driftfleet | Libuscha IV System Mingle (no. 1)

[Taking them in hand, he only glances at them for a moment. It's all he needs to get the details from them. Yet he gets the feeling there's more sentimental value to these that can't be obtained from mere scans and observations.]

And yet this tree somehow dropped them into this lake.

[It's almost musing, the way he says it. The folklore about the tree said nothing about receiving gifts from your home reality. Then again, the folklore was vague in general.]

[he snorts, crossing his arms and shrugging loosely - or as loosely as he can, anyway.
If Connor does scan the tags, it's the standard information and all- with the same thing saved on a tiny data chip embedded on the inside of the tags, in case the tags themselves get destroyed]

Somehow. [his nose wrinkles] That's a little fucked up.

[Holding the tags out for Ben to take back, Connor can only nod. The mechanics of it all have him at a loss. Whatever interdimensional force brought them to the Fleet might be in effect here. Only, this was a tree, not a technologically advanced set of kidnappers.]

I am glad you got something worthwhile, at least.

[he takes them back, giving them another long look before he shoves them into his pocket]

I dunno if "worthwhile" is the word I'd use. Haven't looked at 'em in years.

In the sense that it's something that belongs to you, then.

[he opens his mouth, pauses, then decides against the smartass comment he had on the tip of his tongue]

Sure, whatever. So how do we get you something now?

[Oh. Ben expects the tree to give Connor something as well. With a frown, he looks back up at the branches of the tree. They are about as informative as trees get.]

I'm not sure. The reason why it returned something to you isn't exactly clear.

[All they had done was talk and then transfer some files.]

[well now he's going to think about it. He's frowning, eyes drifting over to the tree. And then he sort of - stiffens out of his usual slouch, a little, when realization dawns on him]

I think I know why. [did he. Accidentally unburden himself somehow] It's 'cuz we talked.

[Talked? That's it? His frown deepens.]

You're going to have to be more specific.

[but he doesn't want to be more specific dammit. He makes a face, almost a wince, then runs a hand through his hair]

Or it's because I let you look at those files, but that seems like it's too easy.

[nngh] I explained - you know, how I deal with shit. Some of it, anyway. I don't . . . [another face] I don't do that. I don't talk about it that way.

[That does clarify things, though not in a particularly positive way. 'Unburden yourself' is what the local legends had said. Connor had taken that to be literal, a divesting of goods that you owned. Instead it had meant something more abstract - emotional. This was unburdening in the sense of conversation and admitting things usually kept under wraps.]

I understand the concept but I don't think I have an equivalent of what you talked about.

[Not specifically, which is how Connor's thinking right now. Though now he's beginning to wonder about alternatives... and what this tree could even provide if he was successful in the task.]

[he rolls his shoulders and crosses his arms once more, giving a Connor a considering look]

Don't think of it as being equivalent, then. [he hunches his shoulders a little in a shrug] In real simple terms, I've got thirty years of life on you - and that's thirty years of learning how to deal with all the new shit you're learning about. Something for you might be something I've never given a second thought, you know? Does that make sense?

Think of it like that instead. [another shrug]

[He's unsure. He knows that much. For much of his life Connor had logged inconsistencies and errors in his program and then buried them, away from his mission parameters and specific requirements that they came into conflict with. Burying didn't delete those instabilities, though. It had allowed them to stack, build, prompt further changes in a cascading line until it finally reached that tipping point. Now that he's free of his programming the inherent knowledge that that was wrong still exists but can be rationalised away.

It's still unfamiliar. Connor looks back up at the tree, glowing softly in the cavern, and has to wonder if it would be worthwhile.]

If I am in the Fleet for another month, I'll have been here as long as I was in Detroit back home.

[It illustrates Ben's point perfectly. Connor doesn't have years of experience, he doesn't even have one. More and more he's coming to understand that it's fortunate he's existed as long as he has.]

[he knows how long Connor's been here, so putting it together - it isn't a lot of time at all. Short enough that Ben would barely consider it at all in the long run, but to Connor - that's significant. Especially given what he was going on in Detroit before he was brought here.

Ben frees a hand to give the android a "go on" gesture]

So talk about it.

That's the thing. I have little to say about the first two months of my existence. It consisted primarily of tests and experiments. I had one active field assignment after I was activated that ended in-- [He pauses for a moment, before continuing.] --the destruction of my previous body, and then I went back into evaluation and testing.

Until I was assigned to the police and to Hank on November fifth, not much happened. And then everything happened.

The - destruction of your previous body. [he repeats it a little incredulously, both eyebrows shooting up] Dude.

[Connor knew while he was in the midst of that sentence that it wasn't the best idea to impart that information. He hadn't even told Hank about that particularly moment in full - of course, Hank had already seen Connor get shot in the head and come back to work hours later. There wasn't as much to explain.

Absently, Connor fidgets with his hands.]

If my body is destroyed or shuts down, my memories are uploaded to CyberLife and installed in a new one. It's a feature of my model.

[Or was. He doubts CyberLife would do it again now, given... circumstances.]

[Ben frowns, eyes drifting down to watch Connor fidget for a moment. He wonders if Connor realizes he's doing it, or even realizes that he has tells in the first place]

Oh, it's a feature. [he says it a little deadpanned, because what the fuck, dude, seriously] And I guess you - remember that, when it transfers your memories and all. The uh, the destruction part.

I do, though there may be some memory lost in the process.

[Connor's not aware of any gaps in his memory from the two times he's had to transfer. If any exist, they're minor enough not to impact on his day to day life.]

That was what my next question was gonna be - if there's any loss 'cuz of the transfering. [it's very weird to think of a concept of data loss as memory loss, because he's familiar with the former, and the latter is . . . uncomfortable to think about]

You said it happened on a field assignment. What happened?

It was a hostage situation. A deviant was holding a child hostage at the edge of a rooftop and I was negotiating with it - him - to secure her safety. The negotiation broke down and he threw himself backwards with the girl.

[So far, so standard reporting. But there is a moment where Connor goes more distant, dropping his hands and focusing on the glimmer of the tree behind Ben. Rushing lights. Roaring wind.]

I was able to pull the girl back onto the rooftop but fell with the deviant in the process.

[Mission accomplished.]

[he almost wants to ask how negotiations could've broken down to that point, but he holds back. Mostly, if he's being honest, because that was the guy's first assignment and that alone is a little incredible]

So they threw you in the deep end right off the bat. Nice of them. [. . .] Good job saving the girl, at least. Sorry you - got destroyed.

[Some puzzlement sets in at that - why shouldn't he be sent out to a situation like that immediately? It's what he was designed to do. Practice and incremental increase in duties is not part of CyberLife's promise when supplying androids. They're fit for purpose as soon as they're activated.

Connor's thoughts on his own destruction are complicated, by virtue of him having any thoughts about it at all. He hadn't considered whether dying was worth avoiding or not until Hank had pointed a gun at his head and asked if he was afraid. In the asking of the question, he had pushed the answer into reality.]

Thanks, but... it was part of the job. I accomplished my mission. It wasn't something I was concerned about at the time.

[he tilts his head, the last part of that ringing with him. It's always an afterthought, isn't it - whatever you do on the job, whether it's the police or the military or what-have-you. He may not fully understand a lot of what Connor's told him so far, but that part he gets.

Hmm. His expression shifts into something a little more neutral]

I get it. Ain't like I haven't been there. [he shrugs a shoulder, then nods to Connor's hands] Is it something that concerns you now? You're fidgety.

[He's nonplussed for a moment, glancing down at his hands - only to find he's twisted some of his fingers together. He pulls them apart abruptly, setting his jaw more tightly.

Rubbing his hands together had long been a part of his program, a humanistic gesture intended to lessen the difference between him and the human officers he was meant to spend his time with. This however wasn't part of that. It was some strange evolution of it since deviancy took hold.]

I haven't thought about it. Not really. [After a beat, he continues with a shade less confidence.] I know that now I don't want to die again. There wouldn't be any coming back from it.

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