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“Oh!” Cordelia’s breath caught in a sob. “It was there for a moment. I
couldn’t grab anything, but I saw it.”
So much of the AI’s experience was translated for laypeople like Rava’s
family that it seemed almost surreal to have to convert back to machine
terms. “You have a short?”
“Yes. That seems likely.”
Rava sat with her hand on the cable for a moment longer, weighing
possibilities.
Ludoviko said, “It might be the transmitter.”
Cordelia shook her head. “No, because it did register for that moment. I
believe the socket is cracked. Replacing that should be simple.”
Rava barked a laugh. “Simple does not include an understanding of how
snug your innards are.” The thought of trying to fit a voltmeter into the
narrow opening filled her with dread. “Want to place bets on how long
before we hear from Uncle Georgo wondering why you’re down?”
Cordelia sniffed. “I’m not down. I’m simply sequestered.”
Pulling her hand out, Rava massaged blood back into it. “So . . . the
hundred credit question is . . . do you have a new socket in storage?”
She unplugged the camera and leaned back to study Cordelia.
The AI’s face was rendered pale. “I . . . I don’t remember.”
LE PORTRAIT MAGAZINE
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