Jon's best work was done at night, in the star heavy hours between sunset and sunrise, when the earth rotated him away from Sol and the sky burned with the luminous milky clustering of the spiral galaxy's soft edge. His mind worked faster in the dark after twilight, as though sleeping neurons in his brain only came out when the noise of the sun no longer beat down upon them. Ideas came easier, quicksilver and substantial, seeds bearing fruit of cogs and machine, algorithms and formulas.
Maybe it was just the silence and isolation. It left him undistracted and able to focus. Maybe it was something mystical and mysterious. He had read that Newton did his best work by candle light, deep into the night. Maybe it was the muse and inspiration of the stars and moon, lofty goals he would some day reach. Or maybe, just maybe, it was nothing so complicated, and it was just his heritage, owlish genetics manifesting themselves as a predilection for the predatory hours of the day.
Heck. It might just be that it was easier to find good episodes of "The Twilight Zone" sometime around 2 am than at any other time.
Whatever it was, Jon found himself awake late into the night more often than he made it to bed on time, and the day before Easter was no exception. He sat reclined in his chair, dressed comfortably in rocketship-and-moon-sporting PJs, watching "The Monsters are Due on Maple Street". A large bowl of popcorn was set on a stack of boxes next to the chair, only lightly buttered and salted. Too much of either caused too many problems for his already poor health.
Most of his machine children had long ago returned to their various nooks and corners and stations to power off and dream, but Hobbes remained awake, occupying the couch and wrapped in a blanket. Hobbes liked this episode considerably less than Jon, but had long ago acknowledged the Loki of the Marrow family as the ruler of the remote. What Jon wanted to watch, all watched. It was just the way of things.
The new apartment suited everyone well. Though he wouldn't admit it out right, at least some of his satisfaction in the living situation was the knowledge that it came from family and had housed family, making it something of a small section of home in a foreign land, a Texan embassy in RhyDin. James price was reasonable, the power and load bearing of the building more than adequate, and it's location within the city better than he could have hoped. It did not leave a lot for what he needed, but that was okay. With the money he was saving on the price of the apartment, he could rent another space in the city for his lab.
Besides. If he burned down this building, too, he was pretty sure he might be kicked out of the family.
Jon had left the windows of the apartment open to let in the cool breeze and subtle sounds of the deep night. A glimmer of moonlight splayed itself onto the wooden floors, pouring in through the windows like cold mercury. The television was turned down to a soft static; Jon knew the lines by heart, and if it were any louder it would wake the rest of the apartment up and start a "Twilight Zone" marathon.
"I'm not really sure what to do, Hobbes. I know we were betting on getting help, but.."
Hobbes beeped in a short series, finishing Jon's sentence for him.
"..yeah. We shouldn't be surprised. We knew it might not work."
Another series of beeps ended in an upswing. Hobbes was Jon's first real success with AI, and preexisted his work with voice synthesizers. Though Hobbes had been offered an upgrades to one, the robot had always politely turned them down.
"That's pretty much it, really. It's onto the back up plan now." Jon shrugged and frowned. On the television, neighbors were accusing neighbors.
Hobbes turned away from the television, pointedly looking Jon in the face with all of his sensors. Jon's response was to make a distinctly worried face.
"Don't give me that look. We both knew it would come to this."
Beepbeepboop"
"I'll have to sort that first. I met someone who might be able to give me a job that would be acceptable," code for 'where I wont have to make weapons or give you guys away', "and would pay well enough to get us started."
Hobbes considered this for a moment, remaining silent. Before he could comment, Jon added, "And I'll tell them when the time is right. If they know why I came out here now, they'll interfere and try to stop me. It's best they know after the fact."
Beep, beepbeep. Beep"
"Regardless of the outcome. Yeah." Jon sat in the noise of the night for a while, watching black and white images flicker past on the television, before finally giving into the need for sleep. He set the remote next to Hobbes on his way to the bedroom. "Don't stay up all night, old man. Tomorrow's a busy day."
Boop.
"Yeah, I love you too. Night."
Sometime later, after Hobbes was quite sure that Jon had slipped into a deep sleep in the barely unpacked bedroom in the back, Hobbes switched the channel to his favorite television show of all time. A guilty and, by Jon's standards, outlawed pleasure, it was the robot's answer to combat sports:
BattleBots.
Maybe it was just the silence and isolation. It left him undistracted and able to focus. Maybe it was something mystical and mysterious. He had read that Newton did his best work by candle light, deep into the night. Maybe it was the muse and inspiration of the stars and moon, lofty goals he would some day reach. Or maybe, just maybe, it was nothing so complicated, and it was just his heritage, owlish genetics manifesting themselves as a predilection for the predatory hours of the day.
Heck. It might just be that it was easier to find good episodes of "The Twilight Zone" sometime around 2 am than at any other time.
Whatever it was, Jon found himself awake late into the night more often than he made it to bed on time, and the day before Easter was no exception. He sat reclined in his chair, dressed comfortably in rocketship-and-moon-sporting PJs, watching "The Monsters are Due on Maple Street". A large bowl of popcorn was set on a stack of boxes next to the chair, only lightly buttered and salted. Too much of either caused too many problems for his already poor health.
Most of his machine children had long ago returned to their various nooks and corners and stations to power off and dream, but Hobbes remained awake, occupying the couch and wrapped in a blanket. Hobbes liked this episode considerably less than Jon, but had long ago acknowledged the Loki of the Marrow family as the ruler of the remote. What Jon wanted to watch, all watched. It was just the way of things.
The new apartment suited everyone well. Though he wouldn't admit it out right, at least some of his satisfaction in the living situation was the knowledge that it came from family and had housed family, making it something of a small section of home in a foreign land, a Texan embassy in RhyDin. James price was reasonable, the power and load bearing of the building more than adequate, and it's location within the city better than he could have hoped. It did not leave a lot for what he needed, but that was okay. With the money he was saving on the price of the apartment, he could rent another space in the city for his lab.
Besides. If he burned down this building, too, he was pretty sure he might be kicked out of the family.
Jon had left the windows of the apartment open to let in the cool breeze and subtle sounds of the deep night. A glimmer of moonlight splayed itself onto the wooden floors, pouring in through the windows like cold mercury. The television was turned down to a soft static; Jon knew the lines by heart, and if it were any louder it would wake the rest of the apartment up and start a "Twilight Zone" marathon.
"I'm not really sure what to do, Hobbes. I know we were betting on getting help, but.."
Hobbes beeped in a short series, finishing Jon's sentence for him.
"..yeah. We shouldn't be surprised. We knew it might not work."
Another series of beeps ended in an upswing. Hobbes was Jon's first real success with AI, and preexisted his work with voice synthesizers. Though Hobbes had been offered an upgrades to one, the robot had always politely turned them down.
"That's pretty much it, really. It's onto the back up plan now." Jon shrugged and frowned. On the television, neighbors were accusing neighbors.
Hobbes turned away from the television, pointedly looking Jon in the face with all of his sensors. Jon's response was to make a distinctly worried face.
"Don't give me that look. We both knew it would come to this."
Beepbeepboop"
"I'll have to sort that first. I met someone who might be able to give me a job that would be acceptable," code for 'where I wont have to make weapons or give you guys away', "and would pay well enough to get us started."
Hobbes considered this for a moment, remaining silent. Before he could comment, Jon added, "And I'll tell them when the time is right. If they know why I came out here now, they'll interfere and try to stop me. It's best they know after the fact."
Beep, beepbeep. Beep"
"Regardless of the outcome. Yeah." Jon sat in the noise of the night for a while, watching black and white images flicker past on the television, before finally giving into the need for sleep. He set the remote next to Hobbes on his way to the bedroom. "Don't stay up all night, old man. Tomorrow's a busy day."
Boop.
"Yeah, I love you too. Night."
Sometime later, after Hobbes was quite sure that Jon had slipped into a deep sleep in the barely unpacked bedroom in the back, Hobbes switched the channel to his favorite television show of all time. A guilty and, by Jon's standards, outlawed pleasure, it was the robot's answer to combat sports:
BattleBots.