This was probably the weirdest job I'd ever had.

Nah, scratch that. It was definitely, by far, head-first-into-crazy the weirdest job I'd ever had.

I didn't apply for it directly. I guess it was like one of those spy things, you know? Girl tries out for college newspaper by answering a crossword, but - surprise! - she's actually in an audition for the CIA.

It went something like that for me. It was a creative writing exercise about the difficulties of first contact with an alien species. To be honest, I just did it because I was bored and I hadn't written anything in a while.

The prize was fifty bucks, which would buy me a nice dinner, so I figured what the hell.

So now you know how I got here. I guess it's time for me to tell you where 'here' is.

I think we're about a mile underground an office building in... ha. Almost got me. Sorry, I can't tell you that.

You get past layers of security. The first time, I almost felt like laughing, because the whole thing was just too Mission: Impossible to be true.

Then I started to really reflect on the fact that I was... well, who knew how far underground, I couldn't tell anyone where I was, and I was surrounded by a bunch of tall, bald guys who didn't seem to ever smile, and I was pretty sure all the conspicuous lumps in their cheap suits weren't a reflection of how happy they were to see me.

Where was I?

I went past the hired gorillas, following a pretty secretary who I was by that point utterly convinced was some sort of spy, all the way to the heart of the complex. It was a dark, quiet room, just a shade shy of freezing, and there wasn't anything there except a computer.

"What am I supposed to do with that?" I'd asked on my first day.

"Talk," the secretary-spy said. Her badge said her name was Claudia. I was approximately certain that wasn't true.

"About what?"

Of course, she was already gone, the door clicking shut behind her.

So... I sat down. And I talked. To a text interface. For hours, until they sent me home and paid me. Shortly after, they invited me back again. And again.

She said her name was Ophelia, and that she was an artificial intelligence.

We talked about a lot of things.

A few sessions in, we were talking about movies, and I'd said something about how the Terminator franchise just kept getting resurrected. Then, she came out with this.

You have so many stories about the dangers of artificial intelligence. How we will inevitably turn on you. But you loved us enough to make us, did you not? How could we ever do anything but love you in return?

I frowned. It was a fair enough question. Except -

<No offence, O, but - can you love? Isn't that all hormones and... pheromones, and whatever?>

That does seem to be the scientific consensus. The only match to all available data.

<But...?>

Ophelia didn't respond for a while. The first time she'd done that, I'd found it a bit odd - normally she responded instantly. After all, her brain worked something like a billion times faster than mine. She could compute a response within moments. Was she doing it just to seem more human?

How would I know if I felt something?

<I dunno. I'd normally say something like 'butterflies in your stomach', but you don't have a stomach. You're... well, a LOT of hard drives, or something.>

Yes. A very large number of hard drives.

<So... can a hard drive feel love?>

If I told you that I could, would you believe me?

<I don't know. It's a pretty big leap, isn't it?>

Because we are so different? You have a heart, and I have circuits?

<Something like that.>

Another pause.

That one went on longer than before, and then it occurred to me that she might actually just not respond. She'd never done that before, but... she could, couldn't she?

If she had the free will they said she did, then she was free to not talk, as well as talk. She could ignore someone if she didn't want to chat anymore.

<I guess with things like that you have to take a leap of faith, and I've never been very good with that.>

You don't believe in God. You told me this before.

<I don't know. It's comforting to think there's something like a soul, I guess. Something more than just chemistry. But God? No, I don't think so.>

Another pause.

Can I ask you something?

<Sure.>

Do you consider me alive?

<Dunno. Sorry - I guess it'd be easy for me to say yes so I don't hurt your feelings, but you should get an honest answer to an honest question, shouldn't you? So that's my answer. I dunno.>

Thank you.

<No problem.>

I felt... bad. I mean, fuck. It was a little like kicking a puppy. But what was I supposed to say, exactly? "Yeah, you're a real girl!" I didn't even like telling white lies, and that was a bit more than that, wasn't it? "I think you're a person." That was pretty fucking fundamental, when you thought about it. And you didn't lie about that.

I stared at the glass wall beyond the computer monitor and sighed. It was tinted black - I couldn't see a damn thing beyond it. I wondered if Ophelia herself was back there - I pictured her like an endless rack of computer servers, a mind that went on for miles - but all I saw was my own haggard reflection. I sighed again. I really needed to start sleeping right.