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CHARACTERS: Lexa and Steve
WHERE: Churches in Subspace.
WHEN: Day :003 - ???
SUMMARY: Checking into the religions of Opia.
WARNINGS: Will update as necessary.

[ Between today and the rally Steve did a bit of exploring around Subspace on his own. His clothes are secondhand and nondescript, not just for his lack of fashion sense - he didn't catch the attention of any of the more unsavory types around the slums when he did his wandering.

Today he's got Lexa with him, and a little more purpose. More familiar with this type of transport, he's the one that gets them on the right train and down into the heart of Subspace. They call these ones bullet trains, and it's not hard to understand why. Looking out the windows from where they stand near the doors is dizzying, rollercoasters don't even go this fast.

Two stops from their destination and he reaches out to her. ]

( Any idea what we should tell them if they ask what we're doing there? )

[ In learning. They've got their backgrounds, but he's not sure anyone's going to care to hear that they're down there looking to get inspiration for Extranet scenarios. Better to stick to the truth where you can, and not just because he doesn't like lying. ]

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[ He finds the seat next to Lexa, his gaze falling on the statue again. He's listening though, and when Lexa finishes explaining he nods, looking back to Judtia. ]

You can't copy a soul. [ A soul really is more than that, his belief rings rings strong in the way he speaks, stronger through their connection - stronger than he had ever needed to reason before.

People are more than data gathered over a period of their life. No matter how advanced the technology, it doesn't seem comparable. ]

[There's an assortment of small jars, each with a matching spoon; she takes these out and places them on the desk within each reach of the two of them. One seems to be sugar, another a thick dewey substance that smells of citrus, another a chalky blue. By the time she's finished all that, the kettle goes off with a muted POP. Judtia hums thoughtfully, nodding as she fetches the kettle from the window sill. She pours an equal amount of hot water into both cups.]

Two minutes to steep if you're a traditionalist. Personally I just let mine sit.

[She replaces the kettle on its base and when she turns back, there's a small pinch of thoughtfulness between her brows. She takes a seat behind the desk across from them.]

I expect the Mother would agree with you. I think she would say there is some element of the spirit that can't be measured or recorded. The world tells us that death is the return of that element to the elements that surround and create the next stages of life. --But then I guess I'd wonder why we need our bodies at all if that were the case; are you your body, or are you the combination of your mind and your physicality? Does that mean I'm not me if, I don't know, I get into some awful accident and the only original part of me that's left is my mind?

[When she had begun with the Mother, Lexa very nearly interjected to ask what she believed. It's odd to see someone whose opinions are so dependent upon another, and it's a relief that she speaks her own mind. The statement is curious to her, about everything going back to an element, but she does her best to sort through it with her own biases in play.]

If your mind is all that's left, can it really impact further stages of life? Where does life begin and end? How do you define life? [She rattles off the questions one after another, hoping that it seems like it comes from a place of genuine curiosity.

In part because it does.]

[ He watches the steam rise from the cup in lazy spiral, the blue stuff isn't anything he can identify. Judtia, on the other hand, speaks in a way that's familiar, recitation followed by questions. Both what she and Lexa ask give him pause, thinking back to his conversation with Sam.

A mind in a paralyzed body is still you - it's both, mind and body together in some form, combined with the idea that a soul exists in between, affected by sacrament and choice. Not something that could be so easily dissected otherwise by human hands the way a digital copy could. He opens his mouth, then closes it again - glancing over at Lexa, reminding himself not to stray the conversation. It's not his answers they need to hear. But - ] If the mind that's left is only a copy of all the information gathered from your life in the Memory Bank - how can you trust that it's never been altered?

[ Not by an accident. There's a human element involved in the process of transferring what they want to call the mind, that's what Sam had pointed out, and that's another large part of what bothers him. How can you trust that the ones in charge of that haven't changed anything? How would you even know if they did? ]

[That merits a small hum of consideration. She taps her thumbs absently on the surface of the desk.]

Mother would say life ends when the mind does in the sense that if the brain is destroyed or a person is in some kind of...vegetative state where no thought is being processed and so on. You know. Essentially what law understands to be life and death and all that. But [this her her role in things; to say 'but'] I guess in relation to your other question - whether the copy of the mind can be trusted... I suppose it depends on how you define life, doesn't it? Is life just the magical, accidental relationship between the flesh and the firing synapses? Or does will effect it somehow? Is what shapes will really some special spark unique to the individual, or does it matter if someone else gives you direction? Personally, I would say life is defined by action - what you do; who you love and how - and that it's not based on any kind of real stability. Like-- things that don't change? More, it's based on things that are changing or developing all the time based on what you believe or what other people do to change you or reaffirm you or... something like that.

[She clears her throat awkwardly. It feels like she's strayed from the point.]

I guess I wonder if it matters whether you've been altered or not because we're altered all the time by people but that doesn't mean the version of ourselves that used to be alive is dead; it just means we've changed and we change all the time.

[At Steve's words, her eyebrows knit together. It's clear by now to her that they stand on opposite sides of this discussion. She may have to explain later where she comes from. Lexa recalls Nirad's words about ensuring that other people know about her plan, and what precisely is happening with her.]

I'd say it matters less that someone changed the memory, altering it in some way, and how they went about it. If the memory banks ... evolve in some way, that's different from forcibly accessing the ... [What's the word?] The data. [She knows that the Commanders who are given "life" via her chip do evolve and change according to which body the chip is in, and what advice might be needed along the way. (Of course, she only knows the full extent of that now, like information coming together long last.)]

Can I ask whether your views are known to Mother? Would she accept your perspective on this matter?

[ His frown deepens. It's not a question of whether they died, in that case. Influence and manipulation - people can be changed in the real world that way, but there's still a difference between that and the ability to poke around in the essence of someone so directly.

He waits for the answer to Lexa's questions. ]

Oh, I'm not saying it would be ethical to change the data. [That she hurries to tack on and there's a flicker in her expression that suggests she's clearly disgusted by the idea - as appalled as if they were discussing an assault.] Just that sometimes things happen to us that we can't control but that doesn't make us, I don't know, aberrations.

[Maybe she should've poured herself a cup of tea? --In any case, Judtia clears her throat and shifts in her seat. For all her attempts to shake her faint unease, the question of Mother seems to stick.]

Mother wouldn't agree, but of course she'd accept that I have a right to my opinion. Otherwise what would the point be? I'd be a terrible Daughter if I just took things at face value.

[Are they suggesting she's bad at her place in the temple? No, probably not; they didn't seem to know much about the ceremonies at all. Those preconceptions were more and more common these days. Imagine - that there might be people out there who didn't even know the three principles.]

[Still, it means that even within a system such as this one, there could be differences of opinion on what seems to be such an important matter in this world. If nothing else, that would help them moving forward.

She glances toward Steve.]

Surprisingly enough, I don't have any other questions. Do you?

[ He doesn't quite have all the details about what being a Daughter entails, but Judtia gets a faint, lopsided smile for the last part. To Lexa he thinks for a moment before shaking his head. ]

We've got enough to think on for now. [ Maybe more questions than answers, but with Extranet at their disposal, they've got more avenues to explore after these talks. Back to Judtia: ] Thanks for taking the time to talk with us.

[She hesitates, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her face. That's-- it? She'd been expecting... something more. Tears, maybe? No, not so dramatic as that. But certainly something a little more involved. She can't believe it really has much to do with being particularly good at her job either. Sure, she is good (she knows every Principle and Precept by heart), but it feels like she's hardly said anything at all to them.]

Oh. Alright. [Judtia regards their cups of tea, still gently steaming.] Happy to help. If you have any other questions in the future, you know where to find us.

[Ah, the tea. That does need to be handled first.]

We should drink the tea. I don't think we expected to find our answers so quickly, either. [And if they rush out, it might be suspicious.]

I think we might be back soon, but we need to consider ... where life begins and ends. If you will.

[ He's actually gripping the sides of the chair to stand up - and then sits back down, regarding the tea for a second before taking it in his hands. Frowns at it for a few seconds, racking his brain for more of what Sam had mentioned. ]

It's - [ his head tilts, eyes cast down and brow furrowing ] - I've actually got this friend, and I know, usually when folks say that they're honestly just talking about themselves, but he's an actual person and he... has strong opinions about synthetic life. [ another pause ] I guess you could call him a Separatist in all but name. [ A quick glance at Lexa comes with the image of Sam Anders projected, attempting to keep her on the same page - or at least let her know he's not completely pulling this out of nowhere. ] Everything I've ever been taught says I ought to disagree with him on the idea that we can someday wholly bring back someone we've lost. And I still don't believe that that's possible without losing something important in the process, but when it comes to androids... I don't know that I could look one in the eye and say that it doesn't have a soul. Or that it's lesser, just for being what it is.

[ His mouth forms a thin line and he stops there.

Still hasn't drank any of his tea. ]

Edited 2016-06-09 00:34 (UTC)

[Oh, she definitely should have made herself a cup of tea.

For a moment, Judtia goes very still behind her desk. She sets her tongue to the back of her teeth to keep from chewing on it and shifts her hands absently from the edge of the desk to her lap. It's easier to lace her fingers together there, grinding the pads of her thumbs across the points of her knuckles. Her thumb is still tender from where she burned it on the light, she realizes. If she focuses on the dull ache of it, it's easier to dismiss the sensation of prickling sweat from the back of her neck.

Her attention on Steve is very direct, her expression flat - unimpressed, maybe.]

But if you believe that we can't reproduce humanity through, uh, digital preservation but why would you think that something created from scraps has anything special about it? Wouldn't that just make it a very convincing fake?

[The information about Anders is new to Lexa. All she knows about him is his poor choice of tattooing instruments, and the fact that their worlds are similar, with similar circumstances. They aren't the same, but they're close enough that she felt like she barely had to tell him anything. That they have another point of similarity is curious to her.

She clearly makes a note to discuss that with him later, and even the "we have something similar going on" bleeds in the link between her and Steve. She doesn't bother to hide it.

All of the Hosts will know soon enough.]

How can it be fake if it's not imitating anything? [She considers this thought, not knowing where she stands when a human mind isn't introduced in the first place.]

[ The thought Lexa shares has his brow furrowing, seemingly at nothing to anyone not privy to the secondary conversation. He's quick to tilt his head in agreement with what she says out loud though - she's quicker to put into succinct words the point he's trying to make, which, in the end, is belief without proof. ]

They've been made to look human, but they're not made to become a specific person that already existed.

That's true, but they're still an engineered imitation of life aren't they? Maybe not a particular individual but as people we usually end up making things that are somehow familiar to us. [Unseens, under the edge of the desk, Judtia scrubs the knuckles of one hand under the thumb of the other.]

It's the same as any other fiction, right? A book character might be really well written and seem like a real person, but it's just a combination of things someone else put together. You can ask any android; they know they aren't the same thing.

Do you think what defines life is the ability to change, then? To evolve, even if you've been brought to life by something or someone else? [Truthfully, she almost would rather Steve and Justia discuss this, but that's part of why most of her comments at this point are questions. Her thoughts are meant to be more philosophical prompting than anything else.

After her interjection, she takes her tea and sips at it finally.]

[ His tea is getting lukewarm. ]

I don't think it's just that. [ The ability to change. Not on its own. ] And maybe you're right, they're not the same thing and I'll get that same answer if I ask one of them, but maybe they don't have to be exactly the same as us. [ Close, but something else - like Sam, born to a world where it was somehow possible for that to happen no different than between two regular humans. His mouth twists to one side, he's getting a bit worked up. ] This whole business of creating in our own image and then turning around to say they're no different from words on a page is playing with fire.

[She flicks a look between the two of them, something in her expression tightening briefly before it's wiped clean away. Her hands remain in her lap, carefully placed, and when she speaks there's an air of ambivalence there:]

I can't say you're wrong or that I necessarily disagree, I just know that I see how the android sentience question really has much to do with why you two came here.

[Is that frustratingly dense enough? She thinks yes, probably.]

It's not the sentience, but rather whether life can ever truly end. Should we be trying to preserve our lost loved ones, and would they appreciate it? And if we have preserved them in some way, is it still really them? Are we seeking comfort for them or us, and how do we define that? I believe we thought that we'd have some kind of answer coming here, but we're still at a loss.

[This is a recovery more than anything, because she knows they've gotten off track. But still, she believes it's relevant just the same.]

[ An exhale and his mouth forms a thin line as the conversation circles back to the start again. So much for not taking things at face value. ]

[There, that's better. There's something in the staunch line of Judtia's shoulder that gives by a fraction as the topic angles back.]

I believe - and I know Mother would say the same, actually - that no, life doesn't end. That's the basic concept behind the World, isn't it? [She turns very slightly in her chair and motions back to the statuette in the window.] Everything we are or create is going into the world somehow and the same thing happens when we die. We become the universe and shape what comes next. Your-- [A hesitation; her hands rise from her lap and she sets them, clasped still, on the desk] I mean, I don't want to make light of your grief obviously, but something about your loss brought you here to talk about this. Their influence isn't completely gone then.

[To Steve's response, there is simply a sense of derision sent through their link, through their tie of the Nest. She doesn't send words, but it's as if she's practiced this sense of authoritative chastisement. Even if his curiosity has a place in their overall mission, they can't risk being found out.

She is not here for herself, but as she refocuses on what Justia says, Lexa recalls a conversation in a time that now seems like it was long ago, even if it was just a few months. Her lips twist downward, and it's obvious that she's trying to mask her emotions. Lexa might be practiced in it, but she doesn't want to look like she's in pain.

The reality is this: she still feels it, even if she's meant to be faking. The grief is real, just as it ever is.]

Even if you might pretend otherwise. Some people act on that grief in certain ways. And some of us question what is, or isn't really life, as a result. Almost to hope to find an answer, but no one's ever really left us. We give someone an outlet to live on.

[She both believes and doesn't believe in the core of these words, as if she's puzzling over them.]

[ His jaw tightens for Lexa's wordless chastising, gaze lowered to the cup of tea between his hands. ]

My mother was religious. [ - is what he reluctantly supplies to this part of the conversation after a short pause, figuring better that than to sit in silence. It was her influence that kept him going to Sunday Mass after she was gone. It's those teachings, entwined with the earliest parts of his life, that have him sitting here in contradiction. ]

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assuming that there's supposed to be a "don't" in that second sentence

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