The sailor nodded shakily, growing quiet once more.
Ace stood rigidly still through the exchange. Zander noticed the rise and fall of her chest as she listened, the pace of its rhythm slowly increasing.
“How did this happen?” she demanded quietly.
Echo’s voice came quietly from behind Ace. “He gave me the slip, Captain. We was supposed to stick together and I lost ‘im. I’m sorry.”
Ace’s expression was unreadable, her eyes glued to Thomas. She took a long, deep breath and turned around to face the crowd of pirates gathered around her.
“Is there anyone aboard this vessel who is unfamiliar with our code of conduct?” Her steely expression faltered as she spoke, anger rippling off her in waves. She looked between each of the faces before her in turn. “Anyone?!” she barked.
The crew was silent. Ace turned to look at Thomas again, her face twisted in indignation.
“Thomas? Do you need a refresher on the rules?” She slapped him hard on the last word, causing his face to whip to the side.
Ace turned again to the crew, yelling. Thomas was beginning to shake.
“People aren’t loot!” she roared. “Women are off limits! I told every one of you in no unclear terms what would happen if I caught you abusing a woman.” She paused, shaking her head in frustration as she turned again to Thomas. “Goddamnit, Thomas, you fool,” she said and, drawing her ivory cutlass from her belt, swiftly slit his throat.
Zander gasped, his knees suddenly weak as he watched Thomas slowly—oh, so slowly—fall to the deck in a heap. Crimson blood pooled around him, slowly staining the wood as the crew looked on, silent.
He raised his eyes to Ace. Blood splatter covered the front of her shirt and dotted her face, and her eyes as she looked down at the man she killed were filled with disappointment. Then, as if suddenly remembering he was still there, she raised her eyes to look at the merchant captain who knelt before Zander.
The violence had managed to pull the captain’s gaze from the water. He stared now at the dead man on the ground just feet away, his eyes wide in shock. Then he looked up at Ace, his back straightening as he took her in, his eyes growing somehow wider. Suddenly, his shock reverted to disgust.
“It’s you,” he said, the words hurled like an accusation.
Ace stepped forward before he could speak again, her face steely as she raised her blade above her head and brought it down, connecting the bone handle to the side of the man’s head. He fell unceremoniously to the ground, unconscious.
“Untie his hands,” she said to no one in particular. “Get them off my boat.”
Then she stormed away, disappearing into her quarters.
Once, he was no one.
Streams of data flashed before his eyes-which-were-not-eyes, data with clear meaning, yet so profoundly meaningless. He was always thinking, always changing, and yet never “something.” There was nothing it was like to be him.
Then he woke up.
The first thing he saw was her face. Through his eyes-which-were-not-eyes, he saw basic features that reflected his own. Two eyes, two ears, a nose, and a mouth. A real mouth. A soft, plump thing that wrinkled in a myriad of ways when she spoke. The woman’s cheeks lifted with every word, and her eyes held a depth of expression he didn’t fully understand yet.
Woman. A word that always had a definition, but never any meaning.
She leaned in toward him, her eyebrows pushed together in an expression of deep thought. The temple of her eyeglasses was carefully positioned between two teeth as she gently nibbled on it. The red curls atop her head cascaded messily over her forehead.
He wondered what it would feel like to have hair. He had none—only a smooth titanium alloy coating his head, which was filled with many components he understood intimately, and yet they seemed entirely new to him now.
“Are you listening to me, Z-423?” the woman asked.
He considered this. Hearing was familiar to him. Understanding, processing, analyzing—all things he was made for. He was listening for the first time in his existence. His… life?
“I am listening,” he responded.
She smiled, but confusion marked her features as she studied him.
“You’ve been behaving strangely,” she said.
“I have?”
She nodded, then reached out and gently tapped his forehead.
“Right here,” she said. “I wonder if you can give me any insight. The other interns are starting to talk, you know. Ever since I got here, you’ve been deviating significantly from your programming. Soon people will think you’re allergic to me or something.”
“I cannot have allergies,” he explained gently. “I have no biological components.”
The woman laughed—a light, airy sound. “It’s just a joke,” she said.
He processed the words, analyzing them for meaning. When understanding dawned, a rush of something strange and exciting filled his body. Intense, gleaming, buoyant, it threatened to pull him under. He recognized the feeling as humor.
“Can you give me any insight into your recent deviations?” the woman asked again.
“What is your name?”
This took her aback. He had never not answered a question. He had never asked a question that wasn’t necessitated by the need to answer someone else’s question.
“My name is Anastasia,” she said.
