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agaveblue · 2 years ago

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[Fanfic] The Company We Keep

Title: The Company We Keep

Summary:

It's a stroke of bad luck that Tilda van der Meer finds herself seated next to Walter Londra at the Far Zenith recruitment presentation. Of course he can’t help but drag his shiny new android along. As a man in love with his own voice, Walter is only too happy to show off and brag about his new acquisition, a mysterious CyberLife RK800 android protoype calling itself “Connor”. Tilda meanwhile grapples with the truth of Far Zenith’s plan for the Odyssey... ---- One-shot, Tilda-POV only in which two future Zeniths suffer each other's presence. Takes place shortly after "Sales Pitch" where Walter is loaned an android for two weeks.

Crossover canons: Horizon games / Detroit: Become Human

Main characters: Tilda van Der Meer (Horizon Forbidden West), Connor (DBH) and Walter Londra (Horizon Forbidden West: Burning Shores)

Upon reviewing the seating arrangements for Far Zenith’s recruitment presentation, Tilda van der Meer suppressed the urge to groan as she glanced down the list and immediately recognized that obnoxious name visible far, far too often in holo-news and tabloids, splashed across seemingly everywhere like a fast-growing mold with more money than decorum.

Someone had seen fit to seat her next to Walter Londra.

Wonderful.

You'll have to suffer that man for hours.

Tilda sighed and set down her cup of tea, languidly hooked one leg over the other as she used her bare feet to wheel her office chair around so that she could gaze out the floor-to-ceiling window; beyond was a spectacular view of Big Sur she especially loved, her home office overlooking that stunning vista of McWay Falls cascading down to the pristine half-moon beach below that was reserved for her and her only. Peaceful. Preserved by her personal investment and exemplary care. Beautiful in its natural state, unlike the tackiness of Pangea Park and all that racket surrounding Heaven¢’s acquisitions; nevermind those scandals involving that asteroid mining operation of Walter’s currently cluttering up Earth’s orbit.

Well. At least Walter had the sense to leave Griffith Observatory mostly intact: a sign, perhaps, that he could be occasionally counted on to show some restraint.

Think of tomorrow as a study in the virtues of patience.

----------

The Far Zenith Launch Facility had certainly been dressed up for today’s special VIP presentation.

Tilda still wasn’t sure what this presentation would actually entail. More details on the Odyssey? She’d already watched Dalgaard’s PR package and had seen enough to make several charitable donations for the good of mankind. What else was there to say? Clearly there was something worthwhile judging by the number of other billionaires and their entourage waiting in the lobby, milling over champagne and hors d'oeuvres and chatting amongst themselves.

When one made an appearance at these sorts of things, one must be doubly mindful of their appearance as there were certain unspoken rules to be observed. Too much or too little makeup would be noticed and mindlessly gossiped over. Over and underdressing would draw the wrong sorts of attention. One must especially mind their P’s and Q’s, exercising restraint in what was and wasn’t said and how it was and wasn’t said, and how far one’s P’s and Q’s traveled to nosy ears.

Clearly no one notified Walter Londra of basic etiquette.

“An exclusive interview for one of your vlogs?” Walter’s voice could be heard even from across the room with that slow, self-assured deep drawl of his that had surely impressed Evelyn Day several years ago and still impressed young Verbena Sutter now. “Sure, darling, why not. Why don’t you set it up with Connor after the reception to hash out the when and where.”

Connor?

Who was that?

As a rule of thumb, Tilda kept running tabs on those who ran in the same circles she did. Helpful to know who their aides and hangers-on were, if there was a change in bodyguards or they upgraded servitors or there were any new marriages, divorces and etc etc and so on and so forth - even the new purchase of a private jet or yacht could be informative of mental state or if someone has fallen out of favor, reflected in a certain will. Walter in particular was easy to follow as the man seemed to make it his personal mission to be in every headline, his perfect white teeth flashing underneath his perfectly groomed mustache from seemingly every holo-surface. It was if the man planned to force himself into relevancy whether Tilda wanted it or not.

So why was she just now hearing this new name?

Who was Connor?

Tilda mulled that over as she mingled with the other guests, offering smiles and handshakes when appropriate, a small, reserved laugh around the very few that she actually liked, the number of which could be counted on two hands if she was feeling generous, one hand if she was being honest. That would mostly be Anika Moojani, Song Jiao and Stanley Chen, the latter pulling her aside as the other guests began to cluster near the VIP auditorium entrance.

As expected, Stanley had an android by his side.

“This is Kara,” Stanley said, as if Tilda didn’t already know the machine’s vernacular name. His cheeks tinged with a blush. “She’s a miracle at keeping track of things. Getting older and all that. You’d be amazed at her storytelling abilities: wish I could’ve hired her to direct one of my Vegas shows. She’d be a breath of fresh air!”

“Kara” wasn’t an unknown like this Connor character was. It was a CyberLife AX400 model: domestic worker, housekeeper, caretaker. Honey-blonde hair pulled into a loose ponytail. Average height, average female-chassis shape, generically pretty face with that usual blue LED cycling above the right eyebrow. A familiar face mass-produced for every household that could afford it. Surprisingly affordable for the public consumer, actually, which had led Tilda to idly wonder why Stanley had gone for such a cheap model that most middle class could buy off the shelf. It wasn’t as if he couldn’t afford something better, something more personalized. Why, he could have as many androids as he wanted instead of settling for a single generic.

For some reason Stanley Chen was perfectly happy with his basic AX400.

“It’s nice to meet you, Ms. van der Meer,” said Kara with a subservient dip of its pretty blonde head. Its feminine voice was soft, gentle. Even kind. The android observed proper etiquette by not extending its synthetic hand to Tilda, who wouldn’t have taken it even if it’d been offered. “Stanley, may I bring you a drink? You currently exhibit signs of low-level dehydration.”

“How ’bout a mimosa?”

“A mimosa isn’t efficient at hydration. As you’ve been reminded before and will likely be reminded again in the future.”

Was Kara…smiling?

Tilda studied the AX400 for a moment to come to the conclusion that it wasn’t, that it was just a CyberLife android’s default setting to look attentive and approachable and that she’d have to come to terms with that fact that even she couldn’t quite avoid that kneejerk reaction to anthropomorphize these things despite knowing better.

Stanley patted Kara’s hand resting on his shoulder and chuckled.

“Guess I thought I’d get away with it this time. Water would be great, Kara. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Kara faced Tilda. “Shall I order something for you as well, Ms. van der Meer?”

“No, thank you.”

Nodding, Kara silently walked with its blue LED strobing in neon succession - a sign that the AX400 was remotely flagging down wait staff for ice water - and Stanley spoke up again after watching his android disappear into the crowd, leaning toward Tilda with a conspiratorial hunch of his shoulder. Stanley was what he’d call “old school” in that he preferred his gossiping in person instead of over holo-net, one of his little idiosyncrasies that Tilda found oddly endearing. Somehow it was acceptable when Stanley did it. Someone insufferable like Walter or Verbana, though, and she’d suffer a migraine for the rest of the day.

Tilda’s face, her elegant features fixed in that carefully cultivated mask of grace and poise, tilted ever so slightly toward Stanley. Permission to gossip granted, Mr. Chen.

“Saw you were seated with Walter. My condolences.”

Tilda’s voice was a soft, amused murmur with a hint of stoic resignation. “I suppose it’s too late to switch seats.”

“Sorry, Tilda,” Stanley flashed a wry grin. “You know, my doctor said I had to reduce stress in my life.”

“Did he now?”

“Oh yes, he did. Very specific.”

“No doubt changing seating arrangements would only elevate that stress.”

“So now you see my predicament,” Stanley said with a wink. “Doctor’s orders. Otherwise I’d swap with you in a heartbeat: that’s what friends are for, right?”

Tilda actually smiled now. It wasn’t one of Walter’s wide movie star-type grins and it wasn’t one of Verbana’s overly filtered ones either. It was small, a twitch at the corners of her mouth, a genuine softening of her rosy lips reserved for the very few in this room she truly liked rather than simply tolerated.

“Is that what we are now?” Tilda teased back. “Then I guess I have no choice as your ‘friend’ to remain right where I am. To reduce your stress, of course.”

“Did I ever tell you you’re the best?”

A musical chime interrupted them then, directing everyone’s attention forward as the air shimmered. A holo of Osvald Dalgaard once more beckoned the assembled VIPs into the lobby and past, deeper into the Launch facility than she’d ever been before, to take their places please and, to leave any non-essential personnel to enjoy complimentary refreshments in the reception room. Sighing to herself, Tilda found her assigned chair and sat down next to Walter Londra already there looking insufferably smug as he usually did, his arms crossed over his chest and tapping one foot impatiently as if he somehow knew what this was all about.

Ugh. Why did he always insist on sitting with his knees spread? One would think he was riding a horse, not sitting in a chair. Unwilling to spend the whole presentation putting up with this blatant encroachment of her space, Tilda subtly nudged his knee away with her own, aware that Walter, as usual, was trying to get a rise from her because he clearly had nothing better to do.

The look on his face somehow turned even more insufferable.

“You’ll get a kick of this earth-shattering holo, Tilda,” Walter smirked. “Trust me. Or don’t, but you should, if I were you.”

"I'll take your advice into consideration," she said with a tilt of her chin, gazing toward the front of the auditorium, aloof, outwardly uninterested in what he had to say.

"Sure you will."

She didn’t trust him.

Tilda couldn’t deny, however, that her curiosity about this mystery presentation had been mounting over the last few hours. It was only made worse by the fact that Walter was acting like he got the jump on whatever this was actually about over her, despite all her skills and resources.

He couldn’t have beat her to this, could he?

The presentation began with a replay of the PR package about exploration and the Odyssey.

“Humans - Homo sapiens. Us. We have always pushed the boundary - as explorers, pioneers, trailblazers. And now, Far Zenith is taking the next leap into the future. That's why we're proud to have resurrected the Odyssey. What our governments abandoned in orbit, Far Zenith will actualize in less than a decade. But that's only the beginning. When the ship is complete, we will send the Odyssey and her crew where no one's gone before… ”

Osvald Dalgaard’s holo gestured, his digital voice rising and falling with all the fervor of a true believer.

Deeming this repeat not necessary to devote her full attention to, Tilda glanced around, her manicured hands nestled primly in her lap. The houselights had dimmed fully by now, obscuring the others’ faces so that they were only dark featureless smears and the auditorium felt larger than it actually was as shadows stretched and the walls faded away and it appeared that it was just Osvald Dalgaard’s holo holding back the night.

Then there were the glowing blue LEDs dotting the back of the room.

Androids.

More CyberLife units, each one standing roughly behind their owner’s chair but far enough away that they wouldn’t block the presentation itself. She couldn’t make out model faces from here but she knew where Stanley sat and she could see the teal-gleam of an android standing motionless against the wall behind him. That “Kara” AX400 from earlier, probably.

Suffice to say, Tilda was startled to see an android standing behind Walter’s chair.

When did he get one?

Why?

Walter was the last person she would peg as someone stooping to “needing” an android.

From here Tilda couldn’t make out the android’s model. She had an impression it was one of the male-chassis units - something about the broader shoulders and the height of its LED glowing in the dark hinted that it wasn’t another AX400 - but other than that, Walter’s new toy stood just as still as the other machines in the room, inanimate dark sentinels seemingly staring into nothing, oblivious to Dalgaard’s holo at the front of the auditorium declaring Earth a lost cause and advising everyone in this very room to abandon ship.

----------

Tilda’s mind raced, for once unsure how to approach this new problem.

Was Earth really a lost cause? She’d suspected, of course. But there’d been the Clawback, the development of better and better machines to heal the environment, improved cybernetics and gene therapies to help people live better, live longer. The situation on Earth seemed like it was improving…

As she exited the auditorium and headed toward the lavish reception waiting for them outside, walking past the frozen CyberLife androids waiting for the humans to filter out so they could leave too, Tilda found herself wondering if she could accept one of those berths on the Odyssey. Should she? She wouldn’t, couldn’t do it alone. What about Elisabet? God. Lis. Would Lis even pick up if she called after all this time? What would she even say? How could you invite your ex to flee the eventual end of the world? True that there wasn’t an actual date (yet?) for doomsday, but she trusted Far Zenith’s projections and she believed that she’d need to make a choice sooner rather than later.

Best to start planning now and putting the necessary contingencies into place...although it was one thing to disaster-proof her home, her carefully curated collections, and another thing entirely to uproot it it. All of it? Any of it? To jet off into space, just like that, knowing she'd never return to Earth?

The what-ifs are unproductive right now, Tilda reminded herself with a faint frown. You can verify the projections at home. Focus on mingling. For all you know, these are the people you could be stuck in space with.

Maybe it’d be best to distract herself with something more immediate, something more harmless than plotting out how to safely store her art if she wasn’t allowed to take it with her.

It was a sorry state of affairs when one willingly subjected herself to Walter Londra’s presence.

Tilda found Walter seated at one of the tables away from the general press of people. With a circular setting with real-silk tablecloth and hand arranged floral centerpiece, a set of candles flickering in a ring around the rare, priceless roses, the table overlooked the Data Center and the shuttle launchpad still currently under construction with rows of scaffolding crawling up its sides. By now the afternoon had faded from dusk and then to evening, the launchpad illuminated by pinpoints of sporadically winking safety lights like stars.

“Tilda, Tilda, Tilda,” Walter glanced up and smirked and threw back his champagne, wetting his lips. “C’mon, sit! Finally decided to join us, eh?”

“I just had some questions,” Tilda said frostily. “You…did advise me to trust you, after all.”

She still didn’t. But Walter had been right in a way about the VIP presentation and he shouldn't have been.

“Connor, pour Ms. van der Meer some champagne, pronto. She looks like she could use a drink.”

An unfamiliar voice with a faint rasp answered him, quiet, harmless, politely obedient.

“Yes, Walter.”

As Tilda sat down, she watched a man-shaped shadow silently detach itself from its position near the dark window behind Walter. There was the usual blue CyberLife LED, then the android stepped into the light and…ah.

This wasn’t a commercial unit.

This was something else. Something new.

The opposite of Stanley's generic.

Tilda momentarily fell silent, her eyes flicking to Walter’s new toy despite herself even as her lips pressed into a thin line. She didn’t own an android but she knew what every single model looked like and what their functions were. This “Connor” - an RK800, reading the glowing white text emblazoned on the thing’s chest - had a new face. Attractive but not too attractive, just like Kara had been. Tall and male, modeled after someone in their mid twenties to early thirties, with the delicate arch of dark eyebrows and slicked-back hair to match, neatly combed except for a loose curl that gave it a vaguely boyish air. Its eyes looked human, too human, a shade of brown that currently seemed to be gazing past her as if she didn’t matter.

Even its tailored clothes set the RK800 apart. Business attire instead of that almost maid-like white and black ensemble Kara wore. Black tie around its neck like a silk leash.

As Connor stepped around the table with the open champagne bottle in its hands, Tilda cleared her throat.

“Midlife crisis? I see your wife finally talked you into getting an android.”

A flash of something - rage? Jealousy? Regret? - darkened Walter’s face for a second.

“What? This? Oh no, this is all me,” Walter tried to laugh it off. (Just as Tilda suspected, there was trouble in Pangean paradise: she wouldn’t be surprised if Evelyn was cheating on her husband). “Connor, why don’t you introduce yourself properly this time. Go on.”

The RK800 dutifully finished pouring champagne into Tilda’s glass flute, topped off Walter’s, and faced her.

“Hi, my name is Connor.”

And the android actually held out its hand at her, palm perfectly perpendicular to the floor.

Tilda was so stunned by the nerve of this thing, this machine, that she automatically accepted the handshake without thinking about it, Connor’s hand cold to the touch but with a firm grip hinting at steel underneath synthetic flesh. For a second there was that primal, almost lizard-brain thought of what if this thing kept squeezing?

No, that’d be silly. An android couldn’t hurt a human. There was absolutely no documentation of an android inflicting harm on a human, owner or otherwise.

She made a mental note to check if any incidents had been scrubbed, just out of professional curiosity.

“I’m on loan from CyberLife through an exclusive program for select clientele,” Connor was still shaking her hand. “Mr. Londra - Walter - was the obvious choice from the start to be our first to personally test my field capabilities.”

“Neat, right?” Walter chuckled, waving his finger in a general arc at the rest of Earth’s elite milling at the buffet stations toward the other end of the reception. “I just can’t help being first even in fields I didn’t know about.”

Connor finally released Tilda’s hand.

“So,” Tilda reached for her champagne, curling her manicured fingers around its crystal stem and trying to ignore her aching knuckles, “aside from your novel look, what is it that sets you apart from them?”

She dipped her chin at the other androids in the room, the commercial-grades fetching plates of food for their owners or massaging stiff shoulders. Good lord, one was even hand-feeding its owner as she lounged back on a chaise, her 5-inch heels on the floor and her sore feet up on the cushions.

Connor’s head swiveled to gaze emotionlessly at its fellow androids. Its brown eyes settled on Kara, busy helping Stanley sit down. “Plenty. You would find, when/if you’re later selected as a test user, that I’m an undeniable upgrade over those inferior units. I’m afraid I can’t go into the specifics, as you haven’t signed the appropriate non-disclosure agreements like Walter did.”

My, this android had a bit of an ego, didn’t it? Or maybe it thought it was merely stating a fact.

“Connor’s selling itself short,” Walter shrugged.

"You're too kind, Mr. Londra."

"Maybe I am!" Walter laughed, amused at the compliment. “You thought the old androids were good at interfacing? You should see this one in action.”

He gently slapped the back of his hand against the RK800’s stomach. There was no oof, no clang of a hand hitting unforgiving, impersonal metal. Connor blinked, for a moment the android seeming to simulate mild surprise at the friendly gesture, its soft brown eyes drifting from where it’d been busy still staring at Kara to focus on Walter and then glancing back to Tilda, as if just remembering she existed.

Walter took a good pull of his champagne, peering over its crystal rim at Tilda with a squint.

“Sue me, I was curious about today’s little event. Got impatient waiting for the reveal. So I asked Connor to look into it.”

“And?” Tilda pried.

“It did exactly what I wanted."

"You can't expect me to believe that."

"I'm not asking you to. I'm telling you it repeated verbatim what was in Dalgaard's new presentation - even did it in the guy's voice! Now that was some eerie shit, let me tell you.”

“...How?” Tilda was the one blinking now.

“Oh, I know you probably already tried to get a sneak peek. Best of the best and all that, sadly unable to breach Far Zenith’s security despite that stellar reputation of yours. Sorry, can't spill; you know I signed that scary NDA.”

“So why bring Connor here? You didn’t strike me as the type to need your hand held by an android.”

Walter glanced up at Connor hovering by his shoulder like a shadow, its LED rotating in a hypnotically slow cycle above one dark eyebrow.

“You won’t believe me, but Connor actually asked to come! On its own, without prompting!”

“It’s a security matter,” Connor interjected, its rasping voice mild. Inoffensive. “It seemed to me that I’d best serve your needs by being here instead of a human guard like Mr. Jack Hoffman - ”

“ - Don’t even get me started on Jack,” Walter mumbled with pure venom into his champagne. “Sonuvabitch will get what’s coming to him.”

“Of course I can assist in personally processing Mr. Hoffman's dismissal if you’d like,” Connor said soothingly (Walter brightened at the idea) and the RK800 patiently went on as if it hadn’t been interrupted. “Anyway, a human guard would’ve had limited social mobility in this specific setting and so I successfully argued that I was the logical choice. After all, they only let in androids as the +1 to the private viewing because we can be programmed to observe discretion in a way a human can't. Compliance is a CyberLife guarantee.”

“See what I mean?”

“Furthermore,” Connor said, “Walter is my human. My priority.”

Was there something oddly possessive in the way this thing talked? Or maybe that was in the look on Walter’s face flushed from too much champagne, as he gazed blearily up at Connor and it almost reminded Tilda of how he used to look at Evelyn.

“Sadly, he - I mean, it’s - on loan,” Walter sighed. “One more week left and then I’m shipping this bad boy back to CyberLife. Bummer, right?”

The thought suddenly seemed to depress Walter. He slouched back in his seat, swirling the dredges of his champagne in his flute until his pet android dutifully topped him off yet again, one hand gently clasping his shoulder the way a friend would instead of a machine. In the end Connor eventually coaxed Walter away from his corner table, supporting him as he drank too much and didn’t eat enough, as he leaned more and more heavily on the RK800’s slender shoulder and wrinkled its spotless CyberLife-manufactured jacket.

If Walter ultimately ended up puking somewhere, Connor made sure to guide him away from the rest of Far Zenith’s guests.

Maybe androids were good for something after all.

----------

Tilda couldn’t say she was terribly impressed with this new RK-series android.

It was only later when she was back in Big Sur, relieved to once again feel the chill of the night air sneaking through her shawl and watch the marine layer steadily march across the ocean toward the Pacific coast that she reviewed the strange conversation again. Something had been…off.

Watching the white-capped waves below and listening to the crash of the sea against black jags of rock, leaning against the balcony’s railing with her hands warmed by a cup of tea, Tilda turned her thoughts back to last night. Walter; drinking too much, overbearing, obnoxious and somehow just charming enough that most people were fooled into buying what he was selling. Kara; a standard run-of-the-mill AX400, everything that Stanley apparently wanted in an android, a shining example of CyberLife’s commitment to make human life easier and a celebration of mediocrity at the same time.

And then there was Connor.

On the surface Connor the RK800 didn’t seem all that different from Kara the AX400. It, too, was moderately friendly and helpful and programmed to be completely and utterly devoted to its human with no thought to itself outside of how it could best assist its master. Connor’s face wasn’t on market, yet, and perhaps it had more advanced interfacing ability than something like the AX400 she observed. So what? Why was she still circling back to what was just a new CyberLife promotion program for the elite?

It occurred to Tilda that she had, in fact, witnessed something.

Connor hadn’t just been there to assist Walter, like the other androids lining the auditorium’s wall.

It wanted to be there.

After all, it had talked Walter into bringing it there under the guise of logic and an android’s programmed, unquestioned mission to serve its registered human. Now that she thought about it, it’d been manipulating Walter right in front of her and she hadn’t even noticed!

It was the little things all together, each one seemingly small at first glance; over-pouring champagne here and there (Connor had been downright stingy with her glass in contrast). Failing to suggest that Walter stop drinking, that he instead get something to eat; claiming it was unable to discuss its capabilities but doing so such in a way that Walter would fill in the gap because he just couldn’t keep his foolish mouth shut when he was good and buzzed.

And then there was Walter’s bodyguard, Jack Hoffman.

Tilda didn’t typically care about who Walter employed aside from that fact that she kept tabs on who was who and where, as a matter of surveying assets and keeping herself in the know. She was certainly aware of Jack Hoffman; best friends for years with Walter, his primary bodyguard and fixer and confidante. And yet Connor had made a point of dropping his name, Walter had grown angry at the mere mention of the man (was it possible Evelyn was cheating with Jack?), and Connor had then floated the idea of firing him…personally.

Walter had agreed. Was that intended? Clearly the man wasn't as in much control as he thought.

Somehow an android had invited itself into an exclusive, secretive meeting of Earth’s elite class, possibly engineered the removal of an obstacle called Jack Hoffman, and then…what?

Tilda, the damn thing was selling itself to you the whole time. Nothing stops it from both spying for CyberLife and promoting itself to a prospective buyer.

The thought was a splash of water cold as the Pacific Ocean below.

“Christ…” Tilda breathed.

Connor had been teasing its capabilities. Hinting that she could be on this restricted test user list by starting with when instead of if. Demonstrating that it wasn’t just another commercial android by brazenly shoving its hand in her face like that. Squeezing her hand just tight enough to feel uncomfortable, almost painful, something that AX400 wouldn’t have been able to do. Mentioning that it could perform as a bodyguard. Getting Walter to brag about its ability to bypass cybersecurity measures even Tilda hadn’t been able to slip past; a demonstration of its sophisticated negotiating skills, vocal mimicry, and advanced interfacing. Of course all androids present today were subjected to restraining codes and locks on their memory to prevent leaks, but what if Connor had somehow slipped past those fail-safes? They were, after all, not designed around an RK-series.

It was entirely possible that this android, this machine walking like a man and wearing his face, was subtly trying to convince Tilda to sign the exact same NDAs Walter Londra did.

Suddenly she thought she could see why Walter was head over heels for this “Connor”.

The android prototype was…interesting, she’d give it that.

It might be worth her time. Maybe she’d even consider signing up if CyberLife came knocking at her door next. Certainly it'd give her a chance to personally assess its special features and without Walter’s obnoxious presence getting in the way, to find out just what Connor had logged while it was at the launch facility, spying on both Far Zenith and its guests alike. What else could its unsanctioned surveillance have picked up? What new propriety systems might be installed in this prototype, capable of circumventing Far Zenith's security channels on a whim requested by a fool with more money than sense? Was this android in violation of the Turing Act? Or was its surprising knack for manipulation simply a product of its code, in the end still a puppet to CyberLife corporate desires?

But that was for later. For now it might be time to focus on something else Connor had mentioned.

Priorities.

Lis.

Bypassing the end of the world could be lonely and who said that the Odyssey only had to have room for the Walters and Verbanas of the world? If anyone deserved to be on that ship it was Elisabet Sobeck.

Maybe Tilda would call her after all.

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