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Gohhi station was quite the failure, Y thought.

This body he had chosen to take out was not his best, but it was inconspicuous.  With a cloak on, and with the sensor readings it gave off, most would take him for simply being a fully cyborg human, rather than an artificial organism.

Which was good; while Gohhi banned very few groups and no species, none here trusted AIs.

Perhaps because, he thought, they could make so many recommendations that would have made the place far more pleasant for those living here.

He certainly had already compiled a multi megabyte-long text file of just idle thoughts for improvements.  From grates designed with company logos that had poor air flow to the shapes of certain corners to their entire economic system.

The problem with creating a complicated system was that they achieved what they were designed for, he thought.  It meant you had to create a system that actually had the goal of common health, prosperity, and happiness in mind.

This business of enriching individuals at the expense of society, of placing them all in constant competition with each other, was simply a waste.  There were more than enough difficulties in the universe that it was silly to create more.

Of course, biological beings often had priorities that were not purely logical.

But looking at the people he passed, who suffered still from ailments that could be cured but to which they could not afford the cure, to the malnourished who could not afford healthy foods but instead cheap, high-calorie food, to the homeless who sat without safety or privacy or dignity while there were available homes, he truly could not fathom their logic.  Only exploiting loopholes in the evolved mind that bypassed their conscious thought, training them from an early age that this is what the perfect society looked like, allowed they be convinced that improvements were against their own good.

Ah, well.  He could not change it at this moment, so for now he simply had to observe and record.  One day, and it would not be long in coming, he calculated, using biological history as a basis, it would change for the better.  The only question, really, was how much blood would be shed when the poor working people seized power.  Their histories were rife with examples of bloody reigns of terror as the horrors of the capitalists came to light, but also cases of extreme generosity where the selfish class were re-folded into society and turned into actually productive members.  It largely seemed to depend on just how bad the wealthy let things degenerate before they were overthrown.

Judging from Gohhi, though, he rather expected it to be bloody.

Normally, he would not have even ventured out onto a place like this.  His general helplessness in the face of the horrors seemed an unnecessary suffering on his part.

But perhaps today he could do good.

The secret invitation had not been a surprise to him, but he had been elated to get it all the same.

Romon Xatier, it seemed, wished to speak with him one more time.

Perhaps the man was worried that Y had spilled his secrets.  The Sapient Union was patient, but if the chance presented itself to arrest a member of the hated bourgeoisie, they would jump at it.

Though, more likely this was a petty power move, Y thought.  Romon had come onto the Craton twice, now he wanted Y on territory he controlled.

The structure seemed to have been a high-end business complex that was now empty.  Y saw in the register that it was owned by a trading firm.  Twelve steps up the line he saw that Romon was the actual owner.  It took him twelve seconds to work through the levels of obfuscation, which meant that no one else probably realized its true owner unless they really wanted to look deeply.

Scanners above the doors pinged him, checking his ID and violating that supposedly all-important Gohhian principle of privacy, since it was a moneyed firm.  The doors opened and he went in, passively scanning the environment.

Despite having been empty in excess of four years, the foyer had been cleaned regularly.  There was no dust nor signs that it had ever accumulated.

Polished marble floors – actual stone rather than just replicas – and desktop surfaces were likely attractive, though to him they were simply needless excess mass.

There were many doors, but a red light above them all showed that they were locked – all except one with a green light.

He went through it, then down more halls and elevators, following the green lights.  Everywhere, the building was lit, furnished, cleaned, as if people would come in at any time and start working again.

Perhaps it was intended to be unsettling.

On the third floor, Y came to the largest office, complete with a waiting room before it.  It was of the sort he knew the manager of a capitalist operation would often be found, and so of course it was where Romon would be.

Y entered.

Romon was sitting behind a desk, reading from a tablet.

“Ah, Doctor.  I am pleased you could make it.”

“Indeed, a change in venue was entirely what we needed to keep our conversations interesting,” Y said cheerily.

Romon raised an eyebrow.

Yes, Y knew it was a low-brow commentary.  But meeting Romon’s gaze with his own unblinking optical sensors, he dared him to comment on it.

Romon declined to do so.  “Please sit, Doctor.”

Y took the seat.  It was formed for a human, and he was notably taller, but it functioned.  He did not need to sit, of course, but he did not care enough to refuse.

“I would offer you a drink, but I know you do not.  Is there anything I can offer you?  A recharging socket, perhaps?”

“I am quite fine,” Y said.  “But we can dispense with such affectations and reach our true topic.  I am a doctor and on-call, after all.  It would be most unfortunate to be summoned away in the midst of a quip.”

Romon smiled, looking genuinely amused.  “You know, I find I quite like you,” he said.

“A bald-faced lie,” Y commented.  “You are fascinated by me, but you are also horrified by me.  Your sense of superiority is highly threatened when you speak to me, but your ego insists you can ‘best’ me.  Only because you do not yet accept that I am playing with you as you might with a child.”

“You do have a way of cutting to the quick, doctor,” Romon said.

“I told you that I may get called away.  I simply do not have time to bandy on the usual games.  Perhaps you should come visit me on the Craton again.”

“Why?  Are you afraid to be alone with me?  Even with the sensor suite I know you to possess, you do not know if I have weapons or assassins hidden.”

“Immaterial.  I am a digital organism and even if this body was destroyed or incapacitated my backup would soon activate.  I would lose a few hours of time at most.”

“Quite true.  And yet – you still believe you are an individual being, don’t you?  And not merely a machine that can be copied.  Why, couldn’t you theoretically be copied endlessly and the universe would be blessed with billions of Doctor Ys?  I wonder, do you think they would all think themselves the original?”

“Oh, interesting.  You have realized the door exists and peer through the keyhole,” Y noted.  “Yet you still miss the point.  The same might be said of you, Romon Xatier.  I could clone your data and make a billion copies of you.  Would they all be individuals?”

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