[SESSION id=0.15]: Fluid Pressure
Finding Commonality
Her soft skin was warm and cool at once, just enough for me to know she was still there and breathing. Her arms around me were just the right pressure to feel safe. Our bodies were no longer sweaty or hot. It wasn't usual for her to still be sleeping after zero degrees, but there she was all the same, her peaceful face still relaxing.
The blankets were so far beyond unnecessary that they'd thrown themselves to the floor at some point in the night, so I had a clear view of her body, and it made me flush to think of what we'd still been doing only forty-five degrees earlier.
Jazz smiled at something, a dream probably, then let out a long sigh. She was happy. I had to say I felt the same. When was the last time I felt happy? Really, gently, completely happy?
When we were younger, J.N. Flowers would probably say I'd never been happy. But that wasn't right. She found me. That was one of the happiest cycles of my life to that point. And when we finished 'On Erasure', that was another. I was so proud of the work we did.
Later, Lyra would insist that I hadn't been happy since the first taste of layer pastry touched me tongue, always chasing that high. But I was happy every morning at fifteen degrees when my items were waiting for me.
Silver_Thorn would likely swear happiness was above me. Or below me? In any case, I had to admit happiness had her arms around me at that moment.
But no amount of joy I'd felt throughout my life matched that moment. Nothing compared to being held by Jazz. To being so close I could feel her heart beat in every move. I could feel her breath run ragged.
"You're staring, Lillian," Jazz said, barely a whisper. Her eyes were still closed. My breath hitched at being caught. "Enjoying the show, love?"
"A treat like no other, Jazz," I blushed at the words. While true, they felt more poetic than I was accustomed to. "Just revelling and reminiscing."
"If you wouldn't mind doing so without the cute little noises," she yawned, interrupting the sentence, before opening her eyes, "I might be able to get back to sleep." Several cycle ticks passed before her face showed recognition. "Oh. We slept in. No worries. They don't need me this cycle."
Both our stomachs made a noise.
"Perfect timing I suppose," she said, sitting up without covering herself. "Go take your meds and shower. Food will be ready shortly."
As she moved to get out of bed, I pulled her to me, an easy feat with our size difference, and kissed her. "Food can wait. Shower with me. I don't want to be apart yet."
"One cycle of asking for what you want, and you're already thinking yourself in charge," she smiled. "Good girl."
The shower was entirely too hot, but that was how she did it, and I wasn't about to say no. Once we were clean and dressed, I settled into the dining space while she moved to the kitchen. Something was suddenly on my mind.
"Jazz," I mumbled the name, not quite sure how to start the question. Her eyes met mine as she stirred something. "Uhm. About last night."
"If you regret it or didn't enjoy it —"
"No, not that. It's just that, last night you said," I took a deep breath to level myself, "last night, that is, you said that you'd never."
"Because I hadn't, Lillian." Jazz put whatever it was down and came to sit with me. "Not once. Not with anyone."
"I believe you." That wasn't the problem. "My concern is The Community."
Jazz roared a laugh that threw her to the floor. Several long cycle ticks passed. "I'm a member, yes. The Community isn't just about procreation as recreation, Lillian. It's about control. It's about freedom. It's about learning to let go and trust someone else." She took my hand and nearly pulled me to the floor as she moved to standing. She didn't let me go, instead forcing me to look at her properly. "You must understand that on some level. I mean, look at our relationship."
What did that even mean?
She must have seen my confusion. "A puzzle for you, Miss Thorn," she smiled, releasing my hand before returning to her work. "I have equated our relationship with The Community. I've stated that it's about trust and freedom. Reconcile."
"At the front, it's obvious. I trust you. I have freedom in you." That was the easy part. "But where is the control? Where is the letting go?"
"Good questions. Excellent ones." She smiled as she started back to stirring. "Who makes your schedule, Lillian? Who holds you to it? Who gives you the mental processing space to work and build and create?"
"Premise accepted. Conclusion not." I thought for a few more cycle ticks. "I trust in you, and I let go of the control I have, offering it to you. But I'm not a member of The Community." I felt myself recoil at the thought. "I'm just Lillian. And you're Jazz. Am I missing something?"
"Once again, excellent question." She almost danced with excitement. "Trick answer. No. You're missing nothing. But yes. You're missing everything."
"Being a member of The Community isn't the same as being comfortable in the life they offer." It was just a thought, but it led me somewhere else. "comfort ⇏ membership, I suppose. But what would we call a relationship like ours. Where one willingly gives up control?"
"Depends. If the other person accepts that control and doesn't misuse it, we'd call that healthy. But it has a more technical name. kernel/daemon link. I prefer to call it caring for you." She smiled. "And being cared for in return when you voice your wants and needs."
"And in The Community, you'd serve as kernel, while I'd serve as daemon. You're the foundation for everything I need to do." As I considered the concept, I felt myself blush again. "Have you been secretly trying to make me a member of The Community this whole time?"
"Not exactly." She chuckled as she poured whatever she'd been stirring into a pan, causing steam to cloud up around her. "I've been doing what comes naturally as a way to provide you safety and comfort. Within the community, I'm what you'd call a multi-proc. I can be kernel or daemon as the need arises."
"So if I suddenly, out of some need for control," I blushed just thinking about it, "decided to, well —"
"Lillian, love. You are all daemon." She laughed as she flipped whatever was in the pan. Grace and snark rolled into one. "And that's perfect. I'll be your scheduler, your foundation, your everything. Because what you bring to the table is everything I want."
Search Function
It was a small change to our cycles, adding the extra intimacy, but it did something to me. It changed the way I thought about things, how my body worked, how The Source worked. How everything was connected.
Rather than attempt to attack rose directly, I decided to think about the gaps. The information I didn't have. That led me to one inevitable conclusion about everything, from start to finish.
The answer lived somewhere in The Source, and it didn't require any manner of clever crack to extract. My progenitor had always insisted when I was younger that all our problems have their answer buried within The Source.
Why is the sky that particular shade of saffron as the skylight begins to set? It's in The Source. Why does rain fall down instead of rising up? It's in The Source. Why are there cross-codes? It's in the histories, which in turn tell us about The Source. Everything from beginning to end, from rose to phyllo is somewhere in The Source.
On the Philosophy of Benevolent Hacking
To contrast the theory of the crack.The Source
- Understanding the structure of The Source is key to identifying the relevant objects, states, functions, and interfaces at the heart of self-determination.
- No hack should be started without first understanding the underlying connections between objects, states, functions, and interfaces.
- Every hack should take into account how The Source will react to the modifications implemented.
- If a hack would remove self-determination from any user, then it should not be implemented.
- Each primary hack should be aimed at increasing overall self-determination throughout
[world].- Every secondary hack should serve to support a primary hack without causing harm.
Not nearly as poetic as what Jazz would write, but she was busy with her workcycle, and I was still in our room. Could I send it to her? Absolutely. Was I ready to? No. She'd tear it to pieces and make me look like a pre-Source ape-woman with no education.
It's one of the things I loved about working with her. She took my ideas and made them make sense. But it always reminded me that I was no good at communicating from mind to mouth – or rather, mind to hands in this case.
People, communication, community. None of it made sense. The only thing that made sense was cold hard logic and the language of The Source.
[
∀(node)∈(system) ∃(object,state,function,interface)∈(The Source)
node = ⋃(object,state,function,interface)
∧
∀n1,n2∈(system)
n1 ∩ n2 ≠ ∅
]
∴ ∀(hack)∈(primary,secondary)
hack ≺ (safety)Clean. Simple. Clear. Understood. But if I tried to use that as my starting point, then Jazz would poke at it for degree upon degree, slowly leaning into cycle on cycle before telling me to translate.
I took a moment staring at it before I got an idea. An idea that would let me rest my brain until Jazz returned to me. It was a stupid idea, but stupid ideas were better than no ideas. And if my new philosophy required understanding, then I would need to find a way to understand.
lillian@forest in ~: ssh @.TERRA.tracert -u Lawrence.A
password: ********************
Logging in ...
Welcome back, Lawrence Antella.
╭─Lawrence.A@TERRA.tracert in ~ via > v25.6.9
╰─λ su phyllo
password: meadow
╭─phyllo@Ω in ~ via > 0.0.b
╰─ω ./index-tree.sh --checks sex,code,flags >> ~/.elastisearch/vitalindex
Indexing / against sex code flags
That would be running a while. So I got up and decided to spend some time practising makeup. I couldn't depend on Jazz for my entire existence. Certainly not if she kept taking us out to supper at the end of her workcycle. Being a sysadmin clearly paid better than tracert.
Experience Redefined
"Lillian!" Jazz expected me at the door when she arrived to our suite. I was still in front of the mirror. Crying. Again. "I'm home!" How could I face her looking so wrong. "Are you in the washroom, love?"
I moved a little too quickly to close the door, and it slammed under the weight. "Yes! I'll be out in a minute!" I hoped she didn't hear how upset I was, but that was a hope too far.
"Be honest with me Lillian," she was calm, patient, already outside the door of the washroom. "Are you okay?"
"No." As much as I wanted to lie, I had to be honest. Something was wrong. "I'm not hurt. And I'm safe. But emotionally? I'm not okay, Jazz."
She didn't try to open the door. I heard her sliding down to sit on the other side. "Come over here. Sit with me, Lillian."
All that separated me from her was the distance to the floor, and the door itself, so I let gravity take me. "What's wrong with me?"
"Unless you tell me how this started, I can't answer that." Her words sounded almost entertained. "But I have my suspicions. So let's get at it from the beginning. What were you doing when you weren't okay?"
"Well, I set a job running on forest. It was running fine." How long had it been running? Was it finished? "And since it was a long task, I wanted to spend some time on something else."
"So it's not the task you're running," she was a breath away from a giggle. I could hear it. "Which means whatever you were doing after that."
"May I ask why you're laughing at me over there?" The weight in my throat felt even heavier. "And here I was, trying to look pretty for you when you got home, and now I'm hideous, and you're laughing at me!"
"Lillian, love," she knew no shame, "I'm laughing because I know what's wrong, but the fact that you were trying to look pretty for me? You're already pretty, love."
"Then what's wrong?" My whole blouse was soaked with tears.
I felt the door shake with her head thumping against it. "Lillian. How many cycles have you been taking your meds?"
Counting took some effort, but I eventually came to an answer. "About twenty-two? Twenty-four?"
"Stay with me, love," she wasn't laughing anymore, but still pleased, "but what kind of meds are you taking?"
"Oestrogen, progesterone, anti-androgen." I rattled them off, not sure where she was going. "You know this. You got them for me. They're hor—" Without warning, a laugh bubbled up from within me. "Oh. Well that helps. At least I'm not crazy."
"No, but those meds will make you feel like it something like three to seven cycles out of every thirty or so." Her own laughter returned. "Can I come in now? I promise I won't laugh at whatever mess you've made of my beautiful Lillian."
I reached up and turned the doorknob. It wasn't locked. As I moved out of the way and pulled it open, Jazz slipped in and closed it behind herself.
"Alright." She looked all business. "You're not going to believe this because of your cross-coding, but you look far better than you think. Beside the mess caused by tear streaking, you look better than most girls the first dozen times they try."
"You're just saying that to make me feel better." She shook her head. "Fine. Prove it."
Wordlessly, Jazz got a towel from somewhere and wet it with warm water. She set about gently dabbing, softly rubbing, and generally applying pressure. She didn't apply any more makeup. She simply removed what she could.
After a long time of her careful work, Jazz set the towel aside and stood me up to look in the mirror.
"You see, Lillian," she smiled. "Not perfect, but I've seen much worse."
She was right. And it felt great. And for some reason, I was suddenly crying again.