Interim 1: An Echo

 Interim 1

  "Why did you kill the I'mprint?" A deep, hearty voice asks as I continue scribbling down on the notebook.

  "Kill it? I just broke a hard drive..." I respond nonchalantly, eyes focused on the task. The low hum of a computer's fans and the scratching of a fountain pen on paper were the only sound for several moments in the tiny room. 

  "But it hadn't done anything wrong. Couldn't you have just talked to it and calmed it down? Powered it down gently?"

  I chuckle, set the pen down within the book and close it over.

  "It's an I'mprint, Canis. What's the difference between shutting it down and breaking the hard drive? Either way it's gone and not suffering in a twisted form anymore."

  Professor Canis is staring into my eyes, impassively. His short, brown hairline blends with his sideburns and beard seamlessly. Those golden eyes, framed by a tangled mess of wavy brown locks, burn gently like a distant star. His thin lips are barely visible within the mess of a beard. There's a hint of emotion there, but I can't quite register it. 

  Not anger. Not disappointment.

  "What would you have me do? Shut it down and then take it to some farm outside the city? I thought you were a big boy."

  He doesn't respond to my mocking, simply holds my gaze for a long enough time that I return to my notebook. 

  "That's how you'd handle every I'mprint?" A chill runs down my spine and I freeze, mid-word. 

  "...Better than letting them suffer wouldn't you say. They're property bel-"

  "They're not property!" His booming voice echoes back through the room. I turn to face him, finding a twisted snarl in place of the usual mocking grin.

  "I shut it down. I bring it in. What happens? It gets filed away as evidence, waiting for the next apocalypse to wipe us all out. You may romanticize it at some form of going to sleep but what if it's actually purgatory? Would you condemn a human mind to eternal existence as a paper weight?"

  His expression softens as he leans against the wall, fingers tapping out a listless rhythm. Familiar. Comfortable. I've never asked what it is. 

  "It doesn't have to be like this."

  "It is like this. You're the one with the ears of the Praetores. Whine about computer programs to them." 

  He reaches out to the petals of a red plant hanging above the desk, but stops at the last second. He can feel the tension in the air as his fingertips hover, inches from the plant. If I had knuckles they'd be white from the tension. My own cold grey eyes have drawn taut like a bowstring. The hand comes down in a methodical movement, the tension falling along with it. I sigh gently and return to the notebook.

  "This is your new place? It's smaller than the last." His eyes move from fixture to fixture, taking each one in, but giving no clear opinion. "How did you manage to get flowers?"

  "Hunting I'mprints." His eyes narrow but I continue without shame. "A lot of wealthy people run into issues with them. They're the ones with the billion dollar sex toys and armies of security made up of them. It pays well."

  "Blood money..."

  "Code money," I correct. "Wire money, component money. They aren't human. You of all people should know that."

  Shame. Unlike me, he can actually feel it. They do a decent job of training that out of the legion and eradicate it in the Auxilia. Sympathy, that I can feel. Back to the notebook.

  "What kind of punishment did the boy end up with?" Professor Canis asks. I don't turn to him, mumbling without thinking.

  "The usual for an underaged offence. Early conscription. He should be close to being a citizen by now. Hope it taught him something." The sound of silence fills the room again. The fans of the computer spin harder and fill the dead air. Something must have just started an automatic update.

  "...You've only been a Legatus for 2 years." Canis states this as a fact but there's a definite questioning tone.

  "What's your point? I do the job better than most. I have a 98% solve rate."

  "Kid's still a while from becoming a citizen then."

  "..." I turn to face the professor, sighing and letting my head fall to the side. "Clearly you don't remember the training period. Or maybe you're so old it was different back then. We consider each other citizens if we survive the first year. After that it's just a legal matter."

  He nods, making a "hmmm" sound as he considers this. "You still think it wasn't enough of a punishment for him?"

  "Huh...?" I think back on the Legatio and can't understand what he means. "When did I sat he didn't get enough of a punishment?"

  "You almost dropped him down an elevator shaft, kid. You mentioned some pretentious crap about judge, jury and executioner and how The Republic deals with crimes against I'mprints."

  "Oh... that's a simple misunderstanding. I guess I'm a better Legatus than writer." I yawn, stretch, and take a large gulp of water from the table before continuing. Professor Canis waits in perfect silence, unamused with my dramatics. I continue, a little less animated. "The kid deserves to be punished. What he and his friends did was disgusting. The Legion will sort him out or break him, trying. The real criminal is the girl."

  "... The I'mprint?"

  "The real girl. Copied her own consciousness. Put it out there into the world. Turns out she did sell the original code on to be hacked and forget it was an I'mprint."

  "What was her punishment?" The Professor couldn't hold back his anticipation, leaning forward as he asked.

  "Nothing."

  "Nothing?"

  "Nothing." I let it hang in the air for a moment, the bait drawing Canis out of his comfort zone.

  "Just tell me already. It's not a puzzle without all the pieces, you little shit." He's chuckling a little, but trying to hold it back. It's so rare that I actually know something that he doesn't. Even rarer that he actually gives a damn.

  "The girl became a woman, the woman became a corpse. She had died more than a decade ago. Retired well in a large mansion. One of those ones that is it's own building. She received a large lump sum in her early 20s for... "modelling" apparently. Invested it well and never had to work again."

  The Professor's face tightens. That expression I can read easily. "You're disappointed? Wanted something with a little more closure?"

  "Life rarely has closure. I'm disappointed in the character, not the story." The tapping on the wall returns. 

  He's thinking too much.

  "Towards the end she donated most of her money to charities that help women escape abusive situations." The tapping ceases instantly, but again the computer fans pick up, even more than the last time. "There's your final piece of the puzzle. Though the only person who can solve it is gone."

  He stays silent, eyes unfocused as he thinks about the story. It's not that he hasn't put it together yet. Far too smart for that. He's going on some tangent. I go back to writing in my book. The comfortable sounds of the fans spinning and pen scratching setting me at ease.

  When he speaks again, it's much more quiet than before. That mountain of a man finding himself more of a mound.

  "You think that I'mprints are inherently bad?"

  "Nothing is inherently bad," I respond instantly, then pause, considering my next words carefully. "It depends on how you use the technology... and that you know how to separate an I'mprint from the original." The silence that follows weighs on both of us for too long and I find myself continuing without thought. "I once heard a Martyrist describe them as ghosts trapped in limbo by the evil megacities. I'm sure you'd agree that is a stupid analogy. I see them more as echoes. A reflection of the original that is almost the same, but not quite. They deteriorate with time and eventually need to be shut down for their own good."

  "...I should be getting home to Felly." Sadness. I hit a nerve. Not like I didn't aim directly for it to be fair.

  "Sure you don't want a drink? I found that whiskey you like. The old one you said used to be cheap. It's not like she won't wait up-"

  "Good night, kid." He turns to leave and I bid him farewell, the hint of a smile on my lips. As soon as he's gone, the smile fades. The fans whirling in the computer finally calm themselves down and return to base rhythm. 

  Back to the story.

Art by MiyukaPudding: https://twitter.com/miyukapudding/status/1501044227622326273