A Picture on a Wall

A few days ago, I found myself butting my way into a little group writing project.  Each of us randomly sent another user a picture to be used as a prompt for a piece of fiction.  I had no idea what to expect, and I certainly didn't think I would receive a landscape.  I was totally stumped at first, until finally I had to admit that the picture in question was gorgeous but it was ultimately just an image and didn't really capture what it was about the scenery that was truly cool.  The story grew from that.  The romantic aspect was completely unexpected and came completely out of left field.  But sometimes your characters surprise you.

Picture courtesy of weldytaigabiome.weebly.com 

 It was perfect. Not a blade of grass was out of place, precisely as Rowyn remembered it. While everyone else spent their summers as little ones going to island paradises and theme parks, this had been her home away from home. Father had insisted. He was from another time, back when families did things together, dammit! The gnome woman allowed herself a little smirk at that particular memory. Yes, in many ways, her fond thoughts of that strange land only existed because her father had an itch to outdo all his friends and have a far superior summer vacation with his family. Normally such ventures backfired, but considering Rowyn was presently reliving the experience of her youth much as he had, she was pretty sure you could call it parenting well-done.

“Engineer Lilyfield?” She was shocked from her reverie by the electronic voice that seemed to emanate simultaneously from the trees and mountains and even the water. “Engineer Lilyfield? Are you well? Your vitals appear unchanged, but you have ceased communication. Do you require assistance?”

Rowyn sighed and allowed herself a bit of a tired smirk. Her hand rose and brushed some errant hairs out of her eyes. “No, SAIA, thank you. I was just lost in my mind for a moment. I haven't seen this valley in years and I suppose I spaced out for a moment. And please, you can just call me Rowyn when we're not on official business...”

“I don't comprehend the difference, Engineer...” There was a momentary hiccup, the mark of a product that was still in its early phases. “...Rowyn. We are considered on-call at all times, so it is always official business.”

'Poor SAIA,' Rowyn thought to herself. 'She was programmed to learn, and to want to be as accurate and useful as possible. She has a way of being childlike, elderly, and professorial all at the same time. But I suppose it has its charm, too.' The gnome often had to reprogram her own thinking in order to have a meaningful conversation with the artificial intelligence. Rowyn was really the only one on the crew who bothered to. For everyone else, she was precisely what her designation specified – a Shipwide Artificially Intelligent Assistant, a tool. But Rowyn had always had a habit of giving life to machines even when they had none. It was a common gnomic stereotype, and in this case an accurate one. So when she discovered that the ship she'd be spending the next few years on was a literally living machine, she was eager to get to know her. “Right. Well. Just for tonight, you can call me Rowyn, and then tomorrow we can discuss the finer points of how to identify casual situations.”

Presently, they were testing out the ship's lounge, which came equipped with a very basic holographic projector. When it came time to give the test-run, Rowyn knew just the place. And now here she was, staring at the most realistic image of the Shinar Valley known to anyone. But as the shock passed, Rowyn began to see the seams. “Dammit. The Uncanny Valley strikes again...”

“I thought it was called the Shinar Valley. Processing. Ah, the Uncanny Valley, a term used to define the difficulty in producing truly realistic technology.” Following SAIA's brief turn as a billion-dollar dictionary, there was a much longer pause. Normally SAIA liked to be polite and would punctuate her silences with words like 'processing' in order to keep those waiting on her aware that she was still 'present'. “...Ah...” Rowyn had spent a good deal of time with SAIA, and this was the first time that she ever thought about describing the voice as possessing emotions. In this case, sadness.

“Yeah, I'm afraid human senses are a little too finely tuned. This is a very realistic visual recreation, and the three dimensions do a lot to help. But...” The gnome pouted, fists on her hips as she looked about. “But they also make you so much more aware of all the missing details...” Rowyn, too, was becoming disappointed. Perhaps this had been a poor choice of test subject. Too close to home.

SAIA remained silent, her presence only made known by the occasional beep. Without the language to deal properly with how SAIA worked, you could only say that she was deep in thought. Because the voice was no longer vocally explaining her every move, Rowyn was becoming a little unsettled. Was the hologram program overloading her? Was she continuing to research Shinar, or maybe the Uncanny Valley? Every time the tiny woman thought she understood how SAIA worked, she went and proved her wrong.

The first thing Rowyn noticed was the noise, or rather the lack thereof. There should have been a consistent hum from the engines, the kind of thing you couldn't ignore and had to get used to. It was softer now, replaced by wind, rustling, water, and a million other noises you didn't realize you missed until you heard them again. Next was the temperature and the light breeze – or at least the simulations thereof. “SAIA...?” There was no reply, which was beyond unusual for the voice. Politeness had always been so paramount for her. Rowyn was becoming concerned, when suddenly a flurry of smells hit her nostrils, each one paired with some distant memory. Salt and pine and wild animals and so, so much more.

Slowly Rowyn sat down on what was undeniably little more than carpet and ran her fingers through the holographic projection of grass, allowing the illusion to become real in her mind. Finally SAIA spoke up. “There is a terrifying world where something becomes too like its creator and yet still too distant, and turns into a monster. Only by increasing fidelity can reality be attained.” Another pause, without explanation. “You're crying, Rowyn. Have I gone overboard? I have, haven't I? ...Dammit”

The engineer reached up and touched her cheek. Yes, she was most definitely crying. And what was going on with SAIA?? Insecurity, colloquialisms, rhetorical questions, cursing! And all these extra touches, attempting every avenue the computer had available to make Rowyn's experience as perfect as possible. Beyond all sense, SAIA was being thoughtful, and sweet. “No. No, SAIA, you're doing exactly what you were always meant to. You're experimenting and learning. We're strange, sometimes. We cry when we're sad, and we cry when we're happy too. You'll get used to it.”

“I'm glad,” said the voice, “I want to know more. I want to know everything. Maybe then I can understand you better.” There was a gentle hum as a vaguely humanoid figure appeared beside Rowyn, stretched out on the grass, staring at the sky. It looked over at her and smiled, though the process took a little longer than normal. But it was good to see SAIA smile, even if it was awkward. Slowly Rowyn stretched out next to her, staring at the holographic sky, unable to get the image of that holographic smile out of her head. “Maybe... it's not so bad, being in the valley. Just because it's different or unsettling doesn't mean it's not real. Just... different.”

And for once, SAIA found that she understood Rowyn's poetic manner of speech. SAIA could translate billions of words in a variety of tongues, but some words truly eluded her. Now she understood one of them.

Nice. This was nice.