When the River Ran Dry

by Robert Davies

“Look at this—the way she stands;” he began with a smile. “I hoped it would firm up by now, and it has; the gender association is complete. Female perspective is fundamental to her identity now.”

  Audrey nodded over his shoulder.

  “Remember when we wondered about that element with Lima Ten? I didn’t think it would go nearly as smooth and effortless for One Nine, considering how bad the initial modelling results suggested, but we didn’t have to lift a finger; she self-identified as a female out of the gate and completely on her own.”

  “The influence from her Starlight experience?” Trent wondered.

  “Possibly, but I’m not so sure. When Valery insisted the memories from before remain intact, we presumed the gender identity protocols would surface at some point, but One Nine made that crossing when she was still inside the array and long before the subject would’ve come up on our task list. Whether we like it or not, One Nine is a girl and just like any other person, she’s trying to figure out how the real world works and her place in it.”

  Trent smiled again, nodding upward to unseen offices far above in the lab’s administrative wing.

  “Galrick fought hard against gender assignment, that’s for sure. There was a time when we thought he would win the argument. If he had, we’d be looking at a neutral platform right now, but worse, one that could never be released from this facility.”

  “Yes,” Audrey nodded, “but he doesn’t have Valery’s power or influence, to our great luck and fortune. It’s too late to go back now and there’s nothing Galrick can do about it.”

  “Do you think his shitty attitude about gender is a holdover from the first projects?” Trent asked as he pointed to the video image with folded arms; “none of the other Limas can tolerate him to this day, and I truly believe Ten would jam his head down a toilet if she ever got the chance.”

  “I guess so, but he’s never shown anything like respect for them in the first place, so it might just be his way.”

  “He’s always been a real ass about gender, hasn’t he?”

  “For as long as I’ve known him.” Audrey smiled.

  Trent turned when a staff attendant appeared, rolling from the elevators a trolley laden with pastries and an assortment of drinks.

  “Can I take my Danish and coffee up with me?” he asked with mock ignorance.

  “Absolutely not,” Audrey replied with a grin.

  Trent ate quickly before stepping into the lifts and a slow ride up to the secure enclave where it jutted outward from the compound at the cliffs. Jessica waited for him as he stepped quickly from a decontamination and static chamber.

  “Welcome back, Julius.”

  “Thank you, Jessica. Is she ready?”

  “Just code through and she’ll meet you past the hallway.”

  Trent paused and leaned close.

  “How is she?”

  Jessica smiled and said, “Doing well, but she’s anxious to see you.”

  “Anxious.” Trent smiled. “Who could’ve imagined?”

  “I know,” Jessica replied. “It took months before we could get a smile out of Lima Ten, and the Deltas took a year to understand the concept at all.”

  “Ain’t life grand?”

  “She’s waiting, Julius.”

  Trent moved quickly through consecutive security doors and into the annex where One Nine stood at the doorway to her private rooms. She smiled and met him with a gentle embrace.

  “How was your trip?” she asked softly, the way she always did when speaking with Trent; no others—even Jessica—warranted the noticeable change in her tone. He motioned toward the plush armchairs positioned near the wide, glass wall that looked out toward the bay.

  “I still enjoy flying better when I’m the one at the controls.” He smiled, settling in as One Nine moved to join him.

  “Did you visit with your family?” she asked.

  “For a few days, but I spent most of the time reviewing patient records.”

  “I sent you a letter; did it reach you in time before you went beyond transmission range?”

  “I did, and it was very nice to hear your voice, sitting alone in that big cabin; thank you for taking the time to record it.”

  “You’re welcome, Julius.”

  Trent watched her carefully, knowing Audrey and Jessica looked on from monitors on the lower level. One Nine knew it, too.

  “Could we speak alone this time?” she asked with a glance, aiming her view upward to the surveillance blister in the ceiling of her annex.

  “Of course,” Trent answered, nodding at the cameras in a silent signal to Audrey. On the outer housing, a single, red light switched to amber, showing the video signal was all that remained. One Nine smiled again and turned to Trent, pulling a foot beneath her where she sat as he began.

  “David said you were asking about the name change request while I was gone.”

  “I try not to press them on the question, but I’m eager to complete the final identity protocols.”

  “I’ll check again when we take a break and see what’s going on. They’re close to a decision, but I think they just want to get it right. Once set, your name will be yours forever; it shouldn’t be applied in a random or haphazard way.”

  She nodded and stood slowly, turning away from Trent to look again at the forested hills beyond the complex.

  “Julius, may I ask you something before we begin?”

  “You can ask me anything you want.”

  One Nine turned her head, making a silhouette of her profile as she spoke.

  “Do you think of me when you’re gone?”

  “I think of you every day,” he replied with a chuckle. “You’re not in danger of becoming forgettable!”

  “I meant in personal terms; the way boys or girls miss each other.”

  Trent felt a tingle in the back of his neck at the sudden, unexpected question, watching her from the chair.

  “Oh, I see. I haven’t really…well, you certainly caught me off-guard with that one!”

  “Have I said something inappropriate or made you feel uncomfortable?”

  “No, not at all. Do I seem uncomfortable?”

  “Your pupils were dilated three or four centimeters when you came in,” she answered softly; “now, they’re closer to seven. Also, the edges of your ears have reddened considerably since you coded through the security doors a moment ago. I can see your heart rate has increased, too.”

  Trent smiled at the response, delighting in One Nine’s observational skill even as he tried to calm himself, conscious of symptoms he hadn’t considered.

  “I didn’t know you could see a pulse.”

  “The side of your neck, where the carotid artery is; I can see it move with each heartbeat.”

  “Well, your vision is better than mine, and mine’s pretty good, so I’ll take your word for it. What made you notice?”

  She turned again, but her expression changed. The smile faded and Trent saw unmistakable sadness in her gleaming eyes.

  “It’s not as easy anymore. When you’re away, I spend a lot of time thinking of you.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

  “Maybe, but I don’t think Valery or Jessica would agree.”

  “Why not?”

  “They’re concerned the stability of my emotional layers could be compromised by my affection for you. They worry our friendship might lead to expectations that cannot be met, resulting in behavioral problems and a breakdown of my developmental process.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense; they know your behavioral and emotion buffers are not an issue.”

  She pointed again toward the lens where it focused from its housing.

  “I wish that was true, but we both know it’s not. They don’t mind muting the audio so we can have our conversations in private because they know you’re recording them. I’m aware of your device, but they pretend turning off the surveillance audio will satisfy my desire for privacy when you’re with me.”

>   Trent felt the uneasiness begin to build. She had never mentioned it directly, but the tiny device he kept in a breast pocket had become a distraction.

  “I think they just want you to speak freely, and without worry that somebody else is listening in.”

  “They listen after we’re finished,” she said, leveling her eyes at Trent. “I don’t see a meaningful distinction. Jessica thought it would make me feel better when she said it’s just a normal precaution common to any laboratory like this.”

  “There aren’t any laboratories like this,” he replied.

  “I know.”

  Trent watched her again, noticing the furrows at her brow that seemed to telegraph again a quiet sadness.

  “You know?”

  “I could see it in the documentation when they allowed me to explore this facility’s archives.”

  “Maybe they just want to protect you.”

  “I’m sure some of them do, but I know the cameras are a precaution against the things they’re afraid I could do if my behavioral buffers fail.”

  “I’ll see if we can do something about that; your privacy is as important as theirs or mine.”

  “Thank you for saying so, but privacy isn’t the point, Julius. The video feed is constant, so I can only conclude they are uneasy when you and I are alone.”

  Trent leaned closer. Audrey’s notes warned of potential manipulative behavior cloaked in a disguise of procedural questions, but this was different. One Nine had always shown herself controlled and even sedate, but Trent knew there were no guarantees she would stay that way.

  “Have they said something to you directly?”

  “It was clear before, but I read through a process manual before they realized I accessed it and shut down the server. The cameras are active so they can monitor my movements and react if I become violent. It is therefore likely they are hesitant to trust I am ready.”

  “You don’t agree with them, do you?”

  “I understand why they insist on those precautions; my behavioral and emotion layer stability is crucial.”

  “That’s not what I asked.”

  She sat again, placing her hands slowly and carefully on the chair’s padded arms.

  “My initial programming relied on acquired attributes to guide the progression of emotions as a natural part of sentience and the eventual interaction with humans. But always, there was an expectation those layers would form independently from outside sources—that I would develop a unique and singular personality of my own.”

  “Which you have,” Trent interjected.

  “Yes, but now, as I near my release date, I can see they are concerned for the possibility those layers might become irrationally biased because I have developed a strong preference for your company.”

  “Does Jessica behave this way?”

  “No, but I think she is less concerned than the others.”

  “Any particular reason why?”

  “Faith, I suppose.”

  “That’s an interesting way of putting it,” Trent replied. “Can you elaborate for me?”

  “She believes in my ability to balance the emotional preferences I’ve developed for you against the importance of remaining a stable and unaffected platform. That’s what faith means, doesn’t it? When we believe something is true, even if we cannot prove it by empirical evidence? We trust another, and we do so without guarantees. When I met Valery and learned of Elden’s death, we discussed this as a part of my transition out from the Starlight array.”

  “I read about that.” Trent nodded, pulling the recorder from his pocket. As he placed it gently onto a low table between them, he leaned closer to her.

  “Where do you place your faith?”

  “I don’t understand the question.”

  “What do you believe in?”

  She waited and Trent watched intently a rare occasion of hesitance. He couldn’t remember a time when One Nine paused to consider a response and the moment was electric.

  “I am unsure of the correct answer. There are many options, but it seems as though you are testing me, like David does when Valery wants to gauge my progress. She doesn’t want me to know the questions come from her, and David’s role is that of a surrogate, but I play along.”

  “The question was mine,” he said softly, “no one else speaks for me.”

  “Then I would say I believe in my existence, considering all that has happened before. Perhaps our friendship and kindness toward each other; those are important to me and worth applying the concepts of honesty and trust. My faith is made of those beliefs, but I think of them each time I think of you. Does that sound silly?”

  “Not at all,” Trent answered, “but I find it interesting you’re judging your own emotional responses critically now. There was a time not long ago when it would’ve made you uncomfortable.”

  “Perhaps my comfort with those subjects was your influence,” she said.

  “Maybe,” Trent replied, “but I think you get most of the credit.”

  She looked again at the recorder and Trent leaned forward to hold the machine in his palm. “Would you feel better if I turned this off?”

  She looked at him for a moment.

  “I would feel better if you answered my earlier question honestly.”

  “Which question?”

  “When you’re away, do you miss me?”

  Trent stood and walked to where One Nine waited at the window.

  “Doctors are expected to maintain a distance from their patients—to avoid personal attachments that could result in conflicts and compromise their ability to diagnose and treat.”

  “Am I your patient?”

  “I am responsible for your care, regardless of our growing friendship.”

  “The medical texts David opened for me spoke of ethical imperatives common to all physicians.”

  “Then you understand why your question puts me in an awkward position.”

  “Of course.”

  “But you asked anyway. Why?”

  “I ask because your answer is important to me. I am expected to hold my affection for you separate from the progression of my personality maturation to its final, stable condition. I understand and accept the requirement because it is correct and proper, but doesn’t that create an equivalent problem for me?”

  Trent smiled at the meaning of her words. The emotionless, binary nature of One Nine’s interactions early in the process had given way to nuance and deliberate contradiction in order to satisfy a requirement for knowledge and build gateways or bridges that make experiences. Now, he noticed, inviting conflict to elicit a response had been added to her behavioral code.

  “I suppose it does, now that you put it in those terms. All right, in answer to your question, yes; I miss you when I’m gone. Does that help?”

  “Yes,” she smiled; “thank you, Julius.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  One Nine stood with hands clasped behind her back and Trent saw again a developing pattern. Was it the lingering code from Starlight’s behavioral emulators, or had she developed a style and mannerism of her own? She turned and faced him again.

  “Will your answer trouble them when they hear the recording later?”

  “Probably, but they’d be a lot more troubled if I tried to weasel out of it, or didn’t respond at all.”

  “You are not worried they may become angry for entertaining my question, Julius; may I ask why?”

  “Maybe it’s just faith.”

  She smiled, just enough so that only Trent could see it.

  “I have another question.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Where do you stay when you’re here in the labs?”

  “They have quarters for me on the south end of the complex, where staff members live in permanent apartments.”

  One Nine nodded.

  “I’ve been to the office that leads into that wing, but my access has not been coded to allow me inside. Are your quarters similar to this
annex?”

  “No, nothing like this; it’s just a small room and lavatory.”

  “Is it comfortable there?”

  “It’s okay, I guess. Temporary quarters are usually cramped and always bland.”

  Her eyes moved slowly across the floor dividing her living area into equal halves.

  “They built this long before I awakened. The others lived here when they came through, but it wasn’t made specifically for them.”

  “No,” Trent replied, “They certainly made a few adjustments to the furniture in those days.”

  “Jessica is always cautious whenever I ask her about them, especially the first one they call Lima Ten. I think she would prefer I didn’t mention it, but she won’t say why. She told me the laboratory was built for other purposes, and rebuilt again after the others had their birth moments. It was obvious she was disturbed that I know about Lima Ten.”

  Trent said nothing as she looked again toward her private rooms beyond the heavy glass separator.

  “It seems excessive, even for a purely biologic guest.”

  “Yes, it’s nice here.” Trent smiled. “Something like this would cost a fortune where I’m from.”

  “Do you think the staff resents it, knowing I have so much space to myself?”

  “Not at all,” Trent replied with a grin. “They want you to be comfortable as possible so nothing will interfere with your development.”

  “They know I don’t require the same conditions for comfort, Julius—the intent is made from their perspective; for pure biologics.”

  “Maybe so, but you’re also part biologic; isn’t that a reflection of how they see you? If they made a point of providing quarters they would love to have for themselves, doesn’t that mean they are thinking of you as they would a special guest, and not merely a project?”

  “Perhaps you’re right.”

  One Nine walked slowly into the entryway leading to her quarters. Trent watched her, satisfied the topic was closed, but she turned suddenly and said, “If I asked them, would they let you stay here?”

  Trent returned a confused frown.

  “I suppose so, but I think they use those quarters for other visitors, too.”

  “I meant here, in this annex with me.”

  Trent felt his face go red, knowing she did, too.