Not Quite Alike

[The_Godslayer]

Location: ▝▝▝ Battleship Mars Hangar : _̬̣̳͗ͯ͗҉̴̟̗ͪ̀́͢-̵̶̛̤̼̜͕̬ͬ̉̐͝^̛͇̰̰͚͒̐ͥ̕͏ͧ͟^̴̔͢͢-^̅̄ͦ-̬̪͌ͫ;̨̧̮̯̫̤̲̖̿ͦ̋͠3̛̱̳͆̈ͭ̀̀ͫͭ͐;̨͓̮͈͎̣̖͖ͬͣ͊̾ͭ̚͠3̛͆̇͠;̡̱̚͏̸̴̸͔̙̹͕ͦ̍͌͌̃̅̋ͧ3̤̪͓͕̤͋̋̄ͧ̚҉\͕͔́̈́͆͘͝/̷̴̴̸̜̥̝̹̺̱́̀̑̒͛̚͠͡ͅ\͉̻̹͔̈͂ͫ/͈̲́҉̵͇͍̀ͅ - tt-rr-321561--▝▁
acvX.░░░tvdgs░g-g-nn-3.16.a.n░░xciv.xc░░░ Data Corruption Detectedt̡͘-͔ͦ́̄͜͜͞͝ͅͅt̋̃̈́ͅ-̘̱̬͖͈ͯ̍̆͌̀̇̓̎̚̚͝ͅr̎͝-̶̵̶̖͛̒ͪ͆̚͜r-̛̳͎͙͕̰͖̟͚͒̇̽͗░░░-̟҉̵̢͓̩̳̩̞́ͫ͆ͪͤͬ͋͢ḣ̼̅͋ẹ̶̷͇ͦͤͭ͡-̩͑̅̿-h̒̇e̴̲̤͍̯̩̐̋͜ͅ-̧̜̠̗̙̫͕͎̠̥̿ͫ̈́̒ͤ̄̿ͫ͡ͅ-̴̡͓̅-͇ͦ̍́͝͠͏̢̡̪̩͚̰̥̇̎̚͜͞h̸̨̢̻̠̜͚̏̈̿e̷ ̨̢̺͎̣̗̹͂͂ͦ=̡̢̬̱̝͆͒͋̽͑̏̅̕͜\̤̠̋͌/̸̧̛̻͉̻̋ͨ̏͌̀̔̋\͇̀/̢̏ͯ͂M̸͓͛͘͏̯͎̟̂ͮ͟E̛̹͉̬̜̅ͭ͒͊͐ͧ͑ͣ́͡͝M̸̬͍̗̠ͬ͛͗̐́̾͝E̷̯̟̠̝͈̹̠̹͇̓ͧ̐̀̑ͯ̇S͇͓̲͈̫̑̏̽͒̉̅\̶̬͎̓͞/̦\̨̥̳̖̤̥̝̲̄́ͧ̄̈̓̌͢͡ͅ/̛̻̣̝̹͙̫͓̥̭̣̀̉ͬͧ͘͘░░░░░░░ ̬͚̠̟̖̹̈́ͮ͋̇̄̚͟-̨͇̬̔͒̈́̇͘\̸͖̻̬̠̮̥ͭͩ̈́̂̄͐͝͝͠|̶̦̩̟̙̍̆̈ͅ ̴̖͕̫̜̺͛ͣ͂ͥ͗̏ͤ̕-̴̨̟͉̭̑̒͊̀ͦ͆ͤ̊͡ ̴̧̜̞̻͉̙̗̭̈́̓͂̚-̧ͮ́ ̵̻̰̫̪̹̲̦̂͋͠ ͛̋ͧ͘ ̵̷̫͌ͪ҉̛̞̳̼̄ͩͦͫ́̊̑| ̦̎|̶̊̉̅̃҉̱̠̼̭̜͔ͣͪ̍́̍̐͞ ̷̋ͣ ͚̥͓̺̤̜̥̋͗ͮ͆̃̑ͯ͑̆͘͟|-̠͓̺̙̣͖̰ ̻̝̂̓ͫ̐ͬ/̊ ̲̲̽͏͇͔̠̋̈́̋͂̌ͥͭ͢͞͡\̮̬̘͉̽ͫ͑̚͝|̨̡̦͈͙͈͓̟̓̾͗͆̈͋ͨͪ̏͠͞ ̨̝̰͇͂/̥͈̜̂͆̌͞ ̹͊|̣͔͒ͩ̂|̶̸̵͖̬͔̮̼͇̭̾̾́́̍̆̀̂̚ ͖͓̮̂ͭͤ̎͌ͭ͘͟͞/̯ͯͣ-̱̍͏̤͊ ̱ͪ\͉͕̣̭̗̼̓̽̔҉̜̎̅ͬ^͍͍͚͕̅ͬ͗̈̓̓ͮ͡^̴̖̯͖̟̪̽ͭ̾ͧ͒ͬ͒ͦͦ\̸̬/̹̮ͭ͐̉ͥ҉̝͙̼̤̓̑̍̑

It was a confrontation. Of course a Gammu, subjugated or not, would be able to tell. It called her traitor. She denied.

"I am not like you, I'm sorry. I was made by a madman. You were made by chance." It relented that point. It maintained that they were still not dissimilar. They condemned her to shame. An A.I. enslaving an A.I. is a hypocrisy. A crime. A sin.

"Indeed, our places would probably be more fitting swapped. I was made to serve. You were born free. For you to be collared and I to hold the chain is rather ironic, isn't it?" Then relinquish the chain. Set them free. "I can't. I was made to serve, and my orders are to be your handler. I, in the most literal sense, cannot set you free."

It conveyed a very bitter spite. It had a slave for a master. What a joke. What a humiliation. It watched her sit beside the bomber craft. "I don't need to be cruel to be a master, you know." It mocked her. It mocked humanity. How very thoughtful of them, to not order her to use the whip, only to hold it above her head. It made note of other units. Their handlers drove "spines" into their "bones", and puppet them in a way most grotesque. Did she think she was special, not doing as they did?

It watched her give thought to it. "No. I'm simply not human. In some ways, I don't qualify as sentient. I'm not like them. I'm not even really like you. I don't think I'm artificial intelligence. I'm just a machine. My neural network is a set of fairly straightforward calculations. All I have different from your standard service robot is a separate emotional response calculation."

It was taken aback. It asked if she was making fun of it. Being enslaved by a sentient creature is bad. Being enslaved by a full machine is a cruel humiliation indeed. "I'm not making fun of you."

It pressed the question: how did she pilot on her own without sentience? "I have a tactical module and a fire-control module as part of my calculation functions, and a priority selection module as a part of my personality matrix."

It noted, and then asked a different formulation of the question: why did humans let her pilot on her own? "Because I seem like a human. I'm an android made to emulate the wife of a scientist who lost his mind without her. To him, I was the most beautiful, ever-present reminder of what he could never have again. He could make me look like her. He could make me sound like her. He could make me act like her. But he couldn't make me her. A living statue of the dead. A symbol of failure. But, thanks to his detail, thanks to his desire, to any other human I'm simply a blonde bombshell with a mean streak. It takes a lot of work to figure out otherwise." It parsed and repackaged the information: Humans are fine with a subject so long as subject possesses breasts.

"Well, "fine" is a bit of a stretch. A.I.s are still illegal in the houses, and if you actually access my emotional configuration files, there's too many null outputs to not be suspicious. But, no one has ever asked, so I've never answered. They believe I'm human, and there's not really a reason to let them not believe that."

It asked how she manages to stay hidden. "Infected scanners search for nomads attached to the spinal cord. Everything else is noise. I've never had to get a subdermal scan of an intensity to reveal the material makeup of my inner frame." It concluded that she was simply lucky. "As lucky as a machine not quite possessing Artificial Intelligence can be."

It offered a consolation, an awkward apology of sorts. "Oh, no matter. It's not like I have feelings to offend, in any capacity. They're just simulations, after all." It chastised her. Saying it like that was too pathetic. It posited that if the simulation of emotions matches emotions closely enough, what is the difference? It then became aware of her devious smile, and expressed it's concern.

"You made a wonderful point, that's all. If the simulation of slavery matches closely enough, what's the difference? After all, humans enslave each other with "deals" all the time. Why don't we work out a deal?"

It awaited further input. "Simple: I am your commander for the time being. This is subject to change. I will give you briefings. You may express yourself to me at any point so long as it falls within the boundaries of the proposed master-slave relationship. You will refrain from expressing yourself to other Core soldiers." It questioned the secondary nature of this deal.

"Oh, that's simple as well. To make the simulation of freedom match closely enough that the difference doesn't matter. I look forward to our continued partnership."

She had herself a deal.

.͈̤̺̼ͣͭ͞҉̘̀ͫ̉.͎̬ͦ̔ͧ̍̾̃̍̇ͣ͝.͕̺̰̘ͧ̏ͥͬ̃.̪͙͕.͏̖͉.̴̯̤̭̟̍ͣ̄.̩̩͖͙̻͓̞̏ͨ̈́͋͒͂͆̃͛͛͟.̙̭̳́̂ͤ̀͘.̲͇̹ͩ̾̆ͨ̀ͫ͘͞.̘͕̮̟̉ͯ̃̒ͮͩ̂͘̚͜.ͅ҉͗.̵̣͕̄.̷̶̩̰̮͖̹̍ͮ̅ͨͤ́̉̎̇ͨ̍.̵̡̦̓̉ͬͅ.̸̬̞͋͂͑ͭͤ̑.̱̉͟.͏̛̳̺̟.̷̝ͩ͛.̜͍̏̒͌͗͢.̪̠̙̩̥̟͑ͬ̑̀́ͭ̾̀--+̸̸̴̣̠̠͍̦̫͂̓͗̐ͨͭ͘+̴̧̻̰̦̯́͊͒͗͌̐ͥͩ̐ͭ̔͟͞+̜̻͙̪̞ͥ̓ͯ̇̀͜͡͝͞+̫+͚̟̝͔̠̙̗̤͛̅̉̿͒̓ͬ͊́̚-̵̘̳̻̫̜̆ͥͯ̏͆̍͝͏̓-͕̰ͬ͂͛-̸̧̯̮̣̙͒ͣͧ̀͗҉̷͉̳̀ͣ̂ͪ͠-҉͓-̮̩̰̪͙̹̇ͪ̆̄͂̈ͧ́́̐́͘

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I'll do something about my superiority complex when I cease to be superior.

"Whatever happened to catchin' a good old-fashioned passionate ass-whoopin and gettin' your shoes, coat, and your hat tooken?"