Log 20
6:10 am Initiate Manual Black Box Recording
Always full of surprises
I always lock the door behind me, now it stands slightly ajar. Janitors know not to enter my office without prior permission. Station is staffed around the clock, so no burglars, which leaves one explanation. The only other person with the key.
Soft snoring, she snores only when she sleep on her left side.
Door eases open, blinds are drawn, a stack of reports on the desk.
She is sprawled on the couch, feet pointed to the desk. Dropped folders into tray, walked 3 steps, simply fell onto couch and succumbed to exhaustion.
She is sleeping on her left side
A smile. It is adorable.
Urge to run fingers through hair, to feel, to touch. Human need for contact. It can wait. Let her rest for a moment longer.
The folders are even alphabetized, some pages are wrinkled with coffee stains, but they are in better shape than half the reports that come across my desk. Check once over and filed away, 20 reports. Amazing.
gaze falls back on her. another smile
Careful not to shift the cushions, she twitches, her face scrunches before relaxing. Anywhere else, she is a light sleeper, she would have tackled me to the floor with a hand at my throat and a fist raised high. But somewhere safe, she sleeps like a log.
A log in the office, in my flat, in the bathtub.
anywhere around me
Always eager to impress.
Kiss on the nose, a small smile back.
Pause
No, that's not right.
A swell in throat, tightness, choking, fear, confusion, anger.
a mistake? a trick of the mind. Did the black box just recall emotions from an uninitiated log?
Recall
Warmth in the heart. She offers her best.
It can't be.
It records memories; the term 'memories' is used loosely. Unless certain criterias are met or it is a manual initiation, it only recorders the sense; touch, sight, sound, taste and of the such. Memories: simple recordings of events, a video, but not emotions. Uninitiated logs should not include warmth of the chest, the fluttering of the heart, the hollowness of a tear.
It shouldn't, but the memory of our banter yesterday
pride, unable to stop the tug of lips
Explanation, think logically; Black box is malfunctioning, glitch in the coding, or...no the professor is thorough, though the box is a fairly new invention, he specializes in scripts. Even so, the frequent check-ups, he would've spotted something wrong. So no, he would not make such a mistake.
Perhaps
Not a mistake
Black box, list criterias for automated recordings
Processing request. Criterias to initiate automated recordings;
High levels of stress
High levels of killing intent
Any level of adrenaline
High levels of anguish
Symptoms associated with love
High levels of happiness
….
"Symptoms associated with love"? The voice continues to list off more, all of them I remember reading in the professor's packet. Clear cut, I control the box, I control the memories it records, no surprises. Unless it is necessary for me to hold a log of an event, thus there is the requirement of meeting a criteria of importance . But this criteria was never listed, never given a reason. Why would he keep it a secret.
It doesn't make sense.
He must have a logical explanation. Bribed? Blackmailed? Spying? What is the motive.
Anger, betrayal. I need answers.
Clenching of jaw.
"Owowowow Cait, what's wrong?"
What. Gaze shifts, hand is gripped tight around her neck. Fingers tangled in threads of pink.
Yes anger, but not at her.
Regret. Release, caress, hide discomfort. I shouldn't worry her with half-formed theories.
Nothing is wrong, try a smile. Relax, return to sleep. Pay the professor a visit.
shepauses, searching, hesitating. Her nature to is help
"Alright, whatever you say. I'll be here when you get back kay?" Her hand is warm, a squeeze. Eyes slightly pleading, she is already worrying. She knows I am lying, but she doesn't press. She trusts, trusts that my judgement is sound. If there is something she needs to know, I would tell her.
Faith.
Door shuts, clear morning meetings, no questions asked. Car dash lights up, low hum of the motor. Still early enough for traffic to be light.
Recall; criterias met for log 19
Processing request;
Log 19
8:32 am Overriding manual deactivation of Black Box recordings, Override successful, Initiating Automated black Box recording, Criteria(s) met: Symptoms associated with 'love'
Grip tightens around the steering wheel, it doesn't make sense. An override mechanism.
None of this mentioned in the last years of having this device implanted.
Heimendinger is a logical yordle; a man of science, machinery, tangible evidence. Emotions muddle facts, soften the lines of truth. However, They allow for different viewpoints and angles, yes, that I agree.
"Opinions, sides of the same truth."
The criterias are there to rank the significance of the memory, to see if it is worth an in depth log. Certain emotions are telltale signs of what is to come next.
Anger leads to conflict
Sorrow stems from tragedy
Adrenaline indicates danger
He pushed for happiness, something joyous is worth remembering.
What was his reason?
Ah, the analogy he used; happiness relieves stress. Yordles crack faster under stress than humans, so it is a key point in his eyes. "See this cup of water, easy to lift yes? But you hold it up for a minutes, it gets heavier. 10 minutes, an hour later, it is nearly impossible. Stress is that cup of water you must learn to set the up down once in a while, Caitlyn.
A dead test subject does little for my research."
There was a flicker of sadness in his eyes that day. First hand experience perhaps, there is a reason why yordles depend on social contact.
His own little way of saying he means well.
Love, on the other hand, a source of stress. It causes as much worry, panic, dependence as happiness. It is like a slot machine, to keep putting in money, hoping that it continues to pay up until it takes all you have and you are left with nothing.
No, mother and father insisted that personal life is always a gamble where nothing is certain.
The subject never arose during our discussions. I would've refused, love has no place in my permanent memories. So his logical mind would offer a solution; not to mention it and avoid rejection. To deal with breaking the news at a later date, perhaps after I find that love is something acceptable.
A time like this
Sly, oh so sly and clever.
But what was his reason for implementing the criteria.
Weakness, leverage.
Happiness is enough. Human contact is enough, the little things.
It is enough to live with love in the moment. If I were to recall memories of her after she was lost, it would only bring pain and remorse…
Hypocritical, many logs that involve her are manually initiated, sub conscious? I want to remember her. Am I willing to experience the pain of loss that would come from recalling a memory of her.
'If' I were to lose her.
it is inevitable is it not? Things begin, things end. And so it goes.
To be tethered to something enough to be called love, it is dangerous.
And yet I love her. I love her so so much.
It already hurts. From the professor's deception? From the idea of acknowledging such a connection to another person. It wasn't supposed to lead to this.
I still haven't told her.
Focus, please, just focus.
no on the pounding of the heart, the pinpricks at the thought of her.
Car stops, the professor's lab is already buzzing with experiments. But the car door doesn't open, because I don't know what to say. Formulate the questions I want to ask.
Anger still churns, expected when trust is broken. But what I want to know.
Why have the criteria of love, why not tell me. He would have convinced me if he had a logical reason. Valid points, perhaps the main concern;
How can I fix it.
Or perhaps
Do I want it to be fixed.
The door opens and then shuts, but not by my hand.
"You understand why I did not tell you."
The professor is seated in the shotgun seat, his eyes are bare of the usual goggles. There is a holopad in his hands with a blur of lights cycling across its surface. Even with his quipper accent, there is a tone of somberness. He understands that he should not have done it.
Part of the agreement, once a month, drop by his lab. the black box gets in range to wirelessly transfer results, information, condensed versions of memory logs. Research purposes to ensure that the device is working properly.
It announces my arrival, he knows that I am not due for a check in. Following his thought process, he would skim through the recent logs, find the reason for my impromptu visit, prepare whatever is needed of him before I walk through the doors to verbally request it.
But I have been seated outside his lab for ten minutes.
Ample time for him to look deeper and perhaps grow impatient, he has many things going on, more important things-
"You are more important at the moment."
A good friend, though it wouldn't hurt if he would stop reading my thought in front of me.
"Not thoughts, hormone signatures, electrode pulses. Not a perfect translation, but I do get a sense of what you is on your mind."
I cannot make sense of the jumble of the screen but somehow, he can.
So love?
"As stated before, stress is deadly. Yordles benefit immensely from happiness to relieve stress but according my studies, humans benefit from love the most. Yordles have shorter life spans, thus culture revolves around little moments, getting the most out of the day. Love takes too long to build, by the time it is ripe, the lifespan is almost up. I have done research, so I know that you would need memories of love. Your job is a stressful one"
The thought is stressful enough; something I cannot control. Is that the main concern? Control my memories, control my thoughts? I should be able to, they are part of my own mind. If not the world around me, then self-control, something to hang onto.
"I am afraid of not being prepared, of not knowing what's to come. I need control; I need plans, an idea of what's coming. I am scared that I will be powerless like the day my father was mugged."
I need this sense of security in my own head at least.
"Vi is an excellent choice for a companion. Brutish, but she balances you out, sheriff. You love her and you need her."
My sense of security.
When he says it, it may as well be fact. Blasted chemical signatures, brain activity, all signs that point to love. A sigh, an odd sensation, to discuss personal matters with the most impersonal being I know.
"Incorrect, Biltzcrank or perhaps any void creature would be less personal than I."
Always has to be right.
"Not always right, always learning though. For research purposes, may I see your hat."
A metallic band is extracted from his coat and fits snugly in the lining. His tiny paws work too quickly to see exactly what he is doing, but they somehow find and connect wires from the device to the band.
Moments later, the holopad chimes, a loading screen of sorts.
"Installing a new tool, allows for memories to experienced more clearly, more control, as well as allow someone else to recall a memory of yours. It was a thought at the beginning, took years to perfect, would only work between to very close people."
Why-
"You know she is tentative to trust her own memories."
The hat is handed back to me.
"Show her yours, may ease her mind, confirm love. She needs you as well."
Her sense of security.
I can't stop the smallest of smiles from cracking across my face. The warmth, the nights beside each other, not just physical, but emotional. Something to fight for.
"Merely concerned for your mental health. I am happy for you Caitlyn."
He smiles. It may be the first time I have ever seen him smile. With the slightest upturn of his mustache, he nods his head and slide out of the car. No longer angry, slightly bitter, but his reason is a sound one. Intentions noble, execution questionable, but acceptable.
I thank him before the door closes.
The drive back to the station is slower. traffic begins as it always does each morning. She will be able to sleep for a while longer.
Initiate automatic black box recordings
Processing request. Running startup scripts, calibrating sensors, analyzing records.
Welcome Caitlyn Fitzwilliam.