The Peripheral

A Neoprimitive.

Someone who believes

that we've ruined the world by trying to save it.

Your family,

they were killed brutally.

This is all quite distressing.

You want to kill him, don't you?

Oh, very much so.

You can be my ally or my enemy.

I assure you,

it's not easy being my enemy.

Anything going on in your life,

new or out of the ordinary?

Whoa.

Jesus.

I missed you, too.

What are you doing?

Just saying hello.

Shall I review?

I prefer to live face forward.

Ass to the past. Let bygones be bygones, and all that.

I tried to greet you on my first day here,

and you cut me dead.

- Yeah. - Oh, yeah, and then there was

that charming letter on my desk the next morning.

I still have it somewhere,

if you'd like me to quote verbatim.

Off the top of my head,

without immediate recourse to the text:

"If you ever fucking speak to me again,

I will scratch your eyes out, you selfish, conniving bitch."

It was "cunt," I believe.

Bitch. I'm quite certain.

Well, it seems like I would've gone

with the alliteration of "conniving cunt."

Another missed opportunity.

Yeah, like this one, if you walk away.

Chance to have a drink, old times' sake?

- I'm married. - Well, belated congratulations.

What's she like?

He.

Oh, Grace.

Say it is not so.

I have two children.

Fuck.

You poor thing. Was it a stipulation?

You broke my fucking heart.

One drink, and then I'm off.

So whatever you want to say,

I suggest you get straight to it.

I just thought it was time for an after-action review.

Which makes it sound like a firefight.

It wasn't?

I saw an AI therapist for a bit.

After things fell apart with us.

And is that how you presented the matter?

That things just "fell apart"?

It said the allure... and the fatal flaw...

of our relationship

was that you were a bad good-girl,

and I was a good bad-girl.

On the surface, you make a show of being rather bad,

but deep down, you're almost frighteningly good.

- And I'm the opposite. - And did you pay

for that drivel with actual money?

It helped me. Quite a bit.

Do you still muck about with those doll's houses?

Not for years.

The AIT had a theory.

It said it was all about order and control.

That you came from a place where you had neither,

and the doll's houses were a way to compensate.

Miniature worlds in which you could feel safe.

That sounds like a steaming pile of horseshit.

You have a better explanation?

You have to admit it's an eccentric hobby.

Do you ever find it difficult to understand people?

You know, what they're thinking, what they're feeling?

Empathy, you mean?

There's something about

taking a tiny figure and shifting it about.

Arranging how it's sitting.

What it's looking at.

And it made me feel like I had access

into another being's inner...

inner life.

And that can feel rather priceless.

Is that what you want?

I have fucking missed you, Aelita.

You have no idea how much.

Mm. You should've treated me better.

You-you want an apology? Is-is that it?

No.

Water under the bridge. Swept out to sea long ago.

What, then?

Tell me about your job.

- My job? - Yeah.

What mysteries do you oversee,

down there in your secret burrow with the big steel door?

- You don't want to hear about that. - No, I do.

I do.

...like a giant petri dish, really.

We can do anything we want here.

Well, we are doing anything we want.

And it's real? You're certain of that?

Boggles the mind, doesn't it?

See, we're told it's like a simulation.

An elaborate...

That's how we're instructed to explain it.

The data we send down to you lower-echelon types.

Lower-echelon types?

All right.

And, uh, how many people have access?

Just my team.

And Dr. Nuland, of course.

As well as the upper tier security personnel.

So maybe two dozen?

You ready?

We call it the God font.

I can access anything here.

And not just from the stub, either,

but from the R.I. in its entirety.

But our data culls...

that's just a grain of sand on a larger beach.

We're actively altering conditions in the stub.

We have over 8,000 studies running.

Researching what?

It would be difficult to name a field without a foothold.

Botany, meteorology, zoology, genetics,

oceanography, robotics, forestry...

But the truly exciting stuff,

the hush-hush, saving-the-world shit?

That comes from our Behavioral Mod Department.

They set up a shell company in the stub

which bid on a contract with the American military

to install haptic implants in personnel.

Our tech, more or less,

but on an appropriately primitive level.

To what end?

Watch. This one's fun.

Let's say we have a group of elite Marines

at a remote outpost.

They've been told

enemy forces are planning to use injured animals

to draw them into the open.

So, what would these highly trained young men do

if a wounded dog were to appear in front of their position?

Shoot it.

But...

if our implants subtly goosed the subjects' neural chemistry,

increasing electrical activity in the anterior insular cortex?

Oh. The, uh, compassion center.

Okay.

Which one?

All of them.

Now, that's where it gets really interesting.

You see, they all react differently,

based on their... their personal histories,

their life experiences.

The mystery of character.

- Is he... - Wait for it.

Stop him.

- Stop him. - It's already happened, luv.

Long ago.

I mean, you can imagine the implications.

Implementing a similar modification

on a societal level.

I mean, say goodbye to mob violence.

- Say goodbye to... - You can't do that.

I mean, they're people. They're real people.

You see?

So frighteningly good.

Is she planning on implementing something like that here?

Would you believe me if I said no?

- Has she already? - Again,

would you believe me if I said no?

Good evening.

Wait.

You're from Grains and Legumes?

Yeah, that's right.

Would you mind explaining

your presence here,

where you assuredly have no fucking right to be?

I'm sorry?

You lack clearance for this floor.

- Oh, um, I was just... - You know who I am?

Of course, Dr. Hogart.

Well, then, perhaps you can explain why

you're addressing an old and rather dear friend of mine

in such an unacceptably rude manner?

I am simply doing my job, ma'am.

Her presence on this floor would seem to require an...

We met upstairs. But I forgot my jacket.

So I brought her back down with me.

Under my supervision

and as my guest.

You may file a report on the matter, if you wish.

But please take care to sign your name.

So I'll know who to address my grievance against.

I don't think that will be necessary, Doctor.