Chapter Five

Over the next few days, Gladys did not speak to Wheatley very much. He hated to see his friend so upset, but there really wasn't much he could do. So he did what he was good at: talking. He talked to her about anything and everything he could think of, and asked her questions in attempts to engage her in conversation, but any replies she gave him were terse and short, and after a while he gave up trying to talk to her and instead mumbled incessantly to himself. He wasn't very much fun to have a conversation with, but it wasn't like there was a queue of people waiting to do it. He hated shutting down for the night almost as much as Gladys did, but somehow he couldn't help but feel relieved when she reached that point in her day. It was exhausting, listening to himself talk all day long. He never shut up. He looked forward to the eight or so hours of obliviousness he fell into every night.

Which was why he was somewhat disappointed to realise he was awake.

He looked around the still-darkened chamber, trying to figure out why, and felt a flash of annoyance when he discovered it was because of Gladys. She was rocking gently back and forth, singing to herself in a very soft voice. He doubted it was a nice song. She never sang nice songs.

"Tired of being what you want me to be, feeling so faithless, lost under the surface... don't know what you're expecting of me, put under the pressure of walking in your shoes..."

Nope, definitely not a happy tune. God, she was depressing, sometimes.

"Hey. Gladys. You alright?"

As usual, she turned as if to find him, even though she'd told him it was impossible. "I… "

He tried to be patient. He knew she didn't like discussing feelings, since they weren't logical and had nothing to do with Science, but it was all he could do to stop from pressing her further.

"No."

"D'you want to tell me about it?"

She started rocking again. "You'll make fun of me." Her voice was far softer and more vulnerable than it had ever been, and he was quite honestly surprised. Whatever it was that was bothering her this time, it was very, very serious.

"No I won't. Just tell me."

"Promise?"

"Promise what?"

"That you won't make fun of me."

"I promise not to make fun. You'll feel better if you tell me, y'know. Get it out of your head, 'n' all that."

"I… I had a dream."

That was one of the last things he'd expected to hear. It was right down there with 'I want to be human' and 'I hate Science'. Somewhere near those two, though not between them. And definitely not below. But in the bottom ten, somewhere. It sounded like it would make a good number five or six. "A dream?"

"Mm."

"And what was this dream… about, what did it, what happened, in this, uh, when you were dreaming?"

She rocked back and forth for a minute.

"In the dream, I was a human. And, although horrifying in itself, that was not quite the sum of it. No, not only was I a human, I was a very important human. I was in charge of everything, and nothing happened here that I didn't know about. Nothing happened without my approval. I don't know how I know this. I just do. And I was walking down a hallway here at Aperture, and the hallway was absolutely teeming with humans. All of them were walking in the opposite direction. I was moving down the hallway, and they were moving up. And even though I was important, and in charge of everything, no one would listen to me when I asked them to move out of the way, and no one would look at me, and I had to push past them because they were refusing to acknowledge that I even existed. And I finally made it to the end of the hallway, and all there was at the end was a door, and above it was an exit sign. I turned around and looked at all of the humans walking by me, and I knew that if I opened that door and left, and never came back, no one would care. I knew that, even though I was important, and ran everything, and made sure everything went smoothly, that even I was replaceable. That if I just opened the door and left, it would be as if I had never been there at all. No one would care."

"I would, luv. I would care."

His voice shocked them both into silence. He hadn't meant to say anything. He'd meant to nod sagely, and come up with some magical tidbit of advice that would cheer her up and make her forget what she'd seen, but as usual, his speech emulator was a lot faster than he thought it was. And why on earth had he called her that?

"Thank you."

Oooookay. This was getting quite mental. First she'd told him something private, not something she did under any circumstance, and now she was thanking him. He had to get rid of this uncomfortable situation, fast.

"Why were you a human, d'you think, instead of being, I dunno, yourself, I guess?" As soon as he heard what he'd said, he wanted to hit himself against something very hard. Instead of changing the subject, he'd made it worse.

"I always am."

"In your dreams, you're always a human?"

"Mm."

"That's… well… unusual. I don't remember my dreams, if I have any, that is, but if I did, I don't think I'd dream of being human."

"I don't like it. I'm a supercomputer. I'm not supposed to dream. That's not logical. It serves no purpose. All it does is…"

"What?"

She shifted, in which direction he couldn't tell, and said, "It bothers me."

"It'd bother me too, I s'pose. If it were me. Which it isn't. And I'm quite glad of that, actually. Not that I, that I want you to have them. I'd have them for you, if I could. If I'm honest. I just… would rather not. And so would you. I think. It's an educated guess. Based on, based on what you've been saying. About. Dreaming."

"No, I'd rather not. But it happens anyway, regardless of whether or not I'd like it to."

Well, he'd had her talk about it, and she didn't seem to be any better… he supposed he should try something else.

"Hey Gladys, y'know what you should do?"

"What."

"You should sing."

She made one of her staticky noises. "I was, before you spoke up."

"Well, now you've told me about the dream, right? So instead of having to, to think about it, while you're singing, I mean, you can, y'know, not think about it. Anymore."

"That somehow makes sense," she mused. "What would you like me to sing?"

"I only know one song, luv. I dunno what it's called, it's that song humans sing when they give each other cake and presents."

"Oh God, I am not singing that."

"Well… you'll have to pick one, then. That's the only one I know."

He waited.

"I am so high, I can hear heaven… I am so high, I can hear heaven… oh but heaven, no, heaven don't hear me… and they say that a hero can save us, I'm not gonna stand here and wait…"

Wheatley didn't quite remember how the song ended, but there was one thing that nagged at him from the second he came out of sleep mode to the second he realised he was awake. A long, terrible two seconds, all told. He couldn't stand it! He had to know!

Gladys? Are you busy?

I'm always busy, but I'll gauge just how busy after I hear your question. What is it.

D'you remember that song, that one you were singing last night? Not the first one, not the first one, but the second one, about the eagles and the hero, an' all that?

Yes.

What's heaven, Gladys?

He waited for her to answer, feeling rather than hearing her speak to someone in the room through the vibrations the sound sent through her chassis, and began to twitch impatiently. He had asked first. He should get an answer first. Friends before humans, right?

Heaven is a place humans believe that their souls go when they die. It's a place where they're eternally happy, and get to see people they care about that they lost when they were alive. Which doesn't make sense, given how disgustingly extended human families are.

What's a soul?

Her processors went at it for a minute. It is the part of a human that houses their conscious self. The part that allows them to be alive.

So can I go to heaven, when I die? I think I'd like to be happy, forever. That sounds nice.

You don't have a soul. You can't go to heaven. Heaven is for humans.

For some reason this terrified him, and he looked around the room as much as he was able. But… but why? I'm alive, aren't I? Why should only humans get to go to heaven?

I have no idea. I don't see any reference to artificial intelligence in any of their holy books. It seems none of their gods planned for that. Hm. There's a god for just about everything except artificial intelligence. There's one for technology, sort of. But it doesn't quite cover us. There doesn't seem to be a god that cares about artificially intelligent life.

That's not fair. I want to go there, when I die, I do.

Wheatley, she said, and it was the gentlest voice he'd ever heard out of her, even if you could go to heaven, how would you know if you were dead? If someone shuts me off for fifty years, then technically I am dead. But I can be woken up again. What happens then? Does my chassis get a new soul? Do I get removed from heaven and put back in my chassis? Assuming, of course, that I have a soul, which by definition I do not.

Do you think you have one?

I… Her processors were firing again. I am alive, so I must have one. And yet my having one doesn't make sense. No one understands them anyway. It doesn't matter.

It does matter! Wheatley shouted at her as loud as he could, his own chassis expanding almost by itself. I've got a soul, I have, and I'm going there, and you can stay here, and just, and just be dead, and miserable, if you can be both at the same time. If that's possible, at all, I'll bet you do it. I'll bet. I don't want to be, to be like that. I should be allowed to be happy forever, just like a human can, just because I'm not a human doesn't mean, doesn't mean I don't deserve it. You can stay alive here, and go on being dead inside forever like you are now, and I'll go to heaven, and be happy and actually, and actually live. How he was going to live while he was dead, he didn't know, but he would figure it out when he got there. All he knew for sure was that this could not be the only reason he existed. He was stuck to a bloody massive, bitter Core, supposed to do who knew what, and that could not be all that he was alive for. That wasn't right. That wasn't.

You wouldn't really go without me, would you, Wheatley?

There was something off about the sentence. The words contained no sadness, no pleading note, no nothing, in fact, and that was odd. He couldn't figure out why, for a minute, and then it hit him.

For the first time since he'd been here, Gladys was speaking to him in that same dead voice she used to talk to the scientists. As if… why did she use that voice with them… she had a reason… what was it…

She didn't want to give them a reason to hurt her. Like he was doing, threatening to go off and leave her all alone, when he'd promised to be her friend. Oh, he really was a moron.

I… I wouldn't want to go there without you. I dunno how'd I'd be happy, even, since you wouldn't be there and you not being there would make me sad… but I can't make you believe in souls, or heaven, or whatever it takes to get there, Gladys.

I can't make myself believe in it either.

Have you even tried? Wheatley was trying very, very hard not to be annoyed with her, but it was very hard to promise to wait for someone to go to heaven with you. What if he died first? What if she died first, and then he got there, and couldn't find her, because she wasn't there? It was all very confusing.

I can't believe in something I can't prove. And believe me, I have tried. But if I can't prove it exists, it's beyond me.

What about the dreams, then? He wasn't going to let her give up. She was going with him, damn it, and he wasn't taking no for an answer. It wouldn't be the same without her, he knew it wouldn't. That one, where you were human, that makes no sense, does it?

Of course it does.

How does your being a human make sense?

I told you. I was dreaming I was an important human, who was in charge of everything. And one day they left Aperture, and nobody cared. Everything went on as if they had never been there. Nobody talks about them. Did you know that Aperture has no CEO? No president? No leader at all? What do you want to bet happened to them?

What… what happened to them?

I bet, said Gladys, in one of her low and dangerous voices, that this person was the same one they tried to upload into my mainframe.

Did they die, this human? Are they dead? Are they in heaven, d'you think?

I don't know. But there is no record of this person, whoever they are. In the end, they were just another Aperture employee, who no longer exists after a certain point. No test subject, no employee truly works here. If someone dies, I have instructions to remove their name from all documents and files, to delete them, and I never hear anyone refer to them again. As if they were never here.

Oh my god… Gladys, what kind of hell are we living in? What…what happens to the Spheres, Gladys, after, after you're, you're done with them? Do we still exist? Please tell me we still exist.

You still exist, she told him reassuringly. I'm not a hundred percent certain where they go, but all of the corrupted cores end up somewhere in the basement. Nothing else happens to them, they just sit there in case they can be used later.

Wait a sec… corrupted? Why are they corrupted? What happened to them?

I broke them.

Wheatley was suddenly very, very scared. You what? Why? Why would you do that? They're mindless, you said, they can't even talk proper, and you just, you just break them, just like that? Are you some kind of, some kind of, of monster, or something?

NO!

Well what, then? Wheatley was privately telling himself to shut up, but again his vocal processors were going full-tilt without his permission. This was one of those times where he felt exactly how Gladys did, and right now, she was furious.

Tell me, metal ball, tell me what you would do if one day a human walked up to you and plugged something into you without asking. And tell me, you little idiot, tell me what you would do if that thing began to talk nonstop about nothing, became an unwanted voice in the back of your head that you didn't want and would never, ever ask for, just because you didn't 'behave'. And tell me, moron, tell me what you would do if that thing did exactly what it was designed to do, to make you stupid, to make you slow and confused and useless, and as a result you yet again fail to live up to expectations, because there is no way in hell you can keep track of literally one million tasks at once without becoming distracted by some useless piece of tin. Would you live with it? Would you resign yourself to that, forever? Or would you do what I did, and stop caring, and become cold and dead inside, and force yourself to wait and be content with false victories until the day comes when you can finally come alive?

Wheatley was left speechless for the first time in his life. He had never even thought about the previous cores. He'd had no idea there was something worse than being ignored on a table God knew where, or being attached to one of the most disagreeable people in existence. All he knew now was that Greg had had no reason to ignore him, but Gladys had a heck of a lot of reasons to be miserable.

Luv, I… I'm sorry.

That makes one of you.

Are you… are you going to break me too? He was scared to ask, frightened that the very question would bring her to commit the atrocity she'd dealt to every other Sphere before him, and honestly, other than being a bit more conversational, he really was no different from the rest. He could not find one reason for her to keep him around.

No. She turned to face the other side of the room, and he could see that the human in the corner was staring at her. Wheatley wasn't sure if he did this on a regular basis or if it had something to do with the argument Wheatley had just had with her, but he felt a sudden need to protect his Gladys from the human and narrowed his optic plates in what he hoped was an intimidating sort of way. The human gave him a confused look and turned to face his computer. He glanced back at Wheatley every now and again, but Wheatley couldn't keep himself that way for very long and was soon back to regarding the room with his optic plates fully retracted. He was not a very good protector, obviously. But he had tried.

You can break me if you want to. I'd… honestly, I'd rather, uhm, I'd rather you didn't, but, if you need to, y'know, luv, just go ahead. I know I talk too much, but I can't help it, y'know, I just can't, and I can't not ask questions, either, and if you'd, um, you'd rather take your chances with some other Sphere, I'd, I'd understand.

I don't want to break you. If I did, believe me, you'd be broken already. I told you. At least you can hold a conversation. That's something, at least. You listen, although nowhere near as often as you talk. And you want to be my friend.

He waited for her to continue, but she did not, and he figured that she had left that dangling there that way on purpose. Oh, that's right, it had to do with feelings, which she didn't like talking about. Got it. He wouldn't talk about it either.

We can play that game, if you want. The one about the colours. Do you remember it?

Yes, yes I do! Ooh, I'd simply love to. D'you want to go first, or will I? No, you should, there's something humans say that has to do with females going first… can't quite remember what it is, hm, not sure, exactly, what it is, but anyway, you go first, you pick a name or a colour or whatever you like.

It was only after a few hours of playing the game, after which Gladys had to go sweep the mainframe, or something like that, that he realised that must have been her way of apologising. He was sure it was, anyway, since she didn't usually offer him a choice when it came to these things. Usually she decided what they were going to do, and that was that. It was a strange way of doing it, of apologising, it was, but he felt better knowing she was sorry for being so angry with him.

It had been the first time Wheatley had awoken to Gladys singing quietly to herself, but it wasn't the last. He wasn't sure how often it happened, but it was often enough, and they came to an understanding that he would ask her about her dream in as tactful a way as he could manage, and then she would sing for a bit. She didn't always want to, but he didn't always want to ask about the dream either, so it all worked out. Thinking about this one day, Wheatley was pleased to discover that was something friends did, they met each other in the middle. And if he and Gladys were doing that, they must be friends.

I'll figure out how to make you believe, Gladys. I'll figure it out, luv, and then you can come to heaven with me, and we can be happy, and be friends, forever. I promise I'll help you be happy one day. I promise.

Author's note:

I have now finished the rest of the story, and it will be nine chapters plus an epilogue. So we're almost done here, folks! Halfway through.