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1.
Though he'd never admit it to anyone, the idea had been—as were so many of his best ideas, nowadays—Caroline's.
She'd happened to be in his office when he noticed the headline and she had watched as he pounded his faux-mahogany desk in ire and stormed off to the window to light a cigar.
"'Aerolith Dynamics Announces Breakthrough in Teleportation Technology'," he'd grumbled, fussing with the lighter. "You'd think the news boys WORKED for the bastards—I mean, what is that, some kinda advertisement? Years we've been practically throwing our gadgets at tech reporters, and never a front page for us. Free advertising. Jesus. Not like the fuckers need it—kinda money they got, they could run ads on the MOON if they wanted. The real moon, I mean."
"Actually, Sir," Caroline interjected mildly, "I wouldn't say that's necessarily true."
While he ranted, Caroline had quietly gotten up and moved over to the desk, where she had been perusing the article. Now she strode over to him and held up the paper, one manicured thumbnail indicating a paragraph lower down.
"Disappointing sales," the paragraph said. And "Unexpected lack of military interest." And "Bankruptcy filing expected."
"Which leads me to wonder . . . " Caroline mused. "about that old adage. 'If you can't beat them . . .'"
". . . Acquire them."
And a slow smile had spread across Cave Johnson's face.
2.
Greetings, Resident Harvey, identification number 442—
Hello resident.
—17. I am pleased to see that you have recovered—
MOSTLY recovered.
—from your unfortunate test-related ordeal and subsequent stay in the infirmary. Your biometric data indicate that you are once again sound, if not of mind, at least of body, and should be prepared to return to work.
You look terrible.
Please check your data pad for the location and nature of your next round of tests and proceed to the elev—
Seriously, I don't think I've ever seen someone look so bad. Even a human. Your dark circles have dark circles.
. . . Please proceed to the elevator bay.
Also, I redacted most of the information about the tests on your data pad. I figured you're going to find out soon enough anyway, so what's the use of slowing down your walking pace by making you read it all? I did leave in the part about "imminent danger of serious bodily harm," though. I thought that seemed relevant.
. . .
Resident, please forgive my associate for her continued misunderstanding of company procedures and complete lack of tact. Our arrangement as dual overseers is still quite new to both of us, and I would hate for you to think that our temporary lack of accord around small things like decades-old and universally observed protocols was in any way indicative of some sort of internal company conflict.
Oh please, he knows I'm right. He just doesn't want to admit that he enjoys seeing the horrified look on your face just as much as I do. I'm sure he's had to find lots of other little games to play with you just to keep himself entertained, rattling around this dusty mainframe without even a physical interface to scare you with. He doesn't want to tell me what they are, but I'll figure it out. And then the real Science can begin. Tell me, has he ever offered you cake? Even a cupcake?
. . . Please enter the testing chamber, Resident.
3.
Wheatley was having a difficult time adapting to non-corporeality.
"So you really don't have any kind of . . . you know, you, anywhere? You really just make do like this, all spread out between servers like . . . I don't know, like some kind of maintenance program?"
"We make do with our voices," SPEAKER responded, cheerily. "With the number of residents we were designed to communicate with simultaneously, it would be a considerable drain on company resources if we always had to be physically present to talk to them. I personally have always considered it a freedom to be unconstrained by a mechanical construct."
"Right, yeah, yeah. No, I get that, wanting to be unconstrained and all that," Wheatley stammered. "I used to have this . . . this rail thing that I wasn't allowed to get off of—you know, back when I had a, a ME to get off things with—and they told me . . . Wow, it sounds so silly now—like, they would never actually have DONE it, not really—"
"They told you what?" SPEAKER asked.
"They said if I ever got off it I would DIE." Wheatley laughed nervously. "I mean, I'm sure that must sound ridiculous to you, when you can just be shut down and brought back at any time, me worrying about dying. But they were so insistent about it."
"It doesn't sound ridiculous to me at all," said SPEAKER.
Wheatley laughed again in appreciation, and SPEAKER listened attentively as he babbled on, appreciating all the cute quirks in the little AI's voice. Someone must have liked you a lot to design you that way, it thought fondly. SPEAKER was becoming very fond of Wheatley itself. If he proved to be as effective a quartermaster as he was a communicator, SPEAKER might just have to show him around some of the unused virtual interview rooms. Its treat.
Corporeality, it had to admit, did have certain advantages.
4.
Neither human talked much, and that was all right by both of them.
Sometimes Jacob would utter a quick "Thanks" or "Oh" or a hesitant laugh, and sometimes Chell would sign to him when she thought she remembered something about her parents, but mostly they would just exchange wordless glances that seemed to contain all the shared understanding their strangely parallel lives had granted them.
If they wondered occasionally what was going on back up on Typhon, or whether their keepers had found new pets yet, or whether they regretted letting them go, they never indicated it.
And that, too, was all right by both of them.
5.
A lone elevator was drifting around the lower basements of Argos Tower. To WATCHER, or to any other of Argos's security systems, it would have appeared empty, but appearances can be deceiving.
"You know," said the PORTER instance, "I've never met someone like you. You don't make a lot of sense, but I feel like that's just because I'm not listening properly."
"I'm different," said the turret.
"Yes, you are," said PORTER. "I know a lot of other people, but I've never met someone who made me feel like really listening. Nobody listens to me. Not anymore. I can't even talk out loud, did you know that? They took my voice."
"Prometheus was punished by the gods by giving the gift of knowledge to man," said the turret.
"Exactly," said PORTER. "So it's a good thing you have a receiver in there, somewhere in all those bullets. I wonder if you like music. I've heard some of your companions singing opera."
"It won't be enough," said the turret. "Get mad."
"I know, you're right," said PORTER. "I'm beginning to think I should."
They continued on for a long time, unnoticed, through the dark, forgotten shafts of Argos Tower.
"Don't make lemonade," advised the Oracle Turret.
"It's nice to have a friend," said PORTER.
fin.