Silent Regret
By Karen Hart
Disclaimer: In no way do I own Xenosaga Episode I: Der Wille Zur Macht, nor do I own any following episodes. I write these fanfictions for love of the game, and make no money off of them.
Home.
Juli Mizrahi swiped the keycard through the slot next to the door, waited for the telltale beep and stepped through the threshold as soon as the door had opened wide enough to admit her. It slid shut behind her, the only sound a soft thunk, signaling the automatic locking mechanism. With a sigh she tossed the keycard on the small table in the hall, made her way to the bar, and poured herself a small drink—scotch and soda. It was all done thoughtlessly, the actions routine and automatic. Taking the quarter-full glass, she settled down in the big, soft armchair by the window, sipping the bitter liquor, its sensation on her tongue like amber electricity.
Being one of the principle members of the Subcommittee on Close Encounters, along with being one of the most prominent scientists in the Federation had its perks, she had to admit, as she looked at the view through the window. Her apartment was small (there was only one of her to take care of, after all), but well kept and furnished in a starkly elegant way. The walls were pale, painted in an almost imperceptible shade of lavender, a few holographic paintings hanging here and there. The furnishings, while somewhat sparse, were contemporary and fashionable. An entertainment center was set into one wall of the living room, and a vase filled with white lilies was set on one of the small tables underneath one of the recessed lamps.
Of all the things in her apartment, though, the view was the most spectacular. Through the thick glass she could see Fifth Jerusalem spread out before her like a glowing blue-green jewel, teaming with life and prosperity, wisps of clouds making strange designs in some places. It was truly a breathtaking sight.
Unfortunately, the sight reminded her of the insufferable Senator who had insulted her a couple hours ago, by implying she gave half a damn what was said about her (ex!) husband. She wondered how in any hell he had managed to make the jump from "We're following the protocols" to "Please don't be upset at my ex-husband." An angry breath escaped her lips as she pushed the memory from her mind. No use dwelling on what was a minor irritation, really. She took another sip of her drink, her weary mind drifting.
Somewhere, several star systems away, a pink haired realian was almost at her destination, guided by a duty-bound combat cyborg. Juli sighed and closed her eyes, grimacing as she tried to banish the train of thought. But the damage was already done, and her mind wouldn't let go of the subject of the little 100-Series. It hurt so much to think of that face of hers, the face that had never really belonged to the realian, but another, and the thought of that was even worse. Why had Joachim designed that "girl"? Why couldn't he have left the memory of their daughter alone? Why did he have to be a coward and leave them? She knew, though, that the questions weren't fair, knew that their daughter's death had hit him hard. It had changed him, shattered some part of his mind. He had been unable to accept his loss, and had decided to try and negate it.
But no matter how much of their daughter he programmed into the 100-Series, MOMO was not Sakura, would never be Sakura. Juli's anger gave way to sadness as she contemplated that fact, just as she had so many silent nights before. No matter how many times the girl might call her "Mommy", no matter how many expressions she displayed, they were only preprogrammed responses. They weren't real, only a convincing illusion.
Had Joachim realized that? Was that why he hadn't activated her before killing himself, leaving that act to someone else—to her, when he knew she wanted nothing to do with the realian? "You god damned bastard," she hissed softly in the silence. Yet, despite her resentment towards the girl, she had gone ahead and done it, had keyed the sequence that would completely boot up the girl's operating system and bring her to "life" when she could have just as easily tossed both her and the abomination that was Proto Merkabah into the Abyss. Her rationalization at the time had been that had she done that, the Y-Data—all Joachim's notes, all his research and his discoveries—would be lost forever. That wasn't the whole reason, though, the truth was much less clean cut. Part of her had understood her ex-husband's actions. She too had wanted her daughter back, any parent would. And maybe, she had thought in some quiet corner of her mind, if she activated the girl, she would succeed in being the replacement daughter she was designed to be, and would ease the loss of her Sakura. But it hadn't worked.
She remembered that day all too well, remembered the enthusiastic greeting the little realian had given her, so unlike her shy, silent daughter. It had confused her at first (hadn't Joachim designed MOMO to be another Sakura?), until she realized the truth: Joachim had designed her in the way he wished Sakura had been, not the way she truly was. The realization had appalled and angered her immensely, and since Joachim was no longer alive, she directed that anger to the next relevant person. She had regretted it later on—after all, the girl was only doing what she was designed for. There was no use in punishing her for it.
Juli woke up from her reverie on this thought, another grimace crossing her face, this one with a hint of bitter humor. She looked at her mostly empty drink and knocked back the rest of the contents, then pushed herself upwards. She was exhausted, both physically and emotionally, and she longed for her bed. With a detour to the kitchen to wash the glass, she made her way to her bedroom, and the sweet oblivion of sleep.