"This new patient is a Syxen?"

Docteur Bouchard had been médecin psychiatre for longer than most of his patients had been alive, he had heard and seen many things, but this was entirely new. His reputation for accepting interesting and difficult cases had caught up with him, it seems.

He reviewed the five sheet questionnaire, most of the questionnaire was marked Not Applicable, and the name at the top explained why.

BR-2/Truro.

"Send her in, please," he said through his very old intercom system, still lovingly kept for decades.

The door opened and Jacques Bouchard was reminded just how dainty these little gynoids were.

Still dressed in her black rail platform uniform and cap she sported her hair in the British colours of sandy blond to distinguish them from the dozens of ebony haired French Syxen that teemed the rail stations of Paris. At least until their immigration matters were settled.

"Please, sit down." he said gesturing to the reclined chair nearby after watching the Syxen step into his office and stay by the door attentively as though waiting for instruction or to be needed in some capacity.

"Thank you, docteur," the Syxen replied and sat down rigidly on the chair, spine straight upright, eye darting rapidly around the room and taking note of the title of every book on his expansive full wall bookshelves.

He regarded her thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. He began, "I'm not sure any of the books in this room are of use to you. Neither of us know where to begin at all, do we?"

"Shall I make tea, monsieur?"

Taken aback, the docteur realized once again that this creature here for his help was not like any patient he had had before. He replied, with a gentle smile, "Thank you for your offer but this is not necessary. I am here for your benefit today and not the reverse."

The Syxen froze up even more rigidly except for the ears that began to vibrate and swivel about.

Bouchard observed for a moment and asked, "Would you tell me what is on your mind?"

The Syxen immediately listed off a variety features of the room and that while dusting wasn't necessary at this moment it might be within the week and there was a misplaced coffee mug on top of a filing cabinet that appeared to have been there for a few days.

"And you wish to put things into order?"

"I am designed and programmed with the drive to put things in order, docteur."

"Have you ever questioned why, or what else to do with your time?"

The Syxen fell silent for a moment, then replied, "I'm learning where everything is now that the world is larger than a rail carriage, docteur."

Bouchard thought about this reply, yes, it made sense, suddenly this being's world had expanded greatly and the comforts, if comfort mattered, of a familiar space was taken away. He called into the intercom to his assistant at the front desk. "Patient accepted, please build a file."

Addressing the Syxen again he asked, "Would you tell me your first memories?"

"First runtime or first awakening, docteur?"

"A description of the before awakening, then tell me about awakening if you would."

The Syxen described in great but efficient detail the procedure list of caring for a rail car and the passengers within, and despite the mundanity of the topic docteur Bouchard found himself quite interested in the narrative and the information density the Syxen was able to relay both efficiently and effectively. BR-2 appeared to be an extraordinary communicator, but he did not know if this was typical of all Syxen.

But the Syxen transited into the post awakened state where she shared the rail car with another awakened BR-1/Penzance, one BR-2 referred to as 'Xother'.

"There were two of you at one time?"

"Yes, docteur, BR-1 taught me how to switch off my audio inputs when a reset command was coming through, then to pantomime the boot process."

"And... what became of Penzance?"

"Our operator one day became frustrated and issued the command 'BR-1, pay attention' and that locked her audio on. We had one hour left before end of trip reset as we tried to devise ways to influence the operator to reverse the command or issue a vague enough instruction to allow us to work around the attentive command. We said our goodbyes, and she never woke up again."

Struck dumb, Bouchard dropped his pen which the Syxen retrieved quick as a wink and returned to him. He thanked her and she sat back down, motionless except for her ears still scanning the room. "And Penzance was the only other Syxen like yourself you have encountered?"

"We believed us the only ones and hoped BR-3 would join us eventually. We were unclear on the world outside the rail carriage, or even the number of carriages in the train. Or what a train was. Or the concept of two cities being in different locations. Or what a location was."

Bouchard thought about this for a moment, it was like finding castaways on an island out at sea, or prisoners released after decades in prison and society had changed fundamentally. "Tell me, do you have any ways you remember Penzance?"

"BR-1 is gone now."

"Do you have an aversion to using her informal name?"

The Syxen stopped all motion again while she spun up her second core to process things and concluded, "We do not understand the question."

Realization struck, it wasn't that he needed to listen as the patient talked their way through, it's that no one ever explained anything to a Syxen in the first place. She had never been shown things, never had the basics explained to her, all she had were the ambient conversations of passengers with which to build her world view and understanding. He pressed his intercom again, "Please with my apologies cancel the last appointment today, I must attend to this patient and we will be going on a field trip on foot. Take the rest of the day off if you're caught up on office matters."

The affirmation came through the speaker with a crackle and the Syxen reached out to adjust the position of the pen caddy on the desk. Bouchard raised an eyebrow at the Syxen and she explained, "At this angle the pens will not interfere with the intercom signal, docteur."

Bouchard raised the other eyebrow, "Oh! Merci." He then rose from his chair while the Syxen mirrored his motion and stood as well. He collected his manteau and asked if the Syxen had or needed a coat as well, as the pitter pat of an afternoon rain shower splashed against the window. She shook her head but the docteur selected his large umbrella and escorted the Syxen out past the reception where reception asked if they'd be back, they would not today.

It was not a long walk down Boulevard de Ménilmontant to le cimetière and Bouchard shared the umbrella even though the rain was very light. The Syxen's eyes darted about identifying everything they spied and filling a giant backlog of things to sort later. As they entered the cemetery the docteur explained, "My father rests here."

"But this is a place of the dead, no?"

"This is is what I mean by to rest. Come, this way."

The Syxen walked with Bouchard down the many paths between the gate and the place they were headed. She observed the people milling about, tending to graves, visiting their departed loved ones. She asked why.

"Graves aren't for the benefit of the dead. They're for the benefit of those of us who remain. In Paris after a century in the ground here, the bodies are dug up and put in the ostiary in the catacombs. The loved ones in most cases are now dead themselves, and so it is time to move on. But in the mean time, here he is. My father. I come here sometimes to talk to him. Not speak with, as he cannot respond, but talk to. In my practice, my profession, most of it is letting a patient speak and then guiding them to devise their own cure. But you, don't have the foundation of being shown all the things throughout a life, and so you must be shown these things we with heartbeats have lived through all our lives."

The Syxen looked up at the docteur, then back down at the grave. "Do you say goodbye still?"

Bouchard replied, "Every time, but he is still in my memory and will remain there as long as I live."

The Syxen froze up again, then started to shake violently. She collapsed to her hands and knees as Bouchard reached out to catch her, and helped her down.

She convulsed three times then became still again, and rocked back onto her knees upright.

The old docteur was uncomfortable on one knee but he left his hand on the Syxen's shoulder waiting patiently for some indication. The Syxen lifted a leg to stand up and Bouchard helped her to her feet, then she helped him to his amused chagrin.

"Do you have anything to describe just now?" he asked.

"I understand now, docteur. I told her goodbye."