"I'm sorry, Amy." Dr Singh's voice emitted from a speaker embedded in some surface of the room. "We'll figure out what do with you, soon."
Figuring out what to do with Amy apparently meant keeping her in the Cuddlebug indefinitely, and introducing her to other members of the team one at a time: Dr Casaubon, the semiotician and natural language specialist from Italy; Dr Kamiyama, the vN API whiz from Tokyo; Dr Arminius, the failsafe expert on loan from MIT. They'd been granted emergency funds from DARPA, Dr Singh said, and their job was to write up a report on the situation from an independent perspective.
FEMA had assumed control of this portion of the campus. They were making it secure, so research could proceed with minimal risk to the surrounding community. The regular employees were furious, but they were "working closely" with Dr Singh and his team. Everyone on the team was visibly nervous, and all of them had the habit of politely introducing themselves to Amy, and then speaking to Dr Singh as though she were no longer in the room. They dressed casually. With the exception of Dr Kamiyama, they were never without a thermal mug of coffee. Over the next two days, they visited her at irregular intervals. Amy sensed that they kept odd hours, and were constantly busy. They didn't look like they had slept very much in the last little while.
Dr Arminius spent the most time with her, at first. She was in charge of verifying Amy's identity. She started out with questions only Amy could answer: things about her home, her family, her school.
"Are you checking these against my mom's answers?" Amy thought to ask, after the third question.
"Yes."
"Is my mom OK?"
"She's fine."
"When can I see her?"
"When we decide it's safe." She tilted her head. "The last time your mother and grandmother were in the same room together, your mother almost died. Do you want that to happen again?"
Dr Arminius was also in charge of assessing Amy's failsafe. She showed Amy a lot of violent content, the sort of stuff that usually came with a clockwork eye logo warning vN not to watch it. Amy hadn't watched any of it until now, she told the doctor. Her parents wouldn't let her.
"Were they afraid you would failsafe?" Dr Arminius asked.
"Of course!"
"So your failsafe worked properly until after you internalized Portia?"
Amy hadn't yet considered that particular question. If her failsafe were broken all that time, how would have she known? She had always stayed away from violence, or depictions of violence, until the night Portia arrived. Her parents had made certain of that. But when she remembered Javier's face staring at Harold, that empty-eyed joy, she wondered. She couldn't remember looking at a human being that way. Her mother had never looked at her father that way. And now Amy knew why.
Your mother was never in love with your father. She tolerated him, and she used him to give you a home. But your little family was all a lie.
Amy tried not to listen. She tried to answer as honestly as possible. "I think it was intact. I didn't hurt anybody. You can check my school records."
Dr Arminius smiled. "I already have. But whether or not you reacted aggressively isn't what concerns me. What concerns me is whether you see violence as a solution to a problem."
Amy thought of Harold, and the way his wrists had trembled in her hands. She hadn't wanted to hurt him. Not really. At least, she wouldn't have enjoyed it. "Violence never solves anything."
"Are you saying that because you think it's true, or because it's what you learned in school?"
"Why would they teach it in school if it weren't true?"
Dr Arminius smoothed her reader across her knee. She was a tall, angular woman with pronounced freckles and sooty lashes. She wore canvas shoes the colour of cream cheese mints. "You seem like a smart girl, Amy. Would you use that word to describe yourself?"
"I'm smart compared to the human kids in my class," Amy said. "I'm not sure how I compare to other vN."
If you were smart, you wouldn't be here.
"Is something bothering you?"
"Portia says that if I were smart, I wouldn't have let myself get caught."
"Is Portia smart?"
Amy frowned at her tone. She sounded a lot like Mrs Pratt did when they did a whole lesson on imaginary friends. And Portia was neither imaginary nor a friend. "I don't know," she said. "I think she thinks she is. But I don't think she knows how to build anything, or how to live with other people."
I don't need other people. I don't even need Charlotte, any more. And all I need you for is this body.