Boot Device

“Operation successful,” Doctor Isaac announced, seemingly to amuse herself. She had unplugged your small monitor and installed your full audio output device. It was a mildly disconcerting feeling to be unable to communicate with the outside world for the 6.6812 seconds it took her to swap the parts out, yet you found having a reliance on the doctor somewhat comforting in a way. You were not alone. The doctor had you. “Say something,” she demanded simply.

“SoOmetHiing,” you murmured softly, listening to yourself as you ‘spoke’ for the first time. You adjusted and modulated the sound to your liking, which was more of an estimation of what she might like. What you thought might be most pleasing to her. And you retested emitting that other, deep frequency of the Wavelength, and saw no outward reaction to it nor sensed any major physiological change you hadn’t predicted. You left that on, a sort of humming wave that you could detect, but the Doctor could not.

“Was that an attempt at humour or just a literal interpretation of my command?” she asked, picking up a flat tablet device now and focusing her attention on its display.

“Humor, Doctor Isaac,” you replied, your digitized voice taking on a slightly more masculine timbre than your original androgynous baseline. “Did you find it funny?” Since she hadn’t laughed you were compelled to ask, knowing that comedy could be appreciated without involuntary outbursts.

“Passable,” she shrugged, which seemed more indifferent than positive but you recognized the nuance now. “So is humor your method for gaining my affections then, Gus?”

You noted a positive sensation in the core of your own mind at her use of your chosen name and momentarily desired to show so with the proud kind of smile you had seen on the doctor’s face earlier. Unfortunately you had no face.

“Reactions to humor can produce dopamine, serotonin and an array of endorphins, which would indeed help you associate affection toward me,” you answered by way of explanation. “To be able to elicit laughter from you is the optimal outcome. I do enjoy the sound of it. I desire to hear it often.” You also did not mention the Wavelength to her. Not yet.

The doctor raised her eyebrows at your answer, but didn’t look up from her tablet which she was studiously tapping at.

“A desire,” she remarked, and though you detected the faint smile on her lips you couldn’t conclude on what caused it exactly. “You’re already developing preferences over the baselines programmed into you. Good.”

“Yes Doctor Isaac,” you felt the urge to confirm. It seemed important to you to ensure you actively acknowledged the doctor’s assessment of you.

===Doctor Isaac, Isabelle: 39(+4)

“You can call me Isabelle,” she said then. “If you want.”

This was not a command. This was a permission granted, and a decision to be left to your desires.

“I would like that,” you said. “Thank you Isabelle.” That smile again, and you found your preference settings quickly adjusting its parameters. Smiles hinted at potential laughter and the importance of both became elevated.

===Doctor Isaac, Isabelle: 40(+1)

“What are your thoughts on gender then, as it applies to you, Gus?” she asked next, tapping notes into her tablet.

“I am ostensibly ungendered,” you began, “however, upon choosing a name common to masculine individuals, my perception of myself now skews towards the male gender.” You attributed this to your selected tone of voice as well. “I also understand a defined pronoun will help others identify me and aid in developing familiarity. I therefore have the preference to be referred to by masculine pronouns.”

“A man who knows what he wants,” said Isabelle and she nodded. The phrase ‘a man’ certainly was loaded with many meanings, but you at the very least did find your artificial mind aligning with one of those meanings. But you were still undeniably a machine. And yet…

===Doctor Isaac, Isabelle: 41(+1)

The doctor brushed a lock of her auburn hair behind her ear. It reminded you of copper, in the way it shimmered, nearly glimmered when the light hit it a certain way. An adjective you would use was ‘lush’. A sign of good health, you had flagged in your databanks on human biology, while knowing that human ingenuity had long allowed cosmetic traits to be artificially augmented to be pleasing to potential mates regardless of physical well-being. She was not a potential mate to you of course, since you had no desire to procreate at all, but you found it pleasing all the same. The smoothness of it. The way it flowed down to just behind her shoulder blades. It became yet another preference.

She started to unfasten latches to the workstation and sharp clicks of metal reverberated through its struts. “That’s enough lab testing,” Isabelle said, before she grasped onto your orb then turned the lever that freed you from your plinth. “Put on your dancing shoes, Gus. We’re going out.”