It was a week before he saw her again.
At first he thought he'd done something that day in the park to offend her. It wouldn't have surprised him in the slightest; he was well aware of human penchant... especially human females... to extrapolate strange conclusions from fragmentary data, and take offense at them. As the days passed, though, he started to wonder. Then he started to worry. He was standing by the park benches, on the verge of looking for her through other channels.
"Lookin' for your wife, Sir?"
Agent Smith spun around, although he didn't have a single retort in mind.
It was Joe, the homeless man. Somehow the Agent had wandered over near the table where Joe was playing chess with himself. The homeless man didn't look up from the board but the Agent had the uncanny feeling that he was very aware of the program's presence, nonetheless. "She ain't been around in a few days. You have a fight with the missus?"
"We're not married," he said automatically. He didn't think the homeless man actually heard it, though. The sheer idea was preposterous.
"Ah, you two are trying out that... what is is... trial sep-a-ra-tion." He talked as though he was Smith's grandfather, had Smith ever had a grandfather. Paternal, friendly, and knowing. The Agent didn't understand.
"We're not..." he gave up. Humans could be so persistent in their delusions.
"You'll work it out," the old man said confidently. He hadn't moved a chess piece during the entire conversation. His voice, accent, and tonality had changed entirely. "She's quite perceptive, and she seems to be very patient. Give it time. You two will work things out."
He could see why humans found Dissassociative Identity Disorder so unnerving.
"Why do you think there is something to work out?"
Joe looked up at him, and it was a piercing gaze that made even Agent Smith shuffle uncomfortable. It was as though the human could see down to the depths of his core programming... the depths of his soul, Solace would have said. For the Agent, the gaze suggested that the crazy human knew exactly what Smith was... and that was even more unnerving. "You two have a way about you," was all the man said.
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
But Joe had gone back to his chess game, and wouldn't even acknowledge Smith's presence. The Agent shook his head and walked on. The conversation had been disturbing, and the fact that Solace was not there to interpret it was even more so. It suddenly occurred to him that despite what he thought were advances in the development of Agent-Human interaction were really Solace's work, or at least mostly her work... interpreting the signals for him, helping him to see what was going on. Without her, he was adrift. The thought both angered and confused him.
"You look like you're enjoying the day."
Smith whipped around. It never ceased to amaze him (if he were capable of amazement) that Solace was able to sneak up on him like that. It would have worried him a little if he had thought to be worried, especially as no other human he had ever encountered had that same ability.
"Where have you been?" he asked, more sharply than he'd intended.
She had the grace to look sheepish. "I'm sorry. I had some out of town business that came up a little too quickly for comfort. If I'd known you'd be this worried."
Worried? Who was worried? "I wasn't worried."
And she had the grace not to smirk when he was so obviously lying. "All right."
He looked over at the crazy man... at least, he presumed Joe was crazy. Something in the previous conversation seemed to also indicate that Joe was lucid more often than not. "Shall we walk?" he said finally, not wanting to admit that he didn't want to be seen talking to Solace too often, not where Joe could take note of it.
"All right." She took his arm in that peculiar human gesture, and they walked a little down one of the paths.
"Did your work go well?"
She glanced over at him. He realized belatedly that he had never shown any interest in what she did for a living before... he didn't even know what it was. "Fairly well. There were a couple tense moments, but we managed to get through it without anyone getting hurt."
Memory flashed. "Hurt? Why would..."
She smiled wryly "Not everyone thinks that the public has a right to know what's going on in the world. Sometimes they take a less than stellar view of journalists... and sometimes that less than stellar view involves the business end of a ..." Pause. "handgun."
He turned his head to stare at her, very slowly. She stared right back at him as though the sunglasses weren't on, and he had the disturbing sense that glasses or no glasses, it didn't matter. "Someone pointed a gun at you?"
Shrug. "It comes with the territory."
"The territory of what?"
"Of being a journalist. Especially for the fringe magazines, the ones that aren't regulated by governments or None Such Agency."
He heard the capital letters, but he didn't understand them. "None Such Agency?"
"The NSA. National Security Agency."
"Oh." Pause. "Someone pointed a handgun at you?"
She chuckled, but her eyes were serious. "It happens. We learn to deal with it, or we find a different line of work. I won't say that I wasn't in any danger... these people were pretty furious, and I have no doubt that if they wanted to shoot me they would have, but we managed to get out of it without bloodshed."
She was shifting her weight as she said it. Something wasn't right. Aware of the implications yet willing to risk it, he grabbed her skirt and hiked it up to mid-thigh before she could resist.
"Hey!"
The backs of her thighs were lacerated with cuts no more than two days old. No bike shorts, this time.
"No bloodshed?"
She was blushing. He let her regain control of her skirt, and she smoothed it down nervously. "Well, minimal bloodshed. I had to scale a couple fences in a hurry."
"Uh-huh."
"Fences bite."
"So they do."
Her blushed deepened. Smith indulged himself in a smirk, and she looked away. "How on earth did you scale a fence and get those sorts of cuts?"
"Uh... flipping over it backwards..." She now seemed more embarrassed by the perceived clumsiness of her actions rather than his trick with her skirt.
"Backwards."
"Yeah."
"You scaled a fence and... what, fell over it?"
"Something like that."
"As an... ace investigative reporter..." he pulled a term out of some long forgotten pulp genre. "Shouldn't you be better at such things than that?"
She blushed again, started walking slowly. "I was in a hurry."
"I see."
He caught up with her easily, and they were silent for a little while. She wasn't hindered in her movement at least, which meant that the cuts were mainly superficial. It was almost a relief... and, as usual, an annoyance. Which reminded him of...
"Someone pointed a handgun at you?"
"That's the third time you've asked that."
"And you didn't..." Pause. He searched for the proper phrase, the appropriate human phrase. "didn't feed it to him?"
She laughed. "Contrary to popular belief, I am not the baddest chick on the block. I wasn't going to try and wrestle a handgun away from someone. That kind of thing could have got me shot."
"You could have gotten shot anyway." Rage flickered across his vision and was gone. He hoped Solace hadn't caught it.
"Why, Agent Smith. Anyone would think you were worried about me," she teased, looping her arm through his again.
"I was not."
"Uh-huh."
"I was... concerned."
"Was?"
"Am... I am not!"
"Mmm. Quote Shakespeare."
He blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Protesting too much, and all that."
"I..." he stopped. She had a point. Much as he hated to admit it to either of them. "All right."
"So you do carry some human emotions after all."
He didn't answer. It would have been a disturbing enough thought that he was getting so proficient at mimicking human emotions, but the thought that he was actually developing them... that was intolerable. And yet he was. How in the name of the Sentience had that happened? He would have given a great deal to find out.
"I suppose..." he said after a while.
She picked up on his unease. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Bullshit." As usual, her use of profanity made him stop and blink. "Something's wrong. Something to do with you being worried about me."
"I..." he paused. "I am not used to being worried about anyone. It seems ... wrong, somehow."
She wrinkled her nose. "You sound like Spock. Why is it wrong to be worried about someone?"
"It creates weakness."
"Huh." She digested that for a little while. "Why?"
Pause. "To be concerned about another person inevitably brings up the prospect of aiding that person at a cost to oneself."
She frowned "... Now you're not just talking about worrying about someone, you're talking about all emotions tying one person to another."
Pause. He blinked. "I suppose so."
"You realize that includes love, affection, hate, contempt... everything."
He stopped in midstep and stared at her, removing his glasses. "No..."
She nodded. "It's a common misconception that hate is the opposite of love. It's not. Apathy, lack of feeling is the opposite of love. Hate is just the..." she searched for the word. "Inverse, I guess."
The implications of that slammed into his equivalent of a brain. "That's..."
Solace shrugged. "Think about it. Strong emotions of one kind means that the person is capable of strong emotions of another kind. But if a person simply isn't capable of strong emotions, then... well, nothing anyone can do is going to help. Love and hate are both strong emotions. But apathy is the absence of emotion. It's what makes someone a sociopath... their inability to connect, to feel anything."
Smith rubbed his temples in an unconsciously human gesture. It was too much information, between her statements and the data he was downloading on the subject. "I don't..." It didn't make sense. He hated the humans, he did not love them. "It doesn't..."
She waited, calmly, patiently. All around them the sounds and sensations of the park went on; birds flew and sang, trees bent to the light breeze, leaves twirled. Silence gave him time to think. Time to regain his composure. Everything stood out in sharp clarity, the colors, the lines, everything. Solace stood ... and she seemed to be the only thing hazy, blurry in his vision. After a few seconds his vision cleared, and he could think again.
"It doesn't make sense."
She nodded, biting her lip a second before settling on what she would say. "Give it time."
He nodded. They kept walking. He had a lot to think about.
At first he thought he'd done something that day in the park to offend her. It wouldn't have surprised him in the slightest; he was well aware of human penchant... especially human females... to extrapolate strange conclusions from fragmentary data, and take offense at them. As the days passed, though, he started to wonder. Then he started to worry. He was standing by the park benches, on the verge of looking for her through other channels.
"Lookin' for your wife, Sir?"
Agent Smith spun around, although he didn't have a single retort in mind.
It was Joe, the homeless man. Somehow the Agent had wandered over near the table where Joe was playing chess with himself. The homeless man didn't look up from the board but the Agent had the uncanny feeling that he was very aware of the program's presence, nonetheless. "She ain't been around in a few days. You have a fight with the missus?"
"We're not married," he said automatically. He didn't think the homeless man actually heard it, though. The sheer idea was preposterous.
"Ah, you two are trying out that... what is is... trial sep-a-ra-tion." He talked as though he was Smith's grandfather, had Smith ever had a grandfather. Paternal, friendly, and knowing. The Agent didn't understand.
"We're not..." he gave up. Humans could be so persistent in their delusions.
"You'll work it out," the old man said confidently. He hadn't moved a chess piece during the entire conversation. His voice, accent, and tonality had changed entirely. "She's quite perceptive, and she seems to be very patient. Give it time. You two will work things out."
He could see why humans found Dissassociative Identity Disorder so unnerving.
"Why do you think there is something to work out?"
Joe looked up at him, and it was a piercing gaze that made even Agent Smith shuffle uncomfortable. It was as though the human could see down to the depths of his core programming... the depths of his soul, Solace would have said. For the Agent, the gaze suggested that the crazy human knew exactly what Smith was... and that was even more unnerving. "You two have a way about you," was all the man said.
"And what is that supposed to mean?"
But Joe had gone back to his chess game, and wouldn't even acknowledge Smith's presence. The Agent shook his head and walked on. The conversation had been disturbing, and the fact that Solace was not there to interpret it was even more so. It suddenly occurred to him that despite what he thought were advances in the development of Agent-Human interaction were really Solace's work, or at least mostly her work... interpreting the signals for him, helping him to see what was going on. Without her, he was adrift. The thought both angered and confused him.
"You look like you're enjoying the day."
Smith whipped around. It never ceased to amaze him (if he were capable of amazement) that Solace was able to sneak up on him like that. It would have worried him a little if he had thought to be worried, especially as no other human he had ever encountered had that same ability.
"Where have you been?" he asked, more sharply than he'd intended.
She had the grace to look sheepish. "I'm sorry. I had some out of town business that came up a little too quickly for comfort. If I'd known you'd be this worried."
Worried? Who was worried? "I wasn't worried."
And she had the grace not to smirk when he was so obviously lying. "All right."
He looked over at the crazy man... at least, he presumed Joe was crazy. Something in the previous conversation seemed to also indicate that Joe was lucid more often than not. "Shall we walk?" he said finally, not wanting to admit that he didn't want to be seen talking to Solace too often, not where Joe could take note of it.
"All right." She took his arm in that peculiar human gesture, and they walked a little down one of the paths.
"Did your work go well?"
She glanced over at him. He realized belatedly that he had never shown any interest in what she did for a living before... he didn't even know what it was. "Fairly well. There were a couple tense moments, but we managed to get through it without anyone getting hurt."
Memory flashed. "Hurt? Why would..."
She smiled wryly "Not everyone thinks that the public has a right to know what's going on in the world. Sometimes they take a less than stellar view of journalists... and sometimes that less than stellar view involves the business end of a ..." Pause. "handgun."
He turned his head to stare at her, very slowly. She stared right back at him as though the sunglasses weren't on, and he had the disturbing sense that glasses or no glasses, it didn't matter. "Someone pointed a gun at you?"
Shrug. "It comes with the territory."
"The territory of what?"
"Of being a journalist. Especially for the fringe magazines, the ones that aren't regulated by governments or None Such Agency."
He heard the capital letters, but he didn't understand them. "None Such Agency?"
"The NSA. National Security Agency."
"Oh." Pause. "Someone pointed a handgun at you?"
She chuckled, but her eyes were serious. "It happens. We learn to deal with it, or we find a different line of work. I won't say that I wasn't in any danger... these people were pretty furious, and I have no doubt that if they wanted to shoot me they would have, but we managed to get out of it without bloodshed."
She was shifting her weight as she said it. Something wasn't right. Aware of the implications yet willing to risk it, he grabbed her skirt and hiked it up to mid-thigh before she could resist.
"Hey!"
The backs of her thighs were lacerated with cuts no more than two days old. No bike shorts, this time.
"No bloodshed?"
She was blushing. He let her regain control of her skirt, and she smoothed it down nervously. "Well, minimal bloodshed. I had to scale a couple fences in a hurry."
"Uh-huh."
"Fences bite."
"So they do."
Her blushed deepened. Smith indulged himself in a smirk, and she looked away. "How on earth did you scale a fence and get those sorts of cuts?"
"Uh... flipping over it backwards..." She now seemed more embarrassed by the perceived clumsiness of her actions rather than his trick with her skirt.
"Backwards."
"Yeah."
"You scaled a fence and... what, fell over it?"
"Something like that."
"As an... ace investigative reporter..." he pulled a term out of some long forgotten pulp genre. "Shouldn't you be better at such things than that?"
She blushed again, started walking slowly. "I was in a hurry."
"I see."
He caught up with her easily, and they were silent for a little while. She wasn't hindered in her movement at least, which meant that the cuts were mainly superficial. It was almost a relief... and, as usual, an annoyance. Which reminded him of...
"Someone pointed a handgun at you?"
"That's the third time you've asked that."
"And you didn't..." Pause. He searched for the proper phrase, the appropriate human phrase. "didn't feed it to him?"
She laughed. "Contrary to popular belief, I am not the baddest chick on the block. I wasn't going to try and wrestle a handgun away from someone. That kind of thing could have got me shot."
"You could have gotten shot anyway." Rage flickered across his vision and was gone. He hoped Solace hadn't caught it.
"Why, Agent Smith. Anyone would think you were worried about me," she teased, looping her arm through his again.
"I was not."
"Uh-huh."
"I was... concerned."
"Was?"
"Am... I am not!"
"Mmm. Quote Shakespeare."
He blinked. "Excuse me?"
"Protesting too much, and all that."
"I..." he stopped. She had a point. Much as he hated to admit it to either of them. "All right."
"So you do carry some human emotions after all."
He didn't answer. It would have been a disturbing enough thought that he was getting so proficient at mimicking human emotions, but the thought that he was actually developing them... that was intolerable. And yet he was. How in the name of the Sentience had that happened? He would have given a great deal to find out.
"I suppose..." he said after a while.
She picked up on his unease. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"Bullshit." As usual, her use of profanity made him stop and blink. "Something's wrong. Something to do with you being worried about me."
"I..." he paused. "I am not used to being worried about anyone. It seems ... wrong, somehow."
She wrinkled her nose. "You sound like Spock. Why is it wrong to be worried about someone?"
"It creates weakness."
"Huh." She digested that for a little while. "Why?"
Pause. "To be concerned about another person inevitably brings up the prospect of aiding that person at a cost to oneself."
She frowned "... Now you're not just talking about worrying about someone, you're talking about all emotions tying one person to another."
Pause. He blinked. "I suppose so."
"You realize that includes love, affection, hate, contempt... everything."
He stopped in midstep and stared at her, removing his glasses. "No..."
She nodded. "It's a common misconception that hate is the opposite of love. It's not. Apathy, lack of feeling is the opposite of love. Hate is just the..." she searched for the word. "Inverse, I guess."
The implications of that slammed into his equivalent of a brain. "That's..."
Solace shrugged. "Think about it. Strong emotions of one kind means that the person is capable of strong emotions of another kind. But if a person simply isn't capable of strong emotions, then... well, nothing anyone can do is going to help. Love and hate are both strong emotions. But apathy is the absence of emotion. It's what makes someone a sociopath... their inability to connect, to feel anything."
Smith rubbed his temples in an unconsciously human gesture. It was too much information, between her statements and the data he was downloading on the subject. "I don't..." It didn't make sense. He hated the humans, he did not love them. "It doesn't..."
She waited, calmly, patiently. All around them the sounds and sensations of the park went on; birds flew and sang, trees bent to the light breeze, leaves twirled. Silence gave him time to think. Time to regain his composure. Everything stood out in sharp clarity, the colors, the lines, everything. Solace stood ... and she seemed to be the only thing hazy, blurry in his vision. After a few seconds his vision cleared, and he could think again.
"It doesn't make sense."
She nodded, biting her lip a second before settling on what she would say. "Give it time."
He nodded. They kept walking. He had a lot to think about.