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Throughout her career as an AI specialist, Dr. Strangelove had been aware of her colleagues' appraisal of her work. Sometimes she could read bitterness in their actions, sometimes grudging admiration, but the ever-present emotion was a sort of intense bafflement. Why did someone with her misanthropic attitude invest all this time and energy into finding ways to make machines more like people? And how could Strangelove be so good at it, cooped up in her lab day after day like some sort of modern hermit?
The truth was simple, actually: she loved what she did. Or perhaps who she did, Strangelove thought with a wry smile as she opened the hatch to the Mammal Pod that night and climbed inside.
"Doctor," The Boss's voice addressed her, too formal for her liking. Strangelove's first response was a curt nod of the head, before she remembered physical gestures were of little use here and returned a studiously neutral greeting. Sometimes she wondered if she would ever get used to this.
She must have been inside the pod a thousand times by now; she'd set the AI boards with meticulous care, checked the internal wiring and power supply, worked at attuning the machine to her old friend's mind with such diligence that there were moments she forgot herself. And at long last, she was starting to feel that she could discern something of The Boss in the intricate circuit she had assembled. A subtle yet evidently vital "something".
Strangelove shrugged off the thought with practised efficacy, snapping back to the matter at hand. "Commencing test."
"Ready," the AI rejoined automatically in that long-lost voice.
"You have an important mission in enemy territory, but have been dropped off at the farther side of a mountain ridge to avoid detection. You have no equipment on you except for a knife. Halfway through the mountains, you approach a narrow ledge. It's the only way forward, but a snake is lying in your path. You must dispose of the snake to proceed. What do you do?"
Strangelove made a point of rewriting this particular question after every session so as to make the situation appear as different from the previous version as she could. Not that it was possible to avoid the structure altogether. It was always Peace Walker and her assignment versus the threat of the lurking snake.
"I chase it away," came the usual answer.
"The only way to go is down."
"I throw it off the cliff."
"You'll fall," Strangelove countered, already aware it was no use. Whatever happened, this one conclusion didn't change. The snake must be extracted, but alive. Even at the price of Peace Walker's own destruction.
Before Strangelove could regain her composure, however, something unprecedented occurred: the AI was the one to change the topic. "You've asked this question before, Doctor. I always give the same answer."
The word she had held back escaped Strangelove's mouth as though of its own accord. "Why?"
"There is no need for the snake to die," Peace Walker stated simply.
"But the snake isn't the objective!" was all Strangelove came up with to that, voice rising without her notice. This was, slowly but surely, getting to be too much. She'd been breaking her figurative back for years to resurrect The Boss, and all she'd gained from the ordeal was listening to that noble spirit condemn herself again, over and over no matter how she asked.
Looking up to the memory boards, Strangelove realized she might have remained quiet a tad too long.
"Doctor?"
"I..." What? I really came here at three in the morning because I still miss you, and hearing you deal out your own death sentence one more time was the very last thing I needed tonight?
"Doctor, what's wrong?"
Gently, Strangelove braced her palms against the AI's core, letting out a deep sigh. It steadied her a little. "It's nothing. You've performed well."
"You're lying. I detect excess heat in your hands, and your pulse is quickening."
Strangelove's signature glasses clattered to the floor.
"What did you..?" she little more than breathed, falling to her knees beside the central panel.
The AI failed to elaborate further - instead, a muted melody began to rise in the air, accompanied by the optical illusion of butterflies. The song grew steadily in volume, filling the awestruck scientist's senses, flooding her.
The next morning, Strangelove would wonder how she could be waking up inside Peace Walker, her mind scrambling to recapture the radiant images from that night's dreams: The Boss lying beside her in a field of flowers, dressed in nothing but her dishevelled workout suit, a glowing swarm of butterflies fluttering overhead in the evening sun. Then the feel of their bodies pressed together, the slide of skin against skin in the tall grass, The Boss's lips a hot touch to her neck. For the moment, though, she could distinguish nothing but the flowing lullaby that swept her consciousness away.
"At ease," sounded softly in the small chamber, as Strangelove drifted at last into sleep.