Memory

By Jaymason Gallien

The machine blinked to life, its blue eyes looking directly forward. Unlike its predecessors there was no sound or ozone smell upon its coming to life. As the machine came to, it began a brief functions test while its eyes sat motionlessly staring at the white wall. Pride welled up inside of me. Finally, I thought, this is something to show the team upstairs. Now they would see that I was making machines above my pay grade. They’ll have to accept me in the next interview.

“What is my purpose?” the monotone voice broke the silence. The blue eyes focused on my own like a laser.

“I ask myself the same questions,” I couldn’t help but joke. “Now, let’s put some life in that voice.”

After an hour or so of fiddling with the settings I was able to get the voice to something more fitting. It was masculine but gentle, strong without being intimidating. He sounded like a farmhand who truly loved the animals that he cared for. This would be a quality trait to make our robots good for serving. Customers would feel cared for and taken care of, which fit the company motto rather well: “Anthropos Robotics: Making People Better.”

“Sir,” the new voice said. “What is my designation?”

“Hmmm. I haven’t thought of one yet. What would you like?”

“I do not like anything, as I do not know anything. What should I like? he questioned. “Again, another question I don’t have an answer to...but I think I have just the name for you, my curious friend. I’ll call you ‘Miletus,’ or ‘Miles’ for short.” I laughed.

“Miletus was a region of Turkey known for its early Philosophers--”

“Yes, yes, I know what it is; after all, I’m the one who named you that.” I cut him off. “Miles,” he said grasping his newly formed identity. “I am Miles.”

With a few simple instructions he marched away carrying a brief introductory letter to the team upstairs. The Advanced Robotics Team did a lot of work that the rest of us weren’t informed about, usually because of government contracts or work with the Departments of Defense or Homeland Security. They were so secretive that I had only spoken to one member, their director, Dr. William Light. I had volunteered skin samples to grow skin and organs for people who needed transplants.

I left the building for the night and took the speedtube home. The speedtube was built into the plaza that was outside the building. The doors opened upon reading the code provided by my TabOS watch and I entered. The other tubegoers crowded in, not looking up from their TabOS. Uncomfortable with the crowding, I couldn’t wait to be alone with myself.

The bare walls of my apartment welcomed me home. I had never felt the need to decorate, as I could never really find things that I liked enough to hang them up. It was always a lot to consider, the need to decorate, how to do it, if it was truly pleasing, if others would like it. Considering it further made me tired, so I warmed up a plate of leftover noodles and pork and went to bed.

A recurring dream returned that night. Helplessly, I tried to see the faces of the people crammed into the speedtube. Each person whose face I looked into was obscured, hidden behind a post or a wall or a book. I nearly saw the face of a slender woman when she immediately exited the tube. A baby in a crib was nearly visible for a second when his mother pulled the shade over his face. I grew anxious. Why can’t I see them what’s going on here who are they...the thoughts pushed their way through and out of my head like meat into a grinder. Interrupted by the sound of the door opening, I turned to see a portly man shoving his way into the crowd. I could see the sweat on his neck, but his face was covered by the back of another man’s head.

This is it. I thought to myself. I’m going to chase this fat bastard down and figure out who he is if I have to nail him to the floor. The door dinged and I lunged at him, but he slid out of the opening with impossible speed. His bulky girth waddled unreasonably fast towards the tubeway restroom. Panting for air I followed him, the stench of his sweat flooding my nostrils with its onion-garlic-pine sting, burning my throat with its vile heat. I rounded the corner on my heel and nearly collided with him. He stood perfectly still, corpse-like and inches away from my eyes.

His skin removed, he looked directly into my horrified eyes. I watched the blood pump through the veins and arteries, some leaking onto his fat jowls and neck rolls. The thick redness was absorbed into his collar, sticking and staining everything it touched. The wide eyes stared into me with their deep blue color, the whites in stark contrast to the meat surrounding it. Instead of horror, I reacted with a scientific curiosity. Over his shoulder, my own face was in the mirror.

Approaching the reflection I could see that it had also changed. The skin was gone like his, but there was no meat inside. Instead, there were wires, circuit boards, computer parts, intricately and exactly laid out. Lights blinked, but there was no sound...until I heard screaming. My mouth, no longer on me, was screaming from somewhere unknown.

The world slammed into view, my open mouth blasting out the same scream that it had been screaming every night for weeks. Wiping the sweat and drool off of my face, I looked at my TabOS watch--03:43 PST. I won’t get any rest if I go back to sleep now. Instead, it seemed like a good time to grab some Kaffeen and prepare for the day.

Translucent liquid poured from the dispenser, steaming into the cup. I raised it to my lips and sniffed deeply, greedily snorting without manners. Reality shaped itself into focus, pushing the blurriness to the corners of my eyes. I emptied the liquid from the cup and shoved it back under the dispenser for another, snatching it when full and huffing the fresh fumes wildly. The blurry corners of the world disappeared and all was crisp and bright. Now I could face another day.

My arrival at work welcomed a third cup of Kaffeen from the break room Kaffeen Masheen. I prepared to snort the brew when I was interrupted by Dr. Light from the Advanced Robotics Team.

“Mr. Peters,” he said with charming congeniality, “could I speak with you a moment, with regard to your recent application?”

“Of course.” My eardrums thumped wildly with my increasing heart rate. I followed him from the break room to his office. He closed the door behind me and sat down across from me at his desk. His face looked too young for his age. If I had to estimate, I would suspect that he was in his late thirties; however, he had made mention of being near retirement. He was in the first generation that would be hitting the new state-mandated retirement age of fifty. It was designed to help new workers get into the workforce, though it was sold as a benefit of a more automated workforce.

“The robot you sent upstairs was impressive, to say the least.” The salt-and-pepper beard on his face rearranged into a wide smile. I hadn’t ever seen him smile, yet it seemed unnatural. “You appear to be capable of work far beyond your peers.” My heart fluttered. It looks like my hard work has paid off. “But I’m afraid you can’t come to work with us in the Advanced Robotics Department just yet.” Dammit. I tried to retain the look of excitement I started with, but it was beginning to fade. “Oh, don’t get too down on yourself just yet, we have a task you need to complete first.”

“Okay,” I shuddered to think of what it could be. “Do I need to make something else?

Miletus was just a prototype, I can defini--”

“Not necessary, Mr. Peters.” He waved my worries away with a gesture. The Doctor surged with inhuman speed and pulled out a large knife, stabbing it into the table with a thud. With a jolt I spilled my now cold Kaffeen over my shoulder while belting out a string of expletives. “You’re going to need this,” he said. The unnatural smile he had worn was replaced by a stern frown and direct gaze. He began explaining how it came to this.

It wasn’t until a couple hours later on the speedtube that I was able to cobble together the story of what had happened: the cell samples I had provided had been used to grow the outer skin of a robot prototype. It looked and felt like real skin, because that’s what it was. If I cut it, it would bleed... and that’s precisely what I was asked to do. “I need you to track it down, come into contact with it, and kill it.”

“Kill it?” The words fell out with a robotic tone.

“Kill it.” He was precise, unflinchingly mechanical in his speech. There was no other option.

I had never considered killing myself until that moment; but, the concept of myself was stretching into an infinite house of mirrors. Even if I didn’t want to do this, someone would have to kill the guy that looked exactly like me. Even if they were skeptical he could pass a blood test, or a retinal scan, or any other method of testing.

There was a company car in the driveway when I got home. As Dr. Light had explained, everything I would need was inside: chemicals to clean up any blood, a new TabOS with fake identification documents pre-programmed, and the knife. The knife was a special prototype called a “deactivator,” made specifically to stab through to an internal robotic skeleton and issue a small electromagnetic pulse. This would disable in a way that it could be brought back to the lab and operated on.

The whir of the electric motor was almost inaudible as the rain beat against the windshield. I had never driven a car until now; everywhere I had gone was by speedtube. Cars were for those who had a need to travel privately -- usually those who held positions of power. The car screamed down the road with blinding speed. I passed an enforcement vehicle on the side of the road. I hope the Doctor is right, I thought.

Dr. Light said that owning a car meant that you were above the law. Enforcement vehicles would only look for those who had committed high-profile crimes, and that usually only happened when an official was ratted out by the others for some high-crime or another. The only crime I had committed so far was possession of a deactivator.

The old Anthropos Robotics Lab was at the far edge of “oldtown,” a region abandoned years ago due to technical refreshes. Several old buildings stood around it, empty apart from squatters, addicts, and other societal mistakes. Dusk settled on the roof of the building while I watched from inside the car, gripping the steering wheel.

Inside the building was dimly lit, burning out the darkness outdoors. I twisted the knob as I shut the door behind me, ensuring that the latch wouldn’t make noise as it shut. I peered around, looking for any sign of the Unit. The air smelled canned, like the sterile smell of a hospital. It reeked of staleness.

My flashlight groped underneath the nearby assembly line belts, splaying out the supports like spider legs. The sound of a footstep sent my heartbeat into my ears to deafen it. I turned my flashlight in the direction of the step, but found nothing, except a row of equipment cabinets minding their own business. Another step and another round of drums in my ears. The flashlight revealed nothing.

A door to the next room seemed like as good a place to hide as any. I walked, landing heel first and rolling the outer edge of my foot along the pavement: almost noiseless. My heart sped up as I pushed the door open and walked through. Opposite the doorway was a mirror, bearing my sweaty, paranoid image. I jumped at the sight of my own reflection. It didn’t jump back.

“I suppose you’re here to kill me.” the reflection said. The eyes of The Unit didn’t betray its identity. Its body exuded warmth, and even the underarms showed the signs of a long day’s sweatiness. A five-o’clock-shadow protruded from underneath it’s skin. I searched its eyes for signs of attack, but found none. “Are you going to do it?”

“I intend to, yes.” The words were stiff and cold.

“Why?” It was innocent in its tone.

“You can’t be me, I’m me.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“I remember going to bed and waking up as me. My memories reach back to my early childhood. I can specifically remember one time where--”

“Where you fell out of a tree and broke your arm?” The innocence in his voice was replaced with condescension. “I have those same memories. Maybe I’m the real Peter.” I was taken aback.

“Well, I have real thoughts.”

“Oh, you do? What is it that I have then?”

“Functions and algorithms. Everything you do is pre-programmed, right down to the biological responses. You’re an overgrown calculator.”

“As if you’re different,” he scoffed. “Your programming is so good it can be manipulated by programs. Certain colors in advertisements can be used to make you hungry, algorithms are made to keep you clicking. You’re just as programmed as I, if not more.” His indignance grew wilder with each sentence. “You and I are no different.”

“I’d say that too if I didn’t want to die,” I said coldly. My veins were filled with ice as I prepared myself. I thought about where I was keeping the deactivator. A weapon did no good if it wasn’t available.

“If I don’t want to die, doesn’t that mean I’m alive?”

“Does being alive provide meaning to anything?” I asked the question, but the words felt more directed towards me than the Unit. It was enough to give him pause for a brief moment, I could see the concern about his own worth that hung in his eyes. I took the opportunity and lunged on him.

Our bodies fell to the ground with a liquid smack on the pavement. The scuffling of arms and feet filled the otherwise noiseless warehouse, only to be interrupted by the growling of two men fighting for a last breath. A wild punch connected with my jaw. My fist met a sternum with a sickly cracking sound. I pulled the deactivator from the sheath on the back of my belt and held it up high. His hands came up together to grab it, leaving and opportunity to pin them together and force them over his head. The deactivator slid in between his ribs with minimal effort. The Unit twitched and bucked wildly for a moment, with eyes wildly searching mine for help or mercy or anything that would stop this. The moving body slowed down, and finally was all but still.

“...is this what makes you more human than me?” Blood spattered from his dying mouth onto my shirt.

I reached down and placed two fingers on the carotid artery. There was no pulse. I lifted my wrist and called Dr. Light on the TabOS.

“It’s done.”

“Is it now? How do you know?”

“He’s not moving, and his pulse is gone.”

“...His pulse?”

“Yeah, his pulse. Can I go home now?”

“They don’t have a pulse; there’s no need for one in their body. They have blood and it moves, but it’s indiscernible from the exterior.”

I looked back at the body and put two fingers on my carotid artery.

There was no pulse.