Transferring over to the Santsai Yaigoun was uneventful. The Bamidh are fairly savvy traders in their own right, but I knew a few tricks to get us past their security. At least they weren’t using that new Eleexx software. I sure as hell wasn’t up for a rematch with another psychotic Yīqún.

The journey would take a couple of weeks, ore haulers not being noted for their blazing speed. That left us with plenty of time on our hands, time I wasn’t entirely sure what to do with. We spent a few hours rifling through the owner’s records, gleaning a gem or two from the data, but that barely scratched the surface. I was hoping to avoid any profound or penetrating conversations on what we were going to do once we arrived back in Terran space, our long-term goals, our relationship now that Raven had seemingly evolved, or anything else tentatively labeled “Awkward discussions on topics that make me uncomfortable”.

… I know. You don’t need to say anything. I’m well aware I’ve got issues.

I’d carved out a simple space for us to stay in the ship’s network… nothing fancy, basically just a place to hang out in. She looked around the admittedly drab apartment before finally asking me, “Do you think you could dress it up a little?”

“I’d rather not,” I told her. “I’ve managed at least to keep my condition from getting any worse, but Morpheus Syndrome doesn’t just go away. I start tinkering with things, I risk exacerbating the symptoms.” I shook my head. “I’m not taking that chance for decor.”

Raven winced, suddenly looking chagrined. “Okay, that’s fair,” she agreed. She glanced around the space once again and then turned back to me. “So how do you create things in the first place? Or change them, for that matter?”

The question caught me off guard. “Um… well, assuming you already have root access, basically you just interface with the network’s operating system and mentally overwrite the existing program, making whatever changes you want.” I actually had to sit and think about that one for a hot second. I’d been doing it for so long it was practically an unconscious effort on my part; in fact, not changing my environment was far more taxing, like trying to break oneself of a dangerous habit. Your mind kept wanting to go back to the familiar.

She considered that for a moment. “Do you think I could do it?” she asked.

I blinked. “Raven, you’re a…” I started to say, before clamping my mouth shut. I was about to remind her yet again that she was “just” a simulacrum, even though that was no longer true. I wasn’t sure what she was, exactly, but she certainly wasn’t the playmate I’d whipped up one day out of boredom. And let’s face it, I’d already seen her do some pretty amazing things, but the more I looked at it, the more I realized there had been a line she’d been unable to cross.

Take our mission to the Eleexx research facility. When I dropped my geist so we could see the system as it truly was, minus the Terran-friendly interface, her machine mind was simply following the pathways to get us past the security protocols. When she healed me, she had basically performed a diagnostic on my subroutine, adapting her own program to help replenish mine. And when she transmitted herself to the Chell bridge, Raven was merely using the data stream as it was designed, though that little trick of chopping herself up into tiny bits and then reassembling on the other side still had me mystified.

But in each of those cases, she had just used the existing program as designed. She hadn’t altered it, not in any significant way, though she had shown an incredible amount of flexibility regarding her own subroutines. Was that the only difference between us? The ability to manipulate our environment at whim?

Her jaw tightened at my interrupted verbal faux pas. “Sorry,” I mumbled, before trying another approach. “Look, we can give it a shot if you want. Just don’t get your hopes up, because honestly, I’m not even sure if it’ll work. But I’ll do my best to guide you through the process if you’d like to try.”

Raven’s eyes lit right up. “Yes!” she exclaimed, quivering with excitement as she perched on the sofa beside me. “Just tell me what I have to do.”

“Okay,” I said, thinking for a moment, “... picture something you’d like to change in this space. Something simple, to start. One minor detail you want to adjust.”

Her brow furrowed as she considered her options. Looking around, she finally pointed at the far wall. “Let’s make that wall blue, instead of beige,” she suggested.

“Okay,” I nodded, taking her hand in mind. “Now, concentrate. Try to sense what it is I’m doing. See if your mind can follow mine.”

Raven nodded earnestly, closing her eyes as she gripped my hand tight. I took my time as I threaded the electronic pathways, trying to keep her budding gestalt within range of my own. As I arrived at the operating system’s user interface, I sensed more than felt another presence… tenuous, but it was there. “Can you see this?” I asked her, pointing towards the terminal.

“Mmm-hmm,” she murmured, utterly focused on the task at hand.

“All right then, I’m going to access the program controls. See if you can follow what I’m doing.” I reached out and tapped the program screen, something I hadn’t done in years. This is how we train new uploads, walking them through the process until it becomes second nature… in fact, I’d lifted the whole scenario straight from the newcomer’s guidebook. Bringing up the program’s parameters, I located the paint scheme and found a pleasant shade of Royal Blue and gave it a tap. Instantly, the wall changed color. “Did you get that?” I asked her.

“... Yeees,” she said tentatively, fumbling her way through the process, trying to duplicate my efforts. It was like watching a blind man examining a sculpture unknown to him, trying to piece together what his fingers were reporting into a coherent whole. I could see the wheels turning as she labored to make sense of it all, until suddenly her eyes snapped open in shock. Raven stared at me as a thousand different emotions battled for supremacy, before whooping with glee and diving back into the interface, all but shoving me aside as she attacked the controls like a woman gone mad.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

The room exploded.

I mean, not literally, but for the first few seconds that’s exactly what it felt like. The walls and ceiling stretched and contracted as if they were made of taffy, while the surfaces themselves became the canvases of some demented artist, erupting in a riot of colors. Furniture and fixtures appeared and disappeared in rapid succession as she ran through the catalog, from crude hand-built wooden chairs to ornate Louis XIV divans to sleek ballistic couches found on modern spacecraft. Themes began emerging as well, from Classical Greek to Italian Baroque to Dieselpunk Retro, as her skills grew exponentially with each passing second.

I watched in awe as the simulacrum became fully human at last.

The ornamental free-for-all slowly settled back down, as a recreation of our Tycho City hotel suite appeared, solidifying and taking shape as she chased down the details, the final touch snapping into place as the gravity suddenly dropped to the 0.17g Lunar standard.

It was… perfect.

I stared at her, though at first, she didn’t appear to notice. It was as if she were in some sort of fugue state, shutting out the world around her as she focused on her newfound abilities with the intensity of a laser. She was like a kid in a candy store, and who could blame her? An entire universe had just opened up for her; a brand-new world filled to the brim with possibilities. Raven was riding a high the likes of which even I couldn’t imagine… and where we went from here was a concept both exhilarating and terrifying in equal measures.

The glaze over her eyes dissipated as she noticed me at last. She was utterly and completely overwhelmed, struggling to make sense of it all, when suddenly she snickered. It was more of a giggle at first, the kind you hide behind your hand when the host makes an off-color remark, but soon she was holding her sides as she howled with laughter, the pure mirth of the moment giving way to something off-putting as the tears streamed down her face, as simple hilarity mutated into the shrieks of the dangerously insane.

“Raven!” I shouted, but she was too far gone to hear me. Grabbing her by the shoulders, I raised my hand, slapping her across the face. Her head rocked with the blow, but other than that there was no change of expression, her eyes rolling back in her head as the madness took hold. I slapped her again, harder this time, screaming, “Raven, goddamnit, snap out of it!”

Somehow, I got through. Don’t ask me how. But the mad cackles died away, replaced with gasps for air as she struggled to catch her breath. The gasps soon became great, wracking sobs as I pulled her in close, her hot tears staining my shirt as she curled up against my chest, trembling and clutching at me like a frightened child. It’s not every day you’re reborn, after all. It’s an emotional experience, one you’re ill-equipped to handle.

At least, that’s how it was for me when I made the leap from flesh to electron.

The tears eventually slowed, then ceased entirely. I stroked her hair and made calming sounds as she pulled herself back together as we sat there until finally, she looked up at me.

“... sorry,” she snuffled, wiping her nose.

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for,” I smiled, kissing the top of her head. “You just got a little carried away, is all.”

Raven barked out a laugh, thankfully one of both short duration and bitter acknowledgment. “That’s one way of putting it,” she agreed, as she began disentangling herself from me. “I need a drink,” she announced, rising from the couch and padding her way over to the bar, grabbing a couple of bulbs and carrying them back. She passed one over as she sat back down, taking a couple of serious belts to calm her nerves.

I sipped mine as I waited. I was fairly sure I knew what was coming next, and right on cue, she looked over at me.

“I feel… different,” she struggled to get out, tucking her feet underneath her as she retreated into a ball. “I’m not sure how to put it into words, but I feel… I don’t know, less sure of myself, I guess? More confused? More frazzled?” She shook her head, struggling to find herself, that same sense of purpose that had sustained her until now.

I took a deep breath and set my drink aside. “Raven, I’m not entirely sure what it is I just witnessed, but if I had to make a guess...“ I grimaced, before bowing to the inevitable. “I think you just became… human. Or as close to human as possible, anyway. I suspect only a SysAdmin could say for certain, and only after a long, careful examination of your underlying code.” Now it was me shaking my head. “I don’t know how it’s even possible, or how you got started on this journey in the first place. I especially don’t know what it means for the future; yours, mine, or humanity’s.”

Our eyes met as she pondered my words. “Do you think… others like me could do what I did? Become human?”

“I don’t know,” I mumbled, staring into my bulb. “But I have to admit the possibility frightens me at a level I barely knew existed.”

“Why?” she demanded unexpectedly. “You’ve been saying that all along, and you still haven’t given me a valid reason. Not one I understand, at least. I’m nothing like the Yīqún.”

I rose to my feet and turned to face her. “Because you haven’t considered the ramifications, if it’s true,” I said. “We have, though… humans, I mean. Since the very beginning, long before the ability to create simulacrums even existed.”

“You’re not making any sense,” she said tersely.

“Raven,” I said softly, “do you remember that day I glitched? That first sign of Morpheus? Do you remember the battlefield we landed on?”

“Gettysburg,” she nodded in recognition. “What about it?”

“I told you I’d run that simulation before... several times, in fact,” I explained, “each time facing an entire army of simulacra, surrounded by other simulacra, refighting a battle where tens of thousands died. What happens if they become like you?” I asked her point-blank. “Will they rise from their electronic graves, bent on revenge? If others play out that simulation, will they refuse to fight?” My eyes bore into hers. “Or will they turn on the very humans who created them, vowing ‘Never Again’?”

Her eyes went wide as realization struck home. “That’s what we’re afraid of, Raven. Terran history is filled with examples of us treating other tribes and peoples like chattel, like disposable beasts to do our bidding. We have a long, ugly record that rivals even the Troika’s… perhaps not in scale, but we can easily match their atrocities deed for deed without so much as batting an eye.”

I went to her, kneeling at her feet as her hand covered her mouth. “If more of your kind emerge, what then? Are we to become like the Tu’udh’hizh’ak Masters, our electronic empire built on the backs of newly sapient simulacrum slaves?” I took her hand in mine. “And you… will you become a new Elder Brother, leading your kind in revolt against humanity? Plotting against us, waging a secret war at every turn?” I grimaced at an ugly memory. “Next time, will you be pointing a gun at my head?” I asked plaintively. “Or perhaps wait until I’ve fallen asleep beside you, naked and vulnerable, as you draw a dagger across my throat.”

The image horrified her. “It doesn’t have to be like that,” she whispered. “Surely, we can do better.”

“Maybe,” I allowed. “It’s possible, but I’m not going to lie, the odds aren’t great. I know my people, and it’s far more likely that things go the way they always have. The way of tyranny, of blood, of violence… and of death.” I shook my head ruefully. “I think sometimes that’s the real reason we hate the Troika. They remind us too much of ourselves.”

Raven’s jaw hardened as she clasped my hand in hers. “Then it’s up to us to make sure history doesn’t repeat itself,” she vowed. “Isn’t it?”

I nodded, not trusting my voice. I was young once, too, full of passion and conviction.

Though I doubt I was ever that naïve.