Although the Baron is watching his molten light show, long habit has cultivated his constant sense of awareness. The door is in his peripheral vision, and he immediately notes the movement passing through. He turns his head toward the door, observing the man who enters- that AM is not part of the program is immediately evident, as, the Baron had swiftly given up on populating his simulation of home when he discovered that his holographic slaves were useless for their originally intended purpose.

This was of course to be the purpose that AM had surmised. Of everything the Baron misses from home, his pleasure slaves are indeed high on the list. For, despite his age, Vladimir possesses an extremely healthy libido- although many of his habits in indulging it cannot be qualified as 'healthy' according to popular opinion. Naturally, he'd left the door open with the primary hope that a potential visitor might turn out to be an attractive young man. He is thus mildly disappointed upon noting that AM is certainly rather older than he likes- but not overly disappointed.

This man looks interesting at least. The sense of haughty arrogance in his expression and bearing cannot be missed, and is in fact pleasantly familiar in an odd way. He determines that it is the man's lips, reminiscent of the Harkonnen genetic marker- he is reminded slightly of Feyd, who often wore such and expression. Thus, the Baron is inclined to feel relatively favorable towards this stranger, and replies pleasantly.

"They are indeed pointless things, but I thought I'd try. I was planning to dispense of them when I grew bored here." By 'dispense' he does not mean 'delete', but he does not elaborate. He's only just met this man, and has yet to assess his temperament and potential predilections. His own lips curl into his well-practiced smile, a somewhat incongruent expression as it never did reach his eyes. These are locked thoughtfully upon AM. "You, however, appear real. Join me, and have some wine." Although Vladimir's tone is smooth and cordial enough, there's also no sense of invitation to it- it is a simple order of the sort he is used to delivering when his mood is pleasant enough.

A smirk plays over the Baron's features as he replies, "Of course not. The wine's as real as myself, although I can't say much for the vintage. I requisitioned it from one of the ship's bars, which appeared to have an excess of intoxicants. It's of a middling quality and lacks subtlety, but, it's strong enough." The wine, like the rest of the angular room, is red. Having chosen to leave entry open for visitors, the Baron has prepared for the potential and has extra glasses on hand. He turns his attention from AM for a brief moment to take up the bottle with a bejeweled hand (although not nearly so adorned as it would have been at home- the lockers had chosen to yield up rings bearing various marks of rank and association, but nothing purely ornamental). He fills one of the empty pieces of stemware for AM, and returns the bottle to a small table- this is real (and also 'requisitioned' from one of the bars).

His attentive eyes return to his visitor as he offers him the glass. Although the Baron certainly has a strong superficial side, the fact that someone does not meet his immediate ideal of attractiveness is no reason for him to dismiss them. This man's manner is intriguing, and, such suggests a similar mind- and minds (and how he might find a use for them) are perhaps the Baron's favorite thing. "Welcome to holographic Giedi Prime, or at least a small corner of it, stripped of certain irritations, such as most of the household staff. I am Siridar-Baron Vladimir Harkonnen. And you are?"

The Baron is indeed a very vain man, despite appearing to have few reasons for physical vanity. However, like many of Vladimir's traits, the outward show is of course a very deliberate selection. The root of his vanity is cerebral, based upon his own estimation of his mind- this estimation is perhaps slightly inflated, but, not at all unfounded. It is, however, with this assumption of his own natural superiority that he observes AM, wondering just why he is inspecting the wine as if it is an unfamiliar thing. The Baron's habit is to note all the little traits and reactions in those he deals with, and he is sure to add this to his mental file regarding the stranger. But, like any biological being, the Baron is quite capable of flawed logic- having never known of or dealt with anything but humans, he presumes that this unfamiliarity suggests something regarding either culture or status.

"Siridar-Baron, although the short title is acceptable. Hereditary ruler of Giedi Prime, and planetary governor of Lankiveil, and Arrakis." Given the many cultures of origin present upon the ship, the Baron feels it necessary to define his title accurately. Vladimir is well aware that he was probably about to lose his oversight of Arrakis at the moment before he found himself on Tranquility, but has failed to feel a need to mention this to anyone aboard the ship. Three planets, and one of them the most valuable in the Imperium, was better than two.

"Yes, a pleasure." The Baron remains intrigued by this oddly named individual's brusque manner, and is inclined to remain congenial. Despite his vanity and love of his position, the Baron is not offended by AM's lack of conventional politeness- he is not at all fixated on etiquette in his personal dealings. He prefers efficiency, for the most part. "An interesting name, AM- how is that spelled?" It sounds like letters- but, it could be a coincidence of sound?

Vladimir had not anticipated recognition of any of the worlds he had named- he's yet to meet anyone on the ship who has heard of them, and has yet to hear of any world he is familiar with, other than Earth. It still seems somewhat odd to him, having come from an immense, intergalactic empire, but obviously its immensity was but one corner of an extraordinarily immense universe. Still, AM is the first person he'd met without a 'proper' name.

"I see. Is such a name common in your culture? It's efficient, I suppose." And certainly easy enough to remember, if not for its outstandingly weird nature. "Or do you choose to go by initials?" Another possibility- either one would reveal something about the nature of the man who bore such a name.

As interested as the Baron is in plying AM for information about himself, his own vanity finds it impossible to resist questions related to his own power. "Ahhh, well- that is a complicated process, but the key is money for the most part, and no small amount of strategy. It does help to be born heir to heir to a Great House with control of a resource-rich planet, which I was. The second was also in the family for some time before I took control. But, it was I who made it valuable, through a bit of creativity leverage on the export markets. The third, Arrakis, that one I took twice."

A smirk of self-satisfaction passes over him as he recollects the second time. "The first, that was simply winning the contract due to obviously being the best man for the job based on Lankiveil's profits. I eventually gave Arrakis up, for the sake of more important designs- but not for long. The second time. . .ahh, that was a beautiful bit of engineering. And expensive, given the cost to move the troops, but worth every solari. I'd given it over to my rival- so it was uniquely satisfying to remedy the situation."

Not a name common to humans. A truly interesting choice of phrasing, that. Why would someone choose to define 'humans' as a quality unless they were not human themselves? AM appeared human, but the assumption of such was a product of Imperium-based logic. In the Imperium, humanity had never encountered intelligent life outside itself. It had at time altered this life for its various purposes, but these alterations were still essentially human. On the Tranquility, however, Imperium-logic constructs did not hold. "You are not human, then?" the Baron asks, looking over AM again, more intently. He looks human, but the Baron knows it is stupid to trust in appearances.

The Baron smirks, and gives a derisive snort of laughter. "A dream? Heh. It is satisfying, yes, but, mostly it's a responsibility. There's side benefits, of course, but the game of empire never sleeps, not for a moment." Another chuckle, this one less derisive, followed by a slight grin. "But there's no satisfaction in winning an easy game. Only the ones with high stakes are worthwhile- and when you play the game in the Imperium, admit it or not, you're playing for the throne. Perhaps not for yourself, but for your heirs, or theirs- it's a long game. My family has played for thousands of years."

A sigh, and another drink of wine. "I suppose I'll never know the outcome now." He replaces the glass on the table beside him, tapping idly at the stem with his fingers in an unconscious pattern. He was so damn close to winning, before . . .whatever had happened before he came to the ship. He supposed that he himself had lost, and admittedly held little confidence in his youthful heir's ability to pick up the pieces of the plan. "But, there's little to be done about that." Another smirk- the Baron is a practical man, and not one to dwell upon the impossible.

"Ahhh, a shapeshifter, or, some effect of the ship?" There were engineered humans in the Imperium, Face Dancers, able to change shape and sex. But, these were still human. The idea of non-humans is unusual to the Baron, who has lived for over eighty years without ever encountering one, but he knows that the unusual is a simple fact of life aboard the ship. His scrutiny of AM continues, attempting to note some deviance from typical humanity- now that he pays lingering attention, the red eyes stand out as an actual color, rather than a reflection of the room's light.

"If you are not human, what are you? I have never met someone claiming to be other than human before, so, I am interested." He presumes that AM's inhumanity is on a genetic level, not even thinking about the potential of advanced AI. Computer technology had been banned for over ten thousand years in the Imperium, and even developing the simplest of calculators would bring the death penalty for anyone involved. And this was simply to avert the possibility of humanity creating AIs again. It had not gone well the first time.

Vladimir has thought much about the game he'd been playing- and most likely lost- since he came aboard Tranquility. Having a great deal of time on his hands suddenly, there has been little else to do, especially during the first few weeks. "Fun? It's not about fun, that's for the bedroom and the arena. It's about satisfaction, and the eternal human struggle for domination. Fun is a weak word for the pleasure of destroying one's closest rivals, very weak. And that's the key satisfaction- assuring that your enemies do not win. The game never really ends, but, lives do." His lips twist into a wry smirk as he adds dryly, "I suspect that if I was to return home, I'd simply die. I'll never know the end score. Properly dead seems the greater inconvenience, which tends to make this absurd ship much more tolerable."

Thus far, the Baron has been less than impressed by the ship's 'thinking machines'. He has yet to see where any of the devices he has encountered could pose an extinctionary threat to humanity. It's been rather a disappointment, for, the Baron likes dangerous things. He has found the holodeck mildly amusing, and can see its practical applications, but, viewing technology is nothing new and amazing, and does only what it is told. Thus far, it had appeared that his dead mentat Piter had been correct- he, the Baron himself, could indeed have outperformed this sort of 'thinking machine' at general calculation and projections. He has not anticipated the possibility of meeting something more advanced.

'Transformed into a human' was odd, but, so was the Tranquility. The Baron listens to this impassively, tapping his fingertips along the edge of the wine bottle. This unconscious motion ceases abruptly at AM's following declaration. AM was a thinking machine? The Baron supposes that the stranger could be bullshitting, but, AM's behavior thus far did suggest something other than typical humanity.

He says nothing for a long moment, eyes locked on AM- other than the eyes, he appears completely human, but. . . something about this declaration was almost believable. Perhaps it was something in AM's attitude, and his statement of this revelation as a simple fact. "You are a thinking machine? Constructed, by humans or something else, for a purpose?" he eventually asks. "Or do you mean that you are trained to think with machine-like precision?" Perhaps what he really means is that he served as some sort of mentat before arriving on the ship?

"Secret interplanetary warfare," the Baron states. "A far more, ahh, delicate matter than outright war, demanding much more precision and strategy in its execution. Empires don't last for ten thousand years if you let people slaughter each other without following the proper conventions." Vladimir briefly wonders if there is a point to conversing with a self-professed machine - wasn't the whole point of them the fact that you didn't have to converse with them? He'd always assumed this was why they might have been an improvement over mentats, especially Piter. Damnable Piter, had to go and get himself killed. Even if there wasn't a point, he cannot help but feel a growing fascination that he may indeed be speaking with a technology that was utterly taboo in his homeworld- the forbidden was so much more interesting than the acceptable. "But none of that's much point here on this damn ship. Where do you come from? How does a machine end up on this ship, transformed into a human? I am interested."

The Baron does find it difficult to reconcile his imagination's concept of 'thinking machines' with the man he sees before him. Although he finds it hard to believe, he doesn't disbelieve it- there are too many factors on Tranquility that make the unlikely far likelier. But, he'd always envisioned 'thinking machines' as far more coldly metallic, and in general, not at all humanoid, as there was no real purpose to giving a brain in a box a human body? The human body was the weakness of a mentat, after all- the body had wants, desires, addictions. Although these could be lovely control mechanisms, it was so very easy to introduce faulty information to the biological circuits.

He likes AM's vague description of his normal body far better, meshing as it does with his own notions on the legendary 'thinking machines' as piles of machinery for the most part, primitive but effective. "Larger, hrm? Such would suit my idea of a 'thinking machine' better. In the Imperium, thinking machines have been banned for over ten thousand years. AIs are a thing of ancient legends. I've never envisioned them as human- perhaps because all our modern 'thinking machines' are human." He wonders how much AM's temperament matches that of those legendary machines, lacking all sense of conscience. . . such an irritating thing, conscience, always getting in the way of practicality. He'd always considered it a flaw in most mentats- and it was why his dead Piter had been a special order. He had not been a typical mentat, lacking as he did this flaw. However, a host of others made up for it- perhaps a true machine-mind would not have these errors?

The Baron would have been happy to go on about interplanetary warfare, and especially his own accomplishments regarding such, in most any other circumstances. But this is new, a big deal- the first conversation he has had with a likely AI. As it is, he wants to know more about AM, and to see if he might find a purpose for him- for the Baron loves finding purposes for things. His lack of a mentat on the ship has been an irritation, but, perhaps an alternative might be cultivated. . .

"I would like to know about this as well- how we all came aboard this ship, finding ourselves in whatever bodies we do, our own or others. Thus far, I have discovered precisely nothing, and have but a few theories on the matter with no actual support." To make an ally, the logical process was to offer something, whatever that might be- in this case, informational exchange seemed a decent start. "Perhaps we might join our efforts in this matter. If I learn something of use, I will let you know. Naturally, I'd expect the same in return, of course." Another of his practiced, charming smiles- Vladimir expects much more than a simple informational exchange, however- he wants some sort of replacement mentat- but he is not one to voice all his intentions.

Unfortunately, the Butlerian Jihad had happened in the very distant past of the Baron's era and the specifics are never mentioned in canon- he had a vague idea of what had happened, but, nothing better. The Imperium rather adored its revisionist history, so it wasn't as if it was surprising that these things were unclear- one fact was certain though. "They revolted some ten-thousand and more years before my time. The specifics of what happened aren't well-recorded, but, apparently we won." A wry half-smirk and he contemplates this a few seconds before continuing. "I've never been sure how much we did win, considering the results. Thinking machines have always seemed a natural evolution of creativity. The only use of fear is as a tool, it's nothing to build an empire upon." No, those needed to built atop a solid foundation of cold, hard cash, mortared with death and secrets.

He supposes that the logical question will follow, and so chooses to preemptively answer it. "We used people, instead, after the Great Convention. We taught them to calculate no less effectively than the thinking machines. It serves us well enough technologically, but, I tend to think we've wasted something in banning the machines. Some say that the benefit of a mentat is the fact that they are human. I say this is their main disadvantage- even if one can do away with the hindrance of the conscience, they develop so many other habits in turn that blunt their capacities."

Vlad is unsure how he feels about AM moving closer- he makes no move at all, however, allowing it. Like always, he does wear his personal shield- it is currently set to a very low power, however, and leaves no obvious sign of its presence. It's enough that he feels quite comfortable in his current setting, however. He is pleased that AM appears to be willing to play along, although he has no idea to what extent a thinking machine is willing or even capable of playing the game of politics and so-called alliances. "Very good, and I shall indeed," he replies. If they were going to play the game, he supposed he might as well make a starting move- he has no actual information, but, perhaps he can offer AM something nonetheless to see what sort of output he might prompt. "I am curious about the ship's jump drive, myself. In the Imperium, we use a much more efficient method. There are those in our Spacing Guild trained and capable of bending space. The vessel holds still, and, the universe moves about it. How does the drive on this ship function, I wonder, and might it also be able to move the universe about it? And might a malfunction or even intended function of the drive be capable of moving small parts of the universe to the ship?" He finishes off his glass of wine, and pours another for himself before offering a refill to AM.

"That's what the histories say," the Baron replies with a heavy shrug, unable to give a more enlightening answer. "Those are always written by the winners, and, typically biased. The winners were likely embarrassed at the time, and, felt it best to gloss over their humiliation. But, there was some sort of extinction-threatening revolt, and humans won."

"Perfection, eh?" Vladimir is amused- this machine considers itself superior, obviously, and perhaps 'perfect'. He, however, sees a rather distinct flaw in this logic, based off the very flaw that existed in mentats. Any mentat could only function to the quality of the information it was given. Any machine could only function to the quality of its engineering. And even in the most advanced, somewhere there could easily lay a flaw, some tiny error of manufacture or programming, waiting for the right moment to emerge. "Everything's imperfect. Whatever happened to lead to the Great Convention, it wasn't the fault of the 'thinking machines'. They were created, by humans, and the seed of the error was somewhere in the design."

The Baron refills AM's glass, returning the bottle to its place on the table. He cannot help but laugh out loud at the suggestion of the ship's jump drive being anything like that of his Imperium. "I don't think you've met others from the Imperium, if you deduce that. Ahh, no, this ship's jump drive is, as I said, far less efficient that ours. We don't need a 'jump drive' as such, you see- again, we've got people. A human can indeed be turned into anything if one knows how to 'tweak it', as you say, and the Spacing Guild's navigators are able to simply bend space, through a combination of drugs, training, and long mutation. A drug, specifically the Spice, called melange."

The Baron may not believe in perfection, but, he still approves of striving for it. There is never an excuse to do things imperfectly, in his mind. But the Baron knows even the most perfectly-crafted plan may be influenced by unpredictable components, like crazed desert Messiahs. He doesn't miss AM's frown- does this 'thinking machine' harbor some sort of resentment regarding his potentially imperfect programming? Interesting, if so. Complex emotion didn't seem like a desirable quality in a machine- he wonders if it is intentional, or, an unintended side-effect of imperfect human design.

Vladimir is close to returning to his theory of bullshitting, that AM only says, or even believes he is a machine. But, he again observes AM's unusual behavior with the wine- if he is indeed what he says he is, it seems likely that he is personally inexperienced with the effects of alcohol. He does not say anything just yet, however, wondering what wort of effect intoxication might have on a thinking machine, and what things one might say with a loosened tongue.

He smiles ever-so-slightly as AM asks about the Spice, noting the interest in his body language, the gleam in his eyes. This could get interesting indeed. . .

"Ahhh, now that, that is a good question. Imperial chemistry is very advanced, we've synthesized just about everything. But not melange. The Spice is, hrm. . .different. Different from any other chemical or drug we know, and we know many. It never tastes exactly the same twice, no matter how many times one consumes it, and, it has so very many uses. It extends life, prevents sickness, enables space travel- and, is the most valuable substance in the Imperium, mined only on one planet, Arrakis. It has its recreational qualities, as well." He reaches into his robe, drawing forth a small spice tin which he swiped from the kitchen and filled with melange from the stash locked away in his room. A burst of cinnamon-like fragrance is apparent as soon as he flips back the lid. He tilts the box slightly so that AM can see the contents, a compressed powder with a weirdly bluish tinge to it. "Would you like to try it? A small amount goes rather well with wine- not too much, mind you. In large enough quantity, it kills quite effectively."

So this machine or man, whatever he is, is at least astute- although Vladimir had no intention of offering deadly amounts of his precious substance, as such would be a grievous waste, it is still an accurate observation. The Baron appreciates subtle tactics as much or more than any in the Imperium, and would indeed be one to politely offer an inconvenient person a poison-laced glass under the right circumstances. "An astute observation," he replies, with a smirk. "But, a deadly quantity is also a very valuable, and expensive quantity." He pinches a tiny amount of the substance into his own wine glass, sniffing the remaining grains from his fingertips with a single, powerful inhalation. "Ahhh. . . clears the head, clears the mind."

He wonders- what does an apparently sentient, fully thinking machine do for diversion, anyway? Probably not various recreational chemicals. Perhaps they found some pleasure in running equations? Or, perhaps they did not care for pleasure in the least, and all of AM's personality is nothing but the product of an imaginative creator? "If only we were at my home- we could call for some amusements. Gladiators were always a good way to pass a few hours. . . I do not think that holographic replicas would prove anywhere near as distracting, however. What did you do for diversion, before you came here? I am interested to know what a thinking machine finds its pleasures in."