Chapter Nineteen
SSDF Orbital Station 002
Mars orbit
"Mokuba?" The voice over the open comm line was familiar and warm, if a bit more tense than usual. "You okay in there, buddy?"
"Sure thing, Doc," Mokuba said, and felt a grin tug at his mouth. With anyone else, it might have surprised him, but Dr. Korone always made him smile, no matter how serious the situation. "You guys ready out there?"
"You bet," Dr. Korone said, and if his cheerfulness sounded a bit forced, Mokuba was willing to overlook it. "We're rarin' to go."
Mokuba snickered.
"Gimme a shout if you need anything," Korone said. "I'll be standing by on comms."
"You got it, Doc."
Alister finished fussing about with Mokuba's harness and lowered the outer shield on the pod-like Anchor cradle. He leaned down through the side opening so that they were face to face.
"Remember," Alister said, "no matter what, your safety -- and that of your pilot -- comes first. No one's ever done this kind of gestalt before. If something comes up that you and Captain Kaiba can't handle, you hit the panic button. Got it?"
Mokuba gave a dutiful nod and tossed Alister a cocky thumbs-up as the lights from the AC's console danced across his youthful features. Despite his confidence in his brother's skills, Mokuba kept his expression appropriately solemn. It wouldn't do to jinx things by getting cocky, now. "Got it."
Alister nodded and climbed out of the cockpit. No sooner had he disappeared from view than another tech took his place on the gantry, giving the mech's couplings a final once-over.
Mokuba was torn between rolling his eyes at the thought that they all believed his brother needed all this malarkey, and sighing in relief at all the extra precautions they were taking. He had every confidence in Seto's ability to handle whatever this gestalt might throw at them, but...
This was his brother.
And as far as Mokuba was concerned, there was nothing more important in the solar system.
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It had taken less effort than Seto had anticipated to prepare himself for the gestalt attempt. No... He discarded that thought. This would be no mere "attempt." He would achieve gestalt, this time. He simply had to believe that. Anything less was defeatist, and that was unacceptable. He would succeed.
With Mokuba standing by, Seto deliberately relaxed his body into the pilot's sling, letting the harness take his weight. He calmed his mind with the ease of long, hard-won practice.
And then he waited.
And waited.
Impatience gnawed at his nerves. He found the fingers of one hand drumming against his thigh in an unaccustomed bout of nerves and, with a grimace, forced himself to stop.
"Nothing's happening," he growled into the open comm line between himself and the AI specialist seated, out of direct sight, on the gantry.
"You'll have to be patient, Captain," Dr. Mann -- Gears -- said calmly. "This isn't going to be easy... For either you or Blue-Eyes."
Seto grunted a response, his attention on the VR display. His "ribbon" -- the graphic which represented his consciousness -- was quiescent, waiting for the Blue-Eyes' AI to approach it. Reminding himself firmly that he was supposed to remain passive, Seto reined in his impatience and his instinctive urge to reach out for the AI.
"You can talk, if you like. It's not going to disturb anything, right now. Blue-Eyes is going to be like this for some time, I think," Gears said, as the uneasy silence stretched over the comm.
"How is this different from when the AI was 'frightened' of me?" Seto finally asked. He still wasn't entirely comfortable discussing computer algorithms in terms of human emotions.
"Oh, well..." She sounded surprised, as if she hadn't expected that question from him.
"Yes?" he prompted.
"Well...You see, it's because Blue-Eyes isn't retreating from you, now. I know it probably looks the same from your point of view. But you're doing the right thing, waiting for him to reach for you. Blue-Eyes is just not quite... certain of his welcome, that's all. Before, you were..." There was a pause, while Gears audibly groped for a diplomatic sounding word, "...reaching for it in a way that scared Blue-Eyes, so the AI retreated from you."
Seto frowned. Did that mean that the AI could have -- should have? -- been doing that all along? What would that mean for the resultant gestalt? Would it be deeper? More... intimate, somehow? What would it be like, to be a part of that? Was that what Yami had had with his Dark Magician, then so carelessly thrown away in the name of mourning?
"So, we're trying to teach it to come to me on its own," he said, finally. Despite the slight note of a hesitant lilt at the end, it was more a statement of fact than a question. Gears answered it, anyway.
"Yes, exactly! I've had to keep Blue-Eyes' personality suppressed for so long, he's not certain how to act. That's why he's behaving so tentatively, now. I don't think he actually fears you, per se. Not anymore."
Again, she hesitated. Seto wondered what she wasn't saying -- and if she realized that she was using the masculine pronoun for the AI, a habit she was usually careful to avoid in Seto's presence.
"If I'm right, you'll only have to endure such a 'passive' gestalt this one time. Then the two of you, pilot and AI, will figure out how to share the responsibility and control of achieving a true partnership in gestalt."
Unable to completely hide his tension, his... concern, Seto grated, "How can you be so certain of that?"
"Well, Yami did it with Dark Magician--" She caught her breath, then exclaimed softly, "Oh, my!"
"What? What is it?" Seto asked as an unaccustomed frisson of fear, reluctantly acknowledged and as quickly suppressed, slithered down his spine. Whatever reply Gears made was lost to him, as he felt the Dragon's AI -- finally -- make genuine contact.
A hint of the AI's... anticipation?... swept over him, through his interface with the machine. Mixed in with the anticipation, if that's what it truly was and not just his imagination, he thought he felt a touch of hesitationuncertainty -- and a whisper of dutydevotion, that left him gasping in its wake.
He was startled by the impact of that fleeting contact. He hadn't expected it to affect him quite so strongly. It wasn't at all what he'd expected, though he honestly couldn't say what he had thought he would feel from the machine.
"Captain? Did you get anything from him that time?" Gears asked, sounding eager. "My datalink showed a definite spike in the output from Blue-Eyes, and there was a corresponding surge in primary TEM activity --"
Seto interrupted, still feeling the aftereffects of that brief contact and not exactly in the mood for conversation. He shook his head, as if that would clear his suddenly muddled perceptions. "I definitely got... something."
"It felt positive, right? The contact?" Now, she sounded hesitant, as if uncertain of his reaction. "My readings indicate that it should have..."
Seto swallowed hard, unable to relax, even slightly, until he felt the touch of his Anchor's mind through the secondary TEM interface. Unlike the primary unit, which linked him to the AI, the pilot/Anchor interface was one-way. Mokuba could affect him, but there was no reciprocation, and the degree to which the two human minds could touch was far more limited than that of pilot and AI. The secondary TEM unit transmitted something that might be termed "empathy," whereas the primary unit allowed for true "thought to thought" contact between man and machine.
"What, exactly, was that?" he demanded, finally finding enough saliva to moisten his throat enough to speak. He tried, and failed, to keep the tremor out of his voice.
"That, Captain Kaiba, is what a thirty-two percent alignment with your mech's AI is supposed to feel like! It's back down to fourteen percent, but holding steady. It hasn't fallen back down to zero, as it did before."
The bounce, the note of almost glee, in her voice triggered his anger. She hadn't done anything, after all; it had been the Dragon's achievement -- and his. He forced down his (perhaps irrational) irritation, along with everything else he was currently working so diligently to suppress, and shoved it to the back of his mind. He could feel the beginning of a tension headache throbbing at the base of his skull.
Seto closed his eyes, breathed in the pattern that would calm him. It worked, to an extent. But when he opened his eyes, his jaw was still clenched so tightly he was seeing sparks. When Gears' quiet voice issued over the comm again, he jerked in the pilot's sling hard enough to lift his boots off the floor. He slammed them back down, stilling the sling's movements and literally grounding himself, again.
"Captain Kaiba? Look at your display." Gears' voice was brisk, as if she hadn't noticed his momentary weakness.
What the hell do you think I'm looking at? Seto barely kept himself from snapping the comment out loud. With a supreme effort, he clamped down on his aggravation. It wouldn't do for his Dragon to sense it and think the anger was directed at it. He focused on the display, where the AI's VR ribbon was tentatively nudging his own.
"This is really going to work!" Gears cheered, and Seto was vaguely aware of a muted chorus of voices echoing the sentiment over the various comm lines and in the hangar below.
"What's it doing?" he demanded. "What is it waiting for?"
"Oh, Blue-Eyes is running his heuristics routine, comparing branches on the probability tree," Gears said brightly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "In other words, he's trying to calculate your reaction to his overtures. He's been worried, you know. He's been thinking you may not like him if he's no longer just a reflection of your personality. We're still seeing some of that...
"But, given time, the impulse programmed into the core AI to gestalt with a pilot, with you specifically, will overwhelm that lingering doubt enough for Blue-Eyes to reach for you, again. I expect we're going to have to go through several more of these 'trial passes' before a true gestalt can be achieved."
The AI surged forward again, bringing with it a sense of anticipationuncertainty and dutydevotion that threatened to overwhelm Seto with its intensity. If he hadn't been supported in the pilot sling, he would have reeled from the impact. He shook his head, anyway, as if the blow had been a physical one. The AI's "emotions" were getting stronger with each pass.
"Seto?" Mokuba's voice came over the headset, calm and professional. "Your adrenaline levels are elevated. Focus with me, so we can slow your breathing and heart-rate back down to where they need to be."
For one serene moment, Seto turned his attention to his brother's voice, letting Mokuba soothe his nerves, even as the shared breathing restored his equilibrium. Just for that single, all-too-brief moment, he let himself enjoy the peace he had only ever achieved in this one place: held safe inside his Dragon, surrounded and supported by his brother's presence resting softly against his mind.
Focused once more on his goal, Seto let his thoughts drift, and quietly waited for the Dragon's AI to make the next move.
Anticipationfear, devotionduty... and something new, something he had never felt from it before. It was... a feeling of warmth and safety, of... almost... Seto's hands clenched in frustration as he failed to quantify what that feeling meant. It had almost felt like... Mokuba?
The next projection from the AI, still carrying that unnamed feeling, brushed against Seto's mind. For one shining moment, the Dragon's ribbon wound around his, wrapping him up in that strange, wonderful, utterly terrifying feeling.
Seto's breathing hitched in what was almost a sob. Oh, god... I can't do this. Panic surged through him. He couldn't remain open and, and vulnerable like this. He had to make it stop, make it not be. It was too dangerous; Gozaburo had taught him that, and Seto still had the scars to remind him of his father's painful lessons. He shuddered as he ripped his mind from the interface, in that moment, uncaring of the consequences.
"I can't!" The denial was torn from his throat. He panted, the air in the open cockpit suddenly seeming thin and stale. His heart pounded against his breastbone, his pulse frantic in his ears. Blackness flickered at the edges of his vision.
"-- Seto! Listen to me!" Mokuba's voice finally penetrated the roaring in Seto's ears. "I'm here, big brother. I'm right here and I won't let anything..." He broke off, and the comm clicked as he switched channels. "Seto, I'm on the private frequency. No one else is listening. It's just you and me, bro. Just like always, right? You and me. We're safe here. You know you can trust me. We're safe. Just you and me..."
Seto listened to the soothing words, knowing they were true. Mokuba never lied to him. Not about the important stuff, not about... this. And he always had Seto's back, just as Seto would always protect Mokuba, with his own life if he had to.
"I'm... all right, now," Seto said. Or tried to. It came out as little more than a strained whisper from a throat suddenly as dry as the Sahara. He felt Mokuba reach for him through their link, watching absently as the graph on the TEM console shifted to indicate the increase in his Anchor's signal strength.
Strange to think that such a small piece of technological magic could mean so much to him, to the both of them. They had been close as small children, but their father had deliberately played them off one another, in much the same way he had fomented the intense rivalry between Seto and Yami. It had only been after their first successful connection through the TEM unit that the Kaiba brothers had truly come together again. Now, it seemed as if nothing could possibly come between them.
Seto let Mokuba guide him and watched as, once again, the indicators on the vital signs monitors returned to their proper levels.
"...Thanks, little brother," Seto said, softly, knowing only Mokuba would hear him.
"Anytime, bro," Mokuba said, with a fierce determination and love that came through clearly, despite his hushed tone. "Anytime."
"Don't feel as if you have to talk, now." Gears' voice came over the other comm line. Unaware that she was interrupting anything, she continued, "The alignment was at sixty-seven percent that last time. It's now hovering near the median -- fifty percent, fifty one... forty-nine..."
Her voice trailed off, as if she had forgotten she was talking to him and not just herself. There was a short silence, then she came back, her tone brisk as she added, "It's fluxuating some, but that's only to be expected and is no cause for concern."
Another pause, and the sound of typing, then, "At this point, Captain, if you're getting some idea of what Blue-Eyes wants, and you think you can supply it, you should go ahead and give it a try. Just offer. Be gentle. Don't push, don't grab, just ...offer what you can to Blue-Eyes, and we'll see if he takes it."
Seto nodded, although he knew she couldn't see it. Mokuba was right. He could do this. He had to. With the Duel Mecha ranks so severely depleted, he was needed more than ever. He couldn't be like Yami and let his own selfish cowardice drive him away from his duty as the Blue-Eyes' pilot.
Holding that thought firmly in mind, he reached carefully out to the AI -- the Blue-Eyes, his Dragon -- and offered it...
His trust.