RE: A Far Distant Shore
Rogan was left alone with his thoughts for the time it took his order to arrive. The jovial sounds of the sea-side setting made a stark contrast for the workings of his mind. When another courier arrived and inquired after him, he gave her a short nod and signed the name of the non de plume he'd given the service without taking his attention away from the screen in front of him. Lyntael's continued exploration had been interrupted by what he would normally have assessed as a severely dangerous virus – an entity that came with its own spike warning as the PET scanned it – but Lyntael remained calm. He might have said 'no fear', but it was different from the reckless bravery she'd shown in the time between her death, and now. This was caution mixed with care, and her first actions were as she'd told him she intended; to give the creature a chance.
He felt himself frowning softly, brows drawn down as he made the adjustments to her PET with precise motions. She hadn't even said anything to him, or reported the conflict. She was handling it herself, without his advice or input. Perhaps she knew he was watching, and knew she didn't need to tell him what she was seeing, but that had rarely stopped her in the early days, or even the times that came later; now she was just focused on what mattered in the moment, and asking him for advice wasn't one of those things.
As the fight became more serious, and Lyntael's attempts to reach anything sapient inside the virus failed, Rogan watched her fight; several threats, but each of them managed while her focus rarely wavered from the incomplete entity before her. Was she seeing it the same way as the previous abomination? The close in view of her expression told a story of sorrow, behind hard eyed resolution. The environmentals in the area were hurting her, or so the readings claimed, but the girl on his screen wasn't paying any heed to it, and she didn't flinch from the violent blasts that the creature threw her way either. Part of him wanted to say that this girl was entirely different from either Lyntael he'd known, but at the same time... in a subtle way, she wasn't. She was exactly the same, just... He closed his eyes for a moment, pushing away a growing feeling that he didn't want to deal with. Just, less innocent. And wasn't that why it hurt to see her so competent, even as he told himself he should be glad.
With a click, Rogan closed up the PET and finished the updates. This was what happened when he didn't have work to occupy him; his mind went to more difficult places. He focused in on the readings from the Metavirus, trying to buy himself with a more detailed assessment of the program. It did seem... incomplete. Not just visually, but many of its internal structures seemed unfinished, or not properly compatible with each other. This was a project, an attempt at something that hadn't quite worked out the way the designer had wanted, if he had to guess. Different properties, different sources, but trying to create a complete whole, or... maybe using available code pieces to replicate something more complex that the designer didn't have access to. Perhaps if he could— A moment later the readings collapsed into static and Rogan blinked, looking back to the main screen.
He saw Lyntael, or at least it looked like her, clad in silver armour and descending on the creature from silvery wings. As she landed, a series of rapid strikes, each bearing fierce blasts of energy, took the entire virus apart with ruthless efficiency. He heard a shouted snarl of warning coming from her as the other remaining virus fled the scene, before his navi threw back her head and... well, if it had had more body and volume to it, he might have called it a roar. Not really, but definitely approaching the mark for a girl of her stature. What was going on?
His eyes flicked to the other readouts; a cross overlay, as he'd come to recognise it, had refitted her outfit. They sometimes seemed to influence her emotions as well, but more concerning was the flashing symbols trying to make themselves known across her more personal body readings. She was in pain, burning from the electrical circuit that her body formed, and it was close to the levels he'd seen in the past, before she lost consciousness. She was strained and hurting, but the girl on his screen wasn't cringing or holding herself – just spilling energy in every direction, and looking like she was about to lash out again. Uncertainty gripped him for a moment, and on reflex Rogan pushed it down, opening the channel again.
“...Lyntael?” She reacted immediately, and Rogan felt the urge to sigh with sudden relief. “Lyntael, I have many warning readings here; you're under substantial strain, are you alright?” There was a very slight nod of her head on the screen, though she didn't answer at once. The metal armour faded and returned the girl to her awkwardly half-dressed state, before she fell to deep panting for breath and strained efforts at recovery. He listened to her reassurance while his eyes checked her statistics again. The extreme overloads of electrical charge seemed to play no small amount of havoc with some of her other more human-like details; things he recognised as the equivalence of chemical and hormonal levels always shifted sharply in response to the extremes... but quite rapidly he watched the rhythm of her internal electricity return to what counted as a 'normal' pulse for her.
As she began to stretch and recover, Rogan opened the channel to speak, but paused. He knew he ought to say something to her; even if what she'd fought had simply been a conglomerated half-finished code project with no mind of its own, she had tried to treat it like it had, and now she'd put an end to it. It wasn't the same, but perspective was in the eye of the beholder, and if she had truly seen it as suffering, then he ought to say something. After a few moments of watching her stretching, the motions became a fluid, graceful dance and Rogan found his next attempt at words sticking in his throat. She'd never exactly lost her love of dancing, but... this kind of thoughtless, formless expression was something he hadn't seen since... before everything. He watched for a few more seconds, then swallowed an uncharacteristic roughness.
“I... know you tried, Lyntael.” How to say what mattered and still comfort? “But I'm sure there was nothing you could have spared, in that virus.” As her slow dancing motions came to an end, the girl stretched one more time and seemed to relax with a long exhale.
“I couldn't bring anything back, but what there was was only suffering, and now it isn't.” There was a surety there that made him wonder; after everything he'd had to accept, had she felt something he couldn't see? “I'm alright, Rogan, really.” That was a different statement, and it sounded less certain, even if she tried to make it as firm.
“Lyntael... Whatever form it comes in, taking life is difficult. Maybe not physically. You know what I've seen, what I've done; it's frightening how easy it can be, and how fragile lives can be, but it still leaves a mark on us.” Marks on the wall, scars that didn't heal; sacrifices made to the altars of freedom, rightness, or that most insidious one, necessity. “I don't... know... what you felt here, or back with Eurayle and that other program, but I can see that you viewed them as living things, and as beings worth compassion.” He hesitated for a moment, unconsciously suppressing the urge to rub at one of the several places he could feel his own scars.
“Even seeing them that way, you did what you had to, and now they are gone. It's... it's okay not to be okay, Lyntael. I'd be worried if you were. I'd be worried for you, if the reassurance that you did the right thing was enough on its own to let you smile and walk away... especially the first time. I can't pretend it won't happen again... it's why people...” He should say it for at it was, if he was being honest with himself. “...people like me, grow hard, and they sometimes stop seeing people as people. It makes it easier... but,” A sensation in his throat and behind his eyes made him catch his breath more carefully. “But I never want that for you, Lyntael. It's okay if you're not alright.”
He paused, unsure if anything he was saying was really making sense. They were the sorts of words he felt like he would have liked to hear, back when he was her age, with fresh blood on his own hands. It made him wonder if he'd have been a better person himself, if... he pushed the thought away. Better to focus on the present, and what Lyntael needed; perhaps she didn't need him for danger or fighting, but this was something he could offer still, if she still wanted it. The girl before him was moving down the beach again, walking slowly and seeming to just enjoy the scenery.
“I know... and you're right.” Her answer sounded more contemplative than anything else, talking more openly about he she felt, but as she responded something made Rogan catch his breath, biting back a wince as a fresh wave of discomfort and guilt rose up in his chest. He'd watched her struggle over it, tried to talk her through it, but it hadn't even been the first time she'd ended up in that situation... and worse, he hadn't known. She'd never let on... or had she, and he hadn't listened? He felt his fingers clench tight, nails digging into his palms for a moment.
“I'm sorry.” He wasn't sure what other words there were to say, but pushed on anyway. “If I had my choice now, I wouldn't ask for you to deal with that.” A treacherous thought threaded its way through his mind; he said that, but wasn't it likely that it had been his own orders at some point, that had caused it... and she'd just said yes, and kept it to herself, alone? He grit his teeth, then forced himself to relax and pushed his own guilt aside as best he could. “Is... it something you can talk to me about, Lyntael?”
The girl seemed to trip as he asked, but then paused on the rocky point to rest and look out at her own beachfront. The urg eto say more pressed at him, but he could see a distant, sad expression on her features that made him hold his tongue. Eventually she nodded.
“It wasn't bloody, or violent, like that... I think I'm still sort of... holding onto it, and dealing with it, you know?” He found himself nodding, even though she couldn't see, and Lyntael continued after another moment. Even as she started, Rogan felt a wince he couldn't stop this time, and turned his head away briefly, eyes closed. Of course it had been that night. That place, where all those experiments and test were being done on the most advanced navis they could get their hands on. In the middle of everything, and she hadn't said anything. Which 'yes, sir' was the one; which part of the plan, and the orders he'd given her, had forced her to it? He listened to her recount, teeth clenched tight.
“They had navis all through the system there. Hooked in to do different tasks. I think... I think they were just keeping them alive for the sake of it, for the processing power, once they were done with all their... tests.” He heard a catch in her voice as she continued; an intake of breath just barely on the edge of becoming a sniff. “When I... when I had to cut off the camera feeds to the sub labs, and create loops. The control room had navis in it, but they were part of the system, and it was the only thing really keeping them alive. When I cut them out...” another pause, another long swallow. Rogan felt his fingernails digging into his palms; that she was able to talk about it at all was best, but hearing her voice grow wet with painful emotion just made the sting of his own guilt worse.
“There were four of them.” He heard her take a longer slower breath, and where she was sitting on the rock, Rogan could see tears beginning to run down her cheeks from closed eyes. “SeaSpray loved her operator. They were swim partners. Her little girl wanted to be in the olympics, and everyone told her what a long journey it was, but SeaSpray believed she could make it.” She paused for a shaking breath, then continued. “PaperBoy was writing a screenplay, in the night hours, when his operator didn't need him. He hadn't shown it to anyone yet; he wanted to make sure it was good, before sharing it.” Lyntael was hugging herself now. This was worse somehow than he'd even worried. Knowing what you were doing was one thing... but somehow, she'd been made to actually know the programs as well... or, Rogan realised, she'd reached out to make sure she did... because that was who she was. This wasn't right. Lyntael wasn't stopping, and continued through rough tears.
“NightSkip... she used to sneak out, just.. just like I do, sometimes. She'd sneak out to go explore the night city networks. She liked to climb up high... and she loved to jump, and to fall. And... and there was SunCrest. They were... disappointed, frustrated. They felt like they were wasting away, with so much potential they couldn't ever do anything with; they wanted to do so much with their life, but never felt like they could, because they had work, and duty, and it filled all of their days.” When Lyntael paused this time, it was to sniffle hard and scrub at her face. Rogan felt heat behind his eyes and his jaw hurt. He wanted to blame CC, Lance, and their experiments... but the guilt was there, gnashing in his mind. Before Lyntael, he wouldn't have cared about their 'tests'; wouldn't have even thought there was anything wrong with them... while in front of his eyes... this. And he was the one responsible for making Lyntael face it, not anyone else.
“I... I felt the things that they felt, Rogan... felt the people they were, and the pain they were in and what they'd been turned into. They weren't 'just' programs... none of them were. They felt, joy and love and.... boredom, exasperation... inspiration, excitement... and in the end, agony, despair, terror... Two of them wanted to die, Rogan. One was so far gone, there wasn't anything left to want anything any more...” her voice cracked and broke and Rogan felt his chest tighten in response. “And one of them just wanted to see her operator again, hadn't given up hope, but... but cutting them out of the system was the end anyway, and I made it happen. I never want to be responsible for ending lives like that, Rogan. Sometimes it might be all I can do, but... but I will always... Always... try to find another way first.” Through the tears there was a determination in her voice stronger than anything he could even think about arguing with. How could he?
“Lyntael...” He heard the thickness in his own voice and caught himself. “I'm sorry. I gave you those orders, Lyntael...” It was his fault; he ought to be the one shouldering the weight of those feelings and those lives lost, not her. She had never done anything to deserve that burden, other than being his navigator. He said as much, but in the space between his words he saw Lyntael straighten and smooth her features, cleaning herself up.
“I'm glad I was there for them. I'm glad they weren't alone, at the end.” Truly, she was; he could hear the conviction in her tone and the returning calm. That really mattered to her, and it was what mattered most, far above her own discomfort. “I don't blame you for any of that. I don't.” Rogan felt himself pull back from the screen for a moment, a sharp sense of shock that moved him before he could control it. Of course she realised he was at fault, and just as naturally, she didn't want to hold any of it against him. Her absolution didn't lessen his responsibility, but with calm, firm words she cut off his objection just as quickly; they were working together, they were both doing their best; she was her own person, and that meant making her own choices. Choice. There it was again; the echo of Eric's words in his ears, now on the lips of the young woman in front of him... not angry or frustrated in demanding her right to be treated as her own person this time, but gentle and calm; giving him permission to do so.
Rogan blinked back the hot sensation behind his eyes and tried to compose the emotions that were threatening him. Once he'd truly let the mask down for Lyntael, it seemed like there was no putting it back, these days. Maybe that was okay, for her. Maybe he owed her that much. This had started as him attempting to help her deal with feelings she needed space for... how had the script changed so much? He took a breath before responding.
“Alright.” Just one word; it was about all he could manage without letting a tremor in, and he watched her nod and begin heading further down the beach again.
posted in Beach Street •