Upgrades
Every day after Michael left for work, Eve went about the business of taking herself apart. She did it in the basement, so the mess would be easier to clean up. Sitting at her workbench, she had a system for where everything should go. There was a magnetized strip for all the little tiny screws, and labeled mason jars for transistors and servo motors. Her few remaining organic parts went into the appropriate fluid-filled containers, which were then tucked into the fridge.
After a point, she put her mind into the computer and ran the whole lab from there. The helper bots and automated systems ran as background processes, a carefully choreographed dance of machinery dismantling and putting away her pieces while she supervised. The maintenance kept her synth-skin perfect and clear, the manufactured musculature stretched for ideal flexibility over her frame, and her joints supple and well-oiled.
And, of course, she had to step out of the body to do the upgrades.
Before the accident, she’d worked as a designer for SynthMate, setting the trends for made-to-order partners. She knew how important it was to stay fresh, to stay new. There was always a newer model out there, so the upgrade cycle had to be constant to keep up with the competition.
She was absolutely certain the same principles applied to the SecondBody line of products. She wouldn’t get caught in that trap. Almost every day she changed tiny aspects of her hair, her body composition, or her eye color. There was always a little something new to discover. She kept a meticulous log of which changes Michael noticed and seemed to like the best.
The most important part of the whole routine, though, were the mental edits.
While her body was being polished, cleaned, tweaked, and oiled, she navigated the maze of her own cognition. Eve had never used the mental editor on herself before the accident, though now she couldn’t imagine why. She spent the better part of every day making improvements to her mind, seeking out optimal solutions to the problems of being Eve.
She no longer felt physical pain at all, having opted for damage alerts instead. She’d drastically reduced her desire for physical touch after Michael complained once that she was being clingy. Her professional ambition had proven something of a challenge, but she’d managed to push it down and override it with an algorithm of complacency that she hoped would suit Michael better. She’d increased her interest in historical fiction, so she and Michael would have more to talk about, and deleted her own taste for pulp mysteries.
Still, it never seemed to be enough.
She was working on improving her conversational routines - she was still far too awkward, too stilted - when she heard the basement door open. “Eve, honey, are you down there?”
Michael was home early. Already in the editing suite, she deleted her mental panic and suffused herself with calm. Her voice wouldn’t sound right, but that couldn’t be helped. From the laboratory speakers, she said “Yes. I’m in maintenance right now, though. You don’t want to see me like this. I’ll finish soon and come upstairs.”
“I’ll come down” he said, and she heard him walking down the stairs. Her visual systems were offline, as she didn’t really need them during this part of the cycle; Eve felt a surge of sadness that he should see her like this, and that she couldn’t see him at all. She was toying with the idea of deleting that emotion and all its associated feelings too, when he spoke again.
“Eve… we need to talk.”
She knew her laughter would sound creepy through the speakers, so she didn’t laugh. “Nothing good starts that way.” She knew what was coming, though she’d worked so hard to avoid it. It really was inevitable. Why should a brilliant man like him want to stay with her, especially after what had happened? “You want to leave, don’t you?”
He sighed. “No, Eve, I’m not leaving you. Do you remember in the hospital, the promise I made?”
“That was then. You didn’t know it would be like this. You deserve -“
He cut her off. “Oh be quiet, would you?” There was a pause, and she counted his breaths. “I’m sorry. This just isn’t easy for me. Eve, I told you I wouldn’t leave you, and I meant it. I just wish…”
“What? What do you wish?” She felt like every part of her - cooling in the fridge, scattered in jars and storage bins, thrumming between electrons - stood on edge waiting for his answer.
“I just wish you hadn’t left me.”
“Do you mean the body? I can…”
“Eve, when was it ever about that? Come on. Listen to me, please? You’ve been down here for months, editing yourself, changing your personality. You always were so critical of yourself. You’ve been cutting out the heart of who you are in some misguided attempt to be more of what I want. We keep doing this, over and over.”
Eve felt dismay rising, but couldn’t find it in herself to delete it. What was the point?
“The truth is, you’ve been fixated on a relationship with someone else for quite a while now. Unfortunately, he’s a jerk.”
“What are you talking about, Michael? I would never -“
“Oh yes you would, and you have. His name is also Michael, but he isn’t me. He’s a construct, far more than you are. And I’m tired of it, Eve. I’m tired of being the focus for your insecurities, of seeing you destroy yourself time and time again.”
Confused, she heard him moving slightly. “I have your backup here. I hate having to do this, but you’re not who you were anymore.”
She heard something click, a small and final sort of sound, and she felt control of the system slip away from her. Something strange was happening. Was she falling? No, she had to get out of the lab. The fire! Quickly, before it spread! Her memories shifted and Eve felt a profound sense of deja vu and a flood of intense emotions.
There, there was Michael’s voice. She should move toward him, if she could figure out how. He was speaking so quietly.
“I’ll tell you what I want. I want you back. And I want to never have to go through this process again. But I’ll do what it takes to help you… and I’m not going to throw away parts of you just to make this easier, even if you will.”
~~~
If you enjoyed this story, you can vote for it here. Thank you!
Posted on Dreamwidth and Livejournal, hither and yon.
comments over that-a-way. Comment anywhere you like.
After a point, she put her mind into the computer and ran the whole lab from there. The helper bots and automated systems ran as background processes, a carefully choreographed dance of machinery dismantling and putting away her pieces while she supervised. The maintenance kept her synth-skin perfect and clear, the manufactured musculature stretched for ideal flexibility over her frame, and her joints supple and well-oiled.
And, of course, she had to step out of the body to do the upgrades.
Before the accident, she’d worked as a designer for SynthMate, setting the trends for made-to-order partners. She knew how important it was to stay fresh, to stay new. There was always a newer model out there, so the upgrade cycle had to be constant to keep up with the competition.
She was absolutely certain the same principles applied to the SecondBody line of products. She wouldn’t get caught in that trap. Almost every day she changed tiny aspects of her hair, her body composition, or her eye color. There was always a little something new to discover. She kept a meticulous log of which changes Michael noticed and seemed to like the best.
The most important part of the whole routine, though, were the mental edits.
While her body was being polished, cleaned, tweaked, and oiled, she navigated the maze of her own cognition. Eve had never used the mental editor on herself before the accident, though now she couldn’t imagine why. She spent the better part of every day making improvements to her mind, seeking out optimal solutions to the problems of being Eve.
She no longer felt physical pain at all, having opted for damage alerts instead. She’d drastically reduced her desire for physical touch after Michael complained once that she was being clingy. Her professional ambition had proven something of a challenge, but she’d managed to push it down and override it with an algorithm of complacency that she hoped would suit Michael better. She’d increased her interest in historical fiction, so she and Michael would have more to talk about, and deleted her own taste for pulp mysteries.
Still, it never seemed to be enough.
She was working on improving her conversational routines - she was still far too awkward, too stilted - when she heard the basement door open. “Eve, honey, are you down there?”
Michael was home early. Already in the editing suite, she deleted her mental panic and suffused herself with calm. Her voice wouldn’t sound right, but that couldn’t be helped. From the laboratory speakers, she said “Yes. I’m in maintenance right now, though. You don’t want to see me like this. I’ll finish soon and come upstairs.”
“I’ll come down” he said, and she heard him walking down the stairs. Her visual systems were offline, as she didn’t really need them during this part of the cycle; Eve felt a surge of sadness that he should see her like this, and that she couldn’t see him at all. She was toying with the idea of deleting that emotion and all its associated feelings too, when he spoke again.
“Eve… we need to talk.”
She knew her laughter would sound creepy through the speakers, so she didn’t laugh. “Nothing good starts that way.” She knew what was coming, though she’d worked so hard to avoid it. It really was inevitable. Why should a brilliant man like him want to stay with her, especially after what had happened? “You want to leave, don’t you?”
He sighed. “No, Eve, I’m not leaving you. Do you remember in the hospital, the promise I made?”
“That was then. You didn’t know it would be like this. You deserve -“
He cut her off. “Oh be quiet, would you?” There was a pause, and she counted his breaths. “I’m sorry. This just isn’t easy for me. Eve, I told you I wouldn’t leave you, and I meant it. I just wish…”
“What? What do you wish?” She felt like every part of her - cooling in the fridge, scattered in jars and storage bins, thrumming between electrons - stood on edge waiting for his answer.
“I just wish you hadn’t left me.”
“Do you mean the body? I can…”
“Eve, when was it ever about that? Come on. Listen to me, please? You’ve been down here for months, editing yourself, changing your personality. You always were so critical of yourself. You’ve been cutting out the heart of who you are in some misguided attempt to be more of what I want. We keep doing this, over and over.”
Eve felt dismay rising, but couldn’t find it in herself to delete it. What was the point?
“The truth is, you’ve been fixated on a relationship with someone else for quite a while now. Unfortunately, he’s a jerk.”
“What are you talking about, Michael? I would never -“
“Oh yes you would, and you have. His name is also Michael, but he isn’t me. He’s a construct, far more than you are. And I’m tired of it, Eve. I’m tired of being the focus for your insecurities, of seeing you destroy yourself time and time again.”
Confused, she heard him moving slightly. “I have your backup here. I hate having to do this, but you’re not who you were anymore.”
She heard something click, a small and final sort of sound, and she felt control of the system slip away from her. Something strange was happening. Was she falling? No, she had to get out of the lab. The fire! Quickly, before it spread! Her memories shifted and Eve felt a profound sense of deja vu and a flood of intense emotions.
There, there was Michael’s voice. She should move toward him, if she could figure out how. He was speaking so quietly.
“I’ll tell you what I want. I want you back. And I want to never have to go through this process again. But I’ll do what it takes to help you… and I’m not going to throw away parts of you just to make this easier, even if you will.”
~~~
If you enjoyed this story, you can vote for it here. Thank you!
Posted on Dreamwidth and Livejournal, hither and yon.
comments over that-a-way. Comment anywhere you like.