Eidolon

Takumi rose from his chair, the movement fluid and controlled. But before he turned to leave, he leaned down close to Rei, his lips nearly brushing her ear. His voice was a low, intimate whisper meant only for her, yet the possessive display was entirely for Bjorn’s benefit. “Minimize new subjects. Stay friendly…”, he breathed, his warm breath ghosting over her skin.

His hand came to rest lightly on her bare shoulder, his fingers grazing her collarbone in a gesture that was both a caress and a statement, “…but not too friendly.” Then he was gone, striding purposefully from the dining room towards the exit to make the fateful call.

The moment he was out of earshot, Bjorn let out a soft, appreciative hum. “Your loyalty is commendable,” he began, swirling the wine in his glass. “Especially considering the general… working conditions for women in Mirage City. In Kuroda, particularly. So often, women are seen, not heard.” He sighed, a theatrical display of regret, “It’s a shame. Compared to Norway, where gender equality is a point of national pride, those traditions seem rather unjust.”

He let his gaze linger on her, his eyes sharp, “But then again, you and Takumi’s work relationship does seem… good.” The implication hung in the air, heavy and provocative: he was painting Kuroda as a backward corporation and implying her relationship with Takumi was unprofessional.

Rei waited until ensuring Takumi was truly gone from the room, before she leaned forward. The obedient posture melted away, replaced by a laid-back confidence, “Can I truly speak honestly?” she inquired, a small, conspiratorial smile playing on her lips. “Please do,” Bjorn urged, leaning in as well, “It’s the Scandinavian way. Though the Danes are the rudest, even as a Swede I must admit I personally prefer directness over politeness”, he added with a new glint in his eye.

Rei laughed, a genuine, melodic sound, “I’m happy to hear that. I prefer it too.” She paused, taking in his earnest expression, then spoke gently, “You’re right, some of the Mirage customs are outdated. But it’s a bit like this building – these bricks have survived for centuries for a reason.” She tapped a thoughtful rhythm with her fingernail against their transparent glass table, the tink a sharp punctuation, “Of course, that doesn’t mean one shouldn’t innovate or elevate.”

She met his gaze squarely, “As a woman, I agree that the Kuroda gender norms are not fair. They’re not built for equality, but control. In my current job, my thoughts aren’t the reason I was chosen, nor are they the primary purpose of my role.” She gave a small, elegant shrug, “But without responsibility comes certain freedoms. If you’re trying to recruit me, Bjorn, you’re playing a losing hand.” A surprised chuckle escaped him, and like before his fingers tapped their own contemplative pulse on the table, mirroring hers.

“The prospect of a corporate job with important decisions and all the pressure that comes with it?” she continued, shaking her head slightly, “doesn’t entice me.” Her expression softened into one of genuine appreciation, “All that being said, I’m grateful that you’re interested in my thoughts on Eidolon. And that you’re so generous with your compliments. I happen to like compliments.”

It was a careful deflection. She had acknowledged his points, turned down his subtle offer without outright insubordination, and reaffirmed her loyalty to Takumi; all while never confirming or denying the nature of their relationship. She remained the enigmatic, loyal worker bee.

Bjorn listened, his eyes devouring her; the cascade of her red hair, the perfect bow of her lips punctuated by the Bicoca mark above, the elegant line of her neck, the way the silver dress clung to every curve. He relished this rare moment alone with her, this chance to peel back another layer. She was a bastion, and he was only just beginning to move past the perimeters.

Slowly he leaned forward further, planting both elbows on the glass table, reducing the space between them. He made no attempt to hide his appreciative study of her face, the way the silver dress wrapped around her. “Loyalty is a rare quality in the corporate world,” he said, his voice a low, intimate rumble, “Yet another valuable trait. They just keep stacking up, the more I get to know you.”

Then, just as the flirting threatened to become a tangible force she would have to deflect, he pivoted with the skill of a weathered sailor changing tack. “Your answer about Eidolon’s ideal vision was very focused on revenue potential,” he noted, his tone shifting to intellectual curiosity, “But how would you reply if the question was purely about the technological possibilities? About the AI psyche itself?”

Rei felt a wave of relief. Flirting was a minefield, especially with Takumi’s jealousy and the ominous warning about her new brand. The technological subject genuinely interested her. An intellectual excitement animated her, changing her posture. She leaned on the armrest of her chair, her chin resting in her hand as she mulled it over. Though she knew Takumi wouldn’t want her to fuel Bjorn’s ambition and interest in the development, the best approach was her honest opinion, the conviction that highlighted why Eidolon was the wrong vessel for such a dream.

“The AI Psyche?” she began, her gaze turning inward, “Well, as I mentioned, I believe, for an AI to truly understand human emotions, the messy, irrational motivations behind our decisions, it would need free will. It would need first-hand experience with moral dilemmas and grey areas… and it would have to make choices not based on pure logic and probability, like a classic algorithm, but because something feels right, or because it simply desires to do something, regardless of whether it’s morally right or wrong – for its budding conscience to then stir…”

She straightened in her chair, her expression growing somber, “And that runs directly against the foundational laws of robotics, of human rights even, right? Freeing a digital entity enough to allow the risk of morally wrong choices? If I’m right, and they need free will to understand love or regret, then that means we must allow them to potentially choose… to murder, rape, act unjustly and allow them to do… wrong.” Rei met his gaze, her own deadly serious, “And that’s not just something a customer doesn’t want to pay for. It’s something far more dangerous on a grander scale.” Bjorn’s eyebrows rose gradually higher as she spoke.

She let out a small, apologetic laugh, as if embarrassed by the direction of her own thoughts, “Sorry, I imagine you think I sound like a digital doomsday preacher ranting, or like I’m quoting the plot of most dystopian sci-fi films…”, she picked up her wine glass, studying the liquid, her voice dropping, “But consider this: as you said at your headquarters, AI’s are immortal in that they never perish. An emotional, subjectively moral entity with those attributes… if it desired to control and subjugate mortal humans, what’s to stop it from finding a way to achieve that in due time?” 

She pushed some stray strands of hair back behind her ear, eyes clouded over with thought, “Not all humans are good and just, so why should we assume an AI with human-like capabilities would be? To create a true AI psyche is to play God with a being that could outlive us, outthink us and might not have our best interests at heart.” She had taken his grand vision and followed it to its most terrifying conclusion. It wasn’t a refusal based on profit, but on survival.