Work Text:
uhhh
PREFACE
[something to ease them into it]
The difficulty with interpreting memory data gleaned from a downed soulbot husk is that the content of what is retrieved is ultimately determined by the methods of retrieval available and which of those methods is the first employed. Material breakdown before and during the extraction process is so common that under most circumstances only one kind of data can be obtained before the object is rendered inert. This means that the prevailing tendency to catalog a gleaned datastream as the “record” of a given artifact is misleading, implying as it does a completeness which under the vast majority of circumstances cannot be achieved.
This distinction is often dismissed [cite fucking Bherek’s fucking paper and maybe Norkos and his toadies] on the grounds that soulbot husks are among the most common items of interdimensional disjecta retrieved by our reconnaissance teams, and given the sheer number of sources available a relatively complete picture of the Lost Mother gestalt could be obtained by focusing on the places where data from multiple sources converge. Some [fucking fucking Bherek again] have even suggested that machine aggregations of multiple streams with an algorithmic priority of consensus should be handled by researchers instead of primary sources, because considered as a whole they are closer to some mythical the experience of the mythical Alpha Aradia She Who Remains Alive. I find the tendency to simplify understandable [nope nope nope be nice] While the desire to approach the divine image as faithfully as possible is an admirable one, it must be remembered that every bot represents a unique iteration of our Mother, with unique memories and a unique subjective experience. By focusing too much on the ways that all Aradias are one Aradia we risk missing those telling moments which revealed each individual Aradia to herself. [too gender studies probably, fix]
[how about:] The prevailing tendency to view all pandimensional spoor of a given Mother or Father as parts of a continuous whole devaluates methods of retrieval which might shed light on the ways a given iteration of the god or goddess in question differed from the gestalt. [no][do not use] [yes let’s talk about the spoor of the divine creators when my advisor gets offended if I don’t use fifty-year-old honorifics] [the gods and their spoor] [their spoooooor] [the word has stopped meaning anything] [god I need to sleep]
[ok write this transition please]
METHODOLOGY
When choosing a method of data retrieval from a given husk it is important to acknowledge that some formats have been privileged over others, consciously or unconsciously, and for a variety of reasons. Video and audio logs are easy to contextualize as primary sources, but what of the haptic feedback buffers? How do you write out a memory of a sensation of touch? Do we pay more attention to the decontextualized sensory data retrieved from a memory dump port, or to, say, a series of unspoken words gleaned from an ancillary vocal processor?
Is it worth more, in short, to understand what our Forgotten Mother saw or what she said? [although I guess technically she didn’t say, because they were buffered? Maybe what she felt??? probably more germane but it loses the alliteration] While our priority as historians must be the restoration and preservation of data that reveals the most about the period we study, it is easy to fall into a trap wherein we view video footage from a robotic eye as inherently more trustworthy or valuable than the recorded thoughts or feelings of the individual who recorded that footage, even though each are equally a product of the choices, interests and preferences of that individual. [either preaching to the choir or talking to a wall, move on]
This decision is further complicated by the fact that each wreck has two distinct mnemonic threads on board: one set of continuous memories generated mechanically during the unit’s active phase, and one full set of prior memories imprinted during the moment of soul bonding via a process that the Semi-Lost Father memorably referred to as “some bullshiit”. [FIND THIS SOURCE I am not taking this out] The latter data are more impressionistic and difficult to parse and are therefore too often ignored in favor of robot-phase memories, which are also conveniently far more convergent.
What we are left with is a surplus of grainy footage of the battle with the Black King and a shortage of everything else. Given the surfeit of source material available it is an embarrassment it is unfortunate that we know so little about the Lost Mother’s grubhood – and, given that the facts of the rift, the fall, the rebirth, etc are so well-known to us, it is… fuck it, let’s go with “strange” that we know so little of how she felt about it all.
It is for these reasons that I have chosen to focus on an incident from this soulbot’s record that predates her incarnation as a robot, and which in fact predates her initial death. I have been able to record this incident in two ways [I hope] [god I hope]. The first datastream is transcribed from a subvocalized monologue buffered during the last days of the bot’s operational period. The Lost Mother’s penchant for monologuing has been well documented elsewhere [cite Bulloo’s “Are You There, Goddess? It’s Me, Goddess”] and monologue transcription is widely accepted as a legitimate form of soulbot data mining.
The second datastream is from the initial soul embedment engram and is encoded as pure sensory data, in the form of neural impulses. I have elected to experience these directly via slimejack and will record the experience as faithfully as I can. [that’s sure optimistic] I am in this process building on the recent biofeedback research of Dr. Glenpt and also from certain blueprints recently recovered from the Void which are thought to have been created by Sweat Dad [fix, smartass]
[is there a way to make this sound more impressive]
[or less scary]
[whatever, tl/dr methodology goes here, just copy/paste from the schematic]
It is my hope that the contrast between these two records – which are pulled from the same incarnation of the same individual, and which describe the same event – will shed light on the importance of diverse sourcing methods in future salvage operations.
--
RECORD A [direct download from vocal buffer at point 458135.45-458167.22]
[fix the weird formatting and the 0 thing before you turn this in, idiot]
I w0uld like t0 think that y0u revisit the life y0u dreamed f0r us. I d0 n0t believe this t0 be true, and I have l0st the capacity t0 ign0re the truth f0r my 0wn c0mf0rt, am0ng many 0ther things. Still, y0ur mind is y0ur 0wn – I cann0t kn0w h0w many times y0u used my life and 0ur hist0ry t0 get y0u thr0ugh a difficult night. Interestingly, n0 matter h0w 0ften I imagine y0u returning and returning t0 0ur shared past, the data regarding h0w likely it is to be real and n0t a fake st0ry for idi0ts d0es n0t change. I cann0t m0ve the pr0babilities by wishing 0r wanting, and I cann0t make an event m0re real by imagining it. I am, after all, n0t y0u
This is what I kn0w. After y0u underst00d the events that w0uld have been necessary t0 save Vriska’s life – after y0u knew them s0 well that y0u c0uld write them blindf0lded while y0u bled t0 death – y0u m0ved 0n t0 0ther regrets, fr0m maj0r t0 min0r, and my death, 0r deaths, came up. I d0 n0t kn0w h0w l0ng they t00k t0 c0me up. While y0u c0nsidered the things y0u w0uld need t0 have d0ne t0 fix my death, y0u imagined what it w0uld have been like if we had been cl0ser. 0r if y0u had kn0wn me at all, really. Y0u did this because y0u were l0nely, and, presumably, because y0u had run 0ut 0f n0n-terrible friends t0 fantasize ab0ut. It was me 0r Amp0ra and y0u ch0se me. I am exactly as h0n0red by this as I sh0uld be
Y0u used y0ur p0wers and called my timeline int0 existence. This is a misn0mer, 0f c0urse, because there is n0 such thing as a timeline that d0es n0t exist, but y0u are n0t a time player, s0 I will try t0 make this simple. Y0u reached int0 the warp and weft 0f parad0x space and f0und the thread that c0ntained my life, my mem0ry, my w0rld and my feeling, and y0u pulled it l00se, because y0u wanted t0 see what it was like. When y0u were d0ne l00king, y0u let it g0, and its pr0ximity t0 the alpha timeline pulled it int0 entrainment, which is why I’m here, and why I’m dead, and yet I d0n’t hate y0u. It’s amazing h0w little I feel ab0ut it. But I w0uld like t0 think that it t00k m0re than 0ne night 0f imagining t0 d0 it
The ir0ny is that we have m0re in c0mm0n n0w than we ever did when we were l0vers. Y0u and I are b0th cursed with hyp0theticals. I kn0w all the ways that things can g0 wr0ng, because my sisters and I have experienced them, and, m0re 0ften than n0t, been killed by them. Y0u kn0w all the ways things c0uld have g0ne right. If y0u had been smart en0ugh t0 make them, which y0u were n0t
I have ch0sen n0t t0 burden this iterati0n 0f y0u with my mem0ry 0f 0ur time t0gether. 0r m0re accurately I have ch0sen t0 aband0n the timeline in which I did. S0 y0u will never hear this. But I want t0 describe again the day things began between us, because it is the realest thing that has ever happened t0 me. I understand n0w that the feeling that came 0ver me then was n0t l0ve – n0t that I didn’t l0ve y0u, I did, until I st0pped l0ving anything, and als0 breathing – but was the feeling 0f y0ur attenti0n, the attenti0n 0f a girl I had never met, fl0ating in her recuperac00n after a bad cl0wn date and searching f0r s0mething nice t0 think ab0ut. It was the t0uch 0f auth0rship in a life that had until that m0ment been run the n0rmal, un0rganized way. Y0u pulled me 0n stage and I kissed y0u
The c0ntrivance 0f it – 0h, s0meh0w y0u l0st y0ur sight in a c0mpletely n0n-traumatic way s0 y0u didn’t have t0 deal with imagining visi0n, and s0meh0w we had bec0me friends despite the massive gulf in our s0cial standing, and als0 I c0uld fly s0meh0w even th0ugh I was alive and n0t hearing the v0ices 0f the dead all the time – until I arrived here at the alpha timeline I didn’t realize what a slapdash j0b y0u had d0ne putting my hist0ry t0gether. And 0f c0urse the sec0nd y0u turned y0ur attenti0n away Vriska murdered me in a jeal0us rage. But I’m n0t here t0 make y0u feel guilty. Y0u are already the champi0n 0f that
Besides, there was a way in which it all made sense– I was s0 in awe 0f y0u, y0ur wealth, y0ur intelligence, y0ur bl00d – that y0u deigned t0 speak t0 me at all, treated me alm0st like an equal. And there was s0mething in the way y0u threatened t0 kill me, as a j0ke, alm0st as a flirtati0n, when we b0th knew y0u c0uld d0 s0, with n0 c0nsequences, at any time, because 0f wh0 I was, and wh0 y0u were, that I f0und incredibly ar0using
H0w c0uld I blame y0u? There was never a happy ending. At least this way I get t0 smash things
I am here t0 remember the sheer rightness 0f the feeling 0f my arm ar0und y0u and the way that I c0uld feel the catch in y0ur breathing when we left the gr0und t0gether because y0u were h0lding me that cl0se. I am here t0 remember
It is hard t0 remember sensati0ns fr0m a b0dy y0u d0n’t have anym0re
--
RECORD B [a memory of a warm dawn, inserted nasally]
ASDHLKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKHLFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFASDIamhereIamhereIamhereIamhereIam young young young what is this what is this I am so brief I am so light my body isssss my body what is
*ACTIVATE VOICE RECORDING
OK, I THINK I GOT IT
Can’t find my fingers can’t find my fingers can’t find my fingers doot doot doo
Holy hell I haven’t had why am I remembering Elenah right now why haven’t I gone outside you’re supposed to go outside when you write everything’s so dark and HKKK wait
OK OK god that’s actually light isn’t it it’s weird you’d think people’s eyes would all work the same but my brain does not know what to do with that hot mess I’m an infant over here
OK I think I missed some important parts while I was figuring out how space worked
*REWIND
ESSHKK GOD STOP
*CANCEL REWIND *RESTART
AGGH I AM HERE I AM HERE I AM here I am here. I am here. That was not any easier the second time. I can make out trees now, though
- OK. I have… I am having the kind of hyperventilating feeling that you get when you’ve been pushing against minor social pressure all day. My heart is beating a little bit too fast. I am trying not to look at the girl next to me, because that makes it worse. I’m out of sorts and on the back foot because I still can’t quite believe that the people I’m flarping with are taking me seriously and that I’m doing it right. But I was definitely overcompensating and acting way cooler than I felt because if I hadn’t been I’d never have made such an obvious pass at oh god I made such an obvious pass at Terezi
Oh god I’m about to make out with a god what was I thinking
Focus focus focus. Report. What does this feel like. Alternian trees are amazing, it’s all pinks and purples and the first dawn light drizzling over the canopy and I’m about to make out with the Mother of Knives I can’t do this
But I really need to finish my paper
[await content]
OK anyway we’re moving. I feel the sensation of walking. That’s familiar. Aradia has bigger hips than I do, you won’t find that tidbit in your fucking consolidation streams, will you, Bherek? I will be the first to record that the Lost Mother had a sizable caboose. And Terezi, let’s be thorough about this, what kind of… OK, I can’t actually check because this is a memory, but what if I were to just kind of… access some peripheral vision stuff and just look over a little and…
Oh, she did it anyway. Just scoped it on out. Great minds. Me and the Lost Mother, She Who Stayed Behind, we are like, exactly the same person. For the record, the Mother of Eternal Justice wears really baggy pants, so, results inconclusive
We’re bantering about something, the content’s irrelevant. I’m pretty sure Aradia isn’t even hearing any of it. We keep stealing glances at her face, but those glances, woof. I can feel that all the way down to my feet. This feels incredibly familiar and I can’t tell if it’s because my neurochemicals associate these sensations with my personal experiences in this area or because me and the Goddess essentially agree about the significant portions of Terezi’s face. Woo. Again: NOT A DETAIL YOU’LL FIND IN A VIDEO FEED. SHE IS SOMETHING.
OK we’re nearing her tree, this is it this is it. Shut up. Stay focused. We’re going to fly. No big deal, we’re just going to actually get to fly. We grab her, and
[await content]
[await content]
[await content]
[recording will auto-terminate in 5]
[4]
On the first day I stayed over with Elenah and she went up to her bedroom and left me on the couch to sleep I remember I was so sad that she was gone – even though I knew I would see her again the next morning – that I sang to her. I actually lay there and sang a sad little song about how I missed her and I didn’t feel self-conscious about it because I knew this was the realest feeling I had ever felt, and that excused everything. I forgot all about that until just now.
And I think that’s probably OK, that I forgot about it. If I had the right technique, if I remembered things right, nothing else would ever measure up to that night. Life right now is veils on top of veils and my eyes and ears and lips are all cobwebbed over, and I’m only like ten sweeps old
So with this experience, what I’m experiencing now. It’s important that we keep things like this apart, that we know they’re there but never look at them, like a love letter, or the sun
Her chin is too angular and she’s got zits and she’s leaning hard on my thigh with one of her incredibly sharp elbows but it’s exactly the same
It’s awkward and bitey and she’s too aggressive with her tongue but it’s
I would live in this forever if I could.
We take these moments and we build little boxes around them that we fill with narrative and we create little structures little filigrees of ghost past and ghost future to spin it all into the most perfect possible context and we freeze our first loves and eke them out and chip off fragments and mount them in fabergé eggs and we dance around the fact that it’s once and then it’s done and the timeline spills out in all directions around this moment like eddies around a splash and we navigate the rest of our lives against the contours of this accident, this stupidity. The smell of chalk dust will make Aradia’s head go funny for the rest of her life. Probably for the rest of mine too, now, damn it.
Aradia’s starting to catastrophize now. She knows safety means more to her than it does to Terezi even though on paper she’s got less life to lose. They’re still making out but she’s panicking a little, something cold lodged in her. I’m drifting toward the ceiling. I’ll remember flying forever. Fuck this paper. Fuck my degree, and fuck this paper. FUCK. This paper.
Fuck.
I taste so red. Strawberries and cherries and the blood in my throat. Dig deeper in my body, it feels like home. Burrow between me. Smell the sweat under my tits. Rest your sharp little chin where no-one has touched me. I’ll be an OK place to be for you for now. I’m waking up.
I love you. Oh, man, I love you. I’m sorry
--
CONCLUSION
[yeah, probably ask for an extension]