His claws grow restless now that I’ve put him on the spot. They click out a nervous message of apology against the tabletop. “I do care for you, Sirantha. You are…the most important person in my life. But…that is…I cannot—”
I let him off the hook, listing the reasons why it’s not going to happen. “You’re not ready for a romantic relationship. You remember what it was like with Adele. Then you lost her. And you don’t want to feel like that again. Plus, you’re still healing.”
I understand this about Vel. It’s too bad March doesn’t. And then I realize…he doesn’t know. He sees only our closeness without understanding the context.
“Why do I love such an idiot?” I mumble.
“I imagine he asks himself the same question.”
I sit up. “Ouch. Are you pissed off at me?”
“No. But neither of you is perfect.”
“True enough. Would you mind if I told him about Adele?” It’s his story, but it will go a long way toward easing March’s mind and helping him understand that Vel’s not a threat to him…at least, not during his lifetime.
It could take eighty turns before Vel is ready to move on. I might be grieving myself by that point, and he’ll be there to help me through it. Then there will be an endless future together, so long as my nanites are still working, and who knows what will happen that far down the road? Not me. I can’t even wrap my head around it. Most days, it’s all I can do to handle the here and now.
“I do not mind if you reveal the bones,” he answers at length. “But some of the story, I spoke for your ears alone, Sirantha.”
“Understood. I’ll just tell him the basics, and that you need a friend. Which I am.”
“I have never known one dearer,” he says.
“I should go wake him up. There won’t be time to talk in the morning, and I don’t think he’d get over it if we left things like this, and something happened to me.”
Despite my ability to heal wounds that would end anyone else, I’m not immortal or indestructible. The nanites can’t grow me a new head or rebuild me if I’m charred to ash. I can still die; it just takes more to kill me.
“He would not.” He runs a claw down my cheek. “Nor would I. And who knows, perhaps someday—”
“You don’t have to make me any promises. Just be there. That’s all.”
“I will be.”
“I’m sorry you got dragged into this. It’s…” I shake my head. Words fail me.
“It was…diverting, to say the least. I have never been the seductive third in a love triangle.” And he’s smirking again. “It is not a role I have played before.”
“I imagine not.”
“Tell me, Sirantha, what is it about me that you find irresistible? Is it my gleaming chitin? My eyes? My mandible? No, I have it. My talons drive you wild.”
“You’re never going to let me live this down, are you?”
“Probably not. It is possible, however, that in five hundred turns, neural decay will set in, and I will no longer recall how hilarious this is.”
“You’re an evil, evil Bug.”
“Occasionally. Off you go now.”
I shoot him a dirty look as I head out. At this hour, I encounter only Constance, who’s walking toward comms. She never sleeps for obvious reasons; she just plugs in now and then to recharge.
“How’s Sasha doing?”
“At his lessons, brilliantly. In other regards, I am concerned.” Her words match her grandmotherly façade. Maybe she really does worry.
“He wants to fight.”
“I know. We’ve talked about it. He’s fascinated by the children’s brigade. Not that he sees himself as a child.”
“What do you think?”
“It is not without precedent…yet as Commander March says, Sasha is young. I am not qualified to render psychological analysis in this scenario.”
“You must have an opinion, though.” I tilt my head, inviting the truth.
“I do. In your service, Sirantha Jax, I have learned to respect free will. You let me choose whether I wanted to be in the sphere, part of a ship, or in a physical body. You never told me I was wrong for using the resources and processes available to me to make that choice. You gave me freedom.” She meets my gaze in a most un-AI fashion, as if she’s a real person inside those circuits and wires. “I think it is wrong to deny Sasha his own choices even if he is but a young sentient being. His mistakes should be his own.”
“Even if they prove costly?” I ask.
“Commander March should not deny the boy out of his own fear.”
“Thanks for the opinion. I’m on my way to talk to him now.” I realize the AI can’t make decisions as a human would; her thought processes are alien, and they’re morally gray as applied to this particular situation. Yet I think it pleased her that I asked.
She taps a few panels in the comm suite, and informs me, “The commander is watching vids in his quarters.”
“You can tell that?”
“Yes, from the energy consumption.”
I point out, “He might’ve fallen asleep with the console playing.”
“A possibility. But I don’t imagine you’ll let that dissuade you.”
“No. This can’t wait.”
In wartime, there’s no guarantee of tomorrow, so it’s best not to leave things unsaid.