Well, we're all still here after the big CERN switch-on. Thank goodness for that.
And an apology for any confusion caused. It's so easy, when you know what's going on yourself, to step back and make sure it all makes sense. Hopefully, I'll be clearer in future, but for now, an explanation:
Chapter 8 was just a patch-up/flash back, explaining how MAN-D was able to flick that tempting little switch (Mark gave her control over it when he wired her into the radio, quite by accident.), with a confusing cut to the present to explain further.
The italics in chapter 9 are to show AUTO dreaming: hence the weirdness of that section. Should have made that a bit clearer, really.
My resolutions for this month then, are to be more stringent with editing before posting, and make sure it all makes sense.
Thanks for keeping me on track. :) Goodness knows, I need it.
"That's Luke."
"Which one?"
"The one with the red hair."
AUTO squinted hopelessly at a landscape coloured various beetroot hues.
"The one with the yellow shirt."
"Ah." And, because MAN-D was beginning to slide towards impatience, added. "I see."
"He's getting hitched to Rachel…ooh, it should be next month or so."
"Ah." AUTO vaguely wondered whether a tow bar would be necessary.
"Oh, and Liz…the one with the bump…she's expecting a new arrival soon."
"Ah."
There had never been the time just to sit back, or at least dangle, and watch what was going on below. Or, at least, there had never been a reason to find the time. What could be interesting about humans going about their business anyway? There was no point to most of it, and what did have a point was often rather…biological.
And here was someone who had studied the act of people watching, and elevated it almost to an art form.
"And Zoë, you see, with the shovel? She's started a new farm. Apparently they've managed to grow something round and red that sort of tastes like pizza, without the cheese. Or the base. Or anything but the red paste, really. Amazing, isn't it?"
"It would seem that the colony is somewhat established." AUTO admitted.
MAN-D gave another of her jingling laughs.
"Does the O in AUTO stand for obvious?"
"Negative. It does not stand for anything. It is merely the shortening of my function, autopilot."
She leaned back on the controls, an action that stirred up a few alarm bells inside the wheel, despite her insubstantial state. She tilted her head to one side, regarding AUTO closely.
"AUTO Pilot. Hmm… Do you have a middle name?"
"Negative."
"How about George? You look like a George."
It was hard for someone with only one inflexible eye and no mouth to have an expression, but AUTO's was one of mingled confusion and contempt.
"Negative. I am a machine. I do not have a name: I have a description."
A pause, in which she smiled again.
"I have a middle name. It was a first birthday present."
What amazed AUTO was how proud she looked about it.
"Well?"
"What?"
"I've asked you. Now you've got to ask me what mine is."
"Will you stop asking me until I do?"
"Negative."
AUTO's spokes drooped slightly.
"What is your middle name?"
"Sue. MAN-D Sue Assistant Prototype 1.0." She beamed, teeth gleaming freakishly bright, mouth stretching to an extent human mouths were not quite supposed to stretch.
Silence.
"Sue?"
"I like Sue."
She turned her gaze back to the window, sidestepping the panel that had been replaced with wooden boards. Sometimes, in her more introspective, bored moments, she wondered what had knocked the glass out, and whether it corresponded to the dent in the deck below.
Her gaze roved up to the ceiling, at the vaulted sky.
"Did they use to project stuff up there?"
"Affirmative."
"Cool."
"Negative: the process generated considerable heat. It was used to heat the pool."
"Which nobody used."
"But if they had done so, it would have been at a comfortable temperature."
The deck was dirty now, as well as dented. Some of the windows were cracked, some overgrown, all smeared. Rows of gleaming efficiency had been swept away by a dirty rabble.
"Y'know, I bet this place was great when it was up and running."
"Affirmative." The answer was, she noticed, different. It was hard to tell, with a voice like AUTO's, but there seemed to be regret hiding under the monotone.
"Swimming, and golf, and trams going backwards and forwards…"
"Affirmative."
"And all those signs lit up… It must have been amazing."
A whir, almost a sigh.
"Affirmative..."
"And all those people!"
She smiled, from somewhere off in her own little world.
"You must have had loads of fun."
AUTO swiveled.
"Fun?"
"Crikey, yes! In charge of all this." An evil smile twitched at the corner of her mouth. "Did you ever get tempted to push people out of their chairs and watch them wiggle?"
"Negative."
"Not once in 700 years?"
"Negative."
"Lucky for them, I suppose. Did you ever make hoax announcements?"
"Hoax announcements?"
MAN-D grinned.
"This is your autopilot speaking. We regret to inform you that the Axiom's gravity system is being taken down for cleaning. Please tie down all your possessions, children, and yourselves. We apologize for the inconvenience." She winced, and put a hand to her throat. "Ouch."
A blank look.
"I do not see the point."
"It would be funny."
"It would be inconvenient."
She shrugged.
"Did you ever call up room service? Free cupcake in a cup?"
"Negative. I do not eat."
"Drink." MAN-D corrected.
"Or drink."
The hologram shifted, putting her feet up on empty air.
"So…you didn't take advantage of your position in any way? No special autopilot perks?"
"No."
A pause. A smile filled with expectation and excitement.
"I can't wait to get this thing off the ground."
If AUTO could have smiled, it probably wouldn't have found much cause to do so. But perhaps, now, it would have allowed itself the faintest trace of one.
"The feeling is mutual."