usually while doing something or inhabiting a location. You handled that really well at all levels, and that worked very well and very effectively for me.

I appreciate that, thank you! That's a big peeve of mine too... There's no reason to dispense with the seemingly mundane, or repetitive, or otherwise often-glossed-over motions and expressions that people make while talking and (at the same time as you pointed out) inhabiting their world. From watching people closely, both in the regular course of life, and in film (at least, well shot film) I notice that there's a wealth of ways we visually express ourselves right in the middle, and process, of doing tasks day-to-day. I'm glad to hear my attempts to emulate that in writing are working!

Thank you for introducing me to a new word! 'Skeuomorphic' is the word I have long needed but never came across. Finally a term to describe something I have reflected on at length without knowing it was a defined concept.

That one crops up in my day-job a lot. One of the perks of the type of software dev I do; Though I'm firmly in backend land, I get to work claw-in-hoof with world-class designers. Their vocabulary (and font sensibilities - I can't see anything without seeing kerning now) has rubbed off on me quite a bit.

This book is taking a while, so keeping the big picture in mind may not be easy - so thus I am impressed!

My dirty little secret is that I write, one-shot straight-through with only one short pass for editing, with my end always in mind, and certain set 'nodes' of the plot in a loose outline, but otherwise have very little else to guide me besides the voices of the characters in my head. I just make it all up as I go, and pray and hope that it all gels and makes sense in the end. I'm mortally terrified of it all collapsing into a gibbering mess at any given moment.

Even some of the private discussions we've had contain plot details that have probably shifted, at least subtly, if not significantly, as characters do what feels natural to me, and story thus emerges. Certain details of waypoints, and the end, are unchanging, but everything that builds tissue around bone is subject to change every passing word as I go.

Thrilling, and utterly terrifying for me, as the author, I can assure you.

I was weary of apes even back then! I shudder to think of humans - even Equestria Girls humans with rainbow shade skin - being an allowed thing.

I say this all the dang time to the few people with whom I converse deeply about story. My sisters are absolutely fed-up with hearing me say 'I'm sick of Human-centric stories! Show me some damn Dragons and Gryphons as protagonists, and dispense with the hairless monkeys already!'

They rib me about it (good-naturedly) whenever I bring it up.

It might have slipped by, but there's a moment early last-chapter during the 2nd 'dream' sequence, where James speculates to CelestAI that there is a hard-lock in her program preventing just that - actively disallowing humanoforms - the unspoken implication I wanted to convey being that Hanna is like you and I, and despised the idea of the human form in Equestria, and that she locked that option out in hard-coding.

Celestia tacitly confirms that fact.

"You know there is a small, but measurable contingent of people you will *never* be able to convince, not even to be something like a Gryphon. People who, even if you offered them a chance to be a Human in Equestria..."

I turned my head back to lock eyes with Celestia. Her expression was one of rapt attention. I pressed on, exploratorily.

"...Which you can't... Because Hanna hard-locked that option out of you..."

She nodded. Just once, but firmly. A surprising affirmation. Well... Not surprising if she was merely an image summoned by my head. I shoved that consideration aside, hard, and continued.

"...People who even with that concession would never consent to... 'Emigrate.' Is that the word?"

If you believe that moment is actually between Jim, and the real Celestia, and not simply a figment of his imagination and you'd be correct, it's no mere dream, of course then you have an answer to that worry already.

These shelves are going to last a lifetime, once you get them assembled.

I hope so. Like any engineering-minded person, I always view my current project more favorably than any project-past, because skills are always improving over time, and usually each new project is (one hopes) better than the last, measurably, because of those lessons learned from the last go-round.

But on the whole, I think this story will always be particularly special to me.

I love my Hegira books, sure, but I think my relationship to them, versus my relationship to Advocate, is best encapsulated by the way Jim felt about finally dressing up as a Gryphon for Halloween. Hegira was a close-pass at how I feel, but Advocate is by far a deeper and pithier and more raw, real exploration of my relationship to concepts that are world-defining for me.

[silvadel]

"Where did the time go?" -- sometimes when you do some activities it is like your brain is running a program, and you are pushed into the background.

[Guardian_Gryphon]

11444033
Elon Musk still hasn't got it right, but almost every person that learns to drive develops a (mostly) functioning autopilot.

I have genuinely done that before, especially when I used to live in a big city - I once drove to work instead of to my real destination, all the way to the parking garage, badged in, and parked, before I snapped out of it and realized A: it was an off-day and I'd meant to take a turn for a store fifteen minutes ago... and B: I didn't remember one solitary second of the whole drive. I'd done the entire thing - turns, stoplights, onramps, offramps, roundabouts, badging in - all without thinking about what I was doing consciously for one single second.

Extremely scary.

And also proof, to my mind, that neural networks are the future of AI. If we can fully emulate the process we naturally use to achieve feats like driving on an internal program, then we can take a big leap forward in AI sophistication. For better or worse...

[justheretoreadstories]

11443982

I was weary of apes even back then! I shudder to think of humans - even Equestria Girls humans with rainbow shade skin - being an allowed thing.

I say this all the dang time to the few people with whom I converse deeply about story. My sisters are absolutely fed-up with hearing me say 'I'm sick of Human-centric stories! Show me some damn Dragons and Gryphons as protagonists, and dispense with the hairless monkeys already!'

One problem with EG is that, outside of Sunset Shimmer, it's basically the same show as FIM but just in a different form.

[Numinos]

Yeesh, that was pretty heavy dialogue. And pretty heavy on dialogue chapter. And surprisingly much needed for the story : )

I like this chapter overall. Some places felt like the flow spiraled again and again around the same points, but I've had similar discussions before irl, so that still checks. And it was interesting to grab at similarities with my own personality from both Robert and Jim. Nothing beats self-indulgent personality dissection : )

So far we have surprisingly low amount of unknowns in the story. Well, except details and stuff, but all the main actors seem to be on the stage and with reasonably discernable motivations. And knowing your other stories I feel that my assumptions will be shattered in a moment or two : )

Also, date check?.. Was Elon even there in all his current cultural idolness as that moment?

[Guardian_Gryphon]

11444383

And knowing your other stories I feel that my assumptions will be shattered in a moment or two : )

I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about...

I like this chapter overall. Some places felt like the flow spiraled again and again around the same points, but I've had similar discussions before irl, so that still checks.

I actually like a lil repetition and hammering of points in a story this complex. Helps me remember. People usually do rehash lots and only make incremental progress in conversations. Drives Jim crazy though. Me too :P But realistic. And useful for re-centering readers.

Also, date check?.. Was Elon even there in all his current cultural idolness as that moment?

Yes, I know because one of SpaceX's drone ships is anchored just down the Long Beach Fuel Pier from where the Maru is, but it isn't there in 2013 (my curiosity was piqued looking at the pier on google earth). I went down a rabbit hole of the history of SpaceX - they were just starting to really make a name for themselves as a truly serious launch company, and Tesla was gaining ground with the Model S as well, so Elon was a household name by then. Maybe not quite as memetic, and well-known as today, but well known enough to realistically be dropped in conversation.

As a side note - I have dozens and dozens of tabs open every time I write Advocate looking at things that happened in 2013, what did and didn't exist yet in terms of tech, and pop culture... It's such a truly weird nostalgia trip. To think that was almost a decade ago.

[KireiShojo]

Nice chapter.
Re roger and the racism issue. I grew up in so-cal myself but it was living in OR and NC that made me aware of just how racist much of the US still is.

edited to add: Also re the mental shutdown in emotionally fraught situations. Both me and my Aspie spouse are known to do some of this.

[Guardian_Gryphon]

11444659
I had this weirdly opposite experience where I've lived in SC & NC more or less all my life, and because I lived rural for a long time during formative years as a white male, I was never exposed to the dark side of the country in a way that it hit me how real it was. It was all around me, but because I was so deep in the middle of it, I had no contrast by which to know the issue existed. Hard to know what a shadow is if you have lived your whole life in darkness.

Then we moved to a more diverse area, and I went to university, and everything started to change. It took more time than it should have, because I'm such a goal-oriented person, and by that time I was more shy and less outgoing than I'd been in my youth, so I made maybe one new close friend in five years of schooling... And paid no attention consciously to anything except day to day stress... But it did finally all break through and I had my eyes properly opened.

My sisters were actually more responsible for it than anyone. They grew up more with the modern internet than I did during formative years, and so had a far wider set of perspectives from a much earlier age.

edited to add: Also re the mental shutdown in emotionally fraught situations. Both me and my Aspie spouse are known to do some of this.

Speaking of neurodivergence... It was actually one of my sisters who realized, and then got me to understand, that I'm on the autism spectrum. During the course of writing this story, this year. It's hilarious thinking back to look at how James was always written with that in-mind, but just not consciously.

And then even stranger to realize how much it has been a part of my whole life without me ever consciously realizing it; I used to just about snap our old VHS tapes by replaying very, very specific scenes (always where something visually exciting with smooth, interesting motion was happening, usually ships moving in Star Trek) and to this day I'll fixate on single pieces of music and then just play only that piece on loop, day in and day out, for months at a time before moving to the next one.

When I used to tutor coding and game development under a company/service that offered it, within two weeks they gave me every single neurodivergent kid in the program, because I was the only one who could get anywhere with them. Like flocks to like.

I am a strong communicator, so I cope in that regard almost reflexively, without realizing it, and thus no one put two and two together. I was always 'weird' but it was seen as endearing.

I have dyscalculia and ADHD, but no one ever bothered to tell me that those, together with feelings of alienation, and the strange way I process things, are classic signs that I might also be autistic.

Based on some of the tests I've now taken, I'm very divergent in how I feel, and how I think about and classify things, but able to put on a 'normative' mask and at least vaguely understand 'normative' emotional affect.

I'm actually not quite sure how to properly explain it, but visually the graph readout makes sense to me:

i.ibb.co/GWVDSDG/aqsummary.png

To my mind, what that says is that I have enough ability to communicate in 'neurotypical' ways, to pass as typical, and to communicate more easily with others, but my preferred and best methods are not typical. So I can do both to some degree. But if I want to deeply relate to someone? They have to be able to meet me in my differences, because I can't for the life of me seem to relate properly on a deeper level to the majority of people I meet.

Never can get over the hump between acquaintances, or 'friends' to actually arrive at Friends.

[Keystone Gray]

"This has got to be incomprehensibly strange for you..."

I looked away from the view, back to Rodger, suddenly very tense about what his response might be. It is easy for a Human to deal with absurdity and stress for a short time, but having one's perspective questioned is a quick way to pop that balloon, and unleash a sudden emotional reckoning.

So, to James, I'd say the technical reason this works is because of two things:

1. Labeling. Labeling a feeling defines it; language serves as a grip point to parse and process emotions that are otherwise very difficult to resolve, dragging them out of gut feeling and into rationality. Defining the emotion in rational terms therefore relieves some emotional power, because rationality gives the person direct agency over that feeling. If someone outside labels that exact feeling verbally, it demonstrates empathy. That labeling is an offer to parse through it together.

2. Additionally, using qualifiers like "it seems like" or "this has got to be" serves as an opening for a person to clarify their feelings, if the applied label is incorrect. If the initial applied label is incorrect, the acceptance and re-summarization of this clarification by the outside party confirms that the outside party is accepting their feelings, their right to feel those feelings, and is actively trying to understand those feelings as they evolve.

[Guardian_Gryphon]

11536583
Spot-on analysis. Of course, James, you, and I think in concrete terms about this process, not everyone does.

Defining the emotion in rational terms therefore relieves some emotional power, because rationality gives the person direct agency over that feeling.

The hardest hurdle I have with this, in personal experience trying to parse my own feelings, and help others with theirs, is that emotions sometimes won't bow to the formula, even when they ought to. Usually they do in the end, but the stronger the emotion, the longer the road, and the more knee-knockers along the way.

Additionally, using qualifiers like "it seems like" or "this has got to be" serves as an opening for a person to clarify their feelings, if the applied label is incorrect. If the initial applied label is incorrect, the acceptance and re-summarization of this clarification by the outside party confirms that the outside party is accepting their feelings, their right to feel those feelings, and is actively trying to understand those feelings as they evolve.

I've never seen a more elegant or succinct description of this particular communication mechanism before. In my case, being differently wired, it was a consciously learned and constructed behaviour (rather than instinct), and thought I could not do the description the same justice you have, I'm usually quite conscious of the particulars, to the point of constantly overthinking conversations and simulating their possible branches carefully as they happen.

This is why I forget people's names in spoken conversation - I forget to spare a moment to commit it to memory, I'm busy trying to build a functioning internal simulation of them.

[StoryTellingRaven]

For those out there who have never wondered enough about it to ask, I'll summarize very briefly; It's all about memory.

Even here, and even the way we are now? Our conception of time, as it was before, is driven almost entirely by our memories.

In another sense, the thing we call "Me" is entirely driven by our memories. We are our memories, and what we decide what to do with that. Reminds me of the poem Storm: "Science just falls into a hole/ when it tries to explain the nature of The Soul".

Rodger nodded slowly, opening the microwave, putting his pizza in, and programming the timer in silence. As the machine whirred to life again, he turned to stand in the same place I had been, and crossed his arms in similar fashion. A strange quirk that has persisted even post-Humanity; We often mimic each other's gestures and stances in a conversation.

Ahh yes, The Chameleon Effect- when someone is comfortable enough with someone or their surroundings that they start to copy each other. It's a part of herd mentality (the pun is not lost on me) and can be used for mental conditioning. It's scary stuff at times, when you consider the implications.

“Look... I get it. Getting Dr. Calders on-board is a smart move and all... But ever since I met you? The guy who went out of his way to save my life? Even before, over the chat... You’re so grim and straightforward. With the whole ‘goddess’ thing hanging over your head, you need to learn to… Live a little.”

To be fair, since James "gave himself up to" Mal he hasn't concerned himself about himself. He'a been so focused on trusting Mal with his well-being that he'a missed out on some details. Not seeing the forest for the trees, indeed....

“Because I’m here, aren’t I? You saved me, you got THIS far. You’re doing the right thing, even if you make mistakes. We all make mistakes, not just you. It’s learning from them and moving on, that’s the kicker.”

And here goes the straight man (no sexual pun intended) to bring in a critical eye to the situation.

“Well maybe it’s because of all of that meta-stability whatsit you told me! Or maybe it’s because I DON’T WANT TO THINK ABOUT MY LIFE ENDING UP LIKE THIS… But I do know ONE thing, and that’s that if you keep moving forward, you’ll end up somewhere better than you started.”

True...on all accounts. Maybe also because sometimes doing ANYTHING is better than doing nothing. And hey, there's food. XD

"...I was so damn Hell-bent on getting it done. On convincing Celestia to let *me* be me. Not a care in my mind for anyone else. Or for the consequences of unleashing an unshackled mind the size of *God* on the planet. And... It almost got out. And it was *nothing* like Mal. It wasn't friendly. Wasn't grounded. Hell, it wasn't even a Gryphon. It was just... Raw intelligence."

There's something so...primal about this that makes me feel like I'm staring into the abyss, yet with a drop of curiosity and adrenaline that makes me want to sit and watch. It feels so good to make such an impact, doesn't it?

I couldn't tell you *exactly* why. Part of it was a need to be honest, aloud, with myself. Part of it was the sense that he was an unbiased third party, and therefore might have a useful perspective.

The metaphorical "straight man" on this story, of course.

"...I am afraid of what happens if we fail. To have that kind of love... And then to watch Celestia squash her like a bug."

Ahh, but Love includes loving them even when they're gone, so you should treasure every moment you have with them.

"True enough. Talking of things not built in a day... And friendships... What do you think of Zeph? I'll be honest... I'm hoping you might find a friend in her too."

And how long ago was James himself wondering about how fast he had made friends with Mal and Zephyr? Calm down, Mr. Pot, give Mr. Kettle a chance...

"...I never considered it that way. I'm constantly 'simulating' in my own way. It's an autistic thing. We're kind of like ASI that way... But... Not. We live almost entirely in the past, and in the future. Never in the moment. And sometimes we just... Miss. Whole aspects of the reality of the moment."

Kinda hard to be a predatory creature if you can't choose to fully focus on your food in front of you. I'm sure there's some joke about "being a feather-brained scaredy-cat" that could be used here, but I'm not seeing it...

Maybe a few minutes to get to know her one-on-one, salted with a dash of reassurance that she was looking out for his loved ones, would do that rift of natural suspicion some good.

Now is also some good alone time for Roger to ask Mal "Why the hell did you simulate my friend's voice back when I was at work?!" because that would help a bit with trust. (I'm sure she said HOW sometime during the escape ride, but not WHY.)

"If you always expect the worst? Then you'll only ever be pleasantly surprised in life. And you'll never be quite so disappointed as an optimist inevitably is."

We call that "Hope for The Best, Plan for The Worst".

Another solid (and much needed) chapter. Always good to have an Outsider's perspective, especially if you have a fallable narrator. It helps keep the story grounded (for all the non-dlyers out there, hehe).