So, update time. Thanks to all of the wonderful readers who have chosen to follow this story, it has now surpassed 15,000 views. I don't even know what to say to that except thank you. When I started writing this, I honestly thought everyone would hate it. Now, we're 47 chapters in and I can't even believe it. You guys are all awesome. Thank you.
"Epsilon?" I call as I enter the room, hoping I'll find him here. I see the AI standing on the table in the center of the room. He's surrounded by several other glowing figures. They all disappear when he turns to look at me.
"Oh, hey," he says, waving, as if nothing weird just happened.
"What was that?" I ask, curiosity and caution not allowing me to let the matter drop.
"Oh, that was…" Epsilon trails off for a moment and sighs. "That was just a memory," he finally finishes.
I nod. Part of me wants to press for a further explanation of the vague answer. I know, however, that it's not a good idea. I've only just met Epsilon and he doesn't fully trust me yet. I can't expect him to start if I don't show him some trust first.
I glance around the room and notice something missing. "Where's Carolina?" I ask. I know from past experience that an AI can't project themselves too far from their host. At least, not without hurting both parties involved.
"I think she's sparring with Wash," Epsilon answers. "Something about her wanting to check if he got soft without her around to remind him to train. Because, y'know, what better way to catch up than beating the crap out of each other, apparently."
"And they left you here," I prompt.
"Carolina said she wanted it to be an even fight," Epsilon shrugs. "She plugged me into the computers before she left. It took a lot of convincing, though. Your AI is kind of territorial."
"That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about," I say slowly. I slide into a chair by the table and Epsilon's small blue visor tilts up to meet my eyes. "You know a lot about AIs, right? I mean, between the Director's memories and being one yourself, you're practically an expert on the subject."
"That was pretty close to a compliment," Epsilon says flatly. "What do you want?"
I sigh. "Rho's had some problems recently," I explain. "She was already broken when we got her, and I thought she was fixed, but now…" I trail off, unwilling to voice my fears.
"You think she's going rampant," Epsilon guesses.
"I'm worried about her," I say. "I know you're already doing a lot for us by helping us find Dr. Han, and I'm grateful. I really am. If you can, though, I was hoping you could talk to Rho at some point and make sure she's okay."
"You know, I really try to not make a habit of helping people for no reason," Epsilon grumbles.
"Your past says differently," I point out.
"Well, good for you," he says sarcastically. "You figured it out. I've really got a heart of fucking gold." He falls silent for a while, thinking.
"She's an Alpha fragment," Epsilon says thoughtfully. "There aren't many of us left."
"As far as I know, you and Rho are the only two," I confirm.
"I'll do what I can," he finally says grudgingly. "I can't guarantee I'll be able to help at all, but I'll try."
"Thank you, Epsilon" I say, leaving it at that so as not to anger the apparently grumpy AI.
"Church," he corrects. "Don't… don't call me Epsilon, okay? My name is Church."
"Sorry," I apologize. "I didn't mean to offend you. It's what I heard Carolina call you, so I thought it'd be okay."
"Carolina can call me whatever she wants," he says. "There's no stopping her. But you…" he trails off for a moment before continuing. "You haven't earned that right," he finishes, almost apologetically.
"I understand," I say, nodding. I feel like I'm treading on thin ice around him. I've spent too long trying to find Epsilon to risk offending him over something trivial. At the same time, I get the feeling that if I keep up the formal talk for too long, he'll get annoyed.
"Besides," he continues, "Caboose gets confused easily enough as it is. I don' think the dumbass'd be able to handle it if you called me a different name than he did."
My eyes narrow slightly at the insult to my brother, but I choose to let it slide. "He's done well enough with his own name," I argue.
"Yeah, I asked him about that," Church says amusedly. "He said that he thought everyone in Blood Gulch was too stupid to understand his real name, so he just let us all call him whatever we want."
I smile and shake my head wonderingly. "That does sound like his logic," I admit.
"You know he shot me?" Church continues. "Twice! Once with a tank, then again with my own fucking sniper rifle."
"At least he managed to hit something with the sniper rifle," I counter.
Church is silent for a moment. "Tucker?" he eventually guesses, tone suggesting he's trying to glare.
I nod. "He's told a lot of stories about you."
"None too flattering, I'm sure," Church grumbles. "Although, if you think about it," he starts thoughtfully, "those aren't really stories about me. They're about Alpha." He pauses for a moment. "It's weird remembering them and knowing I wasn't really there."
"Speaking of remembering," I say.
"I haven't found anything yet," Church interrupts. "I'm trying, but it's really not that easy."
"What's the problem?" I ask curiously.
"The problem," Church starts, annoyed, "is that Dr. Han and the Director have a lot of history together. Like, went to each other's birthday parties when they were four years old, kind of history. There are so many memories of her; it's hard to nail down any that could help you."
"Anything useful would be fairly recent," I say. "At least within the last five years."
"It's not that simple," Church says, sounding irritated. "Remember how I said before that it's not an exact science? I can't just pick a date and remember everything from that day."
"How does it work?" I ask. I know he must think I'm being annoying right now, but I'm genuinely curious. I had thought an AI would be able to search through memories as simply as pulling up files on a computer.
There's a long stretch of silence before Church answers. "It's like, I try to think about her," he starts, voice sounding far away. "I think of Patricia Han and I see… everything. I see play dates when they were kids, and that time they took apart the blender to make a rocket, and when they both started college. I remember walking her down the aisle at her wedding, and visiting after her son was born, and being there at the joint funeral for her husband and son. I remember not liking her very much; thinking she was a sociopath, but seeing how she seemed to get better while she was married. Then, after, it all went downhill. She changed. She had always been cold, but now it was like she didn't feel anything. I envied that."
"That would have been around the time she started this project," I say. "Do you remember what happened next?"
Church shakes his head. "That's when it gets harder to remember," he explains. "I- The Director didn't see her very often while they were running their projects. I keep almost thinking of something, something I know is connected to her, but it always slips away." He sounds frustrated and takes a moment to calm down. "I'm gonna keep trying. I know that I know something, I just can't seem to nail it down."
"Just be careful," I caution. "I don't want you to stumble into a bad memory."
"Don't worry," he says dismissively. "I've learned how to avoid those by now."
Tucker walks into the mess hall to find Simmons sitting in a chair, torso sprawled out over the table and head buried in his arms.
"Is he okay?" he asks Grif, who's sitting a few tables away, ignoring his teammate.
Grif shrugs.
Tucker rolls his eyes, half not wanting to get involved and half curious. Eventually he walks over and sits across from the redhead. "I'm going to assume this has to do with Yttrium," he says.
"She hates me," Simmons moans, slightly muffled.
"Sarge's advice didn't work out?"
"It was terrible," Simmons says, peeking out from his arm fortress. He explains the incident to Tucker, who cringes sympathetically. "And then she kicked me out of the workroom," he finishes.
"Do you think she was mad?"
"She didn't yell," Simmons says thoughtfully. "Well, she did at first, but I think that was just shock. The rest of the time she just sounded… disappointed."
"Ouch," Tucker says understandingly. "That is the worst, dude. Like, it's one thing if a woman is screaming at you, but you really know you fucked up when they sound disappointed."
Tucker's fairly certain Simmons actually whimpers as his face falls back into his arms. "What do I do?" Simmons asks. "She's never going to want to talk to me again."
"Well," Tucker starts, preparing to answer Simmons' question. "You need to apologize."
"Thanks," comes the sarcastic reply. "I couldn't have guessed that myself."
"No, no, you don't understand," Tucker says. "With women, you can't just say you're sorry. That's never good enough. You have to do something special."
"Like what?" Simmons says, looking up again.
"The best way to apologize to a woman is through gifts," Tucker says confidently. "Normally, the go to gift for this type of situation would be flowers."
"There aren't any flowers here," Simmons points out.
"I know," Tucker says distractedly. "We're going to have to be a bit more creative." Simmons sits up as the dark skinned man thinks. "Let's see, what else do chicks like?" he mutters. "There's flowers, stuffed animals, jewelry…"
"Chocolate," comes a knowledgeable voice from Grif's table. "All women love chocolate."
"Oh, right!" Tucker says. "That's what I was forgetting."
"There isn't any chocolate here, either," Simmons says.
"That's not entirely true," Grif says, voice almost sing-songy as he moves to sit next to Tucker. "Luckily for you, I know of at least one candy bar in this entire base."
"Really?" Simmons asks, perking up hopefully.
Grif nods. "My personal stache," he explains, pulling a wrinkled looking bar of cheap, generic chocolate from his pocket. "I've been saving it for a special occasion, but I might be tempted to part with it for the right price."
"How much?" Simmons questions suspiciously.
"A hundred dollars," Grif states.
"What?!" Simmons shrieks. "That's crazy."
"It's basic economics," Grif counters. "You know, supply and demand. See, this is the only chocolate on the whole planet," Grif starts to explain. "So, supply is very low. And I've been saving this for a long time, so I really want to eat it. That means demand is high. And what happens when supply and demand are uneven like that, Simmons?"
"I get it, jackass," Simmons grumbles. "It means you think you can overcharge me for stuff. Did it occur to you that I don't have any money?"
"Oh, I know that," Grif says. "But I also know you have tons stashed away back home. I figure you can pay me once we get back." There's a pause before he adds "with interest, of course."
Simmons groans, looking from the chocolate, to Grif, then back again. Eventually he turns to look at Tucker. "Are you sure this will work?" he asks.
Tucker shrugs. "At this point, I think it's your only chance."
Simmons eyes narrow. "Why are you even helping me? I mean, Grif's obviously here to extort me, but why are you?"
"Dude, in case you haven't noticed, I haven't exactly been doing well in the women department," Tucker starts.
"Trust me, we've noticed," Grif says.
"I fucked your sister," he shot back at the Hawaiian. "Anyway," he continues, looking back at Simmons as he dodges a punch from Grif. "I figure if I help you out here, it will increase my sex karma, and I'll have a better chance later on."
"That doesn't make any sense," Simmons comments. He falls silent for a while. He knows Grif's trying to take advantage of him, and chances are he has a thousand more candy bars hidden somewhere, and he'll make some huge mockery of math when he eventually adds up the 'interest' Simmons will owe him. Really, though, he does have a decent amount of money saved under his bunk in Valhalla. He never had anywhere to spend it, so it's been accumulating for a while. And if there's a chance that doing this will make Yttri forgive him…
Simmons doesn't want to lose her.
"Fine," Simmons finally says. He snatches the chocolate off the table as he stands. "I'll pay you back."
"With interest," Grif cheerfully reminds him.
"Whatever, fatass," Simmons grumbles, walking away.