A/N: Because at least a couple people have asked so far… yes, I have been published, I do… I guess… sort of write professionally: I have a column on FicPress.com.
-
-
-
He hated uncertainty, always had. It wasn't in the nature of anything mechanical, mathematical, to be any sort of an advocate for leaving things up to chance. It was one of the many things about his newfound emotions that was bothering him. It was one of the chief elements in humanity that he despised, that randomness of action and word and thought.
Despite the fact that they had agreed upon a meeting place and time, there was always the chance that she would decide not to come. There was the chance that one of her friends would talk her out of it… increased, he was forced to admit to himself, by his behavior at the party she had attended. That had, he'd eventually decided, been a serious mistake. One of the many things he would have to apologize for, or try and explain. She was a surprisingly sensible woman, for a human. She would understand. She had to understand.
She was there. Standing at the door, then walking over to the table, looking rather fancy considering her usual mode of dress (and very beautiful, a corner of his mind whispered to him) and not a little worried. For herself? Or did she find the resources, even now, even after all he had done, to worry for him? Why did human women find themselves drawn so often to men who had physically attacked them? Humans were so irrational. He stood, automatically; it was only polite, after all. The maitre d' sat her at the table, and Smith tried to think of something to say.
He couldn't. Despite the fact that he could speak every language known to man, had the full vocabulary of every dialect available to him, there was no guideline or rule that could help him in this situation. He tried for something, anything, a word or a glance or a gesture that would start him off in what he wanted to say. Did he even know what he wanted to say? He knew what was appropriate, but what did he want? For that matter, was it even relevant, what he wanted? It had to be, because it was all he had. Joe had pointed out, and rightly, that now that he was no longer bound by the constraints of his work all he had was the fulfillment of his wants and desires. That was the only purpose he had left in the world.
He scowled. Smith had his suspicions about Joe.
Everything was so confusing. The emotions, the lack of direction, the scorn from the Merovingian's doppelganger bodyguards (and something about them nagged in his mind, a dissonance of vision, a migraine headache just to look at them), the constant problem of Solace. The rapidity with which everything was happening. It was all so intense, so overwhelming. He didn't know what to do or which way to turn, and it was so tiring to be trying to figure out everything all the time, how to react, what to do, what to say… how to survive. The Agents weren't coming after him yet, but soon, oh so soon they would. And what would he do then? Hide behind Solace, a human? He hadn't even thought…
"I didn't think you would come…"
The words came out slowly, each syllable enunciated. It was a struggle just to speak in a single human language right now, so many thoughts whirling around in his brain faster than human comprehension, and he had to filter them just to get them out in a format that she could understand.
"I said I would…" she smiled just a little bit, just for a second. "Besides, you look like hell."
That was not a compliment. And yet he knew that somehow it was supposed to be an expression of worry, flippant so that the gravity of the situation would not have to be addressed, not yet. It was an odd sort of honor that she thought she could be so with him. "Thank you."
"What's wrong?"
Now she asked. Now, finally, after so many days, she asked. And he didn't know how to answer. "Everything."
"Want to talk about it?"
He knew she would accept no for an answer. Even Joe had said as much, betraying a knowledge of the woman he hadn't known the homeless madman had possessed. It was the most reassuring fact about the whole thing, and in a blinding flash of insight he realized why she had seemed to be the stabilizing influence on most, at least, of her friends. She would take no for an answer, and she would listen, and she would not judge. She might not have an answer that would be acceptable… but it was perhaps her best quality, that she could be the sounding board for one's problems, listening and never telling.
He frowned. How tiring that must be.
And now that it had come he wasn't sure he could explain it to her. Not without betraying all the secrets of the Matrix. No matter how silent she could be, that was written into his programming, hardwired not to tell. His jaw clenched, he twisted all available fabric into knots, trying to figure out what to do. "I have…" He could temporize, sidestep the issue, rephrase the problem. It seemed to work. "… never been entirely alone before…" Words began to spill out of him along that vein, and he started to burble his problems, his confusion to her.
It was easier than he had expected. Once the conversation had started, once the stream of speech had started to flow, it was so much easier. They debated back and forth, and no matter how upset or angry or emotional he seemed to get she was always calm, always there. She didn't flee, she didn't scream or yell or lose her temper. Slowly, very slowly, they were both learning to deal with each other.
In a way that was a good thing. Smith had decided yesterday that he would have to cultivate the relationship with her; after all, there was really no one else but her and the mad homeless man. In a way it was an incredibly bad thing. He would become irreversibly contaminated, humanized, flawed. But then, he didn't really have a choice anymore. He had to adapt or be deleted. He had to learn how to control the new elements of his life, or die. Her own words were echoing his thoughts.
"I don't…" he sighed, accepting the truth of it. "I don't want to control it. I want it to go away."
That seemed to end that part of the conversation. She didn't really have any idea how to respond to him, he was rapidly discovering, but perhaps that was a good thing. He'd already discovered a long time ago that human beings tended to take each other for granted. She, he thought smugly, would never take him for granted. He signaled one of the (human? Programmed?) waiters in the restaurant, warning her away from the Merovingian's tricks as he did so. The self-styled AI lordling would probably hate him for it, but it gave Smith a peculiar sort of satisfaction to deny the effete would-be Frenchman.
"Joe said you spoke to him the other day," Solace commented in what she probably felt was a subtle manner, poking at her salad to stir the dressing around.
Smith nodded slowly. "I … well, I wasn't sure who else to talk to." He frowned. "For a man who is supposedly mentally deficient, he was astonishingly insightful."
"Dissasociative," she corrected, but with no real heat. "He's not deficient, he just… has more people inside his head than just himself, I suppose. That's the popular term for it these days, anyway, is dissasociative identity disorder."
Smith nodded. "Formerly multiple personality disorder. I don't particularly think either name is an appropriate summation of the disease, but…"
"True. Well, the point being, Joe's as intelligent as you or I. He just has more difficulty coping with other people"
Smith frowned slightly, poking at his own food as he pretended to eat it. "I…" what was that peculiarly human phrase… "I know how he feels."
Solace frowned too, and Smith suddenly realized that he had given her the impression that he, too, was suffering the same mental disorder. "Being alienated from everyone because of an innate condition…" then it occurred to him. He waited a second and then asked, more gently than he had meant to. "Is that what you meant by your own alienating experiences?"
"Something like that." She took a deep breath. Let it out again, and was silent. How hard was this going to be for her? What should he do? "I…" He would emulate her behavior. It seemed to be… was… deeply reassuring. For other humans. "I was born with a mild form of autism. It… back then it wasn't as well studied as it is now. No one had a name for it, or really knew what it was. It wasn't… really… enough to keep me isolated from other children, but…" she smiled weakly. "Well, it explained the name anyway. Sol, ace, both words that are fancied-up names for being alone."
He waited, listening patiently. Trying to think of what it must have been like for her. Wishing he had easier access to the Mainframe to study autism, and what form of it she might have suffered from.
"My parents didn't know what to do and, being hippies, their solutions usually involved drugs or crystals. It was … they meant well. But it didn't really work, and only increased my feelings of alienation, that the world wasn't what it really was. After a long time… when I was fourteen... I was actually playing by myself at school when this kid came up to me and asked if… well, if I had a problem. Later that week they took me to this… facility…" she smiled, happier now, more at ease. "It's been pretty good ever since."
Smith had absolutely no idea what to say to that. "You did not miss the company of others?"
She shrugged. "I had no idea what the company of others meant. To me, I was living in a different world that just happened to overlap with everyone else's. I didn't know what lonely meant because my default state was to be alone. I didn't know that what I was experiencing… well, it wasn't normal, but it was treatable. I wasn't beyond help."
Smith stared at her. Perhaps she did know what it was like. He had never considered autism before, or any other kind of mental/emotional disorder, but that was quite probably what he seemed like to other humans… a human with some sort of mental disorder. What was that word someone had … Solace had used to describe his emotional inability? Sociopathy… "Were you tested for sociopathic tendencies?"
She nodded. "I barely squeaked out of being put in a … well, my mother called it a home to prevent budding serial killers. They all through I was going to grow up to be an utterly ruthless psychotic multiple murderer of some kind. They said I thought the rules didn't apply to me…" Her smile was small, and utterly lacking in humor. "Well, it was true, I guess. In my world, their rules didn't exist."
Physical contact. It was comforting, reassuring. He reached out and took her hands as she'd done with him earlier. "Human beings are very much bound by their own societal rules…" he started, "And inclined to be afraid of anyone or anything that calls those rules into question…" It didn't sound like what he was supposed to say, but it was all he could offer.
"I know…" she smiled, squeezed his hands. "It's just…"
"You seem to be doing quite well at the moment. There is nothing untoward or different about you…" Damn. That wasn't right either. "Nothing different, that is, to your detriment." Stupid human languages.
She did chuckle, though. "You mean, I look and act perfectly normal. Thanks, Smith…" she smiled "That may be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."
She didn't lie terribly well, but it was a polite fiction, and it would have been rude not to let the topic go. Besides, their food had arrived, and Smith had to make himself busy pretending to eat the computer-generated food. Somewhere, in one of those monstrously huge columns of pods and goo and human bodies, a tube was feeding her nutrients derived from deceased humans. And here, in the Matrix, she thought she was having venison. He wondered what she would have thought if he had told her. Briefly, so fast that the thought was gone just before it had registered completely, he wished he could have given her the real thing.
"This is an absolutely beautiful restaurant…" she said after a bit, gently changing the subject. "Did you also chase a terrorist into the building?"
He smiled, thinking of how he could paint the Merovingian in the most humorous possible light. "Actually, this restaurant is run by an old employee…"
The conversation turned to other, lighter matters. The rest of the evening was the most pleasant Smith had experienced in what seemed like a very long time.
-
-
-
He hated uncertainty, always had. It wasn't in the nature of anything mechanical, mathematical, to be any sort of an advocate for leaving things up to chance. It was one of the many things about his newfound emotions that was bothering him. It was one of the chief elements in humanity that he despised, that randomness of action and word and thought.
Despite the fact that they had agreed upon a meeting place and time, there was always the chance that she would decide not to come. There was the chance that one of her friends would talk her out of it… increased, he was forced to admit to himself, by his behavior at the party she had attended. That had, he'd eventually decided, been a serious mistake. One of the many things he would have to apologize for, or try and explain. She was a surprisingly sensible woman, for a human. She would understand. She had to understand.
She was there. Standing at the door, then walking over to the table, looking rather fancy considering her usual mode of dress (and very beautiful, a corner of his mind whispered to him) and not a little worried. For herself? Or did she find the resources, even now, even after all he had done, to worry for him? Why did human women find themselves drawn so often to men who had physically attacked them? Humans were so irrational. He stood, automatically; it was only polite, after all. The maitre d' sat her at the table, and Smith tried to think of something to say.
He couldn't. Despite the fact that he could speak every language known to man, had the full vocabulary of every dialect available to him, there was no guideline or rule that could help him in this situation. He tried for something, anything, a word or a glance or a gesture that would start him off in what he wanted to say. Did he even know what he wanted to say? He knew what was appropriate, but what did he want? For that matter, was it even relevant, what he wanted? It had to be, because it was all he had. Joe had pointed out, and rightly, that now that he was no longer bound by the constraints of his work all he had was the fulfillment of his wants and desires. That was the only purpose he had left in the world.
He scowled. Smith had his suspicions about Joe.
Everything was so confusing. The emotions, the lack of direction, the scorn from the Merovingian's doppelganger bodyguards (and something about them nagged in his mind, a dissonance of vision, a migraine headache just to look at them), the constant problem of Solace. The rapidity with which everything was happening. It was all so intense, so overwhelming. He didn't know what to do or which way to turn, and it was so tiring to be trying to figure out everything all the time, how to react, what to do, what to say… how to survive. The Agents weren't coming after him yet, but soon, oh so soon they would. And what would he do then? Hide behind Solace, a human? He hadn't even thought…
"I didn't think you would come…"
The words came out slowly, each syllable enunciated. It was a struggle just to speak in a single human language right now, so many thoughts whirling around in his brain faster than human comprehension, and he had to filter them just to get them out in a format that she could understand.
"I said I would…" she smiled just a little bit, just for a second. "Besides, you look like hell."
That was not a compliment. And yet he knew that somehow it was supposed to be an expression of worry, flippant so that the gravity of the situation would not have to be addressed, not yet. It was an odd sort of honor that she thought she could be so with him. "Thank you."
"What's wrong?"
Now she asked. Now, finally, after so many days, she asked. And he didn't know how to answer. "Everything."
"Want to talk about it?"
He knew she would accept no for an answer. Even Joe had said as much, betraying a knowledge of the woman he hadn't known the homeless madman had possessed. It was the most reassuring fact about the whole thing, and in a blinding flash of insight he realized why she had seemed to be the stabilizing influence on most, at least, of her friends. She would take no for an answer, and she would listen, and she would not judge. She might not have an answer that would be acceptable… but it was perhaps her best quality, that she could be the sounding board for one's problems, listening and never telling.
He frowned. How tiring that must be.
And now that it had come he wasn't sure he could explain it to her. Not without betraying all the secrets of the Matrix. No matter how silent she could be, that was written into his programming, hardwired not to tell. His jaw clenched, he twisted all available fabric into knots, trying to figure out what to do. "I have…" He could temporize, sidestep the issue, rephrase the problem. It seemed to work. "… never been entirely alone before…" Words began to spill out of him along that vein, and he started to burble his problems, his confusion to her.
It was easier than he had expected. Once the conversation had started, once the stream of speech had started to flow, it was so much easier. They debated back and forth, and no matter how upset or angry or emotional he seemed to get she was always calm, always there. She didn't flee, she didn't scream or yell or lose her temper. Slowly, very slowly, they were both learning to deal with each other.
In a way that was a good thing. Smith had decided yesterday that he would have to cultivate the relationship with her; after all, there was really no one else but her and the mad homeless man. In a way it was an incredibly bad thing. He would become irreversibly contaminated, humanized, flawed. But then, he didn't really have a choice anymore. He had to adapt or be deleted. He had to learn how to control the new elements of his life, or die. Her own words were echoing his thoughts.
"I don't…" he sighed, accepting the truth of it. "I don't want to control it. I want it to go away."
That seemed to end that part of the conversation. She didn't really have any idea how to respond to him, he was rapidly discovering, but perhaps that was a good thing. He'd already discovered a long time ago that human beings tended to take each other for granted. She, he thought smugly, would never take him for granted. He signaled one of the (human? Programmed?) waiters in the restaurant, warning her away from the Merovingian's tricks as he did so. The self-styled AI lordling would probably hate him for it, but it gave Smith a peculiar sort of satisfaction to deny the effete would-be Frenchman.
"Joe said you spoke to him the other day," Solace commented in what she probably felt was a subtle manner, poking at her salad to stir the dressing around.
Smith nodded slowly. "I … well, I wasn't sure who else to talk to." He frowned. "For a man who is supposedly mentally deficient, he was astonishingly insightful."
"Dissasociative," she corrected, but with no real heat. "He's not deficient, he just… has more people inside his head than just himself, I suppose. That's the popular term for it these days, anyway, is dissasociative identity disorder."
Smith nodded. "Formerly multiple personality disorder. I don't particularly think either name is an appropriate summation of the disease, but…"
"True. Well, the point being, Joe's as intelligent as you or I. He just has more difficulty coping with other people"
Smith frowned slightly, poking at his own food as he pretended to eat it. "I…" what was that peculiarly human phrase… "I know how he feels."
Solace frowned too, and Smith suddenly realized that he had given her the impression that he, too, was suffering the same mental disorder. "Being alienated from everyone because of an innate condition…" then it occurred to him. He waited a second and then asked, more gently than he had meant to. "Is that what you meant by your own alienating experiences?"
"Something like that." She took a deep breath. Let it out again, and was silent. How hard was this going to be for her? What should he do? "I…" He would emulate her behavior. It seemed to be… was… deeply reassuring. For other humans. "I was born with a mild form of autism. It… back then it wasn't as well studied as it is now. No one had a name for it, or really knew what it was. It wasn't… really… enough to keep me isolated from other children, but…" she smiled weakly. "Well, it explained the name anyway. Sol, ace, both words that are fancied-up names for being alone."
He waited, listening patiently. Trying to think of what it must have been like for her. Wishing he had easier access to the Mainframe to study autism, and what form of it she might have suffered from.
"My parents didn't know what to do and, being hippies, their solutions usually involved drugs or crystals. It was … they meant well. But it didn't really work, and only increased my feelings of alienation, that the world wasn't what it really was. After a long time… when I was fourteen... I was actually playing by myself at school when this kid came up to me and asked if… well, if I had a problem. Later that week they took me to this… facility…" she smiled, happier now, more at ease. "It's been pretty good ever since."
Smith had absolutely no idea what to say to that. "You did not miss the company of others?"
She shrugged. "I had no idea what the company of others meant. To me, I was living in a different world that just happened to overlap with everyone else's. I didn't know what lonely meant because my default state was to be alone. I didn't know that what I was experiencing… well, it wasn't normal, but it was treatable. I wasn't beyond help."
Smith stared at her. Perhaps she did know what it was like. He had never considered autism before, or any other kind of mental/emotional disorder, but that was quite probably what he seemed like to other humans… a human with some sort of mental disorder. What was that word someone had … Solace had used to describe his emotional inability? Sociopathy… "Were you tested for sociopathic tendencies?"
She nodded. "I barely squeaked out of being put in a … well, my mother called it a home to prevent budding serial killers. They all through I was going to grow up to be an utterly ruthless psychotic multiple murderer of some kind. They said I thought the rules didn't apply to me…" Her smile was small, and utterly lacking in humor. "Well, it was true, I guess. In my world, their rules didn't exist."
Physical contact. It was comforting, reassuring. He reached out and took her hands as she'd done with him earlier. "Human beings are very much bound by their own societal rules…" he started, "And inclined to be afraid of anyone or anything that calls those rules into question…" It didn't sound like what he was supposed to say, but it was all he could offer.
"I know…" she smiled, squeezed his hands. "It's just…"
"You seem to be doing quite well at the moment. There is nothing untoward or different about you…" Damn. That wasn't right either. "Nothing different, that is, to your detriment." Stupid human languages.
She did chuckle, though. "You mean, I look and act perfectly normal. Thanks, Smith…" she smiled "That may be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."
She didn't lie terribly well, but it was a polite fiction, and it would have been rude not to let the topic go. Besides, their food had arrived, and Smith had to make himself busy pretending to eat the computer-generated food. Somewhere, in one of those monstrously huge columns of pods and goo and human bodies, a tube was feeding her nutrients derived from deceased humans. And here, in the Matrix, she thought she was having venison. He wondered what she would have thought if he had told her. Briefly, so fast that the thought was gone just before it had registered completely, he wished he could have given her the real thing.
"This is an absolutely beautiful restaurant…" she said after a bit, gently changing the subject. "Did you also chase a terrorist into the building?"
He smiled, thinking of how he could paint the Merovingian in the most humorous possible light. "Actually, this restaurant is run by an old employee…"
The conversation turned to other, lighter matters. The rest of the evening was the most pleasant Smith had experienced in what seemed like a very long time.