Andrew Mackay - Pink Symphony

“Fully integrated organs. Lungs, stomach, pancreas, kidneys, and a fully functioning brain. Every single series three unit is, for all intents and purposes, a real life human being. Calibrated with a lifetime’s worth of carefully selected memories. In essence, utterly indistinguishable from a genuine human being.”

The audience clapped and cheered as Xavier replaced Belinda’s scalp and reactivated her.

“Belinda?”

“Yes, Xavier?”

“Tell me about yourself.”

“What would you like to know?” She smiled and winked at him, much to the amusement of the audience.

“I don’t know. Tell me your age and where you’re from.”

“Oh, you’re so forward,” she giggled to knowing chuckles from the audience. “I was born in South Texas, but grew up in New York City. I’m twenty-years-old.”

“Excellent,” Xavier said. “Tell me about your family?”

“My folks live in South Texas. I have two older brothers.”

“What do you do for a living?”

“I’m an engineer for the Manning/Synapse company, out of Moscow. It’s a pleasure to be here with you, Xavier. You’ve always been a hero of mine.”

The audience muttered to themselves with great curiosity. Standing before them was an android who believed she was real and had no reason to believe otherwise.

“Sleep, Belinda,” Xavier said.

She kept her eyes open and powered down, standing still on the spot.

“Obviously, I don’t recommend that command when you acquire your own droid,” Xavier chuckled, knowingly, “This is for the purposes of the demonstration. You can customize your shut-down command, too. You, the shareholders and major partners have spoken. We at Manning/Synapse listened. The series three model will forget that they are a droid with every power-down. No more recharging chambers, either. When they sleep, they replenish their internal core and battery, just like us humans do. They wake up fresh, and remember everything – except that they are not human. Just the way it should be.”

A burst of giddy excitement came from the audience. The diagram on the screen behind him faded out, replaced by the Manning/Synapse company logo.

“We believe the days are gone where technology and humans are distinguishable. Soon, the differentiation between the two will be a thing of the past. A unit that believes it is human. A unit that can reproduce and never die. Imagine the reduction of risk for your company, given the nature of the work you undertake. No more injury or, at least if there is, it’s easily fixed. No more death.”

Maar and Dimitri looked at each other, knowing full well what the other was thinking.

Bonnie screamed and thrashed around as she heaved through her oxygen mask. Her knees threatened to buckle.

The woman was in so much pain, squatting over the birthing pool, kept in place by her husband and a nurse.

“Okay, Bonnie, keep pushing,” the delivery nurse said, “The head is coming through.”

“Nggg…” Bonnie lifted her hips and stomped her false leg to the ground in an attempt to fling the volcano of hurt away.

“It’s coming… keep breathing. Push, push.”

A final flex of the muscles did the trick. She slammed the back of her head against the padding and exhaled through her tears.

The sense of relief was immeasurable, and only nearly as affecting as the cries of a newborn baby that followed seconds later.

Bonnie opened her eyes to find Troy marveling at what lay in the delivery nurse’s arms. “Oh… my God. Bonnie, look.”

“Congratulations, Dr. Whitaker,” the nurse said, holding the detritus-covered baby in her arms. “It’s a boy.”

Bonnie lifted her arms, unable to quell her happiness. “It’s a miracle, is what it is.”

Troy smiled at her. “Well done, honey. I’m proud of you.”

“Can I hold him?”

“Sure,” the delivery nurse helped her to her feet.

Her colleague handed her newborn son over, “Here he is. Ten fingers and ten, tiny toes.”

Bonnie took the crying human being in her arms and scanned him up and down. “My little angel.”

By all accounts, the her son was perfect. Ten fingers and ten, tiny toes. The comfort of his mother’s embrace was enough to stop him crying and relax.

Finally, he opened his eyes. The first thing he ever saw in his life was the face of his mother smiling back at him. The second thing he saw was the gracious smile stretched across his father’s face.

“Do you have a name in mind for him, Dr. Whitaker?”

Bonnie kept her eyes trained on the child and giggled, soaking up every atom of his body.

“We were thinking Adam.”

“Huh?” The baby stopped kicking around and shot his mother a look of confusion. “Adam?”

“Yes?” Bonnie felt hurt by her son’s protestation. Confused, further, by his ability to speak at a mere ninety seconds old, “Why, what’s wrong with that?”

“That’s a bit of an obvious name, isn’t it?” The baby said, barely able to contain his disdain, “The first human being ever created? Bonnie?”

“But, I—”

“Bonnie?” The baby snapped his fingers. “No, it’s no good. I don’t think she can hear me.”

Bonnie screwed her face. A deep-rooted feeling of illness socked her in the gut, “Who are you talking to—”

A shooting pain stormed across the back of her head, followed by a prolonged and intense tingling in her ears.

“Yaarrggh!”

The baby in her arms fizzed in and out. He opened his mouth and spoke once again. “Bonnie, can you hear me?”

“No, no, it’s not right—”

“She’s speaking,” the baby said, nonchalantly, “Bonnie, I know you can hear me. If you can hear me—”

“—Just nod your head,” Tripp finished his sentence, crouching in front of her as she sat in the electric chair.

Bonnie jolted in the seat and pressed herself back against the headrest in fright, her eyes wide open.

“Oh, God. Oh, God.”

Her breathing quickened as she attempted to acclimatize herself to her surroundings.

Tripp looked at Wool for a response. “There we are, we’re back online.”

“What am I doing in here?” Bonnie spluttered and caught her breath. “Why did you plug me into the electric chair?”

Tripp’s face soured. He rose to his feet and stood next to Wool, looking down at her. “Bonnie, we have something to tell you.”

“What is it?”

“We know you’re confused,” Wool said. “But we want you to know the truth.”

“Okay, I’m listening.”

Tripp folded his arms and cleared his throat. “There’s no easy way to say this, Bonnie, so it’s probably just better to come right out with it. You’re an Androgyne Series Three Unit.”

Bonnie stared at Tripp, waiting for the “ha-ha, got you ” moment that would never come.

Sure enough, even after Tripp’s pregnant pause, it never came.

“Bonnie?”

She blinked and scrunched her face. “Are you serious, right now?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“What lessense. Series three units don’t recharge in N-Vigorate chambers. That’s old school,” Bonnie stood out from the seat and extended her arms, ironing out the kinks on her muscles. “Anyway, I have a husband and a son. I was born before the first Androgyne series was even invented. Your jokes are starting to wear thin.”

“No, Bonnie,” Wool said. “We figured it was better to be honest with you. When you time out, or otherwise lose consciousness, you seem to be suffering from amnesia.”

“We think your battery was damaged in the fight. You’re not operating properly.”