SG: Aurora #48 - Morning Afterglow

Frobozz frobozz at eyrie.org
Sat Oct 27 17:58:06 PDT 2007


    Arthur Doyle found it very hard to keep his temper as he stared across 
the table at Colleen MacCloud. There was just too much baggage between 
them -- or at least between Arthur and Colleen's image -- for him to keep 
his objectivity. He knew this. But somehow, Doyle found it within himself 
to not lose his composure. It was important that she understood what she'd 
done, and not to assume he was being unfair just because... of what she 
looked like.
    "Ye cannae be serious," began Colleen, startling Doyle. He hadn't 
realised it had taken him so long to get his feelings under control, but a 
quick check of his internal chron showed him that yes, they had been 
engaged in a staring contest for far, far, far too long. "I've been more 
productive in thae last two months than I've been in the whole bloody 
year! At... least, the last one I was -around- for!"
       "I know, Colleen. I'm not faulting your efficiency. You've put the 
space exploration program at least six weeks ahead of schedule. You've 
done Aurora a larger favour than we could ever repay."
    "Then whae, may I ask, is the blasted -problem-?"
    Where indeed? Was he being rational about this problem? No... if he was 
going to be honest with himself, no he wasn't. And yet his decision to 
deal with it, -that- was purely rational. It was a decision that emerged 
from the reports from co-workers and based upon recommendations from 
Aurora psychiatrists. And while he might agree with this decision for all 
the wrong reasons, Doyle felt sure that it was purely rational and not an 
emotional response to an impossible emotional situation.
    Well... hopefully.
   "It's your interpersonal relations, Colleen. A certain number of 
explosions and absent-minded accidents are expected in a mad science shop; 
that's why we pay so much for liability insurance and legal fees. But... 
Coleen, in all the time I've known you, I've never seen you act like you 
did today."
    "T'was under stress. It willnae happen again."
    Sadly, she was right, but not about her own situation. What he had had 
would never happen again. And he had the scars to prove it.
    "But therein lies the problem. It -has- happened again, Colleen. I'm 
aware that this isn't an isolated incident. This is simply the most 
egregious and the one that means I can't turn a blind eye towards your 
behaviour any longer."
    "So yer -benchin'- me?"
    "Yes, Colleen. Yes I am. You've put us six weeks ahead of schedule; 
while I'd like nothing better than to use that time you've bought for us, 
I think in the long run it will profit myself, Aurora and you all the more 
if you use it as a vacation."
    "I donae -need- a vacation, Arthur! Whae I need is tae work!"
    "Colleen." Doyle's voice took on a hard edge, one that he immediately 
regretted. There was anger behind his tone, and the true source of that 
anger was not the fault of this fair woman. "You have done nothing -but- 
since we recovered you. No one can take the pace you've set for yourself. 
You're human, and you need a certain amount of downtime to keep yourself 
in balance. One thing more."
    "Aye?" asked Colleen, her sullen voice breaking Doyle's heart.
    "Please keep in mind that this isn't easy to say to -anyone-, least of 
all to someone whom I respect as highly as I do you. But I think you 
should consider seeking counseling. All fees will be paid for you, and it 
would be strictly confide--"
    "Thae be IT!" bellowed Colleen, making Doyle wince with shame. "Ye can 
sit me on th'sidelines where I'll watch like a good little girl at rugger, 
but ye WILL nae insult me in this manner!"
    "There was no insult meant, Colleen." Now there was a laugh. How could 
he do anything -but- insult her? Loyal, brave, intelligent Colleen... and 
yet he kept comparing the woman with her twin. Her traitorous, heartless 
twin. She deserved more than that, and Doyle wasn't sure that he was able 
to give it. "But just look at yourself. Look at how you're acting. You--"
    "This be nae about me. Ye cannae stand tae look 'pon me, an' so ye cast 
me -away-."
    Shatter. Doyle knew... -knew- that Colleen didn't speak the truth, or 
at least not the whole truth. But she had come closer to the mark than he 
could deal with right now. Damn it, every doubt he'd had while preparing 
for this meeting... every doubt he'd listened to and then carefully shut 
away so that he could do the right thing... suddenly, with that one 
accusing phrase ringing in his ears, Doyle's every doubt had suddenly 
become a restless demon bent on plaguing him.
    "Colleen, I can't talk to you when you're like this." Doyle pointed to 
the doorway. "You are on four weeks paid vacation as of right now. Now 
please get out of my office."
    "Arthur, I..."
    "Not now, Colleen. I'm sorry, but not now."
    "Arthur..." said Colleen from across his office. He had scarcely 
noticed her getting up.
    "Yes, Colleen?" Doyle forced himself to ask "What is it."
    "Will... he..."
    "I don't know. Honeybear says that it's too early to tell."
    "Ah."
    "Goodbye, Colleen."

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

                Chris Angelini/Frobozz Magic Productions

                              -and-

                        Mademoiselle Muse Inc

                        -in association with-

            'We Didn't Mean To Colour The Sky Pink, Honest!'
                Industrial Special Effects and Magic

                               -and-

        The Overworked and Underpaid Lisa MacDougall (producer)

                             -present-

                             AURORA #48

                          "Morning Afterglow"


%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

***

    There were few places better for a Computerized Personality to engage 
in self-reflection than in a digital representation of  his host system's 
processor. Within the computerscape, some attempt was made to emulate the 
very basics of the real world -- to wit, dimensions and a fixed, if 
arbitrary set of measurements -- but  like many of the more advanced 
computer intelligences extant, Doyle preferred a somewhat less 
human-centric representation of his electronic demesne. This preference 
had worried Doyle for a while until he had come to realise that the 
freedom he lacked in the real world -- in which he was bound by the 
limited scope of  holographic projectors and tiny remotes -- could be 
compensated for in his computerscape. But just reproducing the world 
inside of a machine would have provided Doyle with no more than a cleverly 
concealed prison cell in which to dwell. A virtual reality quite unlike 
the world of the flesh and blood gave him new vistas to see and new 
frontiers to explore, making it the far more preferable choice.
    As such, Doyle's computer space had a tendency to be less... visual 
than a human visitor might like. Much of what he 'saw' within the computer 
was a pastiche of information relayed to him through senses that had no 
real analogue outside of a digital system. Doyle parsed this pastiche into 
contextual information in much the same way that a flesh and blood person 
could understand their surroundings using in combination only the seven 
senses with which they were born; but there was a richness and vibrancy to 
the pastiche that no mere 'virtual world' -- one built to resemble human 
space as exactly as possible -- could provide.
    Doyle turned his focus upon the stack where his wounded companion and 
fellow CP was kept while Arthur attempted repairs upon him. The 
dreadnought virus which had torn through Aurora's computers had nearly 
killed Doyle; had in fact killed one of his compatriots; and would have 
killed another had there not been just room enough to whisk him away to 
safety. Though events surrounding the rebuilding and expanding of Aurora 
kept him busy, Doyle made sure to always find a bit of time each day to 
work on repairs, or just to sit and talk with the brave companion who'd 
nearly paid the ultimate price by standing with him. Well, this seemed 
like the perfect time for a bit of both. The CP began to sort through his 
own engrams, working up a template to use for the grosser repairs that 
were needed.
    "Hello old friend," Doyle transmitted to the badly fragmented cloud of 
code that had once been a full personality. "Let's see what we can do 
about your ego routines today. For some reason, I just have a great 
feeling about them..."
    "Heh," replied the damaged CP, more out of instinct than from any 
conscious response.
    "Now, now. Have faith in me. Thirty-third time's the charm, after all."
    Doyle got to work on his friend, all the while mulling over his 
conversation with Colleen. it was good to have something to do to burn off 
the destructive energies he felt while he pondered such a sticky topic; 
and after a bit of work, he felt some of his thoughts unknot sufficiently 
to be expressed.
    "Let me ask you something, all right? What should I do about the 
Colleen situation? She's clearly got demons of her own to face. I tried to 
steer her towards help, but the more I think about it, the more I wonder 
if I wasn't just trying to steer her out of my office instead. I didn't... 
give her the help and support that she really needed, did I?"
    "Heh."
    "No laughing matter, old friend. I should be... better than this. Much 
better. I -need- to be better than this. Colleen... 'my' Colleen is gone 
and she's not likely to get out of jail except briefly, to be moved to a 
place I'll never see her again. So the problem is that I need to move on, 
right?"
    "Heh."
    "Exactly. I need to move on, but a pretty face is keeping me from doing 
so. No, strike that. It's not just the face. Counterparts I can deal with. 
It's that... the Colleen who used to be mine... either she was so close to 
being the 'real' Colleen as to make little difference, or she was a damned 
fine actress in the role. Either way..."
    "Heh."
    "You're right. It's ironic. Scarily ironic. But... I think I may have 
fallen in love with Colleen."
    "Hee."
    "Right. I fell in love with everything that makes up Colleen... if 'my' 
Colleen was just acting, she put on the virtuoso performance of a 
lifetime. She made herself into someone I'd love... and that person 
exists. I just happened to fall in love with a mirror reflection of that 
person. I bet Echo would be kicking my ass right now if she heard about 
this."
    "Heh!"
    "Which... oh dear God. I don't believe this."
    "Heh?"
    "All this time, I thought that Colleen MacCloud was ripping my heart 
out. All this time, I thought that she was a painful reminder of what I'd 
lost. And all this time, what's really happened is that I've been feeling 
jilted. Because... because she's still everything I fell in love with."
    "Heh."
    "Yes. Yes, old friend, yes. And the real tragedy of this is that it's 
just as unfair to her to try to pursue this as it was to think of her just 
like her counterpart! Oh God do I ever play cruel tricks on myself!"
    "Heh!"
    Arthur Doyle felt a snicker rising up from his chest. And then despite 
himself, despite the fact that he was still just as trapped now as he had 
been then, the man-turned-CP felt a huge sense of relief and release well 
up inside his chest. The big-soulled feeling rose higher and brought the 
snicker up along with it. The snicker brought friends. Soon Doyle had 
dissolved into peals of laughter, feeling a certain weight finally begin 
to shift from him.

***

    Doyle wasn't sure how long he had worked on his companion, but some 
time later he felt an urgent ping for his attention. Oddly enough, there 
was no message attached to the alert; someone in the material world wanted 
his attention but wasn't in the mood to drop him a quick note about the 
why. Intrigued -- not to mention a bit worried -- Doyle patted his patient 
and cleaned up the last few threads of code he'd worked on.
    "Got to go now. But we made progress here." He paused, then allowed 
himself another chuckle. "We both did, didn't we?"
    "Heh."
    "Exactly. Sleep well, old friend."
    It was the work of a moment for Doyle to shift his attention from 
innerspace to outer, forming a body back in the material world. Thanks to 
a certain wish made for him in his darkest hour, Doyle no longer relied 
upon his holographic projectors for solidity and presence in the meat 
world, meaning that he was free to enjoy the more sensual pleasures of the 
material world, such as the lovely perfume that he scented upon returning 
to his office.
    Normally the transition from inner to outer was a smooth remapping of 
sensory input to new contexts; this time was different, for Doyle felt 
very off-balance upon emergence. This vertigo had less to do with the 
physics of the translation than it did with the red-headed engineer 
standing in front of him, gun in-hand and pointed his way.
    "Colleen," he began calmly. "Of all the ways we should continue our 
discussion, I really don't think that gunpoint is the right way to go."
    "This isn't for you," replied Colleen, her lips half-quirked. "Though 
it could be for me if you try to raise an alert."
    "Colleen, what the hel--aha. Ms MacDougal, I presume."
    "As always, you presume very well and very swiftly," replied the 
visitor, bobbing to Doyle. "I confess, there was more than one time when I 
thought you'd pierce my disguise."
    "Would that I had," replied Doyle, his voice momentarily quiet. "Then 
maybe a number of my friends wouldn't be hurt, or dead."
    "Yes," replied MacDougal, and not without a sigh. "As people are fond 
of reminding me today, I am guilty of that. I'm guilty of a great number 
of things. But one thing that you must take the blame for is your marked 
absence from my prison cell. Care to explain yourself?"
    "Explain? Ah, Ms MacDougall, you turned out to be a deep-cover mole, 
imprisoned me in a virtual hell(tm) and tried to help your people invade 
my world. Maybe I'm old-fashioned, but in my day that sort of thing was 
roughly equivalent to a Dear John letter. Or did I misread the signs? Were 
those merely 'love taps'?"
    "No... no you did not misread," replied MacDougal. "And yet, perhaps 
yes you did."
    "How clear that is," replied Doyle, holding out a hand. "Perhaps we 
could discuss this without the gun?"
    MacDougal glanced up at that and held the weapon tightly to herself. 
"No. No I'm afraid that we can't be doing that. Right now I'm gambling 
that you still care enough that you don't want to see me shoot myself down 
in front of your eyes. And I'm fairly sure that I'm spot on in this 
regard, mmm?"
    "Right as the summer rain," replied Doyle, slowly lowering his hand. 
"No matter what you did to me, I still care. Which makes this all the more 
confusing. Why are you here? What do you want exactly? You can keep me 
from calling the guards for now, but what do you hope to accomplish in the 
long-term? You're a woman who takes the broad view, so what's your 
agenda?"
    "My agenda? Oh, it's simple." She met Doyle's eyes with her own, 
suddenly looking miserable and defeated. "It was to come here. To talk to 
you."
    "Why do I find it hard to believe that there's nothing more to it?"
    "Because you're a fool," spat out MacDougal. Then she shook her head. 
"Because you know me. Because you know what I did and no matter what I 
say, the memory is still going to loom large for you. How could I possibly 
expect you to trust me? Well, I won't even try for that. I only want you 
to listen to me, and when I'm done talking, you can do whatever you want. 
I won't stop you. But for the moment I want you to hear me out. Can you do 
that for me?"
    "All right. That's fair enough, at least in the short-term. What is it 
that you had to say to me?"
    MacDougal bit her lip, seeming about ready to scrub her mission now 
that she had actually achieved contact with her target. Then she recruited 
her courage from all of its various hiding places and stood up straighter.
    "I'm sorry."
    Of all the things that Doyle had expected to hear, that response had 
been located somewhere in the bottom ten. So it took him a heartbeat or 
two to reply.
    "I see. What for, exactly?"
    MacDougal rolled eyes. "Is it truly that hard to figure it out? Art... 
I was born to my world. I was trained for my mission. I -had- to complete 
my mission. But despite it all, despite the fact that I never intended to, 
I did truly fall in love with you. I almost... didn't pull the trigger, so 
to speak."
    "And yet you did," replied Doyle, his voice growing a bit harsh. "You 
'almost' did the right thing. But in the end, you still went ahead with 
your part of the invasion. That's not love, that's just a moment of 
doubt."
    "It was my duty, Art. In a similar position, would you let yourself be 
torn between love and doing what ye knew you must? Would you really turn 
your back on what was expected of you?"
    "I would if it also involved launching an incursion on an innocent 
world! How do you explain that? How do you reconcile this protestation of 
love with the fact that you nearly stole the freedom of an entire world?"
    "A POX on yer damned world already! Don't you understand? I don't love 
it, Art! Point of fact, I find it a bloody madhouse! I damned well HATE 
your world! The only thing... the ONLY thing in it that I gave even half a 
damn for is -you-. The rest could go hang! Do ye understand? My people 
were -right-. An invasion of your so-called 'innocent' world was the 
-right- thing to do. Ye are all insane and dangerous to yourselves and all 
neighbouring realities and yet -we- were the ones imprisoned! But where we 
were wrong was in hurtin' *YOU* *YOURSELF*!"
    Doyle took a breath that he didn't need. Then another. And then a 
third.
    "Thank you."
    "Ah..." MacDougal found herself caught up short, as it was her turn to 
be surprised. "What do you mean..."
    "Thank you," he replied with a shrug. "For telling me that. For caring. 
Maybe even for not having been lying to me when you whispered your love to 
me during those special moments that we had. Maybe. But Colleen..."
    "Aye...?"
    "The woman I fell in love with? She isn't you."
    There was silence. Doyle finally found the words with which to break 
it.
    "The woman you claimed to be. The woman you became for me. I loved her. 
I -love- her. You... you've just proved to me that you aren't, and never 
were, that woman. You fooled me into thinking that you were, but..." He 
shook his head. "I don't know, Colleen. I don't know what to tell you. I 
don't know what to say to you. Except for 'thank you'."
    "Ah. I see. She doesn't love you back, you know."
    "I know. For what it's worth though... you were right."
    "Mmm?"
    "I do care. I do care enough to not want to see you get hurt. But..."
    "T'is not love," she finished, in a whisper.
    "Did you really expect it to be?"
    "I suppose... I had hoped, aye. Enough to go up instead of down when I 
had my chance to escape."
    "I'm flattered. But I'm afraid flattery won't get you anywhere, except 
back to your cell."
    "Nae," whispered MacDougal, shaking her head. "Nae, I will not be goin' 
back there. I've had enough of this madhouse."
    "Colleen..." said Doyle, beginning to advance. "Give me the gun. I'll 
put in a good word for you. You'll be well treated until we can return--"
    "Nae... no. *No*, Art. You truly don't get it, do you? It isn't 
creature comforts that I crave. It's sanity. I lost myself in insanity the 
moment I stepped through that portal to this world. Anywhere I go on this 
world, no matter how well you think you're treating me, you're sentencing 
me to more of the same. How... *how* can you think I'd willingly endure 
that? No. I have an exit strategy."
    "I... suppose I should ask. What is that strategy, Colleen?"
    "AAS," MacDougal whispered, then stepped back. "Fare thee well, Art. 
Know that I'll love you... for the rest of my life."
    "Colleen *don't*. Don't do this! Hear me out, Colleen, there's 
something you need to know! You aren't going back to your cell for good! 
We're returning you... to... damn it."
    The man's plea had fallen on deaf ears. Doyle sent a trigger to his 
alarm system, activating the all too late alert. He felt a pang of regret 
at what he knew would come, at what he had seen in MacDougal's eyes. 
Easing himself into his desk chair, he leaned forward and stared at his 
reflection in the desk's polished surface.
    "Please don't get yourself killed, Colleen. I do care that much. Maybe 
I care a little more, even. But you don't have to stay in this 'madhouse' 
if you live. That's what I was trying to tell you..."
    Doyle's reflection had no response, so he filled it in himself. It was 
the only solace he could find right now.
    "Heh."

***

This issue is mine, mine, mine and you can't have it. Nyah and copyright
belongs to Frobozz/Chris Angelini, 2007. Mess with my legal rights and
I'll send over Gggthstx to discuss 'fair use' with you. Email to
frobozz at eyrie.org. Homepage at http://www.eyrie.org/~frobozz.


---
-Chris
frobozz at eyrie.org
http://www.eyrie.org/~frobozz

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