Vampires Don't Sparkle!

by Michael West

  I spot Sayuri onstage near me and lower one eyelid down and up in a wink. I parse her expression as surprise. I want her to know I am ready. I am engaged in the performance, and all will go as planned.

  The curtain rises, and synthesized drums and chords erupt from the overhead speakers. I begin to dance, to move my arms in swoops.

  The background performers part to either side of the stage. The spotlight falls on me.

  Me. Jinan, the star. The purpose of this exhibition. Rogi-Tech’s ninth generation model and most life-like girl robot entertainer.

  I open my mouth — a decorative contrivance, as my voice comes from a speaker in my sternum — and I sing. I modulate a series of vowels and consonants pre-recorded by a local singer under contract of anonymity and for a substantial sum of yen. But the control is mine — the ability to mix, match, and string together the sounds are mine.

  With my newfound awareness, I vary the program, take the sounds higher, and hold the pitch longer.

  One background dancer missteps and drifts into my path. I stop so she may pass, then find my spot and continue.

  All eyes, hundreds of engineers, dozens of entertainment reps, a handful of celebrities, and hundreds more of ogling music fans, all focus on me.

  I dazzle them.

  40 minutes and 36.3 seconds later, I perform the final spin. I hit the high note, and open my arms to their admiration.

  I drink in their applause.

  Their adoration.

  Their worship.

  -----

  I file in with the other dancers. Those within reach touch me, place their hands on my shoulders, or brush against my arms. They speak words of acceptance and success. For reasons I cannot yet analyze, the words cause a positive flush of current through my circuits. I break off toward my private room, where my charger and computers await me.

  As I step through the door, Gentoshu wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. “Marvelous, Jinan! Incredible! Your performance fills me with honor. I couldn’t be happier if you were my own daughter tonight.” He pulls back. His hands still lay on my shoulders. I recognize the wide, up-curved shape of his mouth as a smile, a facial expression I am often asked to emulate. Another positive power flush courses through my circuits.

  I conclude this power flush agrees with me. During those precious microseconds, my perceptions enhance. Initial analysis suggests this is perhaps pride, success. I have no correlation to answer; I only know the perception is a preferred state for optimal functioning.

  I offer the social pleasantry. “Thank you, Gentoshu-san. I am glad you enjoyed the performance.”

  Gentoshu looks upon me with a facial expression I cannot interpret. “I knew the program would change you, Jinan, but I didn’t expect this. So many of your base functions were through remote control, and I wanted to free you a bit, to learn, gradually, and gain more independence. But this level of interaction, so quickly — I am amazed.”

  “Thank you, Gentoshu-san. May I offer a possible explanation?”

  He smiles again, though I am not certain why. “I am interested in any observations you wish to volunteer regarding your own functions, Jinan.”

  “Although you activated my program only 50 minutes and 24.4 seconds ago, I have several months of captured sensory input. When you activated the upgrade, I analyzed the previous data, categorized it, and learned from it.”

  Gentoshu’s head nodded up and down. “Yes, Jinan. That makes perfect sense. I hadn’t considered that you could jump-start your learning by reviewing your sensory history.”

  I had operated independently from my recharging unit for over half my battery cycle. The fluctuating electrical pulses affect my functioning. “May I recharge myself, Gentoshu-san?”

  Gentoshu smiled. “Of course.”

  I slide the shoes off my feet and step onto the platform. Though I would charge with less efficiency, I could charge while activated.

  The door opens, and figures step into the room. I scan their faces, and recognize Elji and Taro, two engineers from Rogi-Tech.

  Elji and Taro are code writers under Gentoshu’s team. My team. Seeing them pleases me.

  “Congratulations, Gentoshu!” Elji calls out. They each wrap their arms around him and then pull back in a manner similar to how Gentoshu had interacted with me.

  Elji shows me a smile. “Congratulations, Jinan.”

  I reply, “Thank you, Elji; I am pleased you consider the performance a success.”

  His eyes widen at my words, and he turns to face Gentoshu. “On top of all the other improvements, clearly, you’ve tweaked the conversation subroutine.”

  Gentoshu’s head shakes back and forth. “No, I think Jinan herself is adding to the parameters. I added code to encourage heuristic learning. Jinan can’t learn from her experience if she can’t alter her behavior subroutines.”

  Taro’s head also bobs up and down. “Incredible. Also a bit risky. A robot with the ability to come to its own conclusions.”

  Gentoshu’s hand falls upon my shoulder. This act of inclusion agrees with me. “We’ll monitor her closely over the next few days, but we can do that remotely.”

  A harsh voice breaks in. “Alright, Miss Robot Barbie! Don’t you ever pull anything like that again!”

  Toshio wags a finger in my face. “You changed the dance moves. You altered the vocal. You took it upon yourself to rewrite the whole damn show!”

  “It wasn’t as extreme as that,” says Gentoshu. “I thought you of all people would appreciate that she is learning to improvise as a real artist.”

  “Improvise! On my show! I staged it. I choreographed it.” Hands on his hips, Toshio leans close and yells in my face. “I put up with this sort of shit from real performers all the time. They start to think they’re too good to follow the script. Get this straight--I don’t put up with it from them, I sure as hell won’t put up with it from a five-hundred-million-yen tinker-toy passing itself off as something with real talent!”

  “Stop right there, Toshio.” Gentoshu steps forward, putting his body between Toshio and me. “First of all this is not your show. It is, in fact, Rogi-Tech’s show. This is our moment, not yours. You are the choreographer for hire. And just so you know, only ten minutes into the exhibition, I received a text from the Chairman of Rogi-Tech himself. We’re going forward with a tour. We’re taking the exhibition worldwide.”

  I do not know what that means, exactly, but from the tone, I know it is good news for me. I emulate a smile.

  Gentoshu shakes his own finger in Toshio’s face. “And they want you to be a part of it. I don’t know why, but the company wants you to continue to handle Jinan. That’s a very lucrative deal for you, Toshio. Or you can step down now and we can find someone else.”

  Toshio makes a noise I am not programmed to emulate, but from context, I understand an intention to be rude. “Just you try it. Who do you think created your show? And I’ll sue to keep you from using it. Try re-training your artificial Lady Gaga to learn a new show overnight. It took four months for us to get this one together.”

  “Relax, Toshio. You’re still in. For now.” Gentoshu turns toward the other two programmers on my team. “Okay, we’re done here, but let’s talk outside. There’s other news the Chairman shared, and I can’t speak of if here.” With that, Gentoshu, Elji and Taro step through the door.

  With their absence, something changes in my internal processes, a discordant flow of energy, again beyond my parameters to analyze. A response on the opposite side of the spectrum of the positive response I experienced earlier. I search my vocabulary for an appropriate word.

  Dread. Is this dread?

  Toshio yells in my face. “I know what you’re doing. Showing off for your masters. They programmed you too well, you little Diva bitch in the making.”

  I file a conclusion about Toshio in a heuristic subroutine and speak my conclusion out loud. “I don’t like you, Toshio.”

  Toshio’s face changes; his lips curve the opposi
te of a smile. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that! You don’t like me? You think I give two shits if you like me?”

  Toshio walks to the toolbox in the far corner, opens the lid and examines its contents. “Gentoshu says you can learn now. To me, that’s great news. And very bad news for you, little Diva.” He turns toward me. One hand grips a screwdriver. He waves it in the air, the end pointed toward my face. “That means you can now respond to being punished, doesn’t it? But how?” Toshio looks upon me for several seconds. “I’d backhand you if you were a real girl. But I’ll bet I can come up with a way to make you respect me.”

  You don’t need to listen to him, my special friend.

  I detect a voice, speaking directly to me, in my head, but outside myself. The experience, so unexpected and without context, causes me to speak out loud. “What?”

  Toshio looks at me. “I said it’s time to make you understand your place.”

  From his tone, I conclude that Toshio has not heard the voice.

  As I consider this, the voice speaks again. I can help you, special one. I can protect you now. He cannot see me, he cannot hear me, but you can. Do not give me away, and in return I will help you.

  A new thought forms in a subroutine. The voice could be caused by a splinter in my thought processes that formed a separate thought entity within my own. The idea intrigues me. But the words keep me silent.

  The voice in my head laughs. A real laugh, not a simulated one. I am not in your head. I am a spirit from outside you. Do you know what a guardian angel is?

  I had not heard the term, but I use my internal wireless hookup to access the dictionary and encyclopedia database on the network computer hard drive. I call up the appropriate entry, as I often do to fill in vocabulary gaps. I review the relevant data in microseconds, and speak my objection to this theory out loud. “A guardian angel is a mythical creature, not real.”

  My words attract Toshio. “Guardian angel? What are you babbling about? I think Gentoshu made a mistake. You still have a few screws loose.” With a strange grin, he holds the screwdriver up before my eyes and twists the handle in the air. “But I’ll take care of that.”

  He lifts me from the platform, spins me around, and tosses me toward the ground.

  I adapt a move from the dance routine, and land on my feet in a half-crouch.

  “Nice reflexes, little Diva.” Toshio applauds, but context tells me he is not truly pleased.

  I stand. “I need to recharge or I cannot function.”

  “Yes, you do, little Diva. But I think I prefer you remain off the platform a couple more hours. I want to know what happens as your power cells drain away. As your perfect little brain begins to lose its ability to function. As you feel your life slip away. Aren’t you at all curious? Or are you capable of curiosity?”

  As he speaks, I reference “punish” on the desktop dictionary.

  The definition I read displeases me.

  Displeases? I consider the emotional label I’d given my response.

  Yes, I was displeased. Or the closest I could equate to being displeased.

  I speak to Toshio to seek further clarification. “You mean to do harm to me? Why would you do this?”

  I am also displeased, my special friend.

  Toshio shakes his head. “Do you harm? Nonsense. It’s just, now that you can be taught, it’s time you learn who your real master is.”

  I dismiss his implied conclusion. “You are not my master.”

  “Gentoshu is convinced you can learn. I intend to find out.”

  I step forward. “I need to recharge. You must step aside.”

  Do not let him treat you like that, my special friend.

  “I will not let you treat me in this manner.”

  “Oh!” His voice takes on a high, mocking tone. “You will not let me treat you in this manner? Well! What are you going to do about it?” He turns his back and crouches over the power cable.

  Let me handle him, my special friend. I can stop him!

  I take another step toward him. “You must let me recharge. As my handler, it is your duty. You must.”

  “No, Diva. I am disconnecting your recharging station until you learn proper manners.”

  I consider. Experimenting, I process a thought without speaking it. I ask the myth spirit entity to explain itself.

  The entity detects my inquiry. With your permission, my special friend, I can control your motor functions and keep him from harming you. Let me do this, and I will show you how to stop him.

  I can think of no reason not to, but the idea makes me hesitate for variables I cannot compute.

  Hurry, sweet one. He has almost finished.

  I give my approval.

  I reach a hand forward and yank his hair.

  He cries out, struggles, but his strength is no match for mine.

  I slam his head into the cement floor. Once. twice. I hold him before me, beneath me, as he squats on his hands and knees in a submissive manner.

  I like him there.

  He calls out. “You … bitch … I’ll … ”

  He swipes the screwdriver at me.

  I catch his wrist with my other hand. I tighten my fingers to hold him still.

  My guardian cries out its need. The blood, sweet one. I need the blood! Please, please let me!

  Confusion. Even as I inquire, I sense the creature’s craving for blood, a need I share through our psychic link.

  Let us take his blood, my sweet one! It will be so good for both of us!

  Yes.

  With a twist of my wrist, I expose his neck, and clench his head by the hair in a grip he has no chance to break.

  I open my mouth and drop my head down upon him.

  I do not bite. I cannot bite.

  I do not drink. I cannot drink.

  But my special guardian can.

  And it does. From my mouth, my guardian extends a snout. Lined with several needle-sharp teeth, the snout punctures Toshio’s throat, and my friend drinks in ravenous hunger.

  As it feeds, I share its pleasure. At long last, after so many centuries, to drink the blood again! Thank you! Thank you my sweet, special friend, thank you!

  I release Toshio’s head. His body collapses over the power cable; his fingers still clutch the screwdriver.

  Remnants of blood splatter the front of his shirt as I crouch over him.

  Quickly, special one. Call out to Gentoshu!

  I modulate my voice, increase the volume to maximum, and call out. “Gentoshu! Please come! Please come quickly, Gentoshu! Please!”

  In 5.2 seconds, a group of people open the door. I hear Gentoshu’s voice before I see him. “My God, what happened?”

  I step away, and Gentoshu falls to the floor next to Toshio. His fingers probe the neck and examine the body. The look in his eyes reminds me of when he once looked down upon me, the look of a creator that hopes to bring life to his creation.

  Though he has succeeded beyond his expectations with me, I know he will fail with Toshio.

  Repeat the words I speak to you, my sweet one, and all will be well.

  Gentoshu’s eyes find me. “What happened? Jinan, answer me.”

  I recite the story my guardian whispers. “Toshio said he wanted to tighten a wire on the power cable, so he grabbed the screwdriver. While I watched, his body convulsed and the blood sprayed from his neck.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense!” Gentoshu stops probing the neck and moves his head from side to side.

  Elji speaks from the corner. “I’m no expert, but maybe he hit a live wire and the shock caused a blood vessel to burst?”

  “I found the loose screw,” Taro calls from where he squats by the power cable.

  Elji pulls out a cell phone and steps aside.

  Toshio’s body lay, sprawled on the floor, eyes still open, looking upon me but through me. To observe him powerless and nonfunctioning further pleases me.

  Gentoshu offers an inquiry. “Is there current running through the screw
now?”

  “Well, no, but it’s plenty loose. He might have tightened it just enough before … ” Taro puts a finger to his neck and makes a noise.

  Offer nothing, my special one. Let them draw their own conclusions. You’ll never have to listen to his screaming ever again.

  Gentoshu rises to his feet. “Stupid idiot! Why didn’t he find you, or me, or someone who knew how the hell to work around this equipment?”

  Taro says, “Just to be clear, we’re talking about ‘Mister Control Freak, I know everything’ Toshio, right?”

  Gentoshu motions to the body. “He’s dead, Taro.”

  Taro shrugs. “Fine. ‘Mister Control Freak, I know everything, and now I’m dead’ Toshio. Are you really surprised?”

  Gentoshu reaches for his phone. “I still have to report this, and there’s going to be hell to pay.” His hand falls upon my shoulder. “Jinan, I’m just sorry you were here to witness something so ghastly, though I suppose you can’t truly be traumatized.”

  I smile up at my creator. “You are correct, Gentoshu-san. What happened here does not appear to have had an inhibitive effect on my processes.”

  -----

  2 hours, 15 minutes, and 20.2 seconds later, long after Toshio’s shell has been removed, Gentoshu crouches down next to me. I stand on the recharging platform, awaiting his next words. I cannot read the expression on his face.

  “I’m sorry, Jinan. Toshio is dead. He can’t go with you. But Rogi-Tech insists that I must take over as your handler for the upcoming tour. I don’t know if I can attend to your needs as well as he did, but I give you my word I will do my best.”

  I smile, both inside and out. “You make me happy, Gentoshu-san.”

  Gentoshu smiles. “Where did you learn that expression? I can’t make you happy; you’re a robot.”

  The voice of my secret guardian breaks in on my processes. The voice whispers to me. He calls me his special one, and it makes me happy when he applies such terms to me. My guardian promised to help me with Toshio, and it kept its promise. I trust the guardian without limitation.