Work Text:
I’ve never met anyone who can move through the feed like Gurathin. It’s (part of) why I always tag him differently: my humans and my augmented human – but really, if I’m being honest with myself, I’ve never met another augmented human who can do this, either. Other humans interact with the feed like they’re speaking a new language without a translation module: slow and halting, cautious and clumsy. Gurathin is fast – working with him takes a fraction of the time it takes with the others – but it’s more than that. He’s graceful in a way that’s hard to explain. The closest comparison I can think of is the time Mensah took me to see a classical dance performance at the arts center. The dancers moved across the stage with a kind of fluidity I’d never seen before: jumping higher than it seemed like they should be able to, spinning and weaving around each other without ever colliding, feet barely seeming to touch the ground. Interacting with Gurathin in the feed is like dancing together.
Even though he’s human, his digital persona can manage a kind of high-level integration that I’ve only ever seen from bots. And yet…it’s different from a bot in so many ways, as well. He doesn’t have the stiff predictability of a pre-programmed algorithm; he can adjust on the fly, think outside the box, and make the kinds of connections that it takes organic synapses to create. And unlike the sterile work of a bot, I can always see where he’s been – the imprint he leaves behind is entirely his own. In the same way that Preservationers prefer to visibly mend broken objects, his changes are noticeable – but noticeable because of their beauty. His feed presence is bright blue silk thread masterfully stitching up a torn piece of fabric, golden lacquer piecing together shattered pottery, a hand-embroidered patch covering up an old company logo.
I can feel him in the feed. He doesn’t press against me like ART, who always seems to be one miscalculation away from crushing me with its own sheer scope and size. No, Gurathin’s feed presence is like a touch ghosted over bare skin: feather-light and quick, but undeniably there and dangerously attractive. I didn’t think I was even capable of this kind of attraction until I saw the way Gurathin moved through code. Until I watched his feed presence bend and twist and curve; felt it touch me teasingly, twining with my own, and understood exactly what he could do. I let him connect us with his hardwire and press himself into me: seeking, stroking, filling. Drawing physical reactions from digital processes, over and over, until neither of us could take anymore.
When we’re here together, I can see all of him – and he can see all of me. Spoken language is so frustrating with its translation errors, cultural metadata, and emotional undertones. Bodies are so limiting: awkward and clumsy, messy, needy, and demanding. With this, we can set all that aside, merging together so completely that nothing can separate us. Perfectly interoperable. We’re both unusual combinations of organics and inorganics; humanity augmented by machine, code compiled by neural tissue. We may have been created differently for different purposes – but here, we’re the same.
When I look at my internal systems now, I can see where Gurathin has changed me. He’s left his unique fingerprints on my most critical functions – blue thread and gold lacquer – and I want them to stay there forever.