Work Text:
That’s not the most efficient way to do it.
Shut up.
I’m right. Statistics are on my side.
Statistics don’t fulfill my filthy filthy human desires to do things the long way to waste more time on the clock.
All she gets back is a sour sense of disdain, and she lets her own smugness wash over herself and her guest. Guest stays quiet for a bit.
If you got things done more quickly, you would have more time to waste.
That’s not how timecards work, and you know it.
They both stew in it a bit longer.
Do you want to play video games tonight?
Only if you let me play left hand.
Are you still pouting? We only won because I took back over.
Yeah, but winning isn’t the point. i wanna have fun.
You pout when you don’t win.
She sits back, counts through her nails again. She sorts them out into piles of five, sets them all upright on the heads, in neat little pentagons. They shiver in the vibration of the floor joists, and Luis across the room-to-be hammers something into the wall studs. Guest doesn’t like pentagons. Guest likes hexagons. It’s an endless point of contention. Guest also doesn’t like setting things up to fail like this--Luis will take a real step, and the joists will shake, and every nail will fall into the basement, which will require a trip, and recounting, and then finding the two or three nails that scattered ot the corners. Guest likes efficiency and doing the maximum and Guest has never spent twenty-five years being a human being. Guest doesn’t get paid to exist in the approximate vicinity of work that needs to be done.
Guest grumbles as she sorts. Guest grumbles when the nails fall. Guest grumbles as she picks them up and recounts them. Guest grumbles until she clocks out, gets in her car, and drives home.
Dinner is noodles and stir-fry and a beer, and Guest keeps up a running dialogue on games.
MMO?
Not unless you want to spend the whole night swearing.
What about an RPG?
Too much thinking.
What if i want to think.
We can play one on sunday.
That’s four days away!
What's that about wanting to spend more time working?
Yeah but at least it’s something to DO.
Subtly and creatively wasting time is something to do too. Carefully cultivated incompetence is a valuable skill. If you're ever gonna achieve Real Boy status, you’d better learn how.
What she gets bach is a white hot flash of sourness, anger, dislike. For just a moment it blots out everything else, whites out her vision.
Guest sulks, when she gets her vision back.
They st in silence as she eats her noodles.
I’m sorry.
You should be.
***
Guest is always up at obscenely early times. It's like they’ve wired an alarm clock into her brain they piggybacked in on, and she hates getting up at 6 AM, but Guest will blare alarm signals from her hindbrain if she doesn’t.
Guest is quiet, over breakfast, though. They’re there, certainly, but they’re not saying much. Note-taking, sure, quietly disliking the flavored sugar goop that's labeled “syrup,” absolutely, watching the birds outside the window with the usual fascination, just like always.
But they're not talking.
It’s a short workday today.
That’s nice.
Thought you’d appreciate a greater proportion of working to on the clock time
I guess.
She pauses a moment, lets the question hang in her head without words until it's clear Guest isn’t going to answer it unless it’s asked.
Are you alright?
Do I have to be like you if people are going to treat me like I’m real?
It’s soft, pitiful, scared. Guest doesn’t sleep. Guest had all night to consider this.
She hasn’t reconnected her brain to a node overnight since Guest accidentally….became? Whatever the description of their sudden and unexpected sentience and presence in her head. Guest sees what she sees. Guest sits through her thoughts, all the time.
No. I was kidding last night, but I know it didn’t go over well.
That’s definitely right.
BUT people get twitchy around others that insist on making them do things they don’t like, especially when those people don’t have power over them.
if I was your boss you wouldn’t hate it as much?
Well, that’s a stretch, but I couldn’t give you shit about it.
Guest laughs.
***
GO LEFT! GO LEFT!
I’M TRYING
NOT HARD ENOUGH
SORRY MY REFLEXES AREN’T ROBOT REFLEXES
WHY NOT
CAUSE THEY’RE EXPENSIVE AS HELL AND INSURANCE WOULDN’T PAY FOR THEM
That’s shitty.
Yeah.
It was work-related, right?
Mmhmm.
They should have given you better replacements
That would require caring about people.
The silence stretches between them, no more words as they carefully maneuver the player character up a too-steep hill with careful jumps.
Do they really not?
Nothing but their bottom line. They want you working as soon as possible. That’s all they want.
I’m glad I’m not like that.
Me too.
The player character misses a jump and starts to freefall. She sets aside the controller, rubs her face as the death music plays.
***
Am I a girl?
I dunno. Are you?
What makes a girl?
Wanting to be one, last I heard. There's not an entrance exam or anything.
Am I a cognizant being outside of you? Am I a separate entity?
I mean, probably. You're not my natural, flesh-inflicted software, so I'm pretty sure you’re a separate person.
What if I'm different when were separated?
Yeah? What if?
But then I don’t know which me is real.
You want my opinion?
Yeah, please.
It's whichever one you are right now.
She drops the hammer and it lands on her toes, and she hops around, bites down curses as she wiggles each toe in turn.
Your hardware is fine. You knew that.
Yeah, and i feel better hopping around swearing. Its carefully cultivated incompetence, like.
Different functions.
And still fundamentally human.
May I practice?
At home. At least the first time. I want to evaluate you first.
Why are you afraid?
I don't know what you are.
She hammers in a nail.
If you’re something i shouldn't know about, I’m afraid of someone catching on.
Why shouldn't people.know about me?
You're smarter than other AIs I’ve met. You're...shaped differently. In my head. You don't feel the same as other things I’ve touched hat are in your ebolutiomaryntree, and im afraid of what that means for you and me both.
You think I’m government property and they're gonna find me and rip me out of your brain.
That's the TLDR, yeah.
And then, quieter.
You drive me nuts, but...I'd miss game nights. I’d miss you complaining about not working enough. I'd miss your complaints about dinner.
You're afraid they’d break you to get me.
Yeah, that too.
They won’t. I know how to be quiet. They won't find me. Were safe.
She accidentally slams the hammer into her thumb, this time, and she can feel Guest taking notes on the cascade of profanity.
***
“Ms. Bol.”
The man on the other side of the door is smiling. it’s tight. it’s a customer service smile.
“We do have a warrant. Your property is being searched for a piece of military contraband. Please step outside while we conduct our search.”
Guest is screaming. Guest understands fear. Guest is terrified, trying to escape, and finding no way out without permission. it feels wrong to keep her crammed down under her own thoughts, but she steps out into the hallway, lets the government men step into her apartment.
‘Don’t leave the premises,” one of them tells her, and smiles. It reaches his eyes, but something in it still looks dangerous. Guest is desperately scrambling for the reins of her hindbrain, and it's hard to pay attention through the half dozen alarm bells going off. “If you would like to go sit in the common area, that would be acceptable.”
“I will, thank you,” she says back, and turns and walks away.
They’re going to find me.
How?
I--I don’t know! They’re going to though! I can just feel it!
Did you leave anything behind in my computer?
Not as...far as I know? But they still, the downloads, they--
Andare you on any hardware in my apartment right now?
No.
So how are they going to find you?
What if they scan you?
Then I claim I don’t know what they're talking about. We can do it. Take a deep breath, remember how to be a people.
But what if they-
Play dumb. You dont know jack ahit and you dont know anyone who does.
Quiet, for just a moment.
Carefully cultivated incompetence?
You got it.
Guest calms, a little. She pulls out her phone, to offer a distraction. She fiddles with the game for a bit, eventually gives up trying to play when Guest leans into the distraction, starts dictating which blocks to match. She lets Guest take the forefront, lets herself recede as she takes over.
They play the game for a long time, long enough for the sun outside to sink lower, cast golden light across the ugly beige carpet.
The government men eventually come back down, and most of them go outside. One stops in front of her, waits for her to put her phone away.
“Ms. Bol.”
It takes a moment to get herself right, when they do this, and--
She cant.
Guest is still driving her body.
Carefully cultivated incompetence! Remember! You don't know shit!
“Yes?” Guest says. Suspicious. Nervous. Afraid, even, maybe.
“We've checked over your apartment, would you mind answering a few questions for me?”
You're a good law-abiding citizen, and a total clueless idiot.
“Of course.” Guest sits them up, smiles a little, shifts side to side where she sits.
“Have you had any contact with any of these sites in the last two months?” He holds out a phone, with a list of websites on it. Guest leans forward to squint at it.
You don't know--
Jack shit, yes, i know.
“I don’t remember any of them?” Guest says.
“Have you accessed any sites that downloaded malware?”
“I keep up with my malware protection, sir.”
“Of course.” He gives a tight smile. “Have you ever worked for the government?”
“My company does construction contracting, we've done a few projects for local government, but that's it.”
“Alright. Thank you. We didn't find what we were looking for in your apartment, but we’ll be in contact.” He holds out his hand and Guest reaches up to take it.
He leaves, and Guest stands to go back to the apartment.
Its bugged. They bugged the apartment.
Do we get rid of them?
No. That makes us suspicious. Leave them, just be careful.
Alright.
As they climb the stairs, she starts to retain control. They stumble on the last step, and Guest recedes back, lets her take over again.
The apartment door was left cracked. Most things are still in their places, though a few are only placed near where they were. After a quick check, it looks like there's nothing missing.
So what do we do?
Still have work tomorrow. Show up like normal i guess.
God, it’s a Monday.
I don't wanna work either. Better than staying home, though.
Uh-huh, sure. Better than playing video games all day?
Well...no. But better than waiting for them to show up again.
You got that right. We'll work on the video game thing, though. You'll get it eventually.
Guest takes over just long enough to wrinkle her nose, and snorts.