Disclaimer: I don't own Portal.

Author's Notes: I've finally written a longer chapter again, now that I've gotten past my bout of laziness. (Ha ha, just kidding. I'm always lazy. :P) Hope it's not too cheesy or anything.


Chapter Seven: A Word

I was sitting patiently at the table, doodling, when Doug came in. I looked up, smiling, and waved, before going back to my work.

"What are you drawing?" He asked, sitting in his usual chair. I shifted papers, and quickly scribbled down a message.

It's a surprise!

I quickly got back to my work, glancing at him time to time. It took me a second before I realized he was holding two objects, which he was trying to hide from me. That, of course, instantly made me curious, but, since I wasn't going to show him my drawing until it was done, I decided that it was fair to leave him alone about the objects. For a short amount of time, it was silent, aside from our breathing, the muted chattering of humans, or, other humans, and my pencil scraping across the paper. Finally, I was finished. I glanced at it, rather unhappy with my work. Sighing, I decided drawing probably wasn't my specialty.

"Did you finish?" He asked. I nodded glumly. He looked at me with a half smile. "I can tell that your completely thrilled with it." I looked at him, confused. Doug shook his head. "Sarcasm." I was still confused. "It's when you say something that you don't actually mean." I scribbled down a question.

Isn't that lying?

He paused, thoughtfully, then said, "No, not really, lying and sarcasm aren't the same things. When you lie, you want people to think you actually mean what you're saying. With sarcasm, you're saying the exact opposite of what you think, but you want people to know that." We were both silent for a moment. It wasn't a bad silence, of course, it never was with us. "Do you mind if I take a look?" He asked, finally, reaching out for the paper. With a resigned sigh, I handed it over. Doug gasped. "Chell, this is great. I don't think I've ever met anyone else your age who could draw like this." The picture was a drawing of him.

But it doesn't look like you.I pointed out, surprised that he liked it.

"No, not completely, but it does look enough like me that I can tell who it is." He smiled.

So you like it? I asked, hopeful.

"Of course I like it Chell," He said, and ruffled my hair, making a few strands stick up wildly. "you drew it." I smiled.

What's personality programming?I asked, deciding to put off the surprises for a bit, so he wouldn't know how curious the two tiny objects made me. Plus, I could get my question answered. He hadn't been able to answer it the first time I asked; he had had to leave.

He ran his hand over his hair. I noticed he did that a lot. "Well, it's where you create the AI for a robot, to help it function."

So, you give them personalities? Like a human?

"Well, most of the personalities aren't as in-depth as a human's would be. Those personalities take years to make, and, even then, still aren't quite as varied as a human's."

But they're still alive, right?

He hesitated, and looked a little uncomfortable. I partially regretted asking the question. "Well, yes, I guess, in a way. They can feel pain, and some of them can form their own thoughts, but they can't form their own beliefs, or go against their programming. So, they're more like animals, in that sense. Partially sentient, but uncreative for the most part, and unable to go against their main purpose. For animals, it's living. An animal most likely isn't going to sacrifice itself for another, unless it's in its instincts to do so. Neither is a robot. But, a human can." He paused for a while then smiled and asked, "If you wanted me to program a personality, maybe just for another friend for you, what would you want them to be like?"

Why would I need another friend? I wondered. I have you. All the same, I obediently pondered his question, and smiled.

If you were to make another friend for me, I'd want it to be someone who's a little naive, who's really loyal, and trusting. I pondered for a minute, remembering that Doug had once said all humans have some bad qualities as well as good. They should also be slightly insensitive, but sweet, never wanting to hurt anybody on purpose, and extremely creative, even if their creativity isn't understood. I'd always wanted to be creative, but I could never really manage it. I was just too logical, like a robot. Maybe they would be a little bit of a coward, but I think they would be incredibly optimistic. I smiled, reading my list, and I handed it to Doug, who after reading it, put it away in his shirt pocket, saying, "If you don't mind, I need to keep this. You know, as a check list." He winked at me. I grinned back. Hoping I had been able to stave off my curiosity long enough he wouldn't know how much it had burned my thoughts about the objects, I asked,

What's in your hands?

He smiled and handed the two objects to me. On was kind of spherical, and red. It was cold when I turned it over in my hands. The other one looked like paper that had already been drawn on, except it was too small to be paper, and more... smooth. Shiny. More real. I stared at them both in wonder.

"This," Doug picked up the red thing, "is an apple. It's a fruit. We actually grew this one here, under ground." He smiled, looking a little impressed at this small... what did he call it? Fruit? "You can eat it, by the way." I looked at the apple suspiciously. He laughed. "Don't worry, it's not like it's filled with poison." Cautiously, I reached my hand out and took the apple. I studied it before, hesitantly, putting it up to, and crunching it in my mouth. My eyes popped open in surprise, and Doug grinned with amusement. The apple's sweet taste was nothing like my Aperture Science Nourishment Cubes; this fruit, this apple, actually had flavor. It was the best thing I had ever eaten. I decided it was probably impossible to find something better tasting then this. It took me only a few minutes to eat almost the entire thing, and then Doug had to stop me from eating the core, laughing as he did so.

Eventually, my attention returned to the other surprise he had brought. I pointed to the paper thing in curiosity. He laughed. "This is what the outside looks like. Well, what some of it looks like actually. This is a picture of a wheat field." I looked at it, and waves of wonderment washed over me, and I sighed in amazement. The picture was so beyond belief, in its beauty. The sky -I think that's what it's called, sky- was a gorgeous blue color. My favorite color. There was a tree in the background, frozen swaying in the breeze, it's gigantic branches, covered in leaves, reaching toward the sky, toward the glowing, beautiful, setting sun, which blessed the ground with it's golden rays. But the most beautiful thing of all in the picture was the wheat. It was golden, gently brushed by the breeze, the same heavenly gold color that the sun was. It was believable that the tiny, swaying plants could be descended from the sun itself, rays that got trapped on earth. I decided if there was anything more beautiful in this world then wheat, I didn't know what it was. An idea popped in my mind. I knew that people, at some point in time, had created words. Certainly, they wouldn't hate me for making one word, one word that was both synonymous to and described this beauty. I thought of it, the word brought a smile to my face. I knew it was perfect. My word for beauty. I laughed for the pure joy of finding my word. Doug smiled at my happiness.

That place, I wrote down, remembering something Doug had explained to me a few days ago, after my query about something I had heard a human say,is it heaven?

He shook his head no, smiling. "Heaven is much more beautiful then that, Chell." Doug's smile reminded me of the sun and its warm rays. I decided that my word could encompass his smile, which I felt was made of pure happiness. I wonder how on earth that heaven can be better then this?