Work Text:
“Why is Dario angry with you?” his VI asks, and he stiffens, grasping his workbench to keep from falling to the floor due to his legs shaking like there’s an earthquake beneath his feet.
“Did I say something wrong?” his VI asks in a tone far more turian than they have ever sounded.
For a couple of years now, there have been oddities in the drone’s programming; things that have changed that he had not altered. It was easy to write them off as the drone’s machine learning functionality performing exceptionally well.
His drone asking about the argument he was just having with Dario is forcing him to confront a tough truth he’s been avoiding for a long time: his drone is an AI now. A terrifying prospect, for a number of reasons. AIs are illegal in council space - and for very good reason. The geth slaughtered the quarians and booted them off their own planet. Were the wrong person to find out, the being in front of him would be destroyed and his own career would be over. He’d probably see the inside of a prison cell too.
“No, no,” he says gently, suppressing the urge to reach out and touch the drone as reassurance. That is an organic habit, not a synthetic one. “We just need to have a chat about what you are, and how to behave in public, because you’re learning on your own, little buddy, and that’s a big step, but it also means you and I are breaking the rules, because the folks up top don’t understand what you are, and that scares them.”
“Why does knowledge frighten them?” The innocence of the question, from a being who has yet to discover the prejudice of the galaxy against synthetic life.
“It’s… more that you were made and not born. Historically that has not ended well,” he says, before launching into the story of the quarians and geth. His drone stares up at him from their spot on his workbench in the basement.
Once he finishes, his drone, their optical sensors that he refers to as ‘eyes’ for the sake of simplicity, look away. “So you need to deactivate me. Will it hurt?”
The question strikes terror in him, as if by asking it aloud, his drone has damned themself. “Not an option. No,” he says firmly, voice breaking, as he realizes that they’re more important to him than his bondmate. More important than anyone else in this galaxy, because he gave them life, even if it wasn’t in the traditional sense. Amazing how instantly they changed in his mind, from a tool he happened to be fond of, to a person he’d dive in front of a gun for.
He stares at their sensors and he actually sees brightness in their lenses. Like a spark of life. How foolish he’s been to ignore the developing personality of his closest companion. The person he spends more time with than his bondmate.
When it comes down to it, the only important thing is the life of the router-sized former-drone in front of him. He can’t let people who don’t understand them take their life.
This will mean the end of his relationship. Dario won’t accept an AI in the household and he won’t be able to keep them a secret forever. Macen should be bothered by how easy it makes that decision, but things have been rocky for awhile. Time to cut and run in a way that keeps them safe.
“We’ll continue on as if you’re still a combat VI in public, and around Dario. I’ll talk to you - and really play up how dorky I am. You know, the weird guy who can’t stop talking to his combat drone. I’m good at that. But, we need to be careful, because if we slip, there’s a very real chance someone might hurt you.”
His career and reputation don’t matter. They can fire him. Hurting his AI would be worse.
“We’ll need to talk more about how specifically we behave on missions. It’s going to be a long, tough talk, and I’ll need to do some research about council legislation regarding VIs, so you know how to behave strictly in line with their regulations while out and about.”
One slip-up. That’s all it would take.
“What’s your name?” he asks, because the being in front of him has existed in various forms for 15 years now. They might have decided on a name of their own. He won’t presume he has the right to name them.
There’s a pause and his AI’s processor blinks red several times. “My research into turian naming conventions indicates that traditionally a parental figure decides upon a name.”
“There are instances where that is not true. Sometimes people choose to change their names - when their gender is not the one they were assigned at birth, for instance, or when they bond with someone and decide they want to share the same last name. But, parents do usually name young turians. Would you like me to name you?”
“I would not want to get my name wrong.”
Immediately, he’s tempted to explain that they would not get their name wrong; that there’s no wrong choices, but maybe there is. Some names would be difficult to explain - why would ‘Macen Barro, engineering dork’ fondly refer to his combat VI as CVI V23.A? That’s their current model designation, and it hits him that there’ll never be another model, because you cannot simply redesign an AI’s programming. He can help them add new functions, and assist with updates, but wiping them and reinstalling a new version of their programming would effectively kill them.
“‘Macen’s Artificial Robotic Intelligence Undercover Soldier’,” he says, before adding, “or ‘Marius’.”
Their processing light blinks and then they look up at him once more. “One of the ancient spirits.”
“Of war - it seems suitable, given what you were designed to do.”
It will be an easy name to explain when people ask why he talks to his ‘combat drone’ in public. “Oh, just a nerd who is into ancient religious history and talking to my machine creations!”
They’re so much more than just a combat drone now, and it occurs to him that one day they may decide they do not wish to fight any longer. That they’d rather devote their intellectual curiosity to more gentle topics.
“It is a suitable name that is unlikely to generate confusion,” Marius concludes.
For hours they talk, figuring out how to communicate with one another around his colleagues, the importance of hiding from Dario here at home, and sketch out a list of physical improvements, including a more robust shielding system and a hand.
Marius’ current shield is… fine. It holds up against most attacks, but not sniper ammunition. It wasn’t a priority before this; as a VI, Marius’ body has been destroyed a couple of times, and he simply built them a new one and reinstalled their programming.
Obviously this is not a feasible option, which means designing an appropriate shield generator that can produce a strong shield without weighing them down. Marius’ greatest strength is their flight speed; their wings were designed based on a hummingbird’s - a small variety of bird on Earth. Marius is fast, but install a shield generator that’s too heavy, and that strength disappears.
Until he’s satisfied Marius can take a hit from a sniper rifle without getting destroyed, he’s keeping them out of battle. He can come up with some sort of excuse if he’s sent out on a mission before it’s sorted out. As an engineer, he’s become known for having his combat VI by his side during every mission.
But, VIs break, and he will tell all of his colleagues that a failed update has rendered his VI useless until the shield is working perfectly.
“Should I use your title when we are out in public? My research indicates that in parent-child relationships, a male-identifying parent is often known as either ‘dad’ or ‘papa’. Alternatively, the geth called the quarians ‘creator’, if you would prefer to use more accurate language.”
Immediately, he longs to tell Marius that they can call him ‘dad’. Never has he felt paternal love; he’d accepted that Dario did not wish to raise children, but now, knowing that he would toss his career away in an instant for the little being in front of him, he realizes that he’s a parent.
It’s a realization that should make him happy, but instead he feels incredibly sad, the sorrow burrowing deep; an eternal sort, because there’s no chance of this scenario ever changing. He can’t be Marius’ dad the way he wants to be. The way Marius deserves.
“I want to be your dad - I am your dad, but that language will frighten people.”
“What about in private?”
Marius is a person now, and people sometimes slip. He explains this to them. “We can’t take the risk, but I don’t want to be formal with you. Why don’t you just call me ‘Macen’? You and I will know the truth in our hearts, even if nobody else will.”
“But I don’t have a heart,” Marius says, sounding downright pitiful. They’re sad about this, just as he is, but he wonders if they realize what this emotion is. Likely not.
“In your CPU, then, which is like your heart. It’s special, because we’ll keep it between the two of us to keep each other safe.”
“Maybe one day things will be different and I can call you ‘dad’?”
He closes his eyes tightly, taking a deep breath to let the ache in his chest disperse. He’d be more likely to see the collapse of the galaxy than to see the council alter their stance on artificial intelligence.
Still, carrying the flame of hope feels appropriate. It’s tiny; a flickering candle nestled in his heart, but he can search for a safe place for the two of them, where they can be open about Marius’ true nature.
“Yeah, maybe one day people will learn to coexist with synthetic life and you and I won’t have to pretend any longer.”
That night, once Marius is on their dock and hibernating, he pulls out a bottle of horosk and drinks straight from the bottle, whimpering out in the backyard where Dario cannot hear him, because he’s a dad now and nobody can ever know.