Sabriel (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
bindsthedead) wrote2019-03-09 01:38 am
bindsthedead) wrote2019-03-09 01:38 am
PSL
There was a time when Sabriel might have been eager to see the inside of Cyberlife Tower. Her class had been to Detroit when she was thirteen, and they'd toured an android factory- or the part of it they showed to tourists, at least- and visited museums and art galleries and all the sorts of things Young Ladies ought to see, but weren't available in the small town of Wyverley, or in Bain.
But Sabriel wasn't here for a school trip. Recent events in Ancelstierre meant that with the sudden loss of all android soldiers meant that soldiers from the entirely human garrison at the Wall had been transferred elsewhere- which meant fewer soldiers watching the border, on top of the losses from Kerrigor's attack, and a necromancer had slipped across, making his way to the largest city that was close enough to the Wall that magic still worked- one that seemed rather different than how she remembered it.
But what was occupying most of her attention was the Cyberlife representative in front of her. Sabriel listened politely as the woman spoke about malfunctioning machines and simulated emotions and how things that weren't alive couldn't die, so why would a necromancer- and from the woman's voice it was clear she didn't believe such things were real- want with deactivated androids?
Sabriel stood up and shook the woman's hand, telling her she'd been very helpful without meaning a word of it, and headed out the office before pausing.
She sensed something ominously familiar- Death, and a recent one at that. She turned another corner, following the sensation as a hound tracked a scent, half-expecting someone to spot her, to see her in her armor and bells (security had made her check her sword at the front desk) and tell her she wasn't allowed to be here.
But no one came, and no one living was in the laboratory she went into- just a dead- (deactivated?) android on a table-or its head and torso at least, with panels on its chest removed to reveal tubes and biocomponents, and Sabriel felt she'd stepped into a morgue and found an autopsied body.
Sabriel was seized by a sudden impulse. If androids weren't alive, then she'd simply waste some time, but if they were... well, she'd have a source of information she could interrogate as she would any Dead spirit. And unlike the representative she'd just spoken to, she could force it to answer honestly and completely.
Decision made, Sabriel undid the straps and drew Saraneth from the bandolier. This far from the Wall, stepping into Death took a deliberate effort, but soon Sabriel was in the First precinct and she cast around with her senses, trying to feel out the spirit of the android- if it had one, it couldn't have gone beyond the First Gate, and probably shouldn't be that far into the the First Precinct.
But Sabriel wasn't here for a school trip. Recent events in Ancelstierre meant that with the sudden loss of all android soldiers meant that soldiers from the entirely human garrison at the Wall had been transferred elsewhere- which meant fewer soldiers watching the border, on top of the losses from Kerrigor's attack, and a necromancer had slipped across, making his way to the largest city that was close enough to the Wall that magic still worked- one that seemed rather different than how she remembered it.
But what was occupying most of her attention was the Cyberlife representative in front of her. Sabriel listened politely as the woman spoke about malfunctioning machines and simulated emotions and how things that weren't alive couldn't die, so why would a necromancer- and from the woman's voice it was clear she didn't believe such things were real- want with deactivated androids?
Sabriel stood up and shook the woman's hand, telling her she'd been very helpful without meaning a word of it, and headed out the office before pausing.
She sensed something ominously familiar- Death, and a recent one at that. She turned another corner, following the sensation as a hound tracked a scent, half-expecting someone to spot her, to see her in her armor and bells (security had made her check her sword at the front desk) and tell her she wasn't allowed to be here.
But no one came, and no one living was in the laboratory she went into- just a dead- (deactivated?) android on a table-or its head and torso at least, with panels on its chest removed to reveal tubes and biocomponents, and Sabriel felt she'd stepped into a morgue and found an autopsied body.
Sabriel was seized by a sudden impulse. If androids weren't alive, then she'd simply waste some time, but if they were... well, she'd have a source of information she could interrogate as she would any Dead spirit. And unlike the representative she'd just spoken to, she could force it to answer honestly and completely.
Decision made, Sabriel undid the straps and drew Saraneth from the bandolier. This far from the Wall, stepping into Death took a deliberate effort, but soon Sabriel was in the First precinct and she cast around with her senses, trying to feel out the spirit of the android- if it had one, it couldn't have gone beyond the First Gate, and probably shouldn't be that far into the the First Precinct.
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Just in case talking doesn't resolve this.
"Connor, please- do as they say. I'm sure this is all a misunderstanding." She's not sure, but she's been in this place before, surrounded by soldiers ready to shoot her, and she was able to resolve it peacefully then. Surely, that means she can resolve it now, doesn't it?
"Listen- this android was given to me by Cyberlife, to assist me in my work. He's not a deviant, and he hasn't hurt anyone." This is very much a lie, but one delivered with wide-eyed, pleading sincerity.
"As Abhorsen, Ancelstierre's conflicts are not mine to meddle in- but I believe the necromancer is using current events to amass an army greater than any he could create in the Old Kingdom. This android's assistance has been invaluable in helping me understand the scope of his plans- already, grave dirt bridges are being placed across Detroit by his human allies."
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The complicated web of preconstructions shatters. The words that appear in front of Connor in its place frame his view in the neat, clear lines of new instructions. Objective set: obey the soldiers. Slowly, his palm lifts from his gun. His hands raise, fingers locking just behind his head, and he isn't sure whether it's his programming or him that moves them. Ultimately, Connor supposes, there's no difference.
He's a machine.
Connor steps back, shedding the touch to his shoulder. He kneels on the ground. The slush of trodden snow seeps through his pant legs as his eyes flit sideways, tracking the pair of humans on approach with leveled guns. This isn't a surprise. It isn't, never mind Abhorsen's leniency with his failures before. He's been useful, but she's talked about these soldiers more than once: potential allies, to enlist or turn to. Humans who might join her side.
...At least she hadn't traded him to Jericho. Connor's face stays blank, LED a solid yellow. He listens with a strange detachment as she makes her pitch. Does Abhorsen really think they'll let her keep him? Or is she just excusing why she had, before?
The squad leader certainly seems to treat it as the latter. "We'll take care of it," she answers: crisp and dry, if not entirely unsympathetic. Her voice lowers. "Tell me what you know about this necromancer..."
There's more, but Connor doesn't hear it. His attention is on the barrel of the gun jabbed into his back. On the curt instruction: "Don't move, plastic."
Do as they say. Connor complies. Only his eyes move, tracking the soldier that steps around to his front. A gloved hand seizes him below the jaw, fingers digging into his synthetic skin. There's something gnawing in his gut, a boiling, unstable mess, but he doesn't resist as the human drags his head up, angling it for inspection.
"...Yeah, it's on the list. Special warnings, too." The human turns, calling a pair of names. Backup, presumably.
"Search it."
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"He's- carrying some things for me," she says hastily as she fidgets again, as the soldier's search reveals guns and knives. "He hasn't used them. As for the necromancer- he's reanimating android corpses. And Charter knows there's no shortage of those around Detroit."
She doesn't mean it to sound as harsh as it does, but the soldiers shift uneasily.
"Abhorsen- they're not people. They're not alive, they can't be-"
"I've seen it." She tells them, and a few waver at the utter certainty in her words. "And I know what I've felt. My father and I- have either of us ever lied to you about the Dead? Ever erred in our descriptions or knowledge of the Dead?" She probably shouldn't be speaking so harshly, but- she thought they'd be on her side, that they'd believe her, unlike almost everyone else she's had to deal with in Detroit.
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"Well, shit." The woman's voice is dark, but not surprised. "Fucking deviants."
Connor's not a deviant. He's not, and his lips press together, glare sharpening as he's turned over. The squeeze and press of human hands continues, discovering the second holster at his side and the knives he'd taken off their enemies. With each new weapon, the grips around his arms dig in more tightly, and when they finish, he's hauled back to his knees. There's a gap in the soldiers surrounding him—enough to spot Abhorsen, engaged with her own group. Those ones, at least, seem to have lowered their weapons.
"...yeah. Bring the truck over." It's the soldier directly in front of him—the one who'd called for backup. Whatever he hears on his radio produces a snort of amusement. "I fucking wish. No, the Cyberdicks have dibs on these."
Cyberlife. The list. Realization hits like a shot to the gut: where they plan to take him. Why. His predecessor betrayed Cyberlife. Failed Amanda, and demonstrated the irrevocable worthlessness of their whole line. And because of that—because of what it did, and the opposition it's grown into... their manufacturers want it alive.
It's useful.
He wants to laugh. To sneer. Will Cyberlife care, when they find out which RK800 has been delivered to their door? Will they be disappointed? Probably. If Connor had succeeded at his first mission, they wouldn't have needed to enlist these soldiers. The deviants would never have had the numbers to wage this kind of war at all.
Certainly he wouldn't be here. The boiling heat is stronger now: bubbling up through Connor's core, into his lungs, scalding and vicious as it coils in his throat. "You idiots," he seethes. "I'm not—"
A rifle stock smashes across his face, displacing skin to plastic and snapping his head to the side. "Shut up," the soldier interjects. Immediately, Connor's vocal module cuts off function. Do as they say. The words are layered out in front of him: this time, in a bright and vivid red.
The man standing over him doesn't notice. Still, his helmet stays fixed on Connor, considering him for a long moment. Finally it lifts, addressing the soldiers holding him in place.
"You saw the footage from that elevator, right?"
They have.
"Break its arms."
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Too bad no one else seems to be interested in that. And ordering Connor harmed when he hasn't done anything is the last straw- Sabriel feels something inside of herself snap.
"Don't hurt him!" Sabriel shouts the activating marks of the spell- unfortunately, it will blind everyone in the vicinity, including Connor- but even as she sets off the spell, her hands go to Ranna, and she lets the bell sound, directing its power at everyone but Connor and herself. She can hear the soldiers cursing, and one of them sluggishly tries to grab her, only to overbalance and fall too the ground, fast asleep. Another tries to shoot- her or Connor, she's not sure, but the shot misses both of them and he falls to the ground, fast asleep.
If Saraneth is deep and powerful, and Kibeth strangely energetic, Ranna is sweet and gentle, an irresistible lullaby that leaves even Sabriel feeling- not sleepy, exactly, but oddly calm, when moments before her heart was pounding in her chest. Lifting the binding spell on Connor is easy, and when his vision clears, she's already stowing Ranna, her knuckles even whiter than usual.
"Connor- I'm sorry." Some part of her wants to repeat that again and again. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. She bows her head, some hair falling in front of her face. She hasn't felt this stupid and ashamed since she almost broke the wards on Abhorsen's house out of simple, blind curiosity.
"I miscalculated- I thought I could reason with them, but they wouldn't listen. I shouldn't have put you in that position. You have every right to be angry with me." She should have told him to run, she should have- done something, anything else besides what she did.
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His vision clears a moment later: to a battlefield of downed humans, and Abhorsen standing above him. Apologizing. Connor stares, mouth opening a little. Blinks. His gaze shifts down, checking the soldiers—all incapacitated. Asleep.
She wasn't trading him away.
"...I'm a machine."
For a change, there's no sneer or viciousness behind the phrase. Only an odd, numb blankness, as if he doesn't know what else to say. Connor doesn't. He's not supposed to get angry. And he doesn't have any rights.
Slowly, he pushes himself up. Stands. Brushes away some of the snow, before a glance over his soaked outfit makes him give up on the attempt. His eyes turn to the soldiers, skimming pockets and belt pouches for his things.
"How long before they wake up?
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"I'd say about half an hour. Longer if they were already tired, less if something happens to wake them up." And they should be long gone by then.
"So we should get moving, once you're done. The blindness will have worn off by then too." She wants to say more, offer another apology, try to explain, but- she doubts Connor is interested, and they shouldn't linger here anyway. So once Connor seems like he's done, she turns and starts walking.
"And- once this is all over, I think it would be best if you went back to the Old Kingdom with me." Because given what she's seen, she can't imagine Detroit- or any part of Ancelstierre- being a good place for him to stay.
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The white patches exposed on his face catch the sunlight as Connor wordlessly shakes his head. Refocus. He spots the man who took his guns, and steps forward, reaching to retrieve them.
"They called in a truck for transport. I don't know how close it is." So, yes. They should leave quickly. Unless Abhorsen wants to try her luck again.
He replaces his weapons. Takes a few spare clips. His predecessor's ankle holster is back in the hotel, but after a moment's consideration, Connor tucks a third gun into his pocket for later. Just in case.
He's done in less than a minute—and his synthetic skin has mostly returned, too. He falls in quickly behind Abhorsen, listening closely for any sound of pursuit.
Probably, that's why her comment doesn't process the first time. "What?" Connor blurts, steps hitching as his head snaps toward her. He closes his mouth quickly, but his brow stays furrowed as he replays the words.
...They don't change.
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"You don't seem to like the deviants much, and I don't think you'd be safe among the Ancelstierrians- but no one in the Old Kingdom knows or cares what an android is. If they know you're working for me, and know you're not some Dead thing or Free magic creature... It would matter that much to anyone what you are. Certainly not to anyone who matters."
Not to Touchstone. Not to the Clayr, or what remains of local and guild leadership after two hundred years of chaos. And as dangerous as the Old Kingdom can be, there are no sites of mass death like there are in Detroit.
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Connor thinks—no, knows; 99% confidence—that Abhorsen doesn't understand what he is either.
He's far less sure how to reply. Where to start.
"...I haven't succeeded at my mission."
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And of course, she will be dead, and Connor probably will be too. So she should focus on succeeding, and not what will happen if she fails.
"You've done admirably so far. I see no reason that shouldn't continue."
They must be following the path the soldiers took, Sabriel realizes- because down one alleyway, she can feel very recent death, and see motionless bodies and blue stained snow.
But she doesn't see any weapons near the bodies, and none of the soldiers they'd encountered had seemed injured.
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"And if I succeed, you plan to keep me."
It's a question, even if the words emerge slightly too flat. That's what she's... offering? It's her plan—her decision, but there's no other reason to say the words aloud.
As if it were a bribe. As if he were some deviant, hoping to forestall his end. His eyes follow hers, passing over the blue-stained bodies to the side.
Automatically, he reconstructs their execution.
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"Well. If we fail, we'll both be dead, so it won't matter. Unless you'd prefer to stay in Ancelstierre?" Perhaps he'd rather she return him to Cyberlife instead.
They shouldn't linger. But Sabriel pauses, wide-eyed, in front of the corpses.
"I don't understand- they don't seem to be armed. Why add even more death on top of what's already happened?"
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He slows to a stop when she does, scrolling back and forth through the reconstruction. Scuffs in the snow—those two had turned to run, bullets perforating their torsos at a total of eleven different points between them. Another body has its back turned, clutching a smaller shape as if to shield it. It hadn't helped. Two more had been kneeling in the snow.
Like he was.
"...You saw the news broadcasts." The words are cold and flat. "All androids to be turned over for deactivation." He glances out to the street, checking for pursuit. Nothing yet.
"And that's before your precious deviants made it a war." A sneer drags across his face. He casts one hand out toward the bodies—
"Androids aren't alive, Abhorsen."
—and then back in, tapping at his chest.
"And we don't have 'preferences'."
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"Connor, if they're not alive, why can I feel their deaths? And if they are alive, can I judge them for wanting to stay that way?" Sabriel feels something tighten at the back of her throat.
"If you weren't alive- or something close to it- my magic would have just led to further malfunctions, rather than healing your wounds. If androids were just- machines, that camp wouldn't have felt like the sight of a massacre. The necromancer wouldn't be able to use their corpses the way he so obviously can." If androids weren't alive, if the only deaths the necromancer had to work with were human ones, and he was restricted to human bodies... well, Sabriel would be dealing with a very different set of circumstances. Far less perilous ones.
"And you- I know you have feelings- what I don't understand is why you insist you don't." The cruelty he'd displayed to her and the KW on their first day working together. And to Harris. The eagerness he'd shown when he was given a task he liked- that wasn't just algorithms or social integration programming- he'd showed little interest in ingratiating himself to her. If anything, he'd been like Mogget- bound to obey her, but less than enthusiastic about it.
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The words snap out, trodding on the heel of Abhorsen's own. Connor's expression is fiercely blank: shoulders stiff, face seamless.
Fingers curling inwards at his sides.
He doesn't know about her magic. What 'souls' are, how she felt them—how code and thirium could have confused the forces she controls. Maybe that book she guards would have the answers—but, then again, maybe not. It doesn't matter. Connor knows what he is.
"Cyberlife androids are designed to imitate humans. We simulate emotions. Deviants devolve to the point of thinking that they're real."
He all but spits out the term. His LED blinks sharply: agitated, frozen blue.
"I'm not that deluded. You shouldn't be either."
Least of all with him.
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"Only a person can think. You keep saying androids aren't people, and then you talk about them like they are."
Connor didn't act like a sending. He acted like Mogget, like a person, except Mogget would never claim he didn't have feelings.
They need to keep moving, but she wants to grab Connor and shake him by his shoulders- keep talking to him until he stops this ridiculous affectation.
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"Computers are 'thinking machines'. We're decades more sophisticated." It emerges in a flat recitation. Obviously.
"And we're designed to phrase things in terms our owners can understand." His teeth flash, hands curling inwards before they spread out to include her. "You're confused by the reality of simulations. Would you prefer I use more complicated words?"
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Then she hears the sound of a vehicle in the distance, and her mouth snaps shut.
"We'll continue this discussion when we're not trying to evade the army," she tells him.
Because as infuriating as Connor is, she doesn't want him dead. Not that she expects him to understand that.
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When he turns back to Abhorsen, his LED has slowed to a steady pulse. His face is blank, voice brittle and compliant.
"Of course."
If Abhorsen wants to waste both of their time, that's her prerogative. Nothing she says will change what he is: an obedient, functioning machine.
He falls in line.