(no subject)
Dec. 27th, 2016 11:34 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeongbroIt began with a quiet sound, a familiarity that Henry had missed for months.
Henry woke with the thing, that familiarity and weight and sort of knowing that consumed him from the base of his neck out, out, out. There was a sort of gentle presence in the back of his skull. It was the first time he’d woken up with that feeling in months, a sudden realization of completeness that he wasn’t sure he’d realized he’d been missing.
There was no school today. It didn’t start for several more days; a week? And he wasn’t meant to be into work for some time, he thought. It felt early. Henry wasn’t sure what to think of that; he couldn’t remember what time he’d gone to bed, and so he had no real handle on what time it was just then, in that cool wakefulness with his eyes still shut.
The StarkBee—still functional, even though it was just running a mediocre AI—shifted and fluttered a little on the bedside table. Henry could hear it, knew what its little legs and wings sounded like after so many months of it running its quiet little program safely, now that it was disconnected from Henry’s brain. It was a comfort, in certain ways. He made that. He programmed it and made it do some things he needed it to. It was just the tech-to-user interface that had failed him so completely.
Henry woke in fits and starts. When he was finally awake all the way—his eyes still closed—he let himself tune into that quiet sound, that quiet familiarity and completeness and contentment that filled the back of his head and all the way down to his lungs. He hadn’t realized how anxious he was until, suddenly, it felt almost soothed.
RoboBee? he thought. And again and again, again and again, the word a mantra he’d recited to himself countless times since he arrived in Darrow and RoboBee was stuck back in Henrietta, sitting on his desk as he’d taken out the garbage. RoboBee, come find me.
With his eyes still closed, he was aware of a shift, some perception of himself changing. There was a light feeling on his bare shoulder, a curious creeping like a stray hair or thread.
Henry opened his eyes. The StarkBee was sitting on the bedside table, whirring with its mechanics and artificial intelligence programming that told it to act sort of like an insect. It buzzed and fluttered and crawled, then went still and rested on its charging pad. On Henry’s shoulder, there was that feeling of a creeping hair or thread. RoboBee, he thought. The feeling shifted, intensified. RoboBee. It climbed down his arm a little. Henry turned his head, and there it was.
RoboBee was a wonder of mechanics and magic. It looked like an oversized bee, or wasp maybe, with a lovely glowing amber belly, and fine legs, and lacy wings. Its head tilted at Henry, like the glass-orb eyes could see him; Henry knew that they could, because on the app he used to interpret RoboBee, he could see what it saw. RoboBee watched Henry for a long moment, then flew into the air. Henry sat up, lifted a hand. With only a thought, the barest hint of a thought, RoboBee returned to him and landed on his palm. It tucked its wings in, then fluttered them. A little dance across his palm.
Henry thought he would cry. What had he done to deserve this? Was he dreaming? Had Cabeswater made this—had Darrow? People received things from home, he knew, vaguely. But he’d been here for months, and why would the universe conspire for now to be when RoboBee arrived.
He lifted the little marvel up to eye level. RoboBee fluttered its wings and Henry smiled.
“You’ve come a long way, my friend,” he whispered. RoboBee settled on Henry’s palm, tucked toward the crease of his thumb. The light in that amber belly dimmed, and everything curled up tight. RoboBee slept, a silent thing, while the StarkBee recharged.
Henry didn’t think he’d been so happy in months.
Henry woke with the thing, that familiarity and weight and sort of knowing that consumed him from the base of his neck out, out, out. There was a sort of gentle presence in the back of his skull. It was the first time he’d woken up with that feeling in months, a sudden realization of completeness that he wasn’t sure he’d realized he’d been missing.
There was no school today. It didn’t start for several more days; a week? And he wasn’t meant to be into work for some time, he thought. It felt early. Henry wasn’t sure what to think of that; he couldn’t remember what time he’d gone to bed, and so he had no real handle on what time it was just then, in that cool wakefulness with his eyes still shut.
The StarkBee—still functional, even though it was just running a mediocre AI—shifted and fluttered a little on the bedside table. Henry could hear it, knew what its little legs and wings sounded like after so many months of it running its quiet little program safely, now that it was disconnected from Henry’s brain. It was a comfort, in certain ways. He made that. He programmed it and made it do some things he needed it to. It was just the tech-to-user interface that had failed him so completely.
Henry woke in fits and starts. When he was finally awake all the way—his eyes still closed—he let himself tune into that quiet sound, that quiet familiarity and completeness and contentment that filled the back of his head and all the way down to his lungs. He hadn’t realized how anxious he was until, suddenly, it felt almost soothed.
RoboBee? he thought. And again and again, again and again, the word a mantra he’d recited to himself countless times since he arrived in Darrow and RoboBee was stuck back in Henrietta, sitting on his desk as he’d taken out the garbage. RoboBee, come find me.
With his eyes still closed, he was aware of a shift, some perception of himself changing. There was a light feeling on his bare shoulder, a curious creeping like a stray hair or thread.
Henry opened his eyes. The StarkBee was sitting on the bedside table, whirring with its mechanics and artificial intelligence programming that told it to act sort of like an insect. It buzzed and fluttered and crawled, then went still and rested on its charging pad. On Henry’s shoulder, there was that feeling of a creeping hair or thread. RoboBee, he thought. The feeling shifted, intensified. RoboBee. It climbed down his arm a little. Henry turned his head, and there it was.
RoboBee was a wonder of mechanics and magic. It looked like an oversized bee, or wasp maybe, with a lovely glowing amber belly, and fine legs, and lacy wings. Its head tilted at Henry, like the glass-orb eyes could see him; Henry knew that they could, because on the app he used to interpret RoboBee, he could see what it saw. RoboBee watched Henry for a long moment, then flew into the air. Henry sat up, lifted a hand. With only a thought, the barest hint of a thought, RoboBee returned to him and landed on his palm. It tucked its wings in, then fluttered them. A little dance across his palm.
Henry thought he would cry. What had he done to deserve this? Was he dreaming? Had Cabeswater made this—had Darrow? People received things from home, he knew, vaguely. But he’d been here for months, and why would the universe conspire for now to be when RoboBee arrived.
He lifted the little marvel up to eye level. RoboBee fluttered its wings and Henry smiled.
“You’ve come a long way, my friend,” he whispered. RoboBee settled on Henry’s palm, tucked toward the crease of his thumb. The light in that amber belly dimmed, and everything curled up tight. RoboBee slept, a silent thing, while the StarkBee recharged.
Henry didn’t think he’d been so happy in months.
