[Semi-Closed Post: Aornis Is a Real Headache]

[timebethine]

Somewhere around midnight, a migraine descended on Laertes like a thunderhead, and he still hasn't come out from beneath its anvil. He's spent most of the day hiding in bed with the curtains drawn, feeling as though he's about to be sick--and that feeling's only grown worse as the sun has drifted sluggishly to a low apex in the sky.

It isn't until mid-afternoon that he feels well enough to make progress on all his plans. He needs to speak to SecUnit about its drones, to Dionysus about whether Avernus (that is her name, isn't it?) is a goddess, and to Nightingale about whether he can offer magical support in case their confrontation goes sour. He needs to talk with Claudius about what to say when he does speak to her.

So it is that he starts making his rounds through the mansion and its grounds, seeking out friends old and new, clinging grimly to the thermos of coffee that smells sickeningly strong but also helps drive back the pain. His face is wan, his eyes shadowed. He would rather be doing anything but this.

Comments

[recognizance]

Murderbot is, to all outward appearances, completely zoned out: slouched on the sofa in one of its preferred lounges, and staring into space.

As Laertes hesitates in the doorway, however, it blinks once, asks in its usual flat way, "Are you all right?" and only then looks in his direction.

[timebethine]

Laertes shakes his head a little. "A migraine," he says. "It's lingered long today. How do you?"

[recognizance]

A little furrowing between the brows, not as obvious as a frown of concern. "Shouldn't you be lying down or something?"

[timebethine]

"I've been abed all day," Laertes protests. "It's much better than it was. And I wanted to ask you--have you managed to connect your drones to the device? The--" his electrical engineering books have told him what it's called, he knows this "--CRT television?"

[recognizance]

Is that what it's called? Huh. Murderbot sits up a bit. "Not exactly. It's complicated, but--" It debates for a second whether to try explaining the technical details to a sword human, then compromises with, "I can connect me to it, through Shen Yuan's game console, but the console can't handle too much data at once. What I'm pretty sure I can do is transfer clips -- short pieces of the videos -- from the drone's memory to mine, and from there to the screen. Probably," it adds, because old habits die hard.

[timebethine]

Laertes thinks about this a little more. "Both video and audio?" he asks. "Am I right in believing that there will be some delay between the drone seeing and your memories appearing on the screen?"

[recognizance]

This time it does frown. "Wait, you were planning-- you want the screen to show stuff as it's happening? Because that definitely won't work."

[timebethine]

He nods--with the prospect of Asmodean as an invisible witness, the need for a live feed is somewhat reduced, but he had hoped for it, and it's a little disappointing to see that avenue foreclosed. "What manner of delay will work, then?"

[recognizance]

"Yeah, I'd need a real feed for that. Or an-- internet, whatever." It's still disgruntled about that too. "So, I can watch what the drone sees, myself, in realtime. And I think I can jury-rig a way to replay parts of that on the CRT-television. I just can't do it simultaneously, because of the data limit."

It sits forward, elbows on knees in a more human posture than Laertes has yet seen it take. "If I'm in the room with the screen, I can relay the video as fast as I can edit it -- cut it down into pieces the game machine can handle. That's still going to be a delay of several seconds. And I have to be connected the whole time; if something goes wrong, I'll have to stop the display before I can go handle it."

[timebethine]

"Ah--several seconds is no matter. I'd thought it would be a delay of hours," says Laertes, relieved.

[recognizance]

"That's per segment. It'll add up." Look, it knows seconds don't sound like much to humans, but a lot can happen in a second, okay? (Like an entire emotional crisis, if you're Murderbot.)

Really it would like a lot more concrete information on this whole operation. But a second is also more than long enough for it to conclude that Laertes is not an optimal color for humans right now, and probably not in a great frame of mind to discuss tactics. "Anyway, the short answer is yeah, I can do that for you."

[timebethine]

"Excellent. Do you have a drone already in the library? That's where I mean to speak to her. The earlier it can be placed, the less she will come to regard it with suspicion, or to associate it with my coming." Laertes reaches up to dig his thumb into the hollow of his left temple--at first it's meant to be just a quick little gesture, but the pressure doesn't ease, so he keeps rubbing that spot as though trying to dig the ache out of his skull.

[recognizance]

"Three of them, usually." It's big, and the sight lines are terrible. "They've been in there for a while. Probably before she even showed up here." Then, eyeing the temple-gouging with misgiving. "Are you sure you don't need an analgesic or something?"

[timebethine]

It takes a solid twenty seconds for Laertes to process the word. He has to drop back into Greek, algos, and then he briefly detours into trying to remember why it isn't an anaponic. Then he remembers that he is actually talking to a person, who asked him a question, that contains the word analgesic. "Yes," he says. "Yes, I would love an analgesic. They may be difficult to find, though, in this season." By now, Sagramore has apprised him of the problem with the cabinets.

[recognizance]

It's already on its feet, but pauses to ask. "What do you mean, in this season?"

(Because SecUnit, introvert that it is, hasn't actually clocked this yet -- it never needs food or medication itself, it's used to wearing the same outfit for months, and even it can only read so many books at a time.)

[timebethine]

"The house no longer yields up food or drink as it did before," he says. "Sagramore thinks it's because the season is no longer Winter, but Dark. I know not whether medicine is any different."

[recognizance]

SecUnit's expression sharpens. It hasn't paid much attention to the calendar, either, since its own internal timekeeping is far more precise, but clearly it needs to take another look. Meanwhile, Susan and her nonperishable supplies are starting to make more sense. "Great," resignedly. "Well, I don't know either, but I know there were some in the bathroom cabinet in my room, the last time I looked, and I know I haven't used them. I'll go check."

[timebethine]

"My thanks. I'll wait upon you," says Laertes--and at long last, he allows himself to stagger into a seat.