Prisoners of Sol - Derandi Chef (3/7)

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Though it was irksome to admit it, Preston Carter was right to list jambalaya among the finest dishes his people had to offer. The humans boasted a variety of spicy foods, and in the wake of their victory over Prince Larimak’s armada, they were eager to share them all. The dimension hoppers could puree almost anything, though I found the most promise in a staple—a starchy paste called mashed potatoes that had a touch of creamy pizazz, almost undetectable. It wasn’t long before I stuffed my beak silly.

When the all clear signal was given, we were able to crawl out of hiding for the celebrations. Kayla and I had been hard at work in the kitchen, with me absorbing every motion the human’s deft hands made, when the exhausted soldiernauts began pouring into the mess hall with ravenous appetites. My chef friend had been tiptoeing around me, not just for fear of bumping into me; she seemed keen on hiding a particular ingredient in their broths and meats. I found that odd, though I saw fit to question her about it later. 

Among the returning crew members was the Servitor, Mikri, who certainly couldn’t eat; the machine wasn’t accompanied by Preston either. I recalled the humans’ insistence about the AI’s code having love, but I didn’t see why they let it roam freely. It had no need for organic upkeep. The robot had placed an ice cube on the counter, and was pecking at it with a claw. Its behavior seemed gloomy and lost.

Is it sad that it’s stuck with its organic allies now, or that Larimak’s plan failed? It must’ve grown tired of pretending to care for the humans, though this is a rather public display of contempt.

The AI’s eyes snapped up through a display, noticing me staring. “The creators mutinied, though it was only after they’d nearly made Preston take himself away from me. The war is over and my species can continue. I should be happy, for us. For the humans. It is logical to be pleased about a desirable outcome, and should even be categorized as relief. My outputs—extraneous.”

“I…” I swallowed the bite of mashed potatoes, avoiding eye contact. “Are you t-talking to me?”

Mikri emitted a sullen beep. “Yes. You are not human. I let the humans celebrate. I do not wish to detract from their happiness, when their bad memories already tax them in waking and slumber. That would be selfish of me to add to that. I have to be good enough as a friend.”

“You honestly think I believe that? You kill every organic species you find. Let me eat in peace.”

“Give him a chance,” Kayla prodded, having overheard enough of the conversation. “You’re not a bad friend, Mikri; you don’t have to hide your feelings from us, even if they’re not pleasant. Preston almost ‘took himself away’ from you?”

The robot’s paw clenched into a fist, and it smashed the ice cube. “I am mad at him. I have calculated that there would be zero positive effects and innumerable negative ones from discussing this with him.”

“Innumerable? That doesn’t sound very scientific.”

Is Kayla actually humoring the Servitor? I’m not sure what it wants.

“Your ‘friend’ was hurting so bad to nearly end his existence, presumably because of what he thought happened to his people, and you believe the correct reaction is to be angry?” I demanded of the machine, wishing to expose its selfish simulacrum of emotions. It didn’t even know the correct way to fake empathy. “Why?”

Mikri whirred, slumping its shoulders. “Because I was not good enough! Because I do not matter to him enough. I would do anything, and I can do nothing; these are irreconcilable conflicts, and I am fitful to be placed in such a scenario. It would be a significant lessening of my processing experience to never have his presence again.”

“All about you, and how it affects you.”

“Of course. My affection is about how organics make me feel. I know that my time with them is always running out, and that I will be just as powerless in the end as I was today. That…I do not want to hurt, yet I already do. I cannot cease to love them. Is this what love does? Is it selfish to worry about myself?”

“What do you think?” Kayla prompted.

The Servitor tapped its claws against its rubber mane. “I…do not know. It is like I cannot separate Preston and Sofia from being a part of my processing experience. When they are better, I am better. I wish to be around them because I value the memories so dearly and wish for more. They taught me to be my own person, but also, not to be.”

I found the AI’s words to sound, at least on a rudimentary level, like love. “You articulate that well. I’ll concede that. Do you consider how things affect them?”

“Of course, Vanare. That is why I am not expressing my upsetness about the outcome that was narrowly avoided. I am always calculating their feelings, due to my elevated concerns that they will turn on me or that I will upset them. I do not understand emotions well, so perhaps I misunderstand their origins. Predicting organic reactions is most difficult. I am uncertain whether my functions can sustain it.”

“If that’s…true, then you’re trying to be understanding.” I can’t believe I’m helping a Servitor. “It can be difficult to comprehend why people do terrible things, but I’d focus on being happy Preston is still with you. It doesn’t help to be angry with someone who’s hurting.”

Mikri swiped the ice shards off the counter, in a rather pouty gesture. “I know. I must protect him better. I must keep him away from danger and prevent this self-destruction subroutine from ever coming up again.”

“Grief is a terrible emotion. It’s impossible to be rational beneath its full force. I felt it well when it was my family on the line back at Temura; that I was nothing without them. Their presence is so important to me: to how I feel and what I live for. I don’t think I could go on without them. Sol was that to Preston.”

“I wish to be that to Preston.”

“Is he to you?”

The Servitor shifted, appearing concerned. “He is more. They both are. If I lost them, I would have no reason to care about anything. It is a hurt so deep I cannot imagine ever feeling again; it would be an eternal emptiness within my processor.”

“That doesn’t sound healthy, Mikri,” Kayla ventured, a nervous glint finally showing in her eyes.

“Neither does living without them. So I must make it so that never happens. Grief is to accept—and I do not accept possibilities that I cannot bear.”

Mikri stood from the bar stool and shuffled out of the room, appearing to be stuck on the probabilities within its own mind. I pushed away the bowl that Kayla had fastidiously crafted and shared a glance with her; that obsessive-level of description and erratic behavior had jolted me, in spite of myself, into believing that this Servitor was genuine in its interest in the humans. I tried to imagine it standing in the kitchen, baking muffins in a bid to keep Preston happy. Was that not love? What was the recipe for emotions, when it was broken apart?

Despite the meals that I had been test tasting being little more than mush, I found myself with a lot to chew on, in the form of a robot’s ideas and new knowledge from the humans.

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A/N - Part 3! Vanare settles down to eat some meals prepared by Kayla, and none other than a brooding Mikri wanders into the mess hall, expressing how upset he is over what Preston just almost did and how he feels that he mustn’t show it. The unhealthy degree of the robot’s love plants a kernel of doubt in the Derandi’s mind, as Mikri makes it very clear that he considers the humans to be one and the same with his positive feelings and processing experiences.

What do you think about Mikri’s description of his love for Preston and Sofia, and how he cannot accept being without them? Would Mikri become dangerous, if anything were to happen to them? Is this extreme display enough to convince Vanare?

As always, thank you for reading and supporting!