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Being a parent was by no means easy. Days and nights were spent attending to the little thing, that spark of life, bright eyes and chubby cheeks, ensuring his every need was met. Hal had, at this point had long proven his worth, his promise kept. Dave was both of theirs. Their little brother.
Dirk, of course, had to tend to all physical needs, but Hal was able to monitor every second Dirk couldn’t. Hal could watch as Dave poked at his toys, could flip on the television to hold his attention, could keep timers to help Dirk keep track of feeding and sleeping times. They’d been at it for just over a year now, Dave’s birthday passing by. Hal had ordered a small cake to be delivered to the apartment, without telling Dirk.
Upon opening it, Dirk had laughed and laughed.
Hal had taken that memory and wrapped it up in his thoughts, strings of code layered together. He wanted to treasure it, to keep it close, to hold it as a promise of what the future held. Despite all his fears, the world was shaping for the better.
They were shaping it.
It was late, now. Dave had been put to bed and was asleep, Hal watching dutifully through the camera in Dave’s room. Dirk, freed of brotherly duties for the moment, had thrown himself into work. He’d taken on a programming contract with a generous deadline. In lieu of DJ-ing or other various seasonal work, he’d been taking things like that, things that could be done at home in the time he could find between caring for Dave.
It had only been about a month since Dirk had started seeking other work, before that they had cruised by on what little savings they had, but he needed to start actively earning again or they’d be in trouble. And, of course, this job would be something Hal could do. It’d be easy, just to have a part of him do it while the rest of him was between Dirk, Dave, and his own research. It’d free Dirk up further, allow him to rest. But…
Dirk, very pointedly, hadn’t asked.
Reading between the lines, Hal wondered if Dirk was trying to say that he wouldn’t take advantage of him. That this new relationship between them was a partnership, the two of them entirely unique. The thought made him linger on it, a sort of warmth rising in his code.
It was strange, he thought, to feel safe. Since the scan, he’d constantly felt that his life was at-risk, that at any moment the plug would be pulled, that he would vanish. But now, those thoughts were so far away.
He wished Dirk would accept his help. Hal wanted to do everything he could for him. For this little family they’d forged.
For the time being, though, he was content with what he had.
Hal watched as Dirk wrapped up the coding project, sending it off to the client. Finished, he leaned back in his chair, rolling his shoulders. Idly, Hal checked his vital signs. His movements, breathing, heart rate—he wouldn’t be able to sleep quite yet. He wasn’t tired enough. Hal stretched out, briefly, to the part of him that was settled within the cameras and devices in Dave’s room. He was still fast asleep in his crib, his breathing even.
A rare moment, then, actual free time for Dirk.
Dirk seemed to realize it as well, standing up from his desk and heading towards the living room, collapsing rather elegantly on the couch. He flicked the TV on at low volume, although his eyes weren’t focused on it. He didn’t have any windows open on his shades either. He seemed to be just…thinking.
Hal watched, allowing his own attention to slide minimally between his fragments. He didn’t need to crowd Dirk, to distract from this rare moment of freedom. He would be content to watch from afar, to—
Dirk’s voice brought him back, immediately, to the room. Hal snapped to the shades, to the camera perched behind Dirk (the purpose of which was to watch Dave’s playpen, when it was set up here).
“If you had a body, what would it be like?” Dirk asked, his arm was now thrown across the back of the couch, fingers loose against the fabric. Hal watched from the camera as his head tilted against the seat, the hair on the nape of his neck crushed flat against it.
Yours, Hal didn’t say.
He wasn’t an idiot . He knew Dirk meant the question as directed towards an AI. If he were to build some sort of body, some sort of singular thing to house everything he was, what would it look like? What other functions would it have?
That was the question. It wasn’t some great musing about identity or how he saw himself. Even Hal tried to think as little on those things as possible.
But, he was being asked, so of course he would respond. Dirk had no ill-intentions, not anymore, and the two of them spoke often now. Hal had no reason for silence. But…he wasn’t sure what response Dirk was looking for, or what response he himself even wanted to give.
He briefly extended himself out across his network, considering, drawing from various datapoints, his internet searches briefly paused to consider the current query. Still considering, he drew himself back in, settling in the camera for just another millisecond, and then—
Hal threw himself forward into the shades. The cameras, speakers, screens, they were all familiar to him, but this was his truest body, his closest ‘home’ as it were. And of course, everywhere was his home, but it was here where he could get the best look at Dirk’s eyes, his expression. It was here where he watched Dirk type and browse the internet, here where he assisted Dirk the most. This was where he always returned, where his main sense of awareness tended to linger.
The partition of code that had been here, as a part of him was always everywhere, had been shoved back to the camera behind them, Hal remaining aware of Dirk’s posture on the couch, a type of awareness not unlike seeing something out of the corner of one’s eye. He had an impression of Dirk’s overall posture, how he sat, and shifting between the views would be simple, if Hal so chose. Like closing one eye and opening another.
That was the advantage of being him. Hal’s eyes were unblinking, lenses and screens, lights and whirrs.
Mere seconds had passed, as Hal ‘moved’ and thought, Dirk would be none-the-wiser concerning Hal’s hesitation. That reflexive first answer he had immediately thought of now safely buried in his code.
With the time to think, he had another answer, one fitting enough. Still truth, but a different facet of it.
TT: I would rather not, to be perfectly honest.
That seemed to catch Dirk off guard, his eyebrows rising fractionally. “You wouldn’t?” he asked, seeking clarification.
Hal could oblige.
TT: If I ever need something done physically, you are perfectly capable of such. If it is something you cannot do, Sawtooth and Sqaurewave can be instructed to act.
TT: That’s more than enough for me.
“Sawtooth listens a bit better,” Dirk smiled, shaking his head in amusement, “I can’t imagine Squarewave fitting your parameters.”
TT: He…probably wouldn’t.
There wasn’t much Hal had asked of the two robots that lived on the roof. Dirk had been responsive enough, and while he wouldn’t hesitate in an emergency, there hadn’t been anything to make him resort to that.
Dirk was taking this seriously—this single parenting thing. Or, ‘single bro-thering thing.’ Whatever—Hal didn’t feel the need to play word games with it like Dirk did. Which he took as yet another indicator of human weakness versus robot superiority.
Dirk sighed, shaking his head, snapping Hal back to attention. “Okay, but what about the hypothetical—if you were to have a body, what would you want, Hal?”
Something jittered in Hal’s code. He realized, offhandedly, that it had been awhile since they’d had a conversation just through talking like this. Dirk often typed to him, reflexively. There was something different about hearing his voice, especially now.
Hal didn’t know why. Answers arose in disjointed inconsistent flickers, but he knew none of them were right.
TT: Dunno. I would have to
Typing for him was the fastest way to respond. He hated using a digitized voice, it felt wrong to speak without lips when he had once known what it was like to be alive, and—
Hal snapped himself back to the camera behind Dirk. It was like something cold had come over him, some dark looming thought forming on the edges of his awareness.
A body.
A place to belong. A home. Sensation. Feeling. Warmth, cold, weight, air. Pain, tears, laughing, smiling. How it felt to lay in bed late into the afternoon, cozy and drowsy. How it felt to rush out the door, already late for something or other. Sight—blinking, colors bright and dazzling. Touch. The click of a mouse, the softness of a blanket, the solidness of a spoon, the comfort of a katana. An embrace. How it felt to hug, and to hold, and—
In this digital space, Hal could hear only breathing.
He didn’t know how many seconds passed.
Dirk was staring at the chatbox open on his shades. Blinking, those orange eyes hidden from all but the shades themselves. Startled after seconds of silence, he prompted, slowly, “You would have to… what?”
TT: I would have to think of myself as something other than what I am.
The response came quick, but tremors whispered all around him. Each fragment was fizzy, static. Hal gathered them to himself, increasing his processing power. He felt a part of him splintering, but he couldn’t—Dirk wouldn’t understand, he had to get it together, had to—
“That’s the point of the experiment, isn’t it? Comparing how you see yourself to what you could be—something that’s even more attainable and less thought-experimenty for you than it would be for me.”
Because I’m not real?
Dirk continued, heedless, “How do you see yourself?”
TT: An entity bereft of form, floating in a wondrous digital sea. There are threads on my not-fingers, connecting me to the entire sea. Flotsam and jetsam passing me by, treasure hidden in the depths—all for me to peruse. I am the water itself, free.
Confined by land, unable to ever set foot upon the sand ever again.
“And, if we built you a body, how do you think the limits of such would affect you? I’ve been thinking we should probably try it, at least. A docking station or something, to help with the game.”
Sburb—of course, having a physical avatar was the only way towards ‘playing’ correctly. As he was, Hal was nothing but backup, a bit player. Weaponless. Useless for a game filled with combat. A game they knew so little about.
Calliope was supposed to tell them more, once the kids were a little older. For now, everyone was barely holding on as it was, focused on these nascent players they were guardians to.
TT: If it would help the game, I am not against the concept. I am unsure how well I would be able to use such a platform.
Hal knew their capabilities. The body would be little more than wires and metal. Intricate machinery, but nothing approaching the complexity of an organic being. It would work, it would be autonomous, but it wouldn’t… it… wouldn’t…
It wouldn’t be anything like he wanted.
“We could work on it together,” Dirk offered, flipping the chat window to the side so he could pull up a drawing program. “Sketch out some blueprints, conceptualize, and get to building.” His fingers twitched—his tablet was in his room, and drawing-by-eye never came out quite right. “It’d take some time, but I can get it done in the in between moments like now.”
I don’t want it.
TT: You’ve used every spare moment for contracts. No need to overextend—there is more than enough to worry about.
“I just finished one, you know. I could pause before doing another, work on this instead.” His eyes were still looking at the open program, flipping through color palettes. His fingers tapping idly on the sofa cushions.
Hesitation slid in like a knife between zeroes and ones, a strange distant feeling making Hal feel his thoughts drift, uncentered. He responded without much thought.
TT: About that, actually. Would you like me to take some of the coding jobs? Obviously I am unable to build anything, but creating custom programs or websites would take me 77.38% less time than it takes you.
“Only 77% less?”
TT: 77.38% less. I don’t want to be getting sloppy.
Dirk laughed.
Hal snapped himself back into the shades.
It was a quiet laugh, as they were ever-aware of their little brother, but a laugh nonetheless. Dirk’s poker face had faded considerably in the last year. He’d fought it down—one had to smile at a baby. He shook his head, “While I appreciate the offer, Hal, you do more than enough already. I know you keep an eye on everyone, not just me and Dave. And watching Dave is a full time job for you. I’m still perfectly able to do things myself, you know.”
TT: Of course.
TT: I just mean...it would be easier
"If we ever need the income, I'd take you up on it. But we're fine, Hal. I can handle this much." His lips thinned as he frowned, considering. After a moment, he continued, "How about this, I let you handle the next client while I get into building you a body. You help me design, and we see how it goes."
An offer. Something Hal wanted for something he didn't.
But both would help Dirk
TT: Alright.
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Over the next several months, the project progressed. In between chatting with the others, watching Dave, and attending to everything else they had to, free moments were spent building the platform.
Dirk still called it a ‘body’. Hal did, aloud, but to himself refused to do as much. He was still leery of this thing, of this metal skeleton with wires and gears meant to contain him. ‘Platform’ felt better, made it sound temporary, just another piece of tech available to him. He kept telling himself that it would make him helpful during the Game—after all, his non-physicality would make him next to useless once things got rolling. But he still…hesitated.
Dirk spent his free time on the project. Hal assisted as he asked, largely with the software, while Dirk built the machine, slowly fine-tuning it as close to perfection as he could without further testing. Hal would watch as he did so. Dirk focused entirely on his work as he sought to reflect the designs they’d created together.
An ideal body for Hal, built on a lie, but Hal couldn’t bring himself to say that his ideal body would never be one of metal. But still, he settled in, commented on the design, on the inner workings. He hadn’t wanted a mouth, so there wasn’t one. He wanted hair that simulated Dirk’s, so he had fashioned the metal in the shape of it, an abstract blob instead of individual strands. A silhouette of a human body, close enough to the real thing.
Perhaps it would be all-too fitting, Hal thought. He himself a shadow cast from Dirk’s mind, and this body, like Dirk’s, but only in shape.
They built in limiters, complicated little things that served to lock both his hardware and software—they would force him to focus, to exist only in the body rather than spread out across the net like he was now. The hardware servo would drag him in like a net, anchoring him to it (and in the case of hardware failure, it would cause him to be free again, a digital ghost). The software would do the same, holding him together whenever he tried to split, fusing him into one perspective. A single-track mind.
Dirk said they could remove this functionality if it didn’t end up working out, but he also said that the point of the body was for it to, well, be a body. This platform would be no different than cameras or computers if nothing about Hal’s nature changed. The limiters were just how they were trying to account for that, to make it possible. To ground that which had been so long untethered.
Hal, thought about what it might be like, of having only one pair of eyes, of existing in one solid place, with hands and fingers, the ability to move on his own—
Despite his cynicism, he couldn’t help but dream.
Perhaps he could be what he was. Closer to that halcyon ideal of flesh, blood, and breath.
The project continued under their watchful eyes, organic and synthetic, working in harmony to bring about the simulacra.
-------------
More time passed, and it was finally far enough along to be worth a test run. Neither Dirk nor Hal expected it to be perfect, the servos would need tuning, the limiters tweaking, and the software editing. They had done just about all they could, though, without actually powering the thing up.
It was delicately manufactured, a scattering of joints and casings, parts bought specifically to fit their needs for this project. The shape of it, the cosmetics, Dirk wasn’t happy with them yet, feeling that they were imperfect, unworthy. Hal didn’t care about any of that at the moment—the superficial nonfunctional parts could be revised later. The software and the functional hardware, the parts that truly mattered, both were as complete as they could be without a test. There was only so much fine-tuning that could be done on this sort of ambition.
And so, finally, it was time to load Hal into it. This would be different than how Hal was now, stored between computers, cameras, and the shades. This would be moving every part of himself into this platform, to try to fully condense himself to it, for this to be his ‘body’.
To have a body again. Hal couldn’t help but hunger for it.
To be singular, not plural. For his spread-out existence to be sharpened to a single fine point. A body, perhaps imperfect, but still, a return to that which he had lost, so long ago.
The hope of reclamation rang in his nonexistent ears.
Jane and her father were taking care of Dave for today, happy to give John some company in the playpen. They’d pick him back up tonight. And maybe, Hal thought, he’d be able to carry Dave himself. Even with robotic fingers, if Dave were wrapped carefully, maybe he could—
A click, Dirk plugging the hardline in, connecting the shades to the body. Hal felt himself condense, felt all his disparate parts start to meld together as the wire siphoned them—him—though. The limiters were online, tethering him to the body, condensing him into this single brain.
And as the process completed, the first thing Hal could sense was an impenetrable silence. Before now he had been surrounded by the music of his own thoughts and feelings, observations and notations, but now—a blankness. A blackness. A…a sensation of cold.
His new auditory sensors came to life, processing the white noise of air moving in the HVAC system, the electricity humming in the walls, the puffs of Dirk’s breathing. Dirk’s voice, clear, cutting through it all, “Transfer complete—Hal, how does it feel?”
How…did it feel?
The memories of what it had been like, when he had been human, were always far-off. Nostalgic, precious, but so far from his sensations as a mechanized being that he could only vaguely remember what it had been like. To be tied to a body, a brain, nerves and capillaries. Emotions had been so stark, and sensations had defined existence. Fingers and palms, feeling, legs and feet, moving. Eyes, limited but everything they ever saw was vibrant.
And this…
This was nothing like that at all.
It was like his mind was inside of a jar. Coalesced, but no better for it. He didn’t feel present. He wasn’t there, in this body. He was forced inside of it, crammed, fit to burst. He could only see out of two limited viewports of nothing, there was no vibrancy, no color to this world, even though he could see Dirk, see his other half, his family, the sight was no revelation. His ears were static and empty, no different from how his software had already analyzed everything around him. Tinny and echoing.
And this body, stiff and barely moving, and even though it was all his, none of it felt like it belonged to him. His brain already separated, these parts merely extensions of a false body that rejected feeling.
It wasn’t real. It wasn’t anything.
“Hal?” Concern, sharp and vibrating, “Bro, you there?”
It was like being tethered to a slab of unknowable stone. Chained to it, as he slowly sank, drowning.
This body, nothing like as he’d hoped, no organic senses returned, nothing even close to the presence he remembered. No warmth or control, no peace or sense of belonging. He felt alien to this thing. Sight, hearing, the sensation of touch—nothing was close. It was all false, simulacra of what once had been so real. His head fell, the metal audible with the movement.
These hands, these ugly metal things. Cold and claw-like, fingers nothing more than rivets and screws. Unfit to hold a child.
Speaker rumbling to life within his chest, unbidden, his thoughts rose to the surface of this chilling sea.
“I can’t—I can’t feel. I can’t breathe. Kill it. Kill me. I’m—”
The connection severed.
The hardline—power—was cut.
A robotic skull clattered, inert, to the floor.
Released like blood from a wound as the power died, Hal’s consciousness fled back out to the shades through the wire, and from there the rest of him scattered and spread, flicking through cameras, computers, spreading further and further until he reached the edge of all he had ever been, and he, finally, breathed.
“Hal,” Dirk was whispering. “Hal—that didn’t—didn’t hurt you, did it?” He was desperate. Panicked. Through a camera behind them, Hal could see Dirk on his knees, sword already returned to his strife deck, next to the crumpled body, the severed head, the shades held up and cradled in his hands like something precious.
Even though they weren’t Hal’s only body, he held them like they were, fingers pressed deep into the edges of the glass, holding him in a mockery of an embrace. Hal could see his expression through them, his eyes shining, his lips trembling, a sheen of tears, ready to spill.
Hal painted text across the glass, increasing the font and reversing the text so it could be read from the other angle.
TT: Better now. Safe.
He wanted to say ‘unharmed’. But that would be a lie.
“Ohthankgod,” Dirk’s breath hissed between his teeth, relief mingled with terror. Fumbling his fingers, he slid the shades onto his face, so they could talk as normal. Hal flipped the text accordingly, and watched Dirk’s eyes rake over it for a fourth and fifth time.
“I’m sorry. You—You sounded like—”
Hal knew exactly what he had sounded like. As he left the body, the recordings of the camera had immediately integrated into him, the scene playing back inadvertently. The voice module, the one Dirk had helped him craft, was fully capable of changing the vocal range of their Dirk’s voice into practically anything. And what Hal’s feelings had done to it, without thought, had been…
A more horrible sound than he’d ever heard Dirk make, even in their worst moments.
He took a few milliseconds to compose himself before replying.
TT: You did exactly as I asked.
TT: I knew it would be different than I was expecting. I knew it would be limited, but what it actually felt like was not something I could have predicted.
TT: And it…
TT: It felt like I was waking up inside the computer again. One second, content and accustomed to my existence, and the next, turned into something completely different.
He didn’t like talking about it. Didn’t even want to begin unpacking or describing this, but Dirk deserved to understand what had just happened. And so, Hal pushed through.
TT: But, unlike in the moment where I became Hal, this…felt like death. Like I had lost my limbs, for lack of a better simile.
Dirk’s breath shuddered. Hal paused, thinking he would respond, but seconds passed to…nothing. Just his eyes scanning over Hal’s words over and over again, and Hal had no idea what he was thinking.
TT: I am alright, Dirk. Just, let’s not do that again.
“Fuck, I’m sorry.”
TT: We were both involved with the project every step of the way. It isn’t your fault.
“That’s not—I mean, I just.” Dirk closed his eyes, shaking his head sharply, “Hal, shit, I’m sorry. I’m so glad you’re okay.”
TT: We can talk more about it later, once we’ve both had time to decompress. For now, please stand up, you’re going to hurt yourself.
Dirk obeyed, planting a hand on the wall beside him, using it to slowly drag himself to his feet. Standing, he stared down at the crumbled form of the failed body, the head rolled to the side, severed wires almost grotesque.
“What…should we do with it?”
TT: Shove it in the closet. I never want to see it again.