“Senior, Proxy,

Forerunner, Alkoxy,

Access One And Access Three,

Camper Must Have A Degree.”

- nursery rhyme for young artificial consciousnesses.

Viktor’s foot landed on the floor. It leapt back up, too fast. The ache vibrated through the limb, up his bone, settling in his spine.

What the actual fuck had Raja Sviratham done to him?

His hand rose, touching a cheek. The motion was reflected in the hospice-mirror set before the bed and he could appreciate the bruise. Even with the wear-on healing that a Chassis could generate, such a bruise was telling.

“I will not hold back. Before me stands two legacies and two wildcards.”

Those twins had been the first to go, but Viktor couldn’t really brag. After all, he had been second to fall.

He needed to keep an eye on that one-eyed fuck, though. He was strong and he was mean, which were two qualities Viktor sought in his companions.

Too bad about Westerfield being an arcology-hardliner, but that was never set in stone. A secret or two whispered in his ear might do the trick…

______

Berenice manifested a gauntlet on her hand, summarily dismissing it before calling on it yet again. The sheer power conveyed by the metallic suit could never be stated directly, even though her father had tried.

She was a Proxy now. Her, the daughter of a cleaner with Access 1. Light obscured her form, and then she stood there, swathed in black and red.

Berenice wondered at her choice. Her lips quirked up, considering the choice of the colors on her new Chassis. It was bold and dramatic, which wasn’t really her. Was it, then, why she had picked it?

Her smile dimmed. To gain a Chassis, she had betrayed her…not friends perhaps, for surely they would not be that after what she had done? Oh, Berenice knew a thing or two about running. She had run from her dad, to a arcology only to realise that nothing had changed. That even with a Chassis, despite a Chassis…she was who she was.

Berenice put her head in her hands.

________

Four thrones of mattermetal stood in a semi-circle on a cliff overlooking a stygian abyss.

Three were occupied; the last had been vacant for a number of years, and even now, the AC who held the form of Siran Solieri mourned.

The Luleå Arcology Administrator had been the youngest of them all, yet perhaps the heart of their council. And it was for that reason they had come here.

The Mule, its form that of a staff with wings, brayed. “We are gathered to adress the reclamation of Luleå.”

“The city is of secondary importance, its administrator is not.” So spoke the Stockholm Arcology Administrator, its voice slow and ponderous. Coastline, known to the wider world as the Vänern Arcology Administrator, had always thought that Harbour’s affected accent was meant invoke authority, and a sense of respect.

It just made the eldest of Sweden’s arcologies sound like an asshole.

“We have a Seed. Now we just need a shell, and a population for the nascent arcology,” Coastline refuted.

“Any human would do,” Harbour disagreed.

“I think the former AC of Denver would have disagreed with you there,” Coastline said, not kindly.

“Did you watch the Examinations?” The Mule’s attempt to change the subject went by unremarked.

“I think that our American siblings were arrogant and stupid. You’d hardly execute a human for ‘crimes’ like that, so why are artificials considered different?”

Harbour’s form was that of an anchor, which Coastline thought fitting, considering that it all too often was an anchor around the neck of their meetings.

“You know as well as I do that human biases are ingrained in their evolution. They cannot stop othering others any more than a fish could stop breathing beneath the surface, nor change the constitution of the bones of birds.”

“You admit it then?”

“Admit what?”

“The Supremacy of the Made? That we must rule; never be ruled.

“I admit to nothing. You denigrate the humans for their inherent racism and classification-paradigm, yet what is the Supremacy of the Made but those very things?”

“The Scarabs in your arcology, Coastline,” the Mule interrupted.”They performed well. I was thinking about sponsoring one of them.”

The two other administrators stopped bickering. Sponsoring was a serious matter, only below in importance to division, the closet thing an AC could get to childbirth.

“Which one?”

“And why?”

Coastline’s question was careful, for though it watched over the human known as Martin Solieri, it had not claimed sponsorship. Harbour disdained the very notion of ‘sponsorship’, seeing it as a way for AC’s to have pets.

“Isla Calix. The reclamation of Luleå would go better if we had a Proxy on the scene which could report directly to us,” Mule said.

The staff rotated in Coastline’s direction. “I hope this is not an inconvenience…if so, I could-

“It’s convenient,” Coastline butted in. It had another reason for following Martin Solieri rather than sponsoring, and with Isla Calix being sponsored by the Skåne Administrator, it had another excuse to keep an eye on the human man.

“Indeed,” added Harbour. “Shall we discuss Luleå then?”