Appetence

Archive Log: 05

Although coexisting and spending time together was something which Weyland was all for; because like people, being around others bought comfort, belonging and friendship, it was the same here. Being together meant that both David and Minerva could learn together, and from each other. She had been awake and aware longer than him, but David had much more experience programmed into him than she ever did. Together they could teach and learn, like children going to school, what was right, wrong, how to solve a problem and how to properly communicate with others.

But there was also a problem, Weyland found, with Minerva now having freedom from her room, and that problem was them being inseparable. It was a little disconcerting, walking into a room and both of them suddenly turning and staring up at him. It wasn't like being looked at by another human, their eyes stared, blue and unblinking, as if they knew something he was none the wiser to. Weyland had no idea what they did when he didn't need either, specifically David for work purposes. Most times he heard Minerva reading to David, other times he would catch David playing the piano to Minerva. They found enjoyment in the little things, it seems. But over the few days that David had been awake, and she had got released from the machinery in her room, they were definitely sticking close together.

Friendship wasn't something Weyland was ignorant to, rather it was something which was a rarity in his life and he didn't presume to even think that either of his creations would dabble in this. A small part of him did think that they would stay clear, he didn't know why. Only because they were similar, didn't necessarily mean they would get along. He was still sceptical about it, but what more harm could be done? David had already told Minerva of what she truly was. Weyland was just thankful that neither had chased up for more answers on that.

Little did he actually know that they had done their own investigating. The truth to the matter didn't exactly sit well with Minerva, David seemed to disagree with why he existed, but at least he had a purpose. To live? How was that a purpose? Was Minerva meant to live a lie of a life which wasn't even hers? When she truly thought about it, any thoughts and memories which were programmed in, and they were that, they weren't hers. They were Weyland's memories of the daughter he lost, memories of moments which involved the pair of them. Minerva had no memories where it was just her and someone else, her and Meredith, nothing. She was to live a lie of a life and be the daughter which he had lost. It seemed sick, really. And sad, she pitied Weyland, the inability to let go. Everything died, everything expired and passed on, that was life for all things mortal.

"Woe, destruction, ruin and decay; The worst is death, and death will have his day."

"Richard II," David said, he watched as Minerva turned from the window. It was raining, and she had never seen the rain before really, the weather always seemed so sunny. She watched it come down from dark grey clouds, the drops landed heavily against the window and she watched as they made tracks down the pane of glass. "Act III, scene two, line one hundred and two." David moved silently into the room. "What has you thinking of death?"

"I was thinking...it's sad, that father has made me to pick up a life that I do not know. It is sad that he will die, and I will continue, with you. What are we to do? Are we to stay here, David? Or are we to help with the company?"

"I am to be reproduced." David explained, Minerva looked at him oddly. He raised an eyebrow with a smirk, "There are others already."

"More than one David?"

"Indeed."

"But...there's only one like you, at the moment?"

"That is correct."

"So what are the others like?" Minerva asked curiously, David looked out at the bleak landscape and shrugged. He honestly didn't know, he hadn't left this house, he hadn't met anyone else other than Weyland and Minerva. He hadn't crossed paths with another synthetic, not like himself; in the sense of being a male and sharing his mannerisms and appearance. "You're not one of a kind then." Minerva's statement caused him to frown and look at her. "Just saying...you're a production line."