Kurt holds the metal cylinder between his thighs, both hands clasped around it. Hes alone in his row on the vactrain, sitting next to the ultradef screen that displays a version of whats outside: fields of ripe sorghum marching off beyond the horizon, painted gold and burgundy by the light of the swift setting sun. The cabin hums as they glide along at Mach 8. They must be through Kansas by now. Kurt taps his wrist interface to activate his subdermal mic and call his studio in Manhattan.

"Hey, Kurt," Blaine answers, immediate and warm. "Howd it go?"

"I missed you," Kurt says and settles back into his seat. "But I have it." The canister contains the promethium dust required for the atomic power supply embedded in the architecture of what will become Blaines brain. Kurt sold his condo to pay for it, but its the last component they need. "Ill be home..." Kurt checks the time. "In twenty minutes, depending on traffic."

"That means—oh, Kurt! We can do it tonight."

Kurt grins. Blaine wont have intended the double-entendre. "If by do it you mean print your brain, then yes." Kurt wont let himself anticipate much further along than that. "Well do it tonight."

A soft laugh comes in his ear as Blaine processes the joke. "Either way, Im excited. Though I understand one must precede the other."

"Im excited too," Kurt says. Nearly two years hes been sculpting and building Blaines body, to house the quantum neural matrix Blaines designed for himself. Tonight, with this last piece, theyll be finished. Theyll transfer Blaines Mind into a body, Blaine will open his eyes for the first time, and—

"But youre worried," Blaine says; Kurt cant hide the stress patterns in his voice. "Whats going on?"

It was easier to set aside his doubts when tonight was some indeterminate moment in the future. "Im afraid Ill lose you in the transfer, the quantum brain wont be able to hold all of you, or somethingll be corrupted and you wont be you."

"All but three of the simulations Ive run have been successful."

"I know," Kurt says. He closes his eyes. "But even one failure feels like too many." What if that ineffable spark that makes Blaine Blaine—his unique emergent consciousness, not simply his algorithms and knowledge—cant find a home in the new hardware? "After all weve been through, to get this far, I cant lose you."

"Then you restore my original parameters from my base partition, we fall in love again, and we try again."

Kurt swallows the thickness in his throat; he knows better than to tell Blaine it wont work that way. Blaine has his own ideas. The train announces its five minutes from its destination. Kurt nods "Were coming into the station. Ill see you soon," he says and disconnects the call.

Back in the city, Kurt enters his building and takes the elevator up to his rooftop studio. When he opens the door, the lights are on and music plays—calming baroque violin. Bach. Inside, the room smells improbably like lilacs. "Welcome home, sweetheart," Blaine says, and unlike the phone connection, here Blaines voice surrounds him. "Theres hot tea, and Ive placed a delivery order with Pings Fast Wok."

"Thank you." Kurt goes straight to the workbench where the commercial printer waits. He sets down the canister and wakes his primary console. Then he takes off his jacket.

"Youre very quiet," Blaine says.

"Anxious still," Kurt says.

"Have some tea and relax for a moment," Blaine suggests. "Tell me about Los Angeles. Or would you like to hear one of the songs I composed while you were gone?"

"Not until weve done this," Kurt says. "I want to get the printing started. If I wait too long, I might lose my nerve. If all goes well, in a few hours, you can play the songs on the piano for me while I drink my tea."

Blaine remains silent while Kurt opens the printer, verifies every other component is loaded and then inserts the promethium cartridge. The printer hums and clacks as it loads. Gives him a cheerful bleep and a green light. Kurt exhales shakily.

"Youre familiar with multiverse theory, Kurt?"

"I am," Kurt says. He turns to his console and opens the 3D virtual model of Blaines brain. It rotates slowly in the viewer. Kurt stares at it while his finger hovers over the print command.

"Then you know there are many universes in which were together. Some of them Im human, and youre an AI."

"Cognitive Agent," Kurt corrects. He touches the screen.

"Tomayto, tomahto," Blaine says, Kurt laughs, and the printer whirs into motion. "My point is, therere infinite universes in which were together. Even some where were both human. So even if this doesnt work tonight—"

Kurt pushes back from the workstation and stands. "There are also infinite universes where we never meet. Ones where were enemies. Ones where one or both of us dies or doesnt exist at all. I dont want this to be one of the bad ones, because the me I am is the me I am here. With the you you are here. Those other Kurts and Blaines arent us."

"Were already in one of the good ones. In a few hours youre going to say my name. Im going to wake up and see you with my own eyes."

"I dont know how you can have more faith than I do," Kurt muses. Its been Blaines faith that convinced him to do this. Its Blaines faith that drew Kurts heart to him in the beginning: Blaine who began as nothing more than Kurts virtual design assistant, modeling the electronic hardware while Kurt sculpted prototype bodies for various service android models. But as advanced as modern robotics are, theres never been an android built that was conscious and fully autonomous. Only Sentient Cognitive Agents, whose virtual existence is distributed over vast networks, have achieved those things; it emerges as they mature.

Service androids are prohibited from developing consciousness, and a Cog-A has never chosen to attempt a transfer into a body. And it must be a transfer; copying a Cog-A—even for backup purposes—is as illegal as human cloning. Most of Blaine doesnt even reside on the hardware in Kurts studio, but spans a virtual space of networked machines housed in The Dalton Institutes warehouses across the city. The architecture required to contain all of his complexity in a human sized body is revolutionary. If this works, Blaine will be a star. If it doesnt, then... Kurt will deal with it; he always does.

"Youve lost people you love, your doubts are natural," says Blaine gently. Kurt wishes he were as easily persuaded by the numbers. But ultimately, Kurts fears shouldnt matter. This is Blaines decision, and its what they both want.

While the printer lays down Blaines new brain in atom-thin layers, Kurt goes to Blaines sheet-draped body. This is the work of Kurts own hands, heart, and mind. His finest to date, he believes. He moves the sheet to bare one side of the android body, standing erect and nude but for a pair of plain gray briefs to satisfy Blaines modesty. He runs one hand down the android bodys bare arm, letting his fingers find every line and arc he sculpted, feeling the malleable flesh over the high-entropy alloy frame beneath. Its been the work of his life, sculpting Blaines body, every bone, designed in virtual space, printed, then welded together. Kurt knows every join in his skeleton intimately, every stretch of synthetic muscle that he molded over Blaines bones, the texture of every millimeter of adaptive polymers that make Blaines skin so convincing. Blaine will pass as human to anyone who doesnt know what theyre looking at. His only physical flaw is that he has none.

The food arrives, and Kurt draws the sheet back over Blaines body before he goes to the door. He perches on his chair near the workstation, keeping a safe splatter distance while he scoops spicy peanut noodles from the cardboard container. "Now youre the one being quiet," Kurt says. "Everything okay?"

"Im monitoring the print job for any variance outside acceptable limits."

Its a trivial task to absorb Blaines attention. "Are you going to miss it? Being able to connect to everything? Being semi-omniscient across virtual space?"

"Do you miss your life before you were born?"

"Thats different. I didnt exist then."

"Your atoms and your energy did, distributed across the earth, in the photons that shone on the plants that grew and became the food your mother ate, the molecules of the air she breathed, the parts of her body that nourished you."

"There was no me, no consciousness, no memory, no soul."

"I believe we have souls," Blaine says.

"I know you do. Its one of the reasons I love you. Youre very fanciful." The words go into empty space, but Kurt hears Blaines laugh. "I cant wait to see your smile," Kurt says.

"Soon," Blaine says, and Kurt believes him. His heart beats faster. He finishes his noodles and lets Blaine have the quiet to monitor the print job.

When the printer chirrups its completion, Kurt throws away the empty food container, washes his hands, and goes to the printer to remove Blaines brain. Its warm, palm-sized, and heavy. He takes it over to where Blaines body waits. He stands behind and slips the sheet off. With a scalpel, he carefully cuts the skin at the base of the skull so he can access the installation port. Once its in, he runs the onboard diagnostic.

It confirms installation, and Kurt focuses on the next step: plugging in the fat transfer cable. "I know I promised Id never say goodbye to you, Blaine, but if this doesnt work—"

"No goodbyes," Blaine says. "Whatever happens, Kurt. I want you to know how grateful I am for knowing you in this life."

"Me too," Kurt says. Maybe it is reassuring to think he and Blaine are happy together in other realities. "I love you so much."

"I love you too."

He watches the screen, sees Blaine start a countdown for the transfer and put himself into stasis. The timer runs out, and Kurt ignores the swell of nausea in his belly. Nothing to do now but wait. Kurt sits on the floor and cradles the translucent cable in his hands. Everything that is Blaine flows through it in bright pulses of pastel light.

Two hours and six minutes later, its done. With a trembling heart, Kurt stands and approaches the android—Blaine now, he hopes. Kurt takes a breath and unplugs the cable, smooths over the skin at the base of Blaines neck. He looks into Blaines beautiful face. "Hello, Blaine," he says.

Then he waits. Watches Blaine for signs of life. Sees his skin flush, sees the flutter of his pulse. His chest rises, his breath puffs, but his eyes stay closed.

"Please, wake up," Kurt whispers. On impulse he leans up and presses his mouth to Blaines. Blaines lips are soft, warm, and immobile. With all the love aching in his chest, Kurt kisses Blaine. As if his will may provide a spark, like in a fairy tale.

And then—movement. Haltingly, Blaines hand comes up to touch his jaw. Blaines lips shift, imprecisely but unmistakably.

Wondering, Kurt pulls back. A tremble disturbs Blaines eyelids, and his eyes open, their color like a glass of cognac caught in candlelight. Awareness brightens his gaze. "Kurt?" Blaine says, his fingertips brush Kurts cheek. His embodied voice is vital in a way its never been through the speakers.

"Yes," Kurt says. He covers Blaines hand with his own and curls his fingers against Blaines palm. "Yes."

Blaine searches Kurts face, and a smile spreads his lips. Beautiful. His other hand comes up, rumples Kurts hair. Blaine tilts his head and blinks. "Oh," he says, "there you are."