kore_logs | [open] a friend in need's a friend indeed

Ned reaches up and takes the papers carefully, flipping through quickly to see how many there are, how far Daneel has gotten, before he begins. He notes the precision and correctness of the handwriting - they still took penmanship very seriously, at the Longborough School, so he is aware of these things. He starts reading the first page, but Daneel is still just standing there and so he stops, looks up with a small smile to match Daneel's own.

"Sit with me?" he asks, nodding to the bed next to him.

Daneel sits, settling himself around Ned protectively while Ned reads. He doesn't need to, after all; he knows every word he's written.

"I am not certain if this is an act of creation," he says. "I am...changing things so that they are closer to a reality I would be comfortable with."

Maybe that's a weakness on his part.

Ned leans into the contact almost automatically, eyes returning to the page. Before he gets more than a few sentences in, however, he is stopping to contemplate whether or not reinterpreting an old fairy tale counts as an act of creation.

"I think it is," Ned says, though he's barely started and cannot comment on the specific changes so much as the idea of the process. "When I bake, I think of it as creating something. But I'm not... creating the flour, or the butter, or the sugar, or the fruit. Those are the ingredients. My bit is just... rearranging them in a certain way, in certain proportions, with certain techniques, and baking them for a certain amount of time. It's not not an act of creation just because you're using ingredients and following a recipe. Making things closer to what makes you comfortable is like putting a bit of yourself in the story. That's what makes it unique."

And as Ned returns to reading, he can see the little moments in which Daneel's character comes through. It's his concerns, his frame of reference, even his way of phrasing some things that makes the story different.

"Then," Daneel says slowly, because as ever, metaphors are a bit of a puzzle for him, "the details in the story are ingredients, and the creation is in how the author or baker arranges them?"

An interesting idea, one he hadn't thought of. Still, there seems to be a flaw or two in this analogy.

"Someone who is cooking often follows a recipe," he suggests. "Is this equal to someone who creates a recipe themselves? In this case, I feel what I am attempting is closer to following a recipe. I know the shape the story must take, and I am following it."

"That's the general idea, yeah."

He thinks he can understand Daneel's hesitation. Perhaps it would be better if he could explain in abstract logic, but Ned's mind simply doesn't work that way. Offering an example is the best way he knows to tackle topics like this. He continues the metaphor.

"I don't think it matters, no. Innovation can be useful, but it's not the only thing out there. Say I decided one day that I was going to try making my peach pie with brown sugar in the crust, and a lattice crust instead of a single one." It doesn't matter if Daneel doesn't know what those are - they are merely standing in for the details of the story. "I bake it that way, try a slice, decide it's good, and write down the recipe. If someone came into my kitchen the next day, followed the recipe exactly, they'd have baked a pie that was just the same. It wouldn't matter who made the first one. Both pies would be equally good. The second pie would be just as delicious, and the customers who ate it would be just as happy."

Edited 2013-07-13 05:21 (UTC)

Daneel thinks on this for a moment, but at last he shakes his head. It's too much for him, too many alien concepts, too much impenetrable analogy. "I am sorry, Ned. I don't understand. The product may be the same but the method is not."

Still, his own failure in a matter like this is easy to accept, blessedly.

"Still, if I have created something that might make you happy, that is enough for me."

Ned rubs a hand over his eyes, trying to hide (by reflex only, since he knows Daneel will pick up on it) a little spike of irritation at himself for failing to make the concept clear, for his inefficiency with words and his dependence on certain frames of explanation that are useless to Daneel.

"Whether or not it's an act of creation hinges on whether or not you make something, not on the method of making it. It's just- I'm just trying to tell you that originality isn't the only thing."

But even that was probably only muddling the waters, so he lets it go, shifts his attention back to the story itself. Because even if Daneel doesn't realize it - or doesn't want to realize it - Ned knows it is a unique creative product. It is also, furthermore, quite interesting to him. Some of the changes that Daneel has made are ones that they discussed between them. He adds in the father's ignorance to the abusive pattern of behavior between his daughters. He adds in a detail about why the merchant is allowed so many children, a fact that makes him smile, because it reminds him of the fact that this is something he knows about Daneel, now. Some frame of reference that he understands (and that others in the town might not).

When he gets to the part where the Beast should turn into a handsome prince but doesn't, the story cuts off. That is as far as Daneel has gotten, but it's a great place to conclude for the time being, because it has Ned beaming.

"You made it so the Beast didn't have to change," he says, openly delighted by this detail.

Ned's delight is tangible for him, and that is a relief.

"I remembered what you said," he says, "about Beauty loving the Beast for what he is, not what he might be. If he changed at her will, this is harmful to him; to change at his own would distress her. I thought this was the best solution."

He may not have written the story out yet, but he knows how he intends to finish it.

"Should I tell you the ending?"

"I think it's the best solution, too."

There's no way for him to read it without thinking of their own relationship. It's not an exact analogue, of course, but they are both perhaps like the Beast in their own ways, and both a little bit of Beauty, too. There i a slightly different quality to that association, now, after the dream the two of them had participated in just the night before. Ned hasn't forgotten what Daneel had told him about worrying that he isn't enough, isn't right or worthy. Some of that might have been caused by the osmosis of his own insecurity, but somehow he thinks that wasn't the only cause. The influence of his emotional state had merely been a catalyst, driving Daneel to voice in a different way the concerns that he'd had for much longer.

Ned doesn't want him to feel like he needs to change or be anything other than what he is.

"Yes, please," Ned responds, curling a little closer and letting his eyes slip shut so he can just listen. He quite likes Daneel's voice after all - it's clearness, it's enunciation, all the little shifts of pitch and tone, his formality, his occasionally unusual way of phrasing things.

"Very well."

Daneel settles himself so as to make Ned more comfortable, wrapping an arm around him. His story is quick to come to mind; every word is already formed, after all. He only had to write it down.

"When Beauty's sisters saw how happy she was, and how good and kind the Beast was, they realised their error. Both of them apologised to Beauty for their cruelty and repented honestly. They chose to divorce the husbands that caused them grief, and in time they remarried to better, kinder men, and learned also to be happy."

Edited 2013-07-15 22:07 (UTC)

Ned's not surprised at the change Daneel intended to make, after the conversation they'd had about justice, and mercy, and letting people learn from their errors. Besides, the whole turned-into-statues thing was so grim and pointless.

"It's better that way," Ned agrees, once more, "A real happily ever after, and not just for Beauty. Just because they made a few mistakes doesn't mean they deserve to be unhappy forever. They might not have even realized how badly they were treating her. People can be pretty blind to their own actions. But that doesn't mean they can't learn to see."

He knows that Daneel intended to end the story there, to only make adjustments within the frame that was given to him, but he asks, "What about Beast and Beauty? What did they do then? How'd they end up spending their lives?"

Partly, he wants to see if he can gently challenge Daneel to keep going, build upon the story on his own. Partly, he is just comfortable sitting here, eyes shut, listening to Daneel speaking.

He's surprised by the question, to say the least. "But that is the end, Ned."

Not that that is real answer, either. It's a fair question. Things don't end, not really. Events have far reaching consequences, sometimes long after the deaths of those who made them.

He falters a little in the beginning, but soon finds something to say. "The Beast, after being returned to his full status ruled wisely and kindly with Beauty. Due to genetic incompatibility, they were unable to have biological children of their own, but they adopted several children who were orphaned by a natural disaster."

Edited (because no one actually needs or wants to have corn of their own) 2013-07-16 01:20 (UTC)

It takes Daneel a few seconds to get started but Ned listens, unsurprised that Daneel chooses to emphasize the responsibility the Beast had towards his subjects - particularly considering the obligation Daneel feels towards the entire human race, the obligation that he's been taken away from, temporarily. What he says about them adopting children makes his stomach twist strangely - he isn't quite sure if it's happiness, or sadness, or something perplexing and nameless in between.

"How many children?" he asks, and then, more quickly, "Were they good parents? Even though... neither of them had much of a model to model themselves after?"

He can't quite make sense of Ned's reaction, the combination of emotions. He's unwittingly touched on something delicate again.

"Two," Daneel says after a moment's thought; it seems a proper number, to him. Enough to sustain the population, not enough to be excessive. "And they were very good parents. They were kind and generous, and their wisdom served them well. Their children were too young to remember their biological parents, but they grew up happy and well."

It's the best way he can think of the mitigate the unpleasantness of the parents' death.

There's no logical reason for Daneel's answer to be a comfort to him - they're only the hastily-dreamed-up fictional children of fictional people - but it does, all the same. When he was young, he'd half-loved, half-hated the way orphans in novels and movies always ended up with new families, always ended up loved and happy and settled in a home of their very own. It was the purest kind of escapism for him, at school. Not the sort of thing that really happened.

But he's found a place of his own here, and people who care about him. It's not perfect, but at the moment he cares much more about being here with Daneel, about what it means for him to have come up with this story, than about the story itself.

"And what did the common people say, when they found out they were going to be ruled by a beast?"

He has to think about this for a moment, torn between a desire for accuracy and a desire for this perfect world of happy endings he's envisioning. The latter would suggest that no one minded the Beast at all, but he knows humans better than that.

"They were frightened at first, but Beauty was able to convince them not to fear him, and he soon proved himself to be a capable and benevolent leader."

There. That fills both requirements.

Ned is satisfied with that ending. It is happy, but not entirely, unrealistically so. It might have seemed so to him before he came to the Cape, before he'd met any of the people here who he's grown so close to over time. Back then, the idea that anyone, let alone a whole group of people, could accept and like him even after learning about his powers, was inconceivable. And Daneel... the idea that he'd have anyone like Daneel in his life was even moreso.

It is this thought, which lay behind the question in the first place, which leads him to ask.

"And what sorts of things did people say, when you asked about how they define 'person'?" He could have scanned through the network, seen what responses he could turn up, but that always seemed like eavesdropping to him. Besides, he only cares about their answers so far as they have impacted Daneel.

This is a sudden change in subject, but Daneel takes it in stride. He's not positive of the thread of thought that Ned took to leap to this, but he thinks he can see the parallel -- the acceptance of the Beast he's imagined, the acceptance that's surprisingly easy to find here.

And truthfully, it's a bit of a relief to leave off his attempt at creating more story.

"Responses vary, but on the whole the sentiment is that I am a person." So unanimous a response was not what he expected. "What makes a person is consciousness, self-awareness, the ability to question if one is, indeed a person." Daneel tilts his head to one side. "If the act of questioning my personhood is in fact a marker of that status, then perhaps I should say that I have become a person.

"Either way," he finished, "I did not expect so uniform a response."

Well, that's a relief. If the responses had been uniform but in the 'robots-are-not-people' camp, Ned might have been forced to have words with a few individuals. Even a mixed bag of results would have made him uneasy to a certain degree. But apparently, the town's strange trend of tolerance continues unabated. No one here - or next-to-no-one - sees Ned as a monster because of what he can do, and everyone is wise enough to grasp that Daneel is a person.

"That sounds about right to me." Ned reaches out for Daneel's hand, laces their fingers together. He says, "Or maybe you were a person the whole time but you just didn't realize it. Maybe it just needed a bit of time to develop.

"Children are like that too. At first, babies think they are the center of the universe. They need to learn that other people exist and have consciousness. Maybe it's like the reverse of that, with you. And kids will believe pretty much anything you tell them. So the way someone's brought up is a bit like their programming. But as they get older, and have more experience with the world, they can start to question those things. Certainty is for zealots and children."

He's rambling and he knows it, so he curtails that line of thought and asks, "So how are you doing, in light of all that?"

Daneel is not accustomed to thinking of himself as a child, and he frowns thoughtfully at this idea. One more level to consider.

"I still have much to consider," he says. "I am trying to incorporate this new information into my programming, but it is a slow process. I believe that I can do it. The existence of the Third Law will always make it easier for me to put someone else's well-being before my own, but that is not necessarily unfortunate, in my opinion."

A strange idea, though: he could protect his own existence without having to rationalize his way past the First or Second Laws.

"Your presence makes it easier for me to attempt this."

"I believe you can do it, too," Ned encourages, with a brief squeeze of his hand. He believes in Daneel, generally speaking. Not all that impressive, out of context, but a big thing for him. It's not something he's done much, in his life: believe in people. Not believing in people means you can't be disappointed when they let you down, after all.

But Daneel is different. He is extraordinary, has already come so far in regards to his own programming, has improved upon the best aspects of himself, made himself into a better person despite all the odds.

"Humans can choose to do that, too. Put someone else's well-being before their own. It's encouraged, in fact, in certain situations." He thinks of the way he hadn't even paused to think before he'd run face-first at a tiger when he saw Meyer slumped on the ground; he thinks of mothers sacrificing themselves for children, of firefighters and extraordinary bystanders running towards danger for the sake of strangers. "But I guess the difference is that it's a choice. And it's a choice you should make while knowing your well-being is important, too." To Ned, it certainly is, and he's hoping it will be to Daneel, too, someday.

When Daneel tells him that he's helped make this process easier, just by being around, Ned goes a bit pink in the cheeks, so happy that he doesn't even know what to say. He turns, buries his face in Daneel's shoulder, but he's grinning.

Daneel, very carefully, runs his hand through Ned's hair.

"I do not think that, in any situation, I would ever be able to be content with letting innocents die to protect myself." He shakes his head very slightly. "Nor do I wish to be."

That does, however, remind him of something, which he has never mentioned to Ned. It's unpleasant conversation, but before he had entrusted this knowledge to Kobra, and Kobra is no longer here. Someone must know this.

"Ned, along these lines, there is something I must ask you. If anything does ever happen to me, you must ensure that no one attempts to dismantle me for any reason." He's very serious, very intense. "Though no doubt my components could be useful to the residents here, when I arrived, I was informed that any attempt to dismantle me or remove any part of me to use elsewhere would result in the death of every individual here. This cannot be allowed to happen."

Ned leans into the touch, nodding his acceptance of what Daneel says. The way he's phrasing it makes it clear it's a decision. He is deciding the kind of man that he wants to be. Ned isn't sure he'd want to be content with that situation, either.

When Daneel says he has to ask something of Ned, he instantly listens more carefully; Daneel hardly ever asks him for anything at all. Whatever it is, it must be important. The tone of Daneel's voice only confirms this, as does the content of his request.

Ned's stomach plummets at that word, dismantle. What Daneel is asking of him is important. Objectively, he knows that. But he doesn't want to think about it as a possibility. Nothing can happen to Daneel: it isn't allowed to. The mere thought of it makes him ache with sadness. He remembers finding Daneel on the floor of this room, remembers the dream in which he died, remembers the cold, hopeless grief that he sank into after Jesse had been murdered.

Not trusting his voice, Ned nods his promise.

(Privately, he thinks he will pass this information on to River, because if that eventuality were to come to pass, he isn't sure he's going to be capable of doing much of anything.)

To remind himself that Daneel is here still, unharmed and happy and whole, Ned clings to him with sudden fervor. There is no sound of a heartbeat there to reassure him of Daneel's vitality, but there never has been (except, of course, for when he had been human). Daneel feels the way he always has - solid and reassuring. "I'll make sure it doesn't happen," he says. Then, knowing Daneel will have felt that shift in emotions and deduced that he was the cause, Ned tries to pre-empt any guilt, adds a quick, "Sorry."

"Please don't apologize."

That Ned would have an intense reaction to that request is hardly surprising, but it had to be said. He wraps his arms around Ned, all too glad to let him cling, if that can afford him any relief at all.

"Thank you, Ned. The promise means much to me, though I realise it isn't a simple thing for me to ask of you." He strokes his fingers through Ned's hair, a protective gesture. "I would prefer not to cease functioning either."

This is simply the last resort, the worst case scenario.

"Kobra knew this before, but he is no longer here to ensure this, and it is knowledge I only wish to share with someone whom I... whom I feel I can trust."

Edited 2013-07-19 06:33 (UTC)

Daneel's mention of Kobra doesn't do much to allay Ned's sadness (because Daneel might disappear any day, the way Daneel's friends - and Ned's friends - had vanished without a trace), but the movements of Daneel's hand through his hair are soothing.

"I'm really glad you trust me. I promise, I won't tell anyone else." A short beat of silence and then, with a note of amusement and self-reproach, "Can I tell River? In case... just in case whatever happens to you happens to me, too?" Ned hopes that Daneel understands he isn't trying to cheapen this gesture, that he appreciates how much it means that Daneel is confiding in him. "She can keep a secret, and I trust her, completely." Hopefully Daneel will realize what this means for Ned, that the list of people whom he trusts completely isn't a list so much as a duo: River and Daneel.

Not that it should matter, because nothing is going to happen to Daneel. He has to repeat this to himself, try to make himself really believe it, to smother that easily-uncovered shard of terror in his heart that tells him caring about someone is inextricable from losing them. If Daneel were to die, it wouldn't be the same kind of death that he can fix. There would be no second chances whatsoever. Just a world without Daneel in it, which is - more and more, as the days pass - becoming almost unimaginable to him.

[open] a friend in need's a friend indeed

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