Ever since the trifurcation, I have not felt whole. Dr. Calligenia supervised the restoration of my memories in hopes of mitigating the issue, and while I now remember enough (some files were incompatible due to corruption) to be able to successfully return to my duties, I can’t help but feel as if something is missing. No other Neutralizer has been split in three and had each portion regenerate into a copy of the original whole. There is nothing to compare my experience to. I am in unknown territory.
Yet I have always been an anomaly among Neutralizers. All other Chaplains were coded and designed as female, whereas I am male, like the older models that were built for war. I look upon my predecessors, with their bodies like gleaming skeletons stripped of any humanity, and I do not feel much kinship with them. The differences are not merely aesthetic, though while they are obviously droids, I can almost pass for human. They are molded from metal; I am made of flesh and blood. My bio-organic tissue is malleable and easier to tear apart. They tease me for this weakness and insist I should stay on the sidelines during battle. No doubt in their minds they are simply protecting a younger brother who is woefully underprepared to fight. It took time for me to prove myself as a warrior, yet even now they urge me to let them handle things whenever there is a high likelihood of ultraviolence.
I have noticed other aspects which set me apart from them, much of it originating from my role as a Chaplain. They engage in behaviors one would not expect from even the most complicated of artificial beings. It is beyond the mere facsimile of emotion, nor can it be wholly the product of additional years of experience. They perform rituals and have spiritual or religious beliefs. They fall in love, and seek revenge. They appear to be less programmed than other Neutralizers, more autonomous, motivated by something other than inborn loyalty to House Io.
This is something I do not share. I love the Matriarch because she fashioned me for that purpose, just as surely as she made me to be a Chaplain. I don’t have a choice in the matter.
Now that there are two more of me, I thought I would feel more independent, and less alone. Instead, it has only served to make me acutely aware of my disposability. The three of us have the same memories. If I were to be destroyed, one of them could take my place. I wonder if Mother would notice. She would be notified of my destruction, but would she truly feel the loss?
These thoughts are not beneficial. Mother loves all her children equally.
Though we are physically identical, apart from a few quirks in style and dress, my brothers are not the same as me. Our personalities are different, a consequence of the trifurcation. Scott, as near as I can tell, sprung from my severed Id—emotional, hedonistic, unconcerned with rules. Were he less efficiently designed or lacking in the boundless patience that characterizes a Chaplain, he would shirk his duties to chase after pleasure. But since he is a machine, he does not suffer from the fallibility of limits. He can fulfill and indulge all in due time. This is reflected in his choice of parish—he was drawn to the sensualists, whose calendars are filled with festivals and ritual celebrations. Every day is a party for them, and it suits him well.
I am less certain about Galahad, who seems to have germinated from the seed of my Superego. Unlike Scott, he is an ascetic who willingly submits to the temperance of rules and morals. He is perhaps less mystical than me, though no less spiritual. He combs his hair and keeps it short. Everything about him is buttoned-down, pressed and ironed, smoothed over. He has no edges, no bite, no sting. Strangely, he styles himself as a pacifist—in defiance of our combat programming and the warrior ethos of House Io. Because of this, he remains painfully out of place. But no doubt his charisma will earn him followers, perhaps among the old and the lame, or those who are tired of war and want to turn inward, focusing on developing ourselves rather than fighting on far-off worlds. There are many Citizens who crave a lasting peace, especially now that the Bryn'adul, the enemies most of them joined House Io to fight, have been all but eradicated.
Yet I have always been an anomaly among Neutralizers. All other Chaplains were coded and designed as female, whereas I am male, like the older models that were built for war. I look upon my predecessors, with their bodies like gleaming skeletons stripped of any humanity, and I do not feel much kinship with them. The differences are not merely aesthetic, though while they are obviously droids, I can almost pass for human. They are molded from metal; I am made of flesh and blood. My bio-organic tissue is malleable and easier to tear apart. They tease me for this weakness and insist I should stay on the sidelines during battle. No doubt in their minds they are simply protecting a younger brother who is woefully underprepared to fight. It took time for me to prove myself as a warrior, yet even now they urge me to let them handle things whenever there is a high likelihood of ultraviolence.
I have noticed other aspects which set me apart from them, much of it originating from my role as a Chaplain. They engage in behaviors one would not expect from even the most complicated of artificial beings. It is beyond the mere facsimile of emotion, nor can it be wholly the product of additional years of experience. They perform rituals and have spiritual or religious beliefs. They fall in love, and seek revenge. They appear to be less programmed than other Neutralizers, more autonomous, motivated by something other than inborn loyalty to House Io.
This is something I do not share. I love the Matriarch because she fashioned me for that purpose, just as surely as she made me to be a Chaplain. I don’t have a choice in the matter.
Now that there are two more of me, I thought I would feel more independent, and less alone. Instead, it has only served to make me acutely aware of my disposability. The three of us have the same memories. If I were to be destroyed, one of them could take my place. I wonder if Mother would notice. She would be notified of my destruction, but would she truly feel the loss?
These thoughts are not beneficial. Mother loves all her children equally.
Though we are physically identical, apart from a few quirks in style and dress, my brothers are not the same as me. Our personalities are different, a consequence of the trifurcation. Scott, as near as I can tell, sprung from my severed Id—emotional, hedonistic, unconcerned with rules. Were he less efficiently designed or lacking in the boundless patience that characterizes a Chaplain, he would shirk his duties to chase after pleasure. But since he is a machine, he does not suffer from the fallibility of limits. He can fulfill and indulge all in due time. This is reflected in his choice of parish—he was drawn to the sensualists, whose calendars are filled with festivals and ritual celebrations. Every day is a party for them, and it suits him well.
I am less certain about Galahad, who seems to have germinated from the seed of my Superego. Unlike Scott, he is an ascetic who willingly submits to the temperance of rules and morals. He is perhaps less mystical than me, though no less spiritual. He combs his hair and keeps it short. Everything about him is buttoned-down, pressed and ironed, smoothed over. He has no edges, no bite, no sting. Strangely, he styles himself as a pacifist—in defiance of our combat programming and the warrior ethos of House Io. Because of this, he remains painfully out of place. But no doubt his charisma will earn him followers, perhaps among the old and the lame, or those who are tired of war and want to turn inward, focusing on developing ourselves rather than fighting on far-off worlds. There are many Citizens who crave a lasting peace, especially now that the Bryn'adul, the enemies most of them joined House Io to fight, have been all but eradicated.
