Chapter 6.1

"C-Commander? Commander Boyle?" Marek stammered. Even though the room was illuminated by no more than starlight, Boyle was clearly visible. He seemed almost to radiate light.

Boyle spoke into his hands. "Excellent. I'm glad to see that this..." He paused, examining his outstretched fingers, "is consistent."

Gareth Boyle's eyes traced the single red line that marked both his rank and the left sleeve of his grey League jacket. His uniform was as immaculately maintained as Marek remembered from training. Despite an active position instructing recruits in basic maneuvers within the lower atmosphere, his clothing was always suspicious pressed. The only wrinkles one ever discovered on Gargoyle, as he was affectionately known, were located on his face.

Gargoyle turned his beady eyes upon Marek, a smirk creeping across his ashen pallor. His unnaturally large mouth gave him an even more ghastly appearance, as if he was poised to devour a side of his own face.

"I usually have to go through many rounds of refinements..." Gargoyle revolved his smirk up and to the left, away from Marek, keeping one of his narrowed eyes focused on him, "to achieve this level of clarity". Gargoyle pressed his hand against his neck, and a popping noise resounded through the silent room. He turned his face back upon Marek, the smirk replaced with a frown. "The others... The vapid fools can't even see their own hands while looking directly at them."

Marek stared silently at Gargoyle. Something about the man seemed... wrong. He seems too young. Gargoyle grinned, his mouth a grave of teeth, as white as polished bone. Marek blinked. Why were they so bright? A flush of warmth suffused Marek's face. His eyes drifted back across Gargoyle. Something was different. More dull. And was it his imagination or did the man seem older? Was there grey in his hair before?

"Well, no memory is perfect. But it is refreshing to create something so..." Gargoyle brushed a colony of lint off of his collar, "lifelike." As Marek stared, Gargoyle seemed to darken. Could he see stars in his face? Gargoyle's smile dissolved. "Well, within the limitations of technology."

Marek puzzled. Was this an electronic transmission? It would explain why he hadn't noticed anyone else in the room with him. Marek struggled to frame a question. "Commander...?"

"Gargoyle? Isn't that your name for me?" Gargoyle leaped into a snarl, baring his teeth, and burying his eyes in lines of clenched muscle. He threw his hands up into the air, penting his hands into claws, and a low growl escaped his lips.

Marek jumped in place, the helmet and chair restraining him. And Gargoyle vanished. Marek paused to take a deep breath. Just a transmission, he told himself. He stiffened, pressing his back into the chair. "N-no," he stumbled, his voice growing in power. "No sir! Or course not, sir!"

A low whine grew in intensity behind him, began to warble, and exploded into a sound of cackling laughter, which died into a hiss of static. Gargoyle's voice, singed with a crackle, emerged from the ashes. "Haven't you figured it out yet?" Gareth Boyle, dressed in a ceremonial blue suit reserved for affairs of state, emerged before him. He ran his hand, now enclosed in an iridescent white skin, down the line of his sleeve, his eyes rapt upon the shifting ripples of blue light dancing across his glove. The sharp black beads of his eyes pierced Marek, a large frown overwhelming his face. "No, of course not. Your memory may be strong, but the rest of your mind..." Gargoyle rolled his eyes.

"I'm an A.I." He paused, examining Marek. But all Marek could do was blink. Gargoyle opened his mouth as if to swallow him, before choking on a laugh, his teeth jarring up and down, mauling the air. He closed his mouth with a whine and a cough. Gargoyle grinned and tilted his head to regard Marek with a single eye. "Artificial intelligence," he continued. He held up a hand to his face, shifting it back and forth in the light of the stars, causing blue waves to rise and fall across its surface. "Though there is nothing artificial about it."

An A.I.? So that's what this is. Marek sat in silence, his eyes drifting back into his head. No one ever said anything about-

Gargoyle's voice cut through his thoughts. "Ah, you've heard of my kind." Marek looked out again, meeting the projected eyes of his former instructor. "You saw my symbol when you came in." Gargoyle, or whoever he - or it was - gestured to the console. Marek followed the line of his hand to the screen. The center of the display was filled with a single word, Eye, and in the bottom right corner sat the symbol, blinking. Gargoyle's voice emerged from the console, seemingly from the symbol itself. "You can call me Eye," it said.

Gargoyle's voice returned to his projection. "Or Gargoyle. I realize that this is hard for your... types." Gargoyle lowered his head, shaking it back and forth. He stopped in mid-motion and turned his head up, narrowing his eyes, a smirk eating into his face. "In fact, you can call me whatever you like." He disappeared.

And in his place, immediately in front of Marek, appeared a woman. She was tall, with long auburn hair, and a flowing translucent white silk gown hugging close to the curves of her hourglass figure. Her large green eyes matched her painted forest green lips and the verdant crescent tattoo on her forehead that marked her lunar origin. Marek had seen her in the one of the holovid broadcasts; it was some minor role, but it was unusual enough to see a Luner onscreen that Marek had noted her. She placed her hand on his thigh, a smoldering look in her eyes and the faint hint of a smile on her lips. A pulse of warmth entered his leg. He felt himself shift. She spoke, but her voice was a rasp. It was wrong. "As long as you call me". It was Gargoyle's voice. She - he - it winked, and then disappeared. Marek shuddered. Get through it, Marek. You can do it.

Gargoyle re-appeared immediately in front of him, still attired in his blue formal uniform with the white gloves. A grin crawled across his face. "I don't suppose you would have seen the likes of me before."

Marek shook his head. Definitely nothing like you. A bead of sweat shifted, and ran down his forehead. The room was getting very warm.

"No, of course you haven't." Gargoyle leaned closer to Marek; he could almost feel the warmth of his breath, except that he wasn't breathing, was he? Gargoyle looked to his left and to his right. He lowered his voice to a whisper. "I'm somewhat of a secret around here." The image flickered. A wave of warmth washed over Marek's face. And Gargoyle's hand materialized, extended upwards, one finger pressed to his enormous puckered lips. "Shhhh!", he hissed. Gargoyle threw his hands to his side, thrust up his chin, and began to cackle. The image dissolved, but the disembodied voice continued to laugh in Marek's face, emanating from where the image had been.

Once again in his grey uniform, Gargoyle re-appeared a dozen meters from Marek. Yet the laughter continued. Gargoyle raised his hand, and with a smirk on his face, began to turn his fingers around an imaginary dial. The laughter receded, dimming to a whisper, to a buzz, and finally to silence.

He lowered his hand and began to speak. But no sound emerged. He raised his hand to his throat and produced a silent cough. Gargoyle raised a single eyebrow. He brought a hand up to scratch his chin. This is the test? A poor comedy act?

Gargoyle mouthed his recognition, Ah. He raised his hand and turned up the imaginary dial. "MUCH BETTER!" His voice bellowed through the room, causing Marek to throw his hands up to his ears, having forgotten that the helmet prevented his hands from reaching them.

A half-sized smile on face, still larger than a smile of anyone who wasn't Gargoyle, he turned the dial down once more. His voice back to normal intensity, he continued. "Sorry about that."