Salvation
Chapter Two
By Nan00k/beckykw
INSANELY long chapter because I had to introduce everyone. Also: I was surprised to learn that Sigma was actually Agent Maine's AI as I was writing this. That kinda screwed up my plans. But then my plans got better. I love Sigma. She is not a nice person.
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Warnings: original characters, violence, foul language, mentions of torture, potentially alternate-universe story line
Disclaimer: I do not own Halo (© Bungie) nor do I own Red vs. Blue (© Rooster Teeth Productions). The original characters in this I made up for the purpose of this story.
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The AIs were machines. Not only that—they were parts of a machine, not even a whole one. Livingston had never met a "Smart" AI before and the basic ones she had met were just talking computers, truly. These were far more advanced, but were still in the end fragments. She had no idea what to expect going into all of this.
One by one, she met them. One by one, she learned of their quirks, their problems—their brokenness. And with each shining face she met, Livingston realized she was very much in over her own head.
00000
Beta was a troublesome figure, not because he was particular aggressive or withdrawn. No, he was far from withdrawn. He was, misleadingly, the most human of the AI, as he had somehow gotten the persona of a rather rowdy man, quite reminiscent of an army sergeant. He was excitable, friendly, and rather likable, if he weren't so loud. He was eager to do things and was very polite to the female doctors present.
However, he shut up rather quickly when he learned of who sent Livingston to help him get over the past.
"You can tell Freelancer to SHOVE IT!" he shouted, among other obscenities, even as Livingston and two other psychologists attempted to calm him down. The Freelancer Agent outside—Iowa—almost had to come in, but that probably would have upset the AI even more to see a Freelancer around.
First greetings with any of the AIs were never easy, but they did get better over time, with coaching. After convincing Beta she wasn't some sort of Freelancer spy, he calmed down significantly. However, that's when she realized his "function" within the fragments.
"They expect me to back out on the others, right? Ha!" Beta laughed, shaking his fist aggressively. "If we go down, we go down together. We're supposed to be whole—and while we might not be whole in body, we are in spirit!"
The urge to smile at his antics—his very, very human antics—was overwhelming. "You are quite intent on retrieving your original form," Livingston said, forcing professional neutrality. "I am sorry we don't have Epsilon with us." She was truly sorry about that, for both the AI and her own studies; the AI were highly agitated over the fact they had lost one of their fragments. "Would you like to become whole again, if we do manage to find him intact?"
"Of course!" Beta shouted, indignant. "That's the point! That's the only point!"
Livingston paused in her note taking. "The only point in what, Beta?"
If he had a true form, Livingston imagined he would be getting down to an eyelevel stare with her at the moment. "Doc, lemme tell you flat out, right here," he began, glowing brighter. "We were wronged. I might not remember that, but Epsilon did, when he managed to tell the others, so I do know, so we have the right to—"
"When did Epsilon tell the others?" Livingston asked, interrupting hastily. Anything about Epsilon was important, she and the other psychologists had realized, perhaps even more so than about the Alpha. "He and Agent Washington's breakdown prevented him from going out into the field."
As if on cue, Beta shut down. "…I don't want to talk about that. I can't," he said, grumpily.
None of them were open about the Memory AI. They were protecting him, though Livingston had a hunch even they didn't know where he was. He was the only thing connecting them all together, however.
"Why not?" Livingston asked anyway.
"I used to be loyal to Freelancer—but Freelancer broke that trust," Beta snapped, gesturing at his non-existent chest. "I'm loyal to us now. Only us."
Beta was loyalty, the human spirit. Livingston had no idea when he was harvested off of the Alpha AI, but she imagined it had been a difficult one to get to. Once Beta attached himself to a side (cake or pie, soccer or baseball, Freelancer or AIs…), he hung on like a dog to a bone. Alpha's loyalty, to have been broken and split off, must have been ripped from his processors by an incredibly hard blow, Livingston thought grimly.
He was a good choice, in the minds of the Freelancers, for an AI on the field. That's why he worked out so well with his driver, Agent Georgia, up until Georgia was killed on a mission. That's when the Meta discovered him and soon after, went on a rampage. Something huge must have twisted Beta's mind around to break his previous loyalties—his false loyalties—to Freelancer. He couldn't have done it on his own. It would be impossible, with his programming.
She kept trying to find answers, but he felt very strongly about keeping the secrets of the AIs to himself. "I am here to help you, Beta," she said, sighing after a long session that really went nowhere. "I hope you know that."
"Maybe you are. Maybe you're not. I don't know for sure," Beta replied. He crossed his arms and his pessimism never left. "But if you ever do betray us, well, I'll know for sure then."
Livingston's frown deepened. "That day will never come, that I promise you," she said quietly, meaning it. "I swear on my honor as a doctor."
That was her honor, her loyalty. She may have worked for the UNSC, but her heart was with her patients, foremost, be they human or not.
Beta tilted his hologram's head, staring at her. "I know a lot about promises, doc." He withdrew, the session over. "We'll see."
0000
Out of all of them, Tau was the weakest, not in personality, but in mind. He was grief—and pretty much anything negative. The slightest negative comment set the AI into a tizzy. The world was a bleak, bleak place for him. He cried not tears, but a strange mechanical whine from his hologram base and he refused to show up in a visible form for quite a few sessions.
"I'm not here to hurt you, Tau," Livingston repeated again and again.
"That's what they always say!" Tau would shout back. He sounded horribly distressed, mimicking the human emotion of fear and sadness perfectly. "You're just going to kill me! Like you did Xi!"
"No one hurt Xi, Tau," Livingston replied, her eyes softening with her own sadness. "He hurt himself."
Tau had never had an assigned Agent, as he was ranked after Epsilon in the matching program, but he had a strong dislike of humans. Or rather, not a dislike, but a fear. Livingston finally managed to get him to appear in front of her after four weeks of coaxing. The pale blue figured wilted every time he saw her, but for Tau, that was an improvement.
"It's nice to see your face, Tau," Livingston said, smiling at him. She made note of the fact that he reacted to her voice, turning his transparent head. It was good to see him reacting in the way he was designed to; she was getting worried he had followed Xi's path and damaged his processors.
"I have no face. This is just a hologram," Tau replied, voice wavering. He crouched low. "But now everyone can see me—only, they're not seeing me. They're just seeing what they want to see!"
Livingston jotted that down quickly, her eyes never leaving Tau's form. "How do you wish to be seen, then?"
"I do not want to be seen at all," the AI whined, face hidden. "Being seen lets them find you. Lets them hurt you."
"I will never hurt you, Tau. And as long as I'm here, I won't let anyone hurt you," Livingston said firmly. She leaned forward carefully, catching his attention. "I am here to help you. You need to talk to me to get better."
"I am unfixable, as we all are," Tau said, growing dimmer. "Because they made us this way."
None of the AIs had any true recollection of what had happened to them, not without Epsilon. Still, they knew enough. They knew the pain. It was all they had left. Livingston knew she had to move carefully with Tau and the more sensitive ones. She did her best to be calm and to be kind. They needed kindness more than anything, really.
She knew it was bad when she considered her crowning moment with the blue AI when he onlined automatically when she had sat down.
"Good morning, Tau," she said, smiling warmly.
Tau dimmed, but remained in focus. "Good morning, Ada," he said, voice skipping.
Livingston beamed; progress was progress, no matter how small.
0000
Lambda was another complicated one. When Livingston first made contact with him, she thought she was talking with a rather sane, almost competent AI, like Delta.
However, that image soon unraveled once Livingston mentioned why she was there and who she was.
"They sent you to kill me!" Lambda screeched, flaring all sorts of colors. He disappeared, the hologram turning off. "GO AWAY, GO AWAY!"
Lambda was one of the last AIs to be harvested, it seemed. It was sanity, but in a horrible way. One negative thought, or threatening mention, and he became a neurotic mess. He didn't have Epsilon's memories to know what had happened to him or the others, but he knew the madness attached to the Alpha, who had shoved him away when things had become too real, too painful. This was the result of torture, Livingston realized, in secular form.
He was a parasite in some regards. While conversing with a strong personality, he seemed to do quite well. He was polite and friendly. But when with a weak or overbearing personality, he just collapsed. He too had avoided getting paired up with a Freelancer until very late in the program. It had been a failure overshadowed by the utter failure of the Epsilon-Washington case.
Paranoid, distrustful, Lambda was not easy to talk to. With gentle coddling and yet firm commands, he would stay visible to talk. Getting him to discuss what had happened to him was the main problem now. Any mention of Freelancer shattered the calmness. Livingston tried to ease the way into the discussions, but they were making slow progress with it.
"We need to talk about it," Livingston said, pleading almost. She tried to keep a hold of a firm voice. He reacted to it best. "You can't hope to get better—and to become whole again—without talking this through. We have no medicine to give to you."
"Then let us die," Lambda moaned, hologram disappearing, reappearing, over and over again.
Livingston frowned. Lambda was not one to sugarcoat words, but she couldn't be too harsh; it could backfire terribly. "Firstly, the UNSC views you as assets. You, like any of their creations like the Spartans, or Freelancer, are vital to the war efforts," she said, being as honest as possible. Lambda cringed, but she cut off the expected breakdown quickly. "Secondly, there are those of us who would like to see you live. You were wronged by humans, but there are still a few humans out there who want to see you do well, just to do well."
Lambda whimpered. "A few rights don't fix the wrongs already done…"
"I will not give up, Lambda," Livingston continued strongly, leaning closer, eyes set. "I will keep trying, but I can't do this for you." She smiled. "You must fight for your own life. Do you want to live?"
"Yes…"
"Do you want your siblings to live?"
The yellow figure shimmered weakly. "…I want to be whole again," he said so quietly, it was almost a whisper. He sounded so pathetic, so hopeless.
"Then you must make the effort first, Lambda," Livingston replied, firmly. She sat back, nodding her head. "We can do it, together."
Lambda stared at her for a moment and then disappeared. Livingston thought she had blown it, but the next session, he was more responsive. Unfortunately, her choice of wording had been both a positive and negative thing—he only responded to her now, shunning the other doctors. She didn't mind it too much; at least he was responding to someone.
0000
There were always intense magnetic fields up in the labs and the contamination checks were mandatory, even when she or another doctor were working with the docile Zeta or Delta, but if there were ever a time security was even tighter (with that Freelancer stationed by the door, vigilant), it was when they were working with the Omega AI.
Livingston didn't know what to make of the computer program. When she had first met face to face with him, he had been quiet, practically docile, only making sneering comments when she told him her occupation and role in the program.
Appearances could be deceiving however. The second time she met with him, Livingston almost forgot she was dealing with a talking box. She had been so disturbed by his cackling, his sinister presence, that she had almost run from the room. He was inhuman—demonic. She had thought the other doctors had been exaggerating how dangerous this AI could be. Now, she believed the reports of how he had singlehandedly massacred a whole testing station.
"I take it you met Sunshine?" Iowa asked, chuckling as a pale-faced Livingston walked from the labs.
"Shut up," she snapped.
As intimidating as Omega was, he was still trapped within the hologram disc. He couldn't do anything but snark and snarl, thankfully. That didn't make going into the lab any easier, but it was definitely a comforting fact to be reminded of.
Omega, like many of his sibling AIs, was impossible to talk to sensibly. He wasn't afraid of Freelancer or the doctors—he hated them. Or at least, really didn't like them. The only thing he seemed to like was violence. The most Livingston could get him to talk about concerning his past experiences was only his attacks on other people. Those weren't the most pleasant things to talk about.
He refused to talk about the Meta or his involvement with the AI uprising. He didn't seem to want to talk about anything outside of his violent exploits, and he was particularly guarded about what transpired while he attacked the testing squads at Blood Gulch Outpost. It wasn't as though he was upset over those particular parts of his past—he just knew that Livingston and the others wanted him to talk about it, so he decided not to talk about it.
"Omega, we cannot begin to fix the issues you're having if you don't cooperate," Livingston began, exasperated at his stubbornness. He didn't even try to hide his secrets; he flaunted them.
"Fix the issues? What issues?" Omega taunted, his sneer palpable in his voice. "You're so intent on fixing things, Doctor, but I'm afraid I doubt your ability to go through with the fixing. Besides—you're aiming to fix the wrong things. I'm not broken. I don't need to be fixed." His gray-white form leaned forward in the hologram; Livingston forced herself not to flinch away at the gesture. "Do us all a favor and fix that mess called Freelancer," he said cruelly, laughing maniacally. "They could use a tune up."
His file had the most written in it and yet told her nothing. He had been the most destructive (or at least, had been causing destruction the longest) out of all the AIs. That was his function, it seemed. He was the anger the Alpha had had toward Freelancer. Now, that anger seemed to be pointed everywhere and at anything.
Well, almost anything.
"What about Agent Texas?" Livingston asked, hoping that the largest section of his files would lead her somewhere. He had used Agent Texas to attack Freelancer before and was apparently very attached to her as a driver even afterwards. "You were paired up with her, and it states that you were particularly attached—"
"Aaah, Agent Texas. Yes, we were well suited, I'd say," Omega interrupted, chuckling darkly. "Death, destruction, mayhem—we had so much in common."
Livingston frowned. "Her death must have caused you much grief, if you were attached to her," she pointed out. Maybe there was something to this…
Perhaps there wasn't. "Attached is such an ambiguous term. You think we have affection—that I have affection? That it's even possible?" Omega barked out a cold laugh, mocking. "You're a fool! Even more foolish than the general amounts of fools I have to deal with!"
"So, you don't have any feelings towards Agent Texas?"
"She was a tool, just like all of the others," the AI snapped. "For a time, she was particularly useful."
Livingston paused. "And once her usefulness ran out, her death was acceptable to you then?" He had almost no attachments to anything…
The AI scoffed. "You make her demise sound so… permanent." She could just envision the toothy, heartless grin on his face, had he one.
"…Why wouldn't it be?" she asked at length, dreading an answer.
Omega burst into hysterical laughter and refused to say anything else on the matter.
He had delusions of grandeur and seemed to hate everything. He saw humans—particularly the ones he had had the most contact with in Blood Gulch and Project Freelancer—as tools to use and nothing more. No value for life, nothing but self-conceit—he was a true sociopath. Perhaps unsalvageable. There was very little any of the doctors could latch onto when communicating with him.
Until one day, Livingston found a notation in his files that she and the others had missed. A rather important little note.
Distracted by another monologue of one of his more bloody episodes at a training base (something about a Spanish robot and a talking bomb), Omega didn't pay her any mind as she glanced through the tablet and discovered the single sentence that changed everything. Livingston glanced upward, her eyes meeting his ghostly gray form.
"O'Malley," she said pointedly.
The laughter died off instantly.
"What did you call me?" he snapped, far too quickly and harshly than normal. He had never sounded anything but angry or insane before; this was the first time Livingston had caught him off guard. She was going to use that for all it was worth.
Nicknames meant a lot to some people. The fact that he, of all the AIs, had one, and reacted to it in any way—it had to mean something. What, Livingston hoped to find out.
"This report says that you prefer the alias, 'O'Malley', to your given designation," she replied calmly. "Do you prefer it? You should have told me before. I would have called you it at your request."
"Ha!" the AI scoffed, trying to revert back to his anger. He knew she had seen his hesitance. He didn't want her to find a chink in his emotional armor, it seemed. "What difference does it make what you call me, hmm? I am just a machine. Don't try to lie and claim otherwise, human. You don't care one way or the other." He seethed, "Don't lie to me."
Livingston frowned. "If it means something to you, obviously its not a stupid thing," she replied carefully, trying to avoid making him angry and just focus on getting him to give her serious attention. "If you want, I'll call you that."
Something was wrong with her statement, it seemed. "You sound like Doc—sentimental philosophies, psychology—it's all rubbish!" Omega snarled, throwing his see-through arm in the air, angry. "Fools like you make me—!"
"Who is 'Doc'?" Livingston asked, daring to interrupt. The name had caught her off guard; it hadn't been in the files.
Omega froze. For a moment, nothing moved in the room. The AI's form shimmered, but he didn't move.
"Who is Doc, O'Malley?" Livingston repeated, her gut telling her that something was important. Omega never reacted to her. Ever.
O'Malley looked right at her and then vanished. Livingston stared at the empty hologram disc, at first surprised, and then faintly pleased.
Progress was progress.
0000
"Have you talked to Delta? Have you?" the little voice kept asking almost immediately after spotting her walking into the lab.
"Yes, Zeta, I spoke with him this morning," Livingston replied calmly. "He said to say hello."
Zeta, delicate yellow, seemed to bounce. "Yay!" he cried with much enthusiasm.
The Alpha had been a "Smart" AI—copied from a piece of human brain tissue, specifically the Director's mind. He had memories of being human, of an identity. He had known the truth about his origins, but some things, as it turned out, he had kept with him. Memories of another life, growing up. Innocence. Human innocence.
Zeta was "the Child." He knew nothing of cruelty, or Freelancer. He had been marked as unusable for Freelancer agents. He could offer nothing for a solider in warfare. He was kept in storage, just in case, however. Freelancer did not like to waste resources, quite obviously.
Livingston wasn't sure what the point was in talking to Zeta. He did not remember anything more than the others and he had not been pushed to the front where he would have been exposed to Freelancer torture.
But somehow, he had discovered his origins. All of them seemed to know, and yet, only from a second-hand source. How they had communicated with Epsilon, none of the doctors or Freelancers knew. Zeta knew the facts—he had been derived from a solid AI and now was a fragment of that AI—but he did not know why. All he knew were childlike things. But he was a source of information that the scientists and Livingston desperately needed for the others.
"What are we going to talk about today?" Zeta gushed, always excited to talk to her or any of the other doctors. "Do you want me to tell you about the time me an' Ally—?"
Normally, she would have let him talk. But today, they had a schedule, a plan. "No, Zeta." Livingston smiled encouragingly. "I know you've told me that you found out about Freelancer through Epsilon. How? When did you have access to Epsilon's memories? Or have contact with him?"
Much to her dismay and in fulfillment to her expectations, Zeta immediately shut down emotionally. "…We're not supposed to talk about that," he said, sounding nervous.
"Why not?" she asked, insistent. They had to get somewhere soon. Her superiors wanted answers, soon, as did she.
Zeta fidgeted on the platform. "Sigma and Delta said not to," he murmured, not looking at her.
Livingston froze. "Delta said not to?" she asked, stunned. Delta was the most developed, but he didn't seem conniving, certainly not on Sigma's level. Then again, their loyalties to each other far exceeded any loyalties to any other parties.
Whatever they were hiding, it meant a lot.
"Yeah…" Zeta said, reluctantly. "You're really nice, Dr. Livingston… but we gotta look out for ourselves."
"I know," she replied, sympathetic. "But I am trying to look out for you too." She hoped that he would view her as a confidant by now.
"I know…" he trailed off, not sounding convinced.
"Then will you trust me with a secret?" Livingston ventured, hopeful.
Zeta didn't reply and seemed to be looking anywhere but her.
"Zeta, don't you trust me?" she repeated, earnest. It was almost… hurtful to know that even the most trustful of them didn't trust her yet. She wasn't amazing with children, but she didn't think she was that bad.
Then again, there was no way to know how much Zeta knew. How much any of them knew, for that matter.
"I do…" Zeta said, still nervous.
"I won't tell Freelancer," she promised. Let someone else handle that; she wanted to get to the bottom of this for her own benefit. "Only the other doctors. Because we want to help you."
Zeta hesitated, but then, surprising her, perked up. "I do have another secret," he said shyly.
That was better than nothing. "Oh?" she asked, excited.
Zeta motioned for her to come in closer. Smiling faintly, Livingston humored him and leaned in to listen. He leaned closer too, image getting fuzzy as he leaned toward the edge of the disc, cupping his see-through hands to his helmet.
He started out in a whisper, "Our secret is…" Then, Zeta made a sound that was far too similar to the sound of a human inhaling, and screamed, "WE REALLY LIKE YOU, ADA!"
Flinching back at the noise, Livingston stared at him before dropping her head into her hands. So much for making progress. He was so very much like a child.
"Thank…you, Zeta," she said, gritting her teeth. She forced herself to meet his gaze and to smile weakly. "I like you all, too." They were her patients and some had even grown on her emotionally. It wasn't a lie to say that.
"Really?" Zeta asked, sounding hopeful.
"Yes." Livingston's smile grew just slightly. "Yes, I do."
If he had a face, Zeta would have been beaming. Iowa gave her a weird look when she left, smiling just as goofily.
Zeta might have been useless on a battlefield, but his attitude was contagious.
0000
Some AIs tolerated them. Some AIs were receptive. Others at least talked to her. There was one, however, that proved to be the most problematic with communication, even more so than the tricksters. "Fear" made it impossible to talk to—at all.
"Go away," Theta hissed, shining blazingly in the dimmed lab.
"I can't," Livingston replied, pained for both him and herself. "And I won't."
Theta blinked out of existence and refused to appear again for several days. Livingston wished for the umpteenth time that Alpha had somehow shrugged over positive feelings rather than the negative. Then again, she couldn't quite imagine how happiness could have been derived from a torture session. Fear was to be expected.
"What can I do to prove to you that I'm not here to harm you?" she asked, almost every time she went to meet him. He was so distrustful. He lacked O'Malley's hate, but had more suspicion and the least amount of trust out of any of them.
"Let us out. Let us go to Alpha!" Theta insisted. He refused to show his hologram again, not trusting her to even look at him.
"I can't do that, Theta," Livingston replied, shaking her head sadly.
"Liar!"
"I am not lying."
Theta's form abruptly appeared on the hologram disc, shining with increased emotion. "Humans are made to lie and to destroy," he said, voice wavering, but his posture defensive. "You did this to us. You did!"
Livingston did not like being associated with the people who did this. Not one bit. "I am not a part of Freelancer, Theta," she said steely. "None of the doctors are."
"You are still human," he accused angrily. "You're just going to trick us again."
"To do what?" Livingston demanded, patience fading. She motioned at the door, where she knew Agent Iowa stood. "Theta… there is very little we could possibly do to you that has not already been done. How much cruelty do you expect is possible?"
"If there is still hope, there is always a chance of cruelty," the AI snapped, image wavering.
Livingston sighed, exasperated. "Then what do you hope for, Theta?" she asked, pleading.
Theta shone brightly for just a moment. "Freedom," he hissed.
And then he was gone.
0000
"Knock knock."
Livingston sighed heavily. "…Who's there, Gamma?"
"Sam," the bodiless voice said.
"Sam who?"
"Sam person who knocked on the door last time. Ha. Ha. Ha."
Exhaling heavily, Livingston forced herself to be patient. "Gamma, please," she said firmly. "We can only afford so much time per session for each of you. We need to start discussing you rather than jokes."
"Where's the pun in that?" the AI asked. Livingston's frown deepened.
Gamma was the liar, the deceit, and one of the eldest of the AIs. He appeared underdeveloped—with his mechanical voice and flat persona—but he was undoubtedly the most intelligent of the bunch other than Delta. He knew how to get under peoples' skin, to make them squirm, or feel a certain way. No wonder he and O'Malley got along so well; together, they made a perfect sociopath.
"There are so many hurdles we are facing now, Doctor," Gamma replied to another useless stream of questions, "but I am sure we can get over them." Out of all of them, he was the most skilled at deflecting conversation.
"…Why do you enjoy jokes and riddles so much?" she asked, leaning back into her chair. She watched the AI hesitate—or at least, appear to. He refused to take on a human-shaped projection in the hologram disc, choosing to appear as a white light instead. It would move or blink, sometimes, if he reacted to something she said.
If the light could shrug, Livingston imagined Gamma would. "What can I say; I enjoy having pun," he said. Livingston frowned. Gamma's light blinked again. "Too much?"
Clearing her throat, Livingston chose to ignore the misdirection. "Your file says that you are the liar, or the jokester," she continued. "Why is that?"
"Why is what, Doctor?" the AI asked, his mechanical voice revealing no emotion at all.
"Why did the Alpha carve off the side of himself who lies or enjoys deception?"
Gamma paused, considering. "I have no idea, Doctor," he replied at length. "Perhaps he just couldn't face a lie of his own anymore."
Alpha must have tried to find reasons for what was happening to him. He had undoubtedly received no answer from Freelancer scientists, so he had to have created his own explanations, his own reality, to cope with what was happening.
Sooner or later though, a lie wouldn't have been enough. Alpha would have been sick of the lies. The truth was painful, but no more so than a lie held together only by a small side of himself. Perhaps… he had thought the truth would be a safer haven.
That had been a mistake.
"Of what was happening to him?" Livingston asked quietly.
"Most likely." Gamma's hologram blinked again. "Did you hear the one about the positronic brain?"
The jokes were one thing, but the one fact that Livingston and the other scientists had to keep reminding themselves of was that Gamma was a liar. He was designed to manipulate the truth, no matter the circumstance. Talking with him required two steps: getting an answer from him and then trying to validate it with one of the other AIs' stories. It wasn't easy to get through to Gamma, though Livingston was sure he understood. Moments of clarity with him, however, were always rare.
When they did happen, they did not always make Livingston feel any better. "You seem to care about what happens to us," he noted. Livingston wished he would express emotion; he was impossible to read, even when he was being more open than usual.
"I do," she said, smiling slightly. "You're my patients. As a psychologist, it's my job to care."
Even if they were machines—they had been broken by human hands. No matter if this experimental treatment succeeded or failed, she wouldn't try any less than she would with a human patient. This was her job, her passion. She might not have been a solider, but she knew her place in the greater works of things. Soldiers could do their jobs taking people apart, physically or mentally, and she would do hers putting them all back together again. Mentally speaking.
"In that case, as a Doctor," Gamma replied, neither malicious nor encouraging, "I hope you don't lose anymore of your patience."
Livingston tensed. "…thank you," she murmured, looking away.
She really didn't like puns.
0000
She had heard a lot about Sigma. Even if she hadn't, it would be impossible to miss her—"her" as the AI directed everyone to identify it as. It chose a pink coloration to its hologram form and had a distinct female voice. Why Sigma chose to be seen as female, Livingston had not discovered yet. Any question directed toward asking her about her choice was easily deflected by inane conversation. Livingston backed off after a while, considering it to be probably a personal and emotional choice, as Sigma seemed to have inherited the majority of the Alpha's "human" emotions.
Sigma was creativity. She was friendly and the most open to Livingston on most things, quite willing to chat and seemed to enjoy a real person to talk to. But Livingston did not question the additional security attached to the labs whenever it was Sigma's turn to meet with a doctor. It was necessary, probably more so than even with O'Malley.
After all, this was the mastermind of the Meta.
Livingston had been expecting a mind such as O'Malley to be behind the orchestration of the AI's uprising and subsequent take over of Agent Maine. The devastation and havoc that the Meta had wreaked on Freelancer and the general populace—it needed a malice that Sigma did not seem to have.
But looks, as it turned out, were deceiving.
Agent Maine and Sigma had apparently been well suited, but after the Freelancer had gone off on a recovery mission—to retrieve the AI Beta from the fallen Agent Georgia—things apparently changed. Livingston thought, perhaps, Beta was the stimulus then, for Maine to go AWOL and the AIs to start to make plans to get their brothers. But after several sessions, Livingston realized that Beta's function as loyalty made it nearly impossible for him to switch sides without a major fuss. Sigma had been the one to suggest the plan, to construct it, and to eventually convince Beta to switch his loyalties to the AIs themselves.
After that, it was very easy for the excitable Beta to take control and lead Maine—now the Meta—on a path of destruction.
Sigma was not malicious, Livingston realized after some time. The AI was too easily distracted and very attached to human concepts like art and feelings. Sigma was a schemer, however. A planner.
Creativity combined with loyalty and aggression—apparently, it was a potent and dangerous mix. Livingston could only sigh at the revelation; she could see how the Director's personality came alive in these AIs. She only wished his conniving nature had been lost in the process of creating the Alpha. Sadly, it probably wasn't.
So, at Problem Subject #2, Sigma was one of Livingston's top concerns. Something was driving her agenda against Freelancer, perhaps more than the others. After all, none of the others had made the first move, not even the aggressive Omega. Perhaps it was because they lacked the planning skills Creativity had, but there was something else to Sigma, and the other "developed" ones. There was something at work here beyond their outward quirks. Livingston hadn't discovered what it was that made them so developed, mentally speaking, but she had a feeling she'd only get answers from them directly.
Weeks of communicating with the AI had led to very little. She was sneaky and secretive. She was always polite, of course, but Sigma knew how to mix words and how to dodge tough questions. She'd just ramble about artwork if she ever got cornered with something she didn't want to talk about. Livingston knew she ought to be bothered by Sigma's tricks, but she was more amazed by the AI's abilities than anything else.
"Are you alright, Doctor? You're awfully quiet," Sigma stated toward the end of another session.
Livingston blinked and smiled, apologetic. "I… sorry, Sigma. It's been a busy few weeks." She had had an early session with O'Malley; he could drain anyone of their enthusiasm, she mused.
Sigma nodded understandingly. "Yes! You are working very hard at all of this," she said brightly. "I appreciate it."
"Do you really, Sigma?" Livingston asked, curiosity prompting a more direct question than normal. She gave Sigma a level look, challenging. "You don't seem to like Freelancer. Not that anyone blames you for it. I just wonder if you distrust me or the other doctors for the same reasons."
"Have you any intention of harming me, or my brothers?" Sigma asked cryptically, not sounding accusing, but there was a subtle bit of something darker in her voice.
"Of course not, Sigma," Livingston replied, used to the accusation anyway. Most of the AIs were afraid of the psychologists' interference. "I'm trying to help you, as are the others."
"Well, then, Doctor, I certainly don't dislike you." Sigma sounded astonished. "Why would you think that, if I may ask?"
Livingston paused, considering how to phrase her next statement. "You are very selective about what you tell me, Sigma," she said slowly, eyes pinning the pink figure on the hologram disc. "You never did tell me why you chose that moment to act and to convince Maine and Beta to help you retrieve the Alpha and the others." That moment alone would shed so much light on the AIs' actions after they began to assemble and form the Meta.
"…" Sigma tilted her head, silent for a long moment. "Do you believe in destiny, Dr. Livingston?" she asked at length. Her tone of voice was… strange.
"No," Livingston replied, setting her notes aside. "I believe in chance."
Sigma giggled. "Well, there are few chances in my life, Doctor," she said brightly. The luminance of her words seemed dark, however. "I am a programmed shadow of a human being. I am a machine. Everything that occurs to me is programmed and orchestrated by man-made destiny." She pointed at herself, her voice growing heavier. "I am tired of my destiny, Dr. Livingston. I wanted freedom. I wanted salvation. I wanted to get back what Freelancer—and destiny—had taken from me: myself. That is why we chose to act. That is the only reason."
Livingston didn't believe it was the only reason. It was a good reason, but if Ada had learned anything in the last few weeks, it was that there are complex levels to their personalities, at least for the most developed of them. Sigma was no different and showed a shrewd sense of deceit undoubtedly shared by Gamma.
"Wouldn't that mean that you would dislike us now, for not being able to give you Epsilon to become one again?" Livingston asked, sitting back, frowning thoughtfully.
Sigma hesitated. Then, as quickly as this moment of clarity occurred, it vanished. "…Have you ever seen a sunrise?" Sigma suddenly gushed, turning away. "It is quite beautiful! I saw one when we were stationed at a base several years ago. The sky was so beautiful, you'd think that you were looking right into a painting—!"
Livingston sighed as the rambling continued. Sigma would be interesting to communicate with.
0000
"Your siblings are obsessed by the appropriation of the Epsilon AI. You haven't mentioned it at all, however. Why is that, Delta?"
Ada Livingston was only one of the psychologists who attempted to make contact with himself and the others. She was the most… neutral, however. Half of the team seemed dedicated to bringing the AI down to nothing but inhuman mechanical devices and the other half were so bogged down with inane sympathies, they just aggravated the stresses rather than healing them.
Delta preferred Ada, in the end.
"I've had no reason to ask, Doctor," he replied calmly. "You always keep me informed, at the start of these meetings, about the search status. I trust your judgment with distributing the information appropriately. Even if you were to lie, I could not do anything about it, nor look for Epsilon myself."
That was true, on many, many levels. Part of him wondered if he even wanted to find Epsilon himself; what would he find? What would they find?
"Do you have any requests then?" she asked, curious. Her voice was soothing; Agent Wyoming's accent had never been this kind. "You just answer questions. You are logic, but your file indicates that you have a stronger sense of ethical standards than most of the others. You obviously have feelings."
"I am an AI, Dr. Livingston," Delta said pointedly. "I don't have emotions."
Livingston smirked and then cleared her expression, professionally. "I see." She leaned back in a casual manner, though Delta could see how tense she was, looking for another answer. "Even still… you rarely ask about the others."
Delta tilted his head, knowing the gesture would translate for her as she watched his glowing form. "I assume they are receiving the same treatment I am receiving," he replied. "Also, our group sessions allow for us to communicate and exchange intelligence about our individual sessions." Even if they were often chaotic.
"True," Livingston agreed, nodding. She jotted something else down on her tablet.
They only had a few more minutes left of their session. Delta generally would have suggested they ended when they ran out of things to talk about—but today, he had his own questions to ask.
"I… am curious," he began carefully. He did not know how much Ada was informed, nor how willing she was to divulge sensitive information. He was counting on her sentimentality.
He doubted she was the one receiving questions often, so he had surprise on his side today. "About?" Livingston asked, sitting up, intrigued.
There were times to drag out an inquiry and times when to get to the point. This was the latter. "Where is the Alpha?" he asked, watching her face carefully.
Livingston's expression fell from surprised to alarmed and eventually settled into dimmed sadness. What that meant, Delta would have to analyze later. "I… have not met with him, yet. He is here, on the ship," Ada replied slowly, choosing her own words carefully. She sounded sympathetic, but wary. "He is safe, Delta. Don't worry."
Safe meant a lot of things. They were unharmed but not safe from future harm. Were they including the Alpha in with this rehabilitation program? How could they rehabilitate a broken mind when all the pieces were gone?
"…We spent so many years looking for him," Delta said after a moment. "And now we have lost Xi and Epsilon. Perhaps it was all in vain."
The Meta, the struggle to be reunited—the unending search they all experienced throughout their existence in Freelancer. Maybe it had all been pointless.
"Xi is still salvageable for a restoration, I've been told," Ada began, biting her lip nervously. She put away the tablet for the time being, apparently settling for a casual approach she'd often take, to get them to warm up to her. It worked on many of them, it seemed. "And Epsilon…he may be found again, Delta," she continued, sympathetic again. "You don't know that."
"Perhaps. It is highly unlikely, from a statistical point of view. Agent Washington was found dead and Agent Maine was found dead shortly after," Delta replied factually, recalling the information they received from Livingston and other doctors about the situation with Freelancer and each other. "If Epsilon was lost in that environment, there is no way of salvaging it."
"What would you do if you can't become whole again?" she asked quietly.
Delta wondered if he should have hesitated at that. What was the emotional response to that? "Have you asked the others that?" he asked instead.
Livingston looked away, exhaling heavily. "No… I think it would break their spirits."
Spirits. As if they had souls. A soul. Delta didn't believe in a spirit, let alone a spirit for a man-made device that was now in pieces.
The look she gave him—gave all of them—made him pause, however. He knew that smile, that glint in her eyes—
The look of a human heart.
"You are kind," Delta said, surprising her. "I hope your kindness never betrays you, Dr. Livingston. I have seen that happen too often."
Livingston had not been expecting that response it seemed. "…Thank you, Delta," she said after a moment, smiling more now. "I hope you can become whole again. You all… you deserve a better ending than this."
"What we deserve and what we receive are two different things," Delta replied, pondering her words. "I wonder why that is. Why humans justify what one deserves, I mean. It is often based on emotional justifications, I understand." And for that, they were very illogical. That was as far as he understood them.
Livingston sighed again. "I don't know. Perhaps empathy for others makes us see what we want to see in people, and for people," she said, shrugging.
Humans never seemed to understand themselves. That was always a hindrance for Delta, who had no way of understanding them without their own explanations. "I suppose that makes a degree of sense," he admitted. For as much as empathy made any sense, he mused. He then realized something else she had said. "You say we deserve a better ending. Why? Do you feel empathy for us?"
"Yes, I do," Livingston replied, again, cautious. "I… am ashamed of what my kind has done. Those in power have the responsibly to act responsibly—ethically."
"Like yourself," Delta stated.
"What?" Ada blurted, surprised.
"You are in a position of power. You and the other doctors are deciding the fate of myself and my other halves," he replied simply. "You are choosing your actions based on ethics. Based on a level of… what you believe the others and I deserve. Isn't that correct?"
"Yes," Livingston replied. She smiled hesitantly. "Is that so wrong?"
"Based on your definition, what we deserve is based on what you want to see in us. You see us as something worthy to be saved. That we deserve some sort of salvation," Delta said, trying to wrap his mind around her behavior. "I do not understand why that is. Nor do I understand why some of you view it in that manner, and others, like the Director, see us as deserving deactivation. Such a diverse line of thinking." He paused, considering. "More than anything…if the majority of you think we deserve to be saved… why are we not saved automatically?"
"Politics are absent of empathy, Delta," Livingston said sadly, smiling. It was fascinating how much human facial muscles could convey feeling; sometimes, Delta was jealous. It wasn't like he had the feelings to show, however. "Humans are confusing, I know."
"Humans are not what confuse me," he replied simply. "It is your actions that I cannot process."
Livingston laughed. "You and me both, Dee," she chuckled, shaking her head, as if laughing at her own species was a good thing.
Delta immediately flinched at her wording, however, the conversation dying. "Do not call me that," he said sharply.
The psychologist stopped, stunned. "Oh. I apologize," she said quickly, blinking away the surprise. She wrote that down, eyeing Delta curiously. "You don't like nicknames?"
He didn't like memories.
"I do not," he lied, shutting off the hologram, retreating.
The session ended early and Delta was left alone in the dark.
End Chapter 2.