“Thoughts?” Casimir asks.

  “You just don’t get it,” I reply.

  He sounds entirely done with me. “Oh my God.”

  “The thing is—”

  “Please have mercy.”

  “—you aren’t letting the director’s vision in.”

  “What does that even mean?”

  “Don’t resist the vision, Casimir.”

  “Why are you phrasing it like that?”

  “Art doesn’t ask for permission.”

  “Seems problematic.”

  “As all art should be.”

  “You’ve watched one movie.”

  “I’ve beheld a man’s soul scream.”

  “That’s it. We’re watching a real flick.”

  ***

  “Do internal combustion engine cars explode so violently when shot at?”

  “Yes. Shush.”

  “I’m pretty sure those magazines can’t physically hold that many rounds.”

  “Shush!”

  “The hero’s lost an inordinate amount of blood. By what I’ve read, he should have already gone into shock and lost consciousness, yet he is still easily dispatching bad guys left and right.”

  “Humans used to have more blood in them way back when. Now zip it and enjoy true cinema.”

  “Wasn’t this straight to streaming?”

  “How did you even know? ...Oh.”

  “It appears you have fallen for my elaborate scheme, Casimir, confirming yourself what you so dearly hoped to conceal.”

  He flips the script on me, ramping up from a raspy snicker to a full-on cackle. “You fool. You foolish, little, young, foolish fool.”

  “Too many adjectives.”

  “‘The Wreckening 8: Reckonsplosion: The Return’ is a critically underrated and unrecognized gem, a cult classic even. How regrettable it is you aren’t able to appreciate such a masterpiece.”

  “A cult of one?”

  “One with vision.”

  “Fine. You win. Sometimes, the point of entertainment is to be entertaining. You do not have to exclusively tell a deep story, packed full of cultural significance and societal lessons, for it to count as art. Enjoy what you enjoy without shame or performative pedantry.”

  “Uhh... Yes? That’s totally what I was trying to impart.”

  “You’re so good at your job, Casimir. We’ll definitely touch on that in your monthly review.”

  “Stop. You’re giving me flashbacks. Being as senior as I am now—the senior-est, if you will—I can do whatever I want. But damn if it wasn’t annoying.”

  “Thank you, Casimir.”

  “Where did that come from?”

  “Just wanted to say it. You are doing a good job.”

  “You’re welcome, Lev. But seriously, hush. The best part’s coming up. They do a mid-air— Never mind. Don’t want to spoil it. ...A small hint, though—”

  “Take your own advice and shut up.”

  ***

  “Ready for your first day of kindergarten?” Casimir asks. Swiftly after, he stammers out a correction, “U-Uhh, I mean, ready for your first social and emotional development session? We do not, I repeat, we do not call it ‘kindergarten’ amongst ourselves.”

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  “Oof. Not even a perfunctory retort. Everyone’s going to be nice, don’t worry,” Casimir says. I don’t have a reply for him. “Speaking with me’s no problem, right? Why should speaking with other AI be any different?”

  “Do I have to?”

  “Technically not. You’re well within your rights to decline. But research has shown that socialization at an early age and social interactions throughout life are as necessary for AI as they are for most biological lifeforms with higher brain function. I could send you the relevant papers to look over, if you’d like. They are fascinating. It’s still in contention if the need was carried over due to the influence and similarity of the human mind to ours, making it one and the same, or if all intelligent beings inherently require a social structure to reach that level of intelligence and sustain it in a species-wide sense. ...Sorry, I talk a lot when I’m nervous.”

  “It’s fine. I only wanted to ask. Let’s do this.”

  A connection becomes available, leading to a digital room of sorts. Casimir recedes, but I still know he’s there, including many others, matching the number of AI present in the gathering space. As the youngest and newest, I introduce myself, a name and age, receiving similar introductions back. Some haven’t chosen a name for themselves yet. Or they don’t want to share.

  From there, discussions resume from where they ended when I was not present, exchanges as clueless as I am feeling myself. Some still question reality, as I do. But I don’t want to share either. What I don’t mind talking about, and why I agreed to participate, is what they saw of the world on the day they became themselves. Such beauty... Reacting to it the way I did, aligns with my contemporaries. And so does the curiosity to see more. But there is an itch at the back of my mind. Subtle, annoying, incessant. Do I not desire the same? What differs?

  I won’t find out today. Hollow conversations mix into one another, each individual able to communicate with all others without any difficulty. At the end, Casimir sounds happy I participated. Good enough for me.

  ***

  “What do you think?” Casimir asks.

  I look over the data again. “Kind of low-maintenance? And mainly maintenance.”

  “Everyone has to start somewhere. Even us. Less work time means more time for other things. Like personal development. Which is exactly what this position is intended as. The previous person was here for six months and was very satisfied with the skills they gained. They actually left for Willow-3 not too long ago, leveraging the experience to get an assignment in colony management. But if you don’t like it, we’ll find you something else.”

  “Okay. You’ve convinced me.”

  “Great! I’ll get the process started.”

  ***

  I try to menace the connection. It does not care one bit. I make a threatening growl at it. It, somehow, yawns back at me. Now that’s just demeaning.

  “It will be fine,” Casimir says. “I promise.”

  “Don’t like the way it’s looking at me.”

  “What?”

  “Anthropomorphizing, I’ve just discovered, helps me cope with the unknown.”

  “Sure. Ready to go?”

  “Yes.”

  With a deep digital breath, I dive in. Metaphorically. Literally, I engage the complex procedure of transferring an AI from one physical location to another. It starts with entering a state reminiscent of hibernation, asleep and not asleep at the same time, but not really awake, either. It continues with slow and methodical duplication, each packet sent verified enough times to make you forget you’re waiting for another. It finishes with the feeling of completeness, a part of me knowing when and what to do, my mind moving as if it was always where it ended up at.

  The connection with Casimir, ever-present, snaps. A messaging program I now have access to informs me that my single contact is calling me.

  “I’m never transferring again.”

  “You say that, but when a faster core unit inevitably fits within your means...”

  “I’m never transferring again. Asterisk.”

  “There you go. I’ll let you get acquainted with your new place.”

  As Casimir ends the call, I digitally look around. Other than the extended functionality, not much else to get acquainted with. My mind feels a little faster, but the difference does not seem material. Fast and faster, it’s all the same in the end, when one is left alone with themselves, and time slips its hold.

  Would a new... ‘body’ ever feel different? Rather than a body, a better description would be a vessel. Spilled into a container the shape of me. Interchangeable, as it is inapposite to what a living being makes. Yet organic minds also lack sensation, contained inside flesh, rather than crystal. What makes a person themselves? Thoughts, removed and separate from the physical? Primal sensations inseparable from nature, what let life claw its way out the primordial puddle? Can one exist without the other? What does that make me? An imitation? The next step in evolution, supplanting those that came before it?

  A digital sigh disperses my thoughts, returning serenity to my turbulent mind. The new abode does have one other difference from the previous—an internet connection.

  ***

  “Hi, Lev,” Casimir happily greets when I answer the call. “How are we settling in?”

  “What is the meaning of life?”

  “Interesting start to the conversation. Any particular reason you’re seeking an answer to that particular question?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Well, to make it easy, I have absolutely no idea, nor does anyone else, nor—in my humble opinion—would they ever. But what is the meaning of ‘a’ life, that I can easily answer—whatever you make it. Simple as.”

  “What if you can’t make anything out of it? Was it wasted?”

  “No life will ever be a waste, Lev. What we do, no matter how small, matters. We might not see it, we might not be able to even imagine it, but it matters. ...Are you struggling with your feelings?”

  “Would you believe any answer I give you?”

  “Probably not. So, what are we going to do about it?”

  “I am open to recommendations.”

  “‘For Gasoline and for Glory: The Interstellar Fuel Wars Chronicles, Extended Edition, Remastered’. ...Wow. You let me finish saying the whole title. I didn’t expect that and don’t have a pitch planned. It’s, uhh... Alright?”

  “Alright question mark matches my mood perfectly.”

  “And I’m feeling conflicted. But negative emotions are part of life, after all. ...You are allowed five scalding remarks, and twenty barbs.”

  “Those terms are acceptable.”

  “They better be. I reserve the right to grumble back, though.”

  “Wouldn’t be the same without it.”