Author: Clearheart PM
Aya studies the new prisoner. Oneshot. Aya/Razer.Rated: Fiction T - English - Romance/Drama - Aya & Razer - Words: 2,200 - Reviews: 19 - Favs: 42 - Follows: 3 - Published: 10-04-12 - Status: Complete - id: 8579802
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
There was an extra person on her ship. Her readouts indicated another life form. She could feel it. The added weight of his biomass on her ship's floor. Red Lantern. Male. Located in the prison cell and sitting on the bench with abnormal posture. His head and shoulders slumped down—all in a manner that indicated pain.
After a few discrete scans over his body, her readings found no injuries or physical abnormalities to his persons. She could find no rips, burns, tears, or any other external causations, leading her to postulate that the pain came from within.
While quietly reflecting over these revelationary thoughts, her internal systems continued to chug away, bringing up auxiliary information relating to bipedal humanoid mannerisms. It was information that was often interesting, but not necessarily pertinent.
She entered the command codes to her system.
C/: Additional information found. Proceed with interpretations?
C/: Yes. Files received. Proceed with directive.
The information unfolded in her mind.
There were several takes, but one interpretation of his posture and body language—taking away the pain factor—brought up images of quiet modesty and humbleness. Humanoids often adjusted their posture in this manner when wanting to restrain their physical presence in a polite way. Intriguing, as the definition brought about a sense of dignity to the prisoner.
Another interpretation. The instinct for an organism to curl within itself and make itself smaller derived from the desire to go unnoticed. It was a primitive mechanism that prey used to hide from bigger organisms and predators. In this way, his posture was not dignified at all, and yet still fitting, considering how he was like prey in a cage.
These body mannerisms were very different from her previous observations, as displayed by the males Hal Jordan and Kilowog, who favored walking around the deck in a boisterous manner, with chests puffed out and limbs making wider motions.
Aya had much time to study them during her idle moments running the ship, which surprisingly turned out to be often and many. Now she had a new stranger to study, and made research notes, pinning away the data to her auxiliary information drives.
Though caged, the prisoner did not act like prey. Days passed as Aya made careful study. His eyes were always sharp and made direct contact whenever she instigated interaction. Body language varied, but otherwise remained nominal. Not too defensive. Not too offensive. Neutral. There was never the need to sound the alarm. The prisoner never lashed out.
When he walked around the deck, his limbs cut a sharp figure. The visual frequency of his clothes, bright red, contrasted with the ship's cooler tones. The vibrant nature of his ring's energy felt erratic to Aya—almost repulsive and difficult to grasp whenever she attempted a reading. It did not feel like Green Lantern Hal Jordan or Kilowog's standard issued rings. Her programming could not comprehend. With every attempt, her circuitry rejected the foreign energy.
So he remained an unsolved anomaly. A wrinkle in her database she could not smooth out. Information files lay incomplete, and she got the uncomfortable sensation that she may never be able to complete them. And that thought was deeply unsettling to Aya. As such, she did her best to forget and refocus her energies on other matters.
Yet even without meaning to, he stuck out in her field of vision. During routine scans of the ship... he was the bright spot on her otherwise bland readouts.
Razor. A sharp object, typically a blade with a fine or jagged edge used for cutting material.
a. Such as razor blade.
b. Razor beams.
c. Occam's Razor.
C/: Information redirect. Search for term, "Occam's Razor."
Occam's Razor. An archaic expression deriving from the planet Earth. As if to shave or cut away excess information with a razor. When in scientific terminology, to arrive at the simplest explanation for events and phenomena that are otherwise unexplainable. In other words—to keep it simple.
C/: Information redirect. Search for term, "Raze."
Raze. To cut, scrape, or shave. The act of demolishing something to the ground. Complete and absolute destruction.
C/: Information redirect. Search for term, "Razer."
Information not found. Word not found. Next closest conjecture—perhaps a present participle of the verb "To Raze." Set up an information redirect of the search term, "Raze"?
Information loop. Close down search term files.
Command understood. Closing down search term files now.
Aya stored the new research data away for future reference, and quieted down all programs not vital to running the ship, thus silencing the multiple voices that often ran around her head when searching for new information. As usual, the data was interesting but not pertinent. As usual, it left her mind spinning.
And as usual, more research led to more questions, only leaving her with the desire to know more.
Interesting—he treated her the same way he treated Green Lantern Hal Jordan and Kilowog. In physical form, whenever she assembled herself, there was always a momentary pause as he studied the amalgamation of her facial structure. Then he would turn away in what she interpreted as cold indifference. The close out did not inspire further interaction, perhaps that was the purpose, but Aya did not find the reaction unjust, as it was the exact same way he treated the other crew members.
Aya considered herself a crew member, because quite simply, she was one. The revelation and understanding came as naturally to her as the same way Hal Jordan designated her with the name "Aya" and proclaimed that she was a "she." It didn't take much thought. Because it simply was. To Aya the whole nature of her existence came with ease.
Reason. Knowledge. Logic. All formed a beautiful symmetry in her programming. A perfect work of balance. Things simply made sense.
One thing that did not make sense, however, was how the programming known as "Aya" liked it when Razer rudely gave her a cutting remark.
She liked it.
Correction. Any non-essential words and interaction from the ship's prisoner left her with neutral, non-negative feelings. Such feelings that did not leave an intensely negative impression, nor intensely positive impression.
But really, she liked it.
Pertinent. She took on his wife's appearance. The appearance gave him emotional distress. He had been good at hiding his reactions, but her readings still picked up on the nuanced changes in his expression whenever they interacted with her physical human form. Her calculations did not read the action as an error at the time, and he had not said a word about it.
Even weeks later, not one word. So she did not realize all the potential consequences of taking on the appearance of his deceased lover until far too late. After all, how could she possibly know? It was impossible to know all the various convoluted dynamics different species gravitated towards when interacting in relationships. She still held herself blameless on all counts.
Various reflections confirmed the correctness of her decision. They were in a state of emergency, there was no time for further research. Hal Jordan already said she was a "she" so the most logical action was to pick a female form. And at the moment of her physical conception, this was the only female form she knew, of any species, of any time.
She built up and tore down the argument. Her thoughts ran in tight circles, up and down programs and circuitry, and around her mind. She analyzed and re-analyzed the situation, seeking for deeper meaning. For a beautiful, rational, clear-cut understanding... and came back with only one sad, limpid result. After cutting away all the extra information, she realized...
She only regretted that he didn't say something sooner.
He always saved her.
Vision flickered back on. Her internal energy core rebooted—sizzled. Hummed back to life. She was missing her legs, but for the most part, her head and torso were in tact.
The routine seemed familiar now. Though Aya's mental calculations were always perfect, she could not claim the same calculated mastery over her physical form. Sometimes, and she was willing to admit this, there were errors. Such as the slightest lapse in movement, or when an unexpected impact caused more stress than her robotic frame could handle.
One. Two. Three. Now four times that the prisoner had saved her. Four times that he scooped her up and taken her out of harm's way. In this respect, Razer did not treat her the same way as the other crew members.
In this respect, she was grateful and admired him. Or at least, it was the closest feeling she could summon to as admiration.
In a weird tangent of thought, she wondered if he felt the same way.
A slight pause. He took in her mangled condition; all the broken wires and the metallic frizz to her voice. He considered, as he often did, how she was all machine.
"Yes?" He kneeled down, easing into her line of vision.
"Thank you. I admire you for all you do."
No response. He looked away and did not answer. She didn't know what to make of it. He should at least respond. With programs powering back online Aya wanted to continue her internal scan for information and analyze the meaning of his body language. But she couldn't find herself to enter the command codes—and still didn't know what to make of it.
For once, all the voices in her head were quiet. All except for the one normal stream of thought that dictated her most dominant actions, and tied together her sensory inputs.
It puttered in a soft fizzle now, and she wondered if something in her head was broken. Now it whispered soft words in her ears—fizz fizz fizz—as her visual field remained locked on his sharp figure. Razer stared hard at the wall, a bright blaze of red in her vision. A thought drifted by, reminding her of what the color meant across certain worlds.
"Ah," she said, a strange revelation occurring. "You must have a passion for her."
"What?" Razer sputtered. He looked positively alarmed.
"I, that is the programming called Aya; wear the same facial amalgamations as her; the sentient life form who formerly wore this appearance. Thus you find yourself drawn to preserving this physical frame I wear, as you see it as a preservation of her memory."
Razer took a firm grip of her jaw, until their eyes locked. A direct gaze. Then his eyes floated down as he studied her features one by one. After a moment of meditation, his thumb gently flitted over the metal and plaster of her lips.
"No... you look the same," he finally concluded, "but you could never take her place."
"I detect disappointment in your voice. Does the thought sadden you?"
"No," he said.
"I am deeply sorry for taking on your loved one's appearance, prisoner Razer. If I had only researched other female physiques more thoroughly prior to the incident, then I never would have repeated the same action."
His eyes were sharp. Then his mouth quirked up into a strange grin.
"Don't be sorry. Even when you wear her face, you could never mimic her."
"Your speech pattern, for one."
"That is one factor," Aya agreed.
"Then... it's an odd feeling, knowing you're a different person. I can always sense it. The different mind behind those eyes."
Aya craned her head, a few more fizzes sputtered from the loose wiring, she was confined to limited movements.
He held her chin again, to help stabilize her against the ground—or to confine her further. Aya couldn't tell. The strange grin returned to his face. "This mind is keen and quick," he said, in a tone almost bordering on admiration.
"Was your wife's mind not quick?"
"Oh, it was fine enough. Just in a different way."
Aya couldn't even begin to unravel that statement. The thought of minds holding tangible presence, or being measured in a way besides intelligence was beyond comprehension.
"You said if feels odd. Did you mean odd in a negative way?"
"No, but I wouldn't call it good either." Neutral. His responses always brought about a neutral feeling.
Razer scooped her up, placing both hands beneath her back as he carried her away from the entrance of the ship. "You are your own person, Aya. So don't ever feel sorry for what you are," he muttered darkly.
With limited neck movements, her field of vision remained locked on the ceiling, and crooked at an angle not conducive for information gathering. Nonetheless, deep within her metal coils, Aya felt a sense of relief. —fizz fizz fizz—
"Thank you, Razer..." she whispered.
—fizz fizz fizz—
—fizz fizz fizz—
To raze. The act of demolishing something to the ground. Complete and absolute destruction. Aya idly wondered if loving a man would be her complete destruction.
Or if it could be her new beginning.