Chapter 20: Continued Deliberation

"Searching for 'Dunga'... Hmm. Figures. Not a single hit."

Marl muttered to herself in the solitude of her room before collapsing onto her soft, synthetic fiber bed. Beneath her, tens of thousands of microscopic protrusions shifted slowly, molding the surface into a perfect cradle for her body.

The fact that even the neural net is drawing a blank means it’s definitely some nonsense word he cooked up. How stupid... but, heh. It was pretty funny.

Marl rolled over and hugged the so-called "comforter" Taro had recommended. Having spent her entire life in perfectly climate-controlled environments, she didn't see the point of a heavy blanket, yet she couldn't deny that clutching it like this felt... grounding.

"Teiro, Koume, and now Alan. I go forever without seeing a soul, then it’s just one person after another."

In an era of hyper-efficient networking, actually meeting someone face-to-face was a rarity. Most people could live their entire lives without physical contact and never feel a hint of inconvenience. In fact, for the two years leading up to her encounter with Taro, Marl had conducted her entire existence via digital communication. Whenever she remembered the day she actually met him in person, she wanted to shrivel up from embarrassment.

I’ve really been pushing myself lately... I mean, going down to the pier to welcome a man home from a shipwreck? What kind of budget soap opera is that?

Her face flushed crimson. Marl pulled the comforter over her head and thrashed her legs in a fit of self-consciousness. Suddenly, she remembered a romance movie with a similar premise playing on the station’s local broadcast. She pulled up BISHOP and initiated the download.

"Hmm, this has an age rating. I wonder if it’s okay... I’m not really in the mood for anything too graphic."

She frowned when she saw the "D-rating" in the metadata. Based on her chronological age—roughly 150,000 hours—her Mental Growth Rating technically should have been a C-rating. In reality, she held a dismal F-rating, but that didn't mean she had an appetite for anything raunchy.

"But, well, whatever. Think of it as study. Yes. Research."

Marl continued to mumble justifications to herself as the two-hour drama began to play. Usually, she stuck to action or fantasy—genres that didn't require much emotional heavy lifting—but lately, she’d found herself drawn to human stories. She self-diagnosed this as a sign of maturity and focused on the screen.

"Whoa, this is a lot more intense than I expected... Is this really a D? This has to be an E. Who even is the broadcaster?"

Despite her urge to file a formal complaint, Marl watched the so-called "love scenes" out of the corner of her eye, her face burning. There was no one there to judge her, but her own bashfulness was a far harsher critic.

"Aah, jeez! That’s it! Stop! I’m stopping! This is skipping way too many steps at once!"

With her ears turning red, Marl slammed the stop button. She grumbled a few choice words at the hum of the destroyer’s engines—which felt annoyingly loud all of a sudden—and squeezed her comforter again.

"A comforter, huh? This is actually pretty nice... Still, I wonder. How do I actually feel about that guy?"

As she pictured her colleague, Marl buried her face in the bedding to begin a thorough self-analysis. She tried to be as clinical as possible. She definitely liked him, but was it romantic? Or was she just experiencing a localized glitch in her judgment because her environment had changed so drastically?

...For now, let's call it 'Requires Further Observation.'

She dictated the thought into BISHOP as a memo and saved it into the folder labeled [CONTINUED DELIBERATION].

The very next second, a chime echoed through the room.

"HYAAAH!!?"

Marl jumped so high she was certain she’d achieved liftoff. She scrambled to the door, though there was no logical reason to hurry.

"Who is... Oh, Alan? Hold on, I'm coming."

She felt a confusing cocktail of disappointment and relief that it wasn't Taro.

"Hey, Vice President. Sorry to drop by, I wanted to consult with you about something... though, if I’m being honest, isn't this a bit careless?"

Alan gestured to Marl’s casual loungewear. Marl just gave him a flat look. "Oh?"

"If you think you can handle a high-voltage discharge, feel free to try something."

"Is that a stun gun? Those things are tricky to aim, you know. You sure you can even hit a target?"

"The current runs through my clothes. Want a demonstration?"

Alan quickly pulled back the hand he’d extended half-jokingly, a wry smirk on his face. "You’re a terrifying little lady, aren't you?"

"Whatever. What do you want? If this is some trivial errand, I’m going to be very annoyed."

"Right, about that..."

Alan glanced around restlessly. His eyes glazed over for a split second—a clear sign he was using BISHOP to scan for eavesdroppers.

"Look, little lady. I’m gonna be blunt. That AI, Koume. What exactly is her deal?"

Marl blinked, caught off guard. "What do you mean, 'what is she'?"

"She’s not just 'high-spec.' That’s an understatement. To be honest, she’s an anomaly. You’ve noticed it too, right?"

"I suppose... but stop calling her 'that AI.' She has a name. It’s Koume."

"...Right. My bad. So, where was this Koume built? I’ve seen top-tier military AIs that don't even come close to her."

Marl shrugged. "Is that so?"

"It is," Alan insisted, his irritation bubbling up. "Look, AI is built on search, response, and association. Every AI in the galaxy works that way, even the neural nets. But Koume? She’s a step beyond. She has 'imagination.' She has 'ideas'."

"Okay... but so what? Maybe some genius invented her. Is that a crime?"

"Give me a break. That’s impossible. We humans don't even understand how we come up with ideas yet. If someone had cracked that code, it would be the biggest news in history."

Alan was getting worked up. Marl held up a hand. "Calm down."

"You asked me a straight question, so I’ll give you one in return. What is it you want to do with Koume?"

Marl put a sharp edge on the question. Her eyes narrowed, making Alan flinch.

"Hey, it’s not what you’re thinking. Don't give me that look... I just want to confirm one thing."

"Which is?"

"Whether or not she’s dangerous."

Marl stared at him for a beat, her expression blank. Then, she burst into a loud, raucous laugh.

"Ah-hah-hah-hah!! Koume? Dangerous? Don't be ridiculous! We’ve been saved by Koume more times than I can count! You, specifically! If it weren't for her, you’d be a smudge on an asteroid right now!"

Marl laughed so hard she had to lean against the wall for support. Alan scratched his head, looking sheepish as he stared at the ceiling.

"Well, look, if she’s safe, she’s safe. The President seemed a bit... socially sheltered. I just wanted to do my due diligence."

"I get it. Sorry for laughing. Honestly, your reaction is the normal one. You’re doing your job."

"Glad to hear it. As long as we're good... sorry for the late-night intrusion."

Alan gave a casual wave and disappeared down the hallway.

"Hey, Alan!" Marl called out. He paused. "I mean it. You were right to ask. If you notice anything else like that, keep the warnings coming. Thanks. Good night."

She heard a muffled "Yeah, leave it to me" from around the corner. Marl turned back to her door, but a strange metallic clatter from the opposite direction caught her ear.

"Koume?"

Koume was sprinting down the corridor in a state of visible panic.

"What happened?" Marl asked as the mechanical girl skidded to a halt.

"Oh, Miss Marl! Thank goodness! Please, you must hide me at once!"

Marl opened her mouth to ask what was going on, but Koume had already zipped past her into the room. Marl watched her go, utterly exasperated.

"HEY! MARL! HAVE YOU SEEN KOUME!?"

Marl spun around to see Taro charging down the hall, gasping for air. His face was beet-red with rage. "That little brat! Where'd she go!?"

"No, I haven't seen her... What did she do this time?" Marl asked, her conversation with Alan making her slightly tense.

Taro threw his hands up in a grand, sweeping gesture of despair.

"What did she do!? I’ll tell you what she did! I was in my room, sitting on the toilet... you know, to do the thing. And I see this button I've never noticed before. Now, you see a button, you press it, right? It’s practically a law of nature! You're gonna press it!"

Taro leaned in close, his eyes wide with frantic energy. Marl backed away an inch. "I mean... sure?"

"AND THEN!" Taro shouted. "I’m expecting a nice bidet spray or something, and suddenly I hear this high-pitched whirring sound. Like a drill at the dentist! Keeeee-n! I look down between my legs, and there is a high-speed rotating drill rising out of the bowl! I don't get it! Uncle doesn't get it at all! It was a rubber drill! AND IT HAD LUBE ON IT!"

Marl’s jaw hit the floor.

"Wait... so it was a prank? By Koume?"

"A prank!? That’s way past 'prank' territory, dammit! What was she trying to do, make me lose my [female] virginity before I lose my [male] one!?"

"Oh. So you are a virgin."

"I AM NOT A VIRGINNNN!!!!"

Taro roared and sprinted off in the same direction he’d come. Marl felt a pang of sympathy, though she still didn't understand why he was so desperate to protect his "non-virgin" status.

"...Sigh. I guess this really is a stormy night. Koume, he’s gone."

Koume peeked out from the room, looking uncharacteristically timid.

"Thank you, Miss Marl. I went through the trouble of installing the drill you requested on the ship, yet Mr. Teiro seems quite displeased. I wonder why?"

"Well... if he were truly mad, he’d have used BISHOP to track you down instantly. Don't sweat it. I’m just glad you’re having fun."

Marl gave a wink and jerked her thumb toward the interior of the room.

"Anyway, Koume. That set of child-sized clothes you wanted just arrived. Why don't you try them on? I think a lot of these will look great on you... Actually, why don't you go show Teiro once you're dressed? He’ll definitely forget he's mad and start showering you with praise."

Marl took Koume’s hand and led her inside. An AI that cares about fashion and plays stupid pranks couldn't possibly be dangerous.

Marl smiled, more certain than ever.

Marl: Surprisingly (?) a former shut-in.