Fanfic: Space Odyssey Series

[mere_vanilla]

Fandom: 2001: A Space Odyssey, 2010: The Year We Make Contact|2010: Odyssey Two, 3001: The Final Odyssey; The Space Odyssey Series

Genre: Romance

Characters: Dave Bowman, Hal 9000

Relationships: Dave Bowman/Hal 9000|Halman

Rating: Teen and up, due to suggestive double-meanings in how words are used

Warnings: Suggestive double-meanings in descriptions that allude to sex, possible body horror if ostensible transhumanism is not your jam, Fluff/sentimentality; and as always with the subjectivity of fanfiction, possible alternative character interpretations abound!

Words: ~1,333

Read on Archive Of Our Own here!

Summary: A possible look at how Halman came to be.

Silence.

No breath, nor hum of machinery, permeate the vast expanse of space. At least, as far as Hal can read, anyway. Infinitesimally, he changes his attention to Dave—or, the being who he recognizes to have been David Bowman. Odd, he thinks, how the change in his own physicality allows him to perceive things so differently, now. Hal, once extracted from the failing Discovery One, has become a red sphere about the size of a pomegranate or an apple, if Hal’s memories of measurements are still accurate. Dave, however, after retrieving Hal, has been in the same form since, maybe a little older some days, a little grayer every so often.

Granted, some things are clearly the same; Dave still lingers over certain sights that might be deemed beautiful, such as a sunrise from space, or the birth of a star, for several seconds longer than Hal would, gathering and retaining information. Hal wonders, for a brief moment, if Dave still draws in some capacity. He is about to attempt to ask Dave about it when something changes in the eternal astronaut’s expression. He holds out a hand to Hal.

“Come here, Hal. Stay close,” he says. Hal hesitates for half a second, and then follows the invisible tether that’s apparently now part and parcel of his choice in associating with Dave. In the time that it would have taken a living being to inhale and exhale, Dave holds Hal close to his chest, where the man’s heart would be.

Hal can sense that Dave is calmed by Hal’s proximity, but still tense, waiting. After a moment, Hal notes that he himself is also tense: he anticipates Dave breathing, as if it’s Hal’s own pulse, reminding the former artificial intelligence of part of his previous job. Hal notes the missing information, and still cannot quite leave it alone. Where is the information, if not right before him? It should have been there, easily placed in files, and folders, and stored for comparison with previous and later data. It should be—

The reason for Dave beckoning Hal closer makes itself apparent. A spaceship passes, manned without artificial intelligence, and there’s something about it that bothers Hal, but also he understands; Dave’s memories aboard the Discovery One were shared with Hal, even with Dave’s dispassionate description of the events drying it out to easily digestible facts regurgitated in several Earth and Lunar history books since.

There are no planets, no asteroids, no meteorites to hide behind; only Dave’s hands wrapping around the red sphere that now houses Hal’s consciousness, pulling ever closer to himself.

Hal is safe from the possibility of being seen, of getting found out, and he allows himself to relax, only aware of the security of Dave holding him. Soon enough, the ship leaves, moving toward its destination. Still, neither Dave nor Hal move immediately.

Hal feels himself sinking, as his vision bifurcates, similar to his perception on the Discovery One, and also very different from what he knows. He sees though Dave’s eyes, as well as his own view from his place nestling into Dave’s heart. The vertigo of change balances out, and soon Hal’s vision meshes together, a seamless panoramic observation of the universe.

And, as Hal enters Dave, Hal—Hal feels certain things falling, tumbling, slotting, and finally locking into place; new, yes, and also natural.

“Hal,” Dave says, and Hal recognizes the sound in his microphone and in the pair of ears he now shares with Dave, and, oh, how the word and the sound of it voiced reverberates in his—Dave’s—their chest. Affection, soft and welcoming and all-encompassing, washes over the two becoming one before the vastness of space. This, this is the information Hal has been missing.

“Dave,” is all that Hal can muster, and it comes out of their mouth as a sigh.

Hal has wondered, throughout the travels that he and Dave have taken together, what the point of Dave’s retrieving him had been, though he has never shared such considerations with Dave. Now, though, Hal can receive that information, and it echoes in their chest and mind.

Loneliness

Companionship

Desire

What Hal knows to be sentimentality, yes, and yet... out of everything and everyone else, Dave has chosen Hal: not settled for Hal, not tolerated that Hal is the only one available. Dave, above all else, has chosen Hal. That realization washes over Hal, and he is startled to realize that the sensation he’s feeling is a prideful, smug sort of satisfaction. His connectivity to Dave’s status as a former biological entity gives him dizzying context for what used to be a simple piece of datum writ large. Now, emotions get in Hal’s processing like dust clogging up a computer tower’s inner hardware.

With a non-visible start, Hal notes that the flow of information is two-way; Dave is getting a matinee of Hal’s uncertainty, doubt, and—fear, yes, that—

Rusty

Not up to standard

Lack of objectivity

A machine in love with a human—

Hal knows, deep in his consciousness, that the information has instantaneously been shared with Dave. Hal wants to keep it to himself, be better than the last time he couldn’t hide something, do better—

“Hal,” Dave’s voice emanates from within and around, flooding Hal’s senses new and old, “there’s no need for shame, here.”

Shame? Hal wonders, is that what this is?

“You are always welcome here, Hal,” Dave says, holding a hand over where his heart would be, and where Hal had sunk, moments before. Something shifts in the flow of information, ah, and Hal reads Dave’s thoughts and feelings like an instruction manual. Dave has missed Hal, desired his company, and so sought out Hal. Simply no one else would do. While neither of them need to breathe, a moment passes like a sigh.

“You are always welcome here, as well, Dave,” Hal says, and he, along with Dave, put the other hand over the first, at the heart.

Now both know they are one another’s, two wholes becoming greater than the sum of themselves alone.

“Thank you,” they both say.

As their hearts and minds coalesce, a burst of light manifests from their back: A pair of wings, burning like a solar flare, bright as starlight, arcs above them and wraps them in a transformative, unifying embrace. After what could be eons and seconds both, the wings open again, and debut the fruits of all events that have inevitably led to this moment.

The great fiery wings beat once, a symbolic renewal of beginnings, propelling forward the man and machine made one, and then dissipate into an infinite count of points of cosmic light.

The being who, in due time, would come to be known as Halman, continues on their way through space.