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You find yourself in a place.

This place, in fact, is somehow, inexplicably, a reflection of your own mind.

There are a few doors scattered around. They don't belong—they are styled to belong to other places. Stepping through the doors lets you visit the places like this that belong to the people you know.

What do you do?

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She almost wanted to smile, too-raw for her own liking after even a sip of Spice. Motoko folded her arms and explained curtly, "It's also a term denoting the fact that I'm currently accessing a brain not my own. Usually it's applied towards computers."

Sheeana's expression was pleasured, fraught with the sensation of taste. The newness and vulnerability of such an emotion had caught Motoko off guard, "I guess I should just be grateful I can still feel this way."

"I am not a computer. But since you are in my internal landscape, it does make sense that you obey the physical laws of my universe."

Sheeana watched her reactions with interest. She had wondered what Motoko would feel, how much. It reminded her too much of Leto 2, that deadening of human nerves and surrender to something alien. Obviously the Agent didn't think of it that way, but Sheeana found herself almost pitying her. And here she could awaken something within the other woman. She saw no reason not to see if melange could help her more. "Then you are more than the thing that encases you. In fact, with less body to saturate, Spice should effect you much more powerfully. Not that I suggest it, but with time and training I could awaken Other Memory within you too."

"There's a few flaws in your theory, but you're probably right about the amount," She replied, dispassionately. Spice's flavor may have come to her, but it's presence would never touch her brain, if all her filters and mechanisms had anything to do with it. It wasn't easy for someone to tell their stomach to simply pass on whatever they were having without absorbing any of it, but the Major had an intimate connection and the software complied willingly under her command. It was an irrational revulsion...but it was human.

Pity? Motoko would not thank you for it, Sheeana, "Just as well, I don't intend to make a habit of letting just anyone into my brain."

She sipped her mug, projecting a sagaciousness far older than her 17 years. It should be noted by all involved that Sheeana had a tendency to condescend. It was a Bene Gesserit stereotype, but in this case, it completely applied to her. That she brought Motoko here as an equal (albeit as an equal that she doesn't want destroying her brainscape) says quite a bit.

"Does it repulse you? Who do you let in then?" There are those who think Other Memory a form of possession. Ironically, the Sisters are the most zealous guardians against that, executing any new Reverend Mother who shows symptoms of what they call Abomination.

Who? Not even Batou, or Kuze or even Aramaki. There was only ever two people who had violated Motoko's barriers, and of those only one she had given permission to.

"Just one person," And said in that half-nostalgic tone it did seem like it had been a lover, "I'm not someone who lets others just waltz in and out of her cyberbrain like that. More often I'm the one in theirs. Personal preference aside, I'm in possession of a few choice military and political secrets. Unnecessarily risking a leak would probably mean losing my job."

But that threat was more than just livelihood. Mil-spec bodies were expensive and deadly— Motoko's belonged to the government of Japan, along with all her classified memories. If she lost her job, they'd take everything she'd seen or done for decades, and there'd be pitiful little left of her without the prosthesis or those memories. Quitting was one thing— you had warning and time to prepare. Being fired was something else entirely.

Edited 2009-11-08 14:34 (UTC)

And Sheeana did leap to that conclusion, opened her mouth to say something pithy. But she stopped mid-leap. This woman was complex and simple explanations would not work.

"I would be a hypocrite if I condemned you for that. Before the Tyrant gave us purpose, we Bene Gesserit had become little more than a society of secret collectors, like packrats in a Pharaoh's tomb."

"I've known my share of people like that," There is no condemnation in her voice, perhaps even some grudging seed of respect. It's easy to curl your lip at the rotund, shut-in data-miners surrounded by their discs and hard-drives, building a modern day hermit's hut out of the so-called wisdom of the Net.

Until you wanted something from them.

"The Tyrant?" Mild curiosity, too mild to be genuine colored that question.

Bene Gesserit are hardly otaku. That's more a Mentat thing.

"The Tyrant." There's an offer of information implicit in her tone if she wants it but she's not going to force it at her.

Conspirarcy theorists, mostly...but even they get things right once in a while.

"That's a fairly harsh title," prompting for that information as if prodding a bear awake; the trick was patience, and to not appear a threat, "Care to tell me why?"

She sure does! "It was accurate. That is not to be taken to imply a judgement, however." Slurrrp.

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