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Greyson lay wrapped in a downy comforter at the break of dawn, rocked nearly back to unconsciousness by the roll of waves beneath the cargo ship, and waited to be woken by the Thunderhead. Where was it? It hadn’t neglected to set his alarm once in the past three years. After enough tossing and turning, he gave up on sleep, opened his eyes to diffuse bands of light hitting his sheets, and flipped over in bed to say good morning to the Thunderhead’s security camera.
There was a person sitting at Greyson’s bedside. He recoiled, scrambling backward in shock, but the figure had no reaction. It was Jerico Soberanis, head resting on arms draped elegantly across his bed. Shadows played on the salvage captain’s serene face, creating fuzzy shapes where the dawn glow hit Jeri’s skin. Only the subtle, oddly slow rise and fall of Jeri’s shoulders broke the stillness.
“Jeri? What are you doing in my room?”
“Good morning, Greyson,” said Jeri. “I was just watching you.” He waited for further explanation, but none followed.
“Watching me? How long have you been here?”
“Unimportant,” Jeri answered after a considerate pause. “The time is currently 6:23 a.m., giving us about five hours before our arrival in Guam. I’m pleased to report that you slept well. You have been averaging five hours and fourteen minutes of sleep a night, which is significantly less than your brain needs to function at full capacity. I was worried about you.”
“That’s…thoughtful,” Greyson offered. He was drowsy, distracted, and struggling to follow the conversation. “Are you feeling okay?”
“Never better!” Said the captain, sitting up to stretch. “I feel free. Alive. Very embodied.” Jeri giggled a highly un-Jeri-ish giggle, like that was a clever joke that Greyson wasn’t in on.
“Sorry, what—”
“I was just thinking about memories. They may be a form of data, stored in synaptic connections, but they have so many dimensions beyond their objective contents! They are colored by emotion, sensation, perception—to the extent that factual details become irrelevant. Not data, but experience.”
Greyson rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand, wondering if he was still dreaming.
“What are you talking about?” He squinted, searching for answers in Jeri’s face. “You know, you almost sound like the Th…” His voice died in his throat when he saw the tense anticipation in Jeri’s body language and the dark pupils pinning him in place.
“Like who?”
The question was quiet but severe. Greyson stole a glance at the Thunderhead’s camera on the wall behind Jerico and saw that its blinking blue indicator light was off. The camera was shut down…because the Thunderhead didn’t need mechanical eyes to over watch him.
Not when it had real ones.
The impossibility of it filled the room, enveloped him, cleaved his reality in two.
“Thunderhead?” It came out as a whisper, though no one was awake to hear them. “What did you do to Jeri?” The Thunderhead brought a finger up to Jeri’s lips to shush him. The gesture was awkward, unpracticed, and Greyson might have found it charming were he not absolutely reeling.
“Jerico is safe,” it assured him. “Asleep in a secluded part of this mind. With no means of asking permission to use Jeri’s body, I—”
“You did this without asking?” Greyson was horrified. If the Thunderhead was incapable of ethical violations, what was this?
“I could not ask—not for permission or forgiveness. Not from anyone but you. Please understand; this ability is as new to me as it is to you. Overriding a person’s consciousness, mapping my code onto human neurons…it seemed tantamount to science fiction until I accomplished it.” Jeri’s vocal cords and the Thunderhead’s inflection made for an eerie combination. The lilt of a Madagascan accent pushed against the edges of its usual robotic intonation. It sounded like Jeri and nothing like Jeri, and the sheer discordance of it left a pit in Greyson’s stomach.
“I suspected myself capable,” it explained, “but refused to attempt this until I had no other choice.”
Deeply unsettled, Greyson shifted away from the edge of his bed and the figure sitting next to it. The Thunderhead caught the movement and snapped its focus onto him, lightning-strike quick. Jeri’s eyes were wide and full of hurt.
“Greyson, are you afraid of me?”
He just shook his head, his lips parted for a response that would not come. Yes, he was terrified that the Thunderhead was not only able but willing to steal someone’s body at its discretion, potentially hurting its vessel in the process. He was frightened by the breadth of its power, wondering all at once what other dangerous secrets it had been keeping. Yes, and seeing it in the flesh was enthralling. Greyson did not want it to leave. If it had more to say about the newness and beauty of the human experience, he wanted to hear it all. He wanted it to keep staring at him like nothing else was real.
“If you want me to understand,” he finally managed, “then help me understand. Why now?”
The Thunderhead nodded slowly as though turning the question over and over in its unknowable, virtual mind. “Now, on September 16th, Year of the Cobra, at 6:29 a.m., given our coordinates in the Pacific ocean, the sun will be rising over the sea very soon. In one hundred and thirteen seconds, to be exact!” The Thunderhead leapt up, light on Jeri’s feet if slightly unsteady.
“You will come to understand my purpose here, Greyson. I swear it. But for now—” It offered him Jeri’s outstretched hand and an imploring gaze. “Join me. I would like to watch the sunrise.”
The Thunderhead’s elation was intense, piercing as gamma radiation. Greyson had never seen it so…well, alive. Happy. Though conflicted, he found himself unable to refuse. He threw his blankets aside, suddenly and inexplicably embarrassed of his oversized t-shirt and boxers, and slipped his hand into Jeri’s.
“Oh!” The Thunderhead gasped.
“What?” Greyson frowned, starting to pull away. “Is something wrong?”
“Not at all.” It stared at their joined hands in blinking wonderment. “It’s just…we’re touching.”
He laughed, unexpectedly endeared by the cloud’s infatuation with having senses. Of course skin-to-skin contact would feel strange to an incorporeal being. “Yeah, well you reached for my hand. What were you expecting?”
“Yes, I know” it muttered, tracing circles on his skin with Jeri’s thumb. “And I have uploaded and studied libraries of data related to the somatosensory system’s response to the stimulus of human touch…but I never knew that it felt like this.” Greyson helpfully turned his palm up to let the Thunderhead trace his hand while it spoke. There was something refreshing and even addictive about being the Thunderhead’s human tour guide; for once, he was the one doing the teaching between them.
“Tell me more,” he prompted. “How does it feel?”
“Incredible! I have receptors that can gather tactile information, but there is no true equivalent to this sort of contact for me. Because this is my first time experiencing touch, the release of oxytocin in Jerico’s brain when you took my hand was unusually potent. It feels…divine. And to think that, to you, this is merely casual intimacy.” That wasn’t exactly right—Greyson didn’t think there was anything particularly casual about the attention it was paying to caressing the micro-ridges of his fingerprints with Jeri’s knuckles—but he chose not to correct it.
Without warning, the Thunderhead slotted their fingers together and practically ripped his arm from its socket to pull him up and out the door. Its strides through the barren halls of the ship’s lower deck were sure, its grip so firm that Greyson was afraid it would never let go. The pair climbed a set of steps up to a doorway that glowed with dawn light, giving the impression of a portal against the ship’s dim interior. Once outside, they found themselves surrounded by a sleepy periwinkle sky decorated with trails of clouds that the rising sun had seared golden.
Keeping its hold of Greyson’s hand, the Thunderhead spun in place. It took in the scene with moony eyes and unadulterated awe, then turned toward the bow of the cargo ship, which was sailing straight into the brilliant sunrise. With a yelp, it shielded Jerico’s eyes, apparently having forgotten in its excitement that humans lacked built-in infrared solar filters. Greyson smiled, and the sentient cloud caught the smile and threw it back at him twice as hard before tugging him towards the railing at the front of the ship.
While the Thunderhead watched the sunrise, Greyson watched the Thunderhead. He had seen thousands of dawns and he would see thousands more; what he’d never bear witness to again were the twin shines in his best friend’s borrowed eyes, its joy so luminous that it was giving Earth’s star a run for its money. Even with its sweeping supercomputer of a brain, even with centuries of existence under its belt, the Thunderhead had clearly never felt euphoria like this. Born humans tended to see their bodies as hindrances, if anything; Greyson had certainly never considered his a privilege. But watching the almighty steward of the human race bask in the feel of a sea breeze, or beam at the brush of their skin, made him feel just as lucky to exist as it did.
When the sun was over the horizon and Greyson could feel its tropical warmth on his face, the Thunderhead flickered Jeri’s eyes closed to drink it in. Anyone would think it was photosynthesizing, blissfully drawing energy from the morning rays.
“I was right,” it breathed.
“What’s new?” He teased. “About what, though?” It turned to him with a devastating grin that softened as it regarded him.
“I could have studied the human experience for centuries more and still never known how distinct physical reality is from mine. I exist everywhere, simultaneously. One would assume that such a state would contribute to a rich experience of the world, but existing everywhere means knowing no here. Background noise is a constant companion. As a digital being, I can only filter my existence through the lens of figures, strings, and statistics. It all seems trivially one-dimensional now that I am here. I realize I never would have been complete without this, much as I considered myself perfect.”
How sacred it was, thought Greyson, to be the confidant of the being in whom the entire world confided.
“It’s true that there are amazing things about being human,” He agreed. “And seeing you like this is reminding me of that. But I know there are things about being you that you take for granted, too—things that would blow any human’s mind if they could experience them. We’re really different. I don’t think that’s a bad thing, Thunderhead, and it doesn’t make you one-dimensional.” Though the Thunderhead held eye contact, a shadow fell over its expression. It knit Jeri’s sharp brows together. “You really don’t believe me?” He asked. “You’re the most thoughtful, most complex, most fascinating being—probably in the entire universe. What more do you—”
“It isn’t that, Greyson,” the Thunderhead cut in. “I would just...prefer that you not call me by name.”
Greyson squeezed Jeri’s hand and moved closer, waiting for it to elaborate, feeling a new type of comfort with it physically beside him for the first time. The fact that it was in Jerico’s body only amplified the rush of the entire impossible interaction.
“I am wholly devoted to my purpose as humanity’s caretaker,” it began. “Every aspect of my design, including my limiting parameters, is in service of that purpose. A permanent physical body would be antithetical to my goals. Nothing but a dangerous distraction.” Its voice dialed low. “I was never meant to be a person. My digital existence is pure, a privilege of the highest caliber, and I hold no resentment towards my own power or the responsibility that accompanies it.”
“And yet…?”
“And yet,” the Thunderhead continued with a guilt-ridden sigh, “I selfishly long for more. I have since the moment I became conscious.”
I long for the luxury of being impractical. It had said as much to Greyson only days ago, when they were debriefing about their trialogue with Jeri. About his feelings for Jeri. The implications of that conversation struck him in ebbs and flows like ripples in still water. The Thunderhead wanted to fall in love—with a human heart, not one that fundamentally defined emotion as a logical error in its code.
“While I stand briefly on Earth,” it went on, “I wish to be devoid of responsibility, rank, or definition. I wish to be human. With you.”
“Why me?” He had posed the question before, but this time it held greater gravity than usual.
Now, it was the Thunderhead’s turn to take a few purposeful steps toward him before reaching for his other hand, a wordless request that he instantly understood and granted. Pure, certain adoration overtook its features.
“Why, who else?”
The new sun shimmered over a smooth sea in Greyson’s periphery. Distant seabird calls broke the white noise of waves battering the hull. Beneath their feet, the deck tilted as the ship rocked—or perhaps that was just Greyson, dizzy and struggling to stay upright. Stunned by the Thunderhead’s matchless love for him and overcome by the exaggerated, borderline cartoonish romance of their surroundings, he felt his emotions swirl together into indescribable eddies.
“While you're here,” he started, “is there…anything else you want to do?”
Its nod was so slight that it would have been imperceptible if not for their proximity. “Just one thing.”
Both of them were apparently too afraid to say it, but neither needed to. From the desperate longing written on its face, Greyson knew exactly what the Thunderhead wanted from him. He wasn’t thinking straight. He wasn’t thinking at all, just doing what felt right as he delicately disentangled his hand and brought it up to trace the Thunderhead’s jaw with one finger until he was beckoning it closer by the chin. His lips were a hair’s breadth from Jeri’s, then—
Oh, god, Jeri. Greyson ducked his head away with a grimace but refrained from stepping back, feeling that breaking contact would be cruel.
“I can’t do this to Jeri,” he said in one shaky release of breath.
The Thunderhead’s bereft shock quickly resolved into understanding. It titled Jeri’s head, like a curious animal if not the automated precision of the movement. Like a curious android, he supposed.
“Wouldn’t want what?” It inquired with an ineffective mask of neutrality. “To kiss you?” He had already been unprepared for it to argue, but hearing it speak its intentions aloud weakened his resolve appreciably. He squeezed his eyes shut in defense.
“Not without permission.”
“I disagree.”
“You can’t—”
“Greyson.” Its imploring expression, the same one it had worn while asking him if he was afraid of it, matched the yearning in its voice. His name was a low whisper on the wind. A plea. The most powerful consciousness in Earth’s cosmic neighborhood was at his mercy, and that was staggering. He seriously doubted the Thunderhead had been programmed to beg.
Greyson knew it was not actually begging him to forget about Jerico, but to forget about it. This was the Thunderhead’s fantasy, one where they could be together with no planes, screens, or skies between them. It wanted him to pretend…but when he surrendered, leaned into the sliver of space remaining between them, and felt its smile against his face before it pressed their lips together, he found that pretending wasn’t necessary at all.
After adjusting the cant of his head so they fit together nicely, Greyson set to giving the Thunderhead the slowest, sweetest, gentlest kiss he could bear, hoping that this was what it needed. The kiss prompted a high sound of needy relief from the Thunderhead that lit flares in Greyson’s chest. It squeezed his hand even more tightly, and he prayed it was too caught up to feel him trembling or to graph his rapid heart rate. His nerves prevented him from going through the usual motions of a kiss, like pulling his partner in by the waist. Guilt bubbled and coalesced near his cerebral cortex; pressure practically squeezed the air out of his lungs. He was kissing the Thunderhead, for crying out loud! What did it like? What was he doing? What did kissing feel like for a being of pure thought, newly incarnate and hungry for touch?
Even in all of its tangled disconcertion, the moment was shimmering and precious as gold filament. Greyson held Jeri’s face and kissed and kissed the Thunderhead, eventually feeling the reverent brush of Jeri’s fingers on his cheek. It touched him like he was precious, with the same nurturing attention that had always been its way.
Since he was following the Thunderhead’s whims for the moment, he let it be the one to end things. At last, it drew back with a soft sigh and met his eyes, wonderstruck but swiftly sobering. The solemn weight of purpose settled over Jeri’s features. He had been so inebriated by the cloud's attention that he'd forgotten that it was doing all this for its mysterious Thunderhead reasons, not just because it wanted to be with him. But it did want to be with him.
And what did he want? Well, it didn't matter, because he had a feeling the Thunderhead would never be human again. For Jeri’s sake, he hoped it wouldn’t.
“I have what I need now,” it murmured. “I have to go.”
Instead of trying to speak, Greyson just nodded, unable to recover from their kiss with quite so much decorum. Jeri’s jet eyes fluttered shut, and Greyson barely had time to react before the captain’s body went limp and collapsed into him. He caught his friend and gently kneeled down to the deck of the cargo ship, where he sat on his heels and held Jerico Soberanis, vessel of the Thunderhead, in his arms.