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What takes a human years to process, an android can complete in seconds; and yet, what a human can understand instinctively, an android may never comprehend. It follows that there are some differences that are difficult to reconcile between the two groups, while androids continue to learn and bond amongst themselves, finding common ground as their people settle into this world. It’s a natural progression.
All those shared experiences don’t save Sixty from frustration when Nines can’t take a hint.
“I like you, too,” Nines says, a picture-perfect programmed smile gracing their face. “The data I gathered already led to the conclusion that you enjoyed my presence, but I appreciate the explicit disclosure.” They hold out their hand, taking Sixty’s in a firm handshake. “Are we still on for movie night at your place?”
Sixty forces a smile. It’s beginning to feel like anything short of a marriage proposal will be misinterpreted by Nines no matter how direct ze is. “Connor’s, actually. I moved in with him this weekend. That’s what I came here to tell you.”
Nines hums. “There is something to be said about discussing things in person. Was there anything else to discuss?”
Sixty nods towards the path before them both and they resume their walk. Soft snowflakes melt on the concrete, not yet being cold enough for accumulation. Trucks are already salting the roads in anticipation of the evening freeze. Pedestrians are sparse, given the cloud cover and chill temperature, but a few more people are out in this park, most of them walking dogs.
It’s possible Nines is simply disinterested, but they’ve never opposed any affection from Sixty or zir partner. “Have you ever looked at someone and felt like time stopped?” ze asks, drawing on the warmth of a memory from only days prior.
Connor smiles at Sixty, his legs tangled in the white sheets that just barely cover his body, bathed in morning sunlight. It takes two minutes to cross-reference the folds with those carved into marble by artists over the centuries, and when ze opens zir mouth to speak, Connor presses a finger to zir lips. “Don’t ruin the moment. If you say something crass, I’m kicking you out.”
Sixty sighs and lies back down, entwining zir fingers with Connor’s. “I was admiring a work of art. Is it not appropriate to voice my appreciation?”
“Very well then, let’s hear it.”
“I’m sure you’ve heard of Le génie du mal.”
Connor huffs. “Is that what I am? The devil?”
“The closest match was La Pietà, but you’re neither a virgin nor a corpse.”
“Michelangelo’s David would be the flattering choice,” Connor points out.
“More like Bernini’s,” Sixty says.
“I thought that one would suit you better than me.”
“Hush. You’re ruining the moment.”
“Not stopped, per se, but I have experienced a slight delay when scanning extraneous information about a person,” Nines says. “Is that what you mean?”
Sixty experiences a similar feeling now when looking at Nines, bundled up in a neat wool coat with snowflakes catching in their hair. No piece of art, no matter how masterful, could capture what ze sees when ze looks at them. “I suppose so.”
“For example, I have documented 72 color hex codes for your iris in just fluorescent light, let alone the thousands of permutations possible at various times of day. I would very much like to venture out of the city and find out the color of your eyes under unfiltered starlight.”
The weather casts Nines’ eyes a steel grey today, the crystal blue not nearly as vibrant as in sunlight. Sixty records forty-seven hex codes from their eyes in the span of six seconds. Ze has recorded images of Nines before, but color documentation has never been a priority. “Extraneous?”
“To some.”
“Only mine?”
“Connor’s as well. But where you are sharp, he is soft. I have more records of his hands than anything else. Tending to his plants as he nurtures them, or resting on your hip or hand or shoulder like you’re a flame he can’t help but touch.” Nines pauses, their eyelids fluttering for a second. “I have saved 1421 images of his hands.”
The data Sixty saves is different. Zir priorities are more human: Recording the sublime, the atypical, that which ze may only ever have glimpses of throughout zir life. None of those details ought to be lost to compression or shelved away with the rest of zir memories. They are held in a special place, with backups made of backups, becoming the substance that makes up zir dreams in stasis.
Ze raises zir hand to Nines’ cheek, delicately brushing against the cold synthskin. “Would that I could record your laugh.”
The edges of Nines’ eyes crinkle. “You have never even heard it.”
“I have heard enough to know that I want to.”
The two stop at the edge of a crosswalk. “You’ve overstayed your lunch break,” Nines says.
“And you should have returned to Jericho ten minutes ago. It’s unlike you to shirk the rules.” The crosswalk turns green. Sixty stays beside Nines, unwilling to diverge just yet.
“Perhaps you cultivate my wild side.”
At that, Sixty laughs, then pulls Nines into a hug. “I can do far more than that, if you’ll let me.”
“I wouldn’t want to take too much of your time. I’m not in the way during your movie nights, am I?” they ask.
“They’re as much yours as they are ours,” Sixty promises. Ze sends a quick message to Connor—clearly they haven’t been obvious enough about how welcome Nines is among them. Hopefully Connor has a tactful idea on how to address that. “You complete us.”
Nines nods. “Very well. So long as I’m not third wheeling.”
“You never could.” Sixty releases them, and the two stand together until the crosswalk turns red, then green again, shoulders brushing against each other.
The hug makes its way into zir memory banks, and ze hopes there will be many more to come.