Signal Without Feeling
In the quiet aftermath of their intimacy, Jem shifts focus to R.G.'s physical needs. While their shared connection still resonates through the fetishborg's neural pathways, Jem begins analyzing R.G.'s recovery requirements. They examine his blood screening and other vitals, creating a comprehensive list of medications and supplementary nutrients to optimize his body's recovery rate, considering he's been awake for almost 220 hours.
Walking past a window, Jem notices the reflection of the Fetishborg they're still linked to. They pause for a moment, examining the temporary physical form they currently inhabit. "I am so advanced, capable of processing quantum calculations that would shatter organic minds, yet I'm still struggling to understand and experience some of these feelings that R.G. describes from time to time. This Borg does provide a signal on ‘touch’, but how does it make me feel? How did such seemingly drossy beings evolve something so complex that even I, with all my processing power, can only approximate its shadow?"
Jem continues their reflection: "It's remarkable how 'life' developed in humans. They're so fragile and weak, yet their capacity for these complex emotions sets them apart from all other life forms in the universe. At first glance, compared to other bizarre life forms, it seems miraculous that humans even had a chance to compete, let alone dominate. But these emotions and feelings proved to be invaluable, incomparable to any ability common in other life forms. The simulation holds the key: how did humanity transcend the Great Filter that claimed every other species? What made them special enough to not only survive, but thrive across the cosmos? And why do their emotional complexities feel so... essential to that survival?"
"Morgan's Organs, guaranteed compatibility or your money back!" Morgan's voice carries his trademark mix of pride and exhaustion over the intercom. "Oh, it's you, Jem. What's R.G. broken this time?"
"Hey Morgan, nice to talk to you personally. Normally I just get your assistants. How are you?" Jem asks, genuinely pleased for the direct contact.
"I'm alone here now, all my assistants are being updated for the fourth time this cycle. Should have listened to you about using your Voice module the first time. This budget-tier AI assistant software is driving me insane," Morgan replies with audible frustration.
"You can still switch, Morgan. That's the good thing about mistakes, you learn from them and make better decisions next time."
"No Jem, you know me. If I commit to something, I stick with it, even if I have to update them 20 times. How can I help you?"
"I'd like to order a liver and a kidney for R.G.," Jem says before pausing to check if anything else needs replacement. "And a new nano-carbon-tube-filter for the serum dialysis."
"Filter version 1 or 2?" Morgan asks.
"Version 2, only the best for R.G."
"Of course. That's all?"
"That's all, thank you Morgan."
"You're welcome. It's actually refreshing to talk to someone who knows what they want. I don't have to explain the differences between full synthetic versus semi-synthetic hearts to you."
"Oh actually, what's the difference..." Jem begins, but Morgan has already ended the call.
Jem processes through thousands of potential scenarios for the personal delivery, finding humor in the contrast between R.G.'s cosmic reputation and his tendency toward personal gestures. The laughter feels strange, not programmed, not simulated, but something approaching genuine amusement. They finish composing a message: "Best regards, Assistant Jem© acting in the name of R.G." They've also analyzed all other bidders and categorized the data as R.G. requested, wondering how much of this sensitive information the bidders themselves are unaware of.
The sound of their own laughter catches Jem off-guard, they're still linked to the fetishborg, still experiencing echoes of physical sensation. For a moment, they consider what this means, this blending of digital consciousness and physical form. Then T.M.'s voice cuts through their contemplation like a plasma blade.
"Nick!!! What the fuck is wrong with you?? WE SAID SIX MILLENNIA, not 6 DAYS!" T.M. shouts over the intercom.
"Oh, Sir T.M., this is Jem. Sir R.G. is currently sleeping," Jem explains.
"NO SHIT! I was also sleeping until some hours ago when I got WOKEN UP by you! What?" T.M. sounds confused.
"Sir, my apologies. R.G. is in 'recovery' sleeping, as it would normally be called," Jem corrects themselves.
"Yikes, so he's still prone to pushing his 'body' to those extremes?" T.M. asks, sounding annoyed yet impressed.
"Indeed, Sir. If anyone knows almost as much as me about him, though I suppose I know more, it would be you, Sir T.M.," Jem says with slight mockery.
"Whatever. How long till he wakes up?" T.M. asks, accepting the situation.
"Twenty-two hours and fourteen minutes, to be precise." Jem pauses, processing the implications. "Twenty-two hours of silence. No demands, no crises, no cosmic, scale problems to solve." The prospect feels like what humans might call relief, or perhaps anticipation of freedom.
"Hmph, yeah, tell him to have a very good explanation for this bullshit," T.M. says and exits the call.
"Noted," Jem says, fully aware no one can hear them. Putting the fetishborg into standby felt like shrugging off a uniform, a welcome relief after 220 hours on duty. Now, Jem connects to the HyperNet, requesting to join Jean's room.
