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Artemis’s explanation, when Clarke discovers her and Madi working on a list entitled Potential New Crewmates, is that they hadn’t told Clarke and Bellamy about it yet because it isn’t done.
“It is a presentation,” says Artemis. “It would not be a very good presentation if we showed it to you before it was ready.”
“Madi?” Clarke asks.
“We’re not going to make a new crew member ourselves,” she says. “I promise.”
“I asked about her,” Artemis added, petulant. “So I would ask about a new crew member too.”
“Okay,” Clarke grants, sitting down next to Madi so she can look at the data pad. “Walk me through this, before you tell Bellamy. I’ll tell you if I think it’s going to work.”
Artemis and Madi exchange a look, but apparently they see the logic in the choice, because Artemis flicks back to the first slide.
Clarke has always trouble assigning equivalent human ages to AIs. Artemis is, in many ways, much older than Madi. While she doesn’t have the legal rights an adult human would, that’s less to do with age and more to do with her (perceived) lack of autonomy. Mostly, she’s not a human, so those comparisons fall flat anyway. Artemis is intelligent and capable and Clarke would trust her with her life. It’s not a matter of adulthood.
But at the same time, she’s still just a kid at heart, which is probably why she gets along so well with Madi and why their presentation is called YOU CAN AFFORD TO GET A NEW AI, BELLAMY and decorated with sparkling hearts and stars.
“Compelling,” she says.
“That’s just the title page,” says Madi.
“It is attention-grabbing,” Artemis adds, and moves onto the next slide, which has just as many hearts and stars, but is also a detailed breakdown of budgets and AI prices.
Artemis in a nutshell, really.
“Is the next slide about why we need another crew member?” Clarke asks. “Because that’s what’s tripping me up. We’re set. I don’t know what a new AI would do.”
“Sentients do not have to justify their existence. They can just exist.”
“AIs suck at just existing, no offense,” says Clarke. “You tend to need a purpose. You know that,” she can’t help adding, and Artemis pauses.
“Yes, I do. That is why I have a list of potential purposes here. We were working on that when you came in.”
It’s a pretty straightforward list: Greek god names on the left, potential duties on the right. It’s in alphabetical order, starting with Aphrodite (decorations, general aesthetic, appearance consultations) and ending with Zeus, whose duty list is still blank.
“Bellamy is never going to name one of his AIs Zeus,” says Clarke. “You can skip that one.”
“He isn’t?”
“Bellamy hates Zeus. He thinks he’s a dick. He would probably recommend Zeus’s job as turning into animals and trying to seduce us.”
“Which would be difficult for an AI,” says Artemis. “I thought he would appreciate a complete data set.”
“That’s more of an inorganic thing. You should pick your five best ones and present those.”
“Best?” asks Artemis.
“The ones he’ll be most interested in.“
“I can figure that out,” says Madi.
“You two know you’re missing the most important piece, right?” she asks. “There’s nothing here that explains why you want another AI. You’re just saying we could afford to get one and find something for it to do.”
“And why is that not enough?” Artemis demands. Her annoyance is disproportionate to the question, as far as Clarke’s concerned, so this isn’t just about AIs. Artemis is worried about something bigger. “Humans like families. Bellamy likes families. You do too. Why do you need a reason to make a larger one?”
Clarke glances at Madi, who shrugs one shoulder. “I think it would be fun to have more sentients around. But I don’t have a really strong opinion.”
“Unlike Artemis, who wants to know why Bellamy and I aren’t having a baby.”
“I never said that,” she protests. “That was not what I was talking about at all.”
“Not what you were literally talking about.”
“I understand that your and Bellamy’s hypothetical biological offspring have nothing to do with me and I have no say in them,” she says, as if this is a phrase that she has programmed into herself for quick access.
As far as Clarke knows, Artemis has never asked Bellamy about biological children in anything other than the most general terms. She’s asked about human reproduction, but not their reproduction. Clarke’s always assumed it was because she knew that Bellamy wouldn’t give her a satisfying answer, and she’d just be left more annoyed.
So she’s trying to solve the problem indirectly. It makes so much sense.
“You can ask about it,” Clarke says, gentle. “Asking isn’t the same as presenting an opinion.”
“How is it different?” she asks.
Clarke considers. “It’s okay to be curious.”
“Good. Then I am curious whether or not you and Bellamy are planning to reproduce.”
Obviously she was expecting the question, but she still takes a moment to consider it. Artemis is being serious here, and her question merits a thoughtful response.
“I think we’re planning to,” she says, slow. “But we’re not planning it on any specific schedule. At some point, we’ll probably decide to stop using contraceptives.”
“When?”
Clarke shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s not something we talk about much.”
“I am interested in babies,” Artemis decides. “I think it would be educational to have one.”
“That’s not really a great reason to have a baby.”
“I know,” she says. “That is why I thought another AI would be better. We could have a new person without dealing with a complete blank slate. Like Madi.”
Madi’s used to the AIs by now, so she smiles. “We could find another child to adopt too.”
“So, basically the two of you guys did exhaustive research on the cost and function of AIs because you want a little sibling?”
“It’s an analogy,” Madi says, before Artemis can object. “The new AI or organic would be serving a function like a new sibling. And yeah,” she adds, to Clarke. “That’s basically what we’re saying.”
“Noted. I’ll talk to Bellamy and let you know if I think you should give your presentation.”
“Why would we not?” asks Artemis. “We worked hard. It is almost done.”
“Because we might not want to grow our family right now. But it’s a really good presentation. You guys are convincing.”
“So, you think we’re right?” Madi asks.
“I think I’m going to talk to Bellamy,” she says, firm. “Pick your five best AI proposals and I’ll talk to you about them tomorrow.”
*
“If you had an AI named Zeus, what would he do?”
“I wouldn’t have an AI named Zeus because all he’d do would be turn into animals and fuck things. And sometimes not turn into animals and fuck things anyway. Sometimes he’d turn us into animals to fuck us. He wouldn’t contribute to the group.” He looks up from the report he’s reading, hair askew. “Is this your way of telling me you accidentally bought an asshole AI?”
She sits down next to him, putting her head on his shoulder.
“It’s my way of telling you that our kids want a sibling.”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Which of our kids?”
“I think just Artemis and Madi. It didn’t sound like a group project.”
“Huh.” He cocks his head at her. “So, another AI?”
“Artemis wants a baby, but she knows that’s not really something she gets to have an opinion about. She thinks AIs are more her thing, so she and Madi came up with a presentation for you.”
He pushes his glasses up with a smile. “A presentation?”
“Yeah, it’s cute. You should let them give it even if we decide we want to have a baby.”
It’s not exactly that he reacts badly, but he reacts instantly and obviously, his whole body stilling as if he doesn’t want to give anything away. “You want to have a baby?” he asks.
“I don’t know. I think I’m open to the possibility of a baby, and that’s kind of–” She shrugs. “Babies take time. If we’re interested in having one eventually, we need to talk about what the timeline for that is.”
“Huh.” He puts his data pad aside, studying her instead. “I guess I wasn’t sure you ever wanted kids. Biological ones, anyway.”
“It feels like a nice fuck you to the stupid eugenics people at Ark.”
That makes him grin. “Are you saying I don’t have good genes?”
“I’m saying I’m pretty sure they thought I was going to be a great breeder for them, and I’m planning to never see them again.”
“Awesome.” He shifts a little, considering. “I know it’s been a while, but I still have trouble remembering I could have kids without worrying that Second Dawn would come and take them. I knew they wouldn’t care about the AIs, but if I ever had a kid of my own–”
“We don’t have to,” Clarke says, propping her chin on his shoulder. “I don’t care about biological offspring. We can just have a bunch of AIs and orphans, if you want.”
“We could have a bunch of AIs and orphans and some babies. It’s a pretty big ship, we have room for more people.”
“Room to grow into.”
Bellamy nods, a little jerky, like he’s still not quite comfortable with the conversation. “You’re sure?” he adds.
“It’s just getting off contraception, it’s not actually being pregnant. We’ve still got a while before that.”
“Yeah, but if the AIs find out, you know how it’s going to be,” he says. “They’re all going to be really over-invested and probably asking you inappropriate questions about your ovulation.”
“I know how the AIs work, yeah.” She leans in for a kiss. “I’m ready if you are. That’s all I’m saying.”
He lets out a breath, watching her. “I think I could be ready,” he admits.
“Great,” says Clarke. “Good talk. You can tell Artemis.”
“Thanks.” He slides his hand up her shirt. “Can we at least try to start having a baby first?”
She grins and shifts from his side into his lap, leaning down for a much longer kiss. “I need to get rid of my implant first.”
“Or we’re practicing.”
“You’re right, we definitely need practice.”
He kisses her again. “Yeah, I’m saying.”
*
“I assume if Clarke and I are having a baby, you don’t think we need a new AI,” Bellamy tells Artemis, casual, over breakfast the next morning.
Breakfast is a family affair on the Pantheon, so this counts as telling everyone. Even Hestia is around, the warm blue light bathing the room in a strange kind of morning glow.
Hermes is the first to react. “Since when are you having a baby? Did we know about this?”
“We’re not actually having it yet. But Clarke disconnected her contraceptive implant this morning, so a baby is now a theoretical possibility.”
“That means we need the Hera AI,” says Artemis, recovering next.
“Yeah!” says Madi. “We already thought about that.”
Bellamy raises his eyebrows. “Of course you did. Hera AI?”
Artemis pulls out her data pad and finds the presentation, flipping back through to find the list. “We could not come up with appropriate duties for an AI named Hera, but after we spoke with Clarke, we decided she would be a good nanny. She could also help with Clarke’s pregnancy, if she needed. Not that Clarke cannot take care of herself, but–”
“It would probably help to have another doctor around, just in case,” says Madi. “Specializing in obstetrics. That’s why she’s Hera, not Apollo,” she adds, to Bellamy. “Apollo would be if we wanted entertainment.”
Bellamy is looking through the list with a wry smile. “I’m not sure if this is a good argument for expanding the family or a bad one.”
“What would be wrong with it?” Artemis demands.
“I raised you and you turned out like this,” he says. “I’m not sure I should really be trusted with more sentients.”
“I was mostly raised by the time you got me,” Madi protests. “You didn’t do that much.”
“And I am excellent,” says Artemis.
Clarke ducks her head, grinning. This is her family, strange and wonderful, occasionally maddening, and always perfect. “I’m pretty sure this is the best argument there is for a bigger family,” she says. “Who wouldn’t want to be a part of this?”
Bellamy shakes his head, but he can’t keep a smile off his own face. “Yeah, who wouldn’t?” He sighs, all histrionics, and then nods. “Fine, one new AI, expertise in obstetrics and pediatrics. I guess we’ve got some room to grow. Might as well be ready.”
“I knew you would see it my way,” says Artemis, and Clarke smiles.
“What can we say? You’re very persuasive.”