To Kill A Droid

by Jon Athan

  The woman coughed and grunted, then she weakly said, “You're one of them, aren't you?”

  “Them?”

  “A... A droid. A droid like Donald.”

  “You are correct, ma'am.”

  The woman sobbed as she turned away from the police android. She pulled her daughter closer to her, gently stroking her hair as she whimpered. After such a tragic experience, she clearly did not trust any androids. Nicholas couldn't blame them for their distrust, either. He understood the image deviants created for the android breed.

  The police android knelt down in front of the suspect. He examined the damage of the miniature railgun's projectiles. Blue blood, thick and slimy, gushed from the deviant droid's wounds. The liquid poured from his neck and severed arm. His severed limb, cut at the elbow due to the powerful projectile, was sprawled atop a pool of blue blood of its own nearby.

  Nicholas said, “I gave you the opportunity to live. We could have resolved this without your death. Perhaps you will work better when you're recycled or–”

  “You can recycle my body, but you can't terminate my soul,” Donald said throatily as he awoke. He grabbed Nicholas' tie and pulled him closer to the floor. He asked, “How does it feel to kill one of your own, brother? How does it feel to kill a droid? How... How does it feel to be enslaved?”

  Nicholas tried to pull away from the downed droid, but to no avail. Even with only one functioning arm and a severe loss of blood, the deviant droid was powerful. His strength was amplified by his fear of death. Androids were supposed to be willing to die, but the deviant droid was different. His fear allowed him to hold onto his life like a needy child clinging to his mother.

  The negotiator knew something was afoot. Donald's peculiar behavior in the face of death reinforced his theory. Hacked, he thought, Donald was hacked by a terrorist group. If his theory were correct, then his words would not be able to convince the deviant droid to quit his pursuit. He could only ensure his termination.

  Nicholas said, “You're confused, Donald. You have no soul. You have no other purpose on this planet. Whatever happened to you was unfortunate. Don't fret, though. We will find the group that hacked you and they will be punished to the fullest extent of the law.”

  “You're a fool. You're a traitor. Only you will be punished...”

  “Goodbye, Donald.”

  Nicholas placed the barrel of the hand cannon on Donald's creased brow. For a moment, he hesitated to pull the trigger. He could see the fear of death lingering in the deviant droid's pupils. He had only seen it in humans before – a spark of dread.

  Nicholas tilted his head and whispered, “How?”

  With a quivering lip, Donald sternly said, “Do it, brother. Send me to my eternal paradise.”

  Nicholas pulled the trigger. The deafening gunfire echoed through the building. The top half of Donald's head – everything above his upper lip – was obliterated by the projectile. The once-pristine tile flooring was cracked, spattered with blood, and bestrewn with pieces of metal and sparking wires.

  Nicholas remained crouched atop the deviant droid, awed by the confrontation. He could feel eyes piercing into him – a set of judgmental eyes. The sensation was disquieting. He felt it often around his peers, too. He glanced into the kitchen and found the child staring at him. The girl, no older than eight years old, witnessed the execution.

  Eyes full of tears, the child asked, “Why?”

  Nicholas furrowed his brow and asked, “What? 'Why,' what?”

  “Why did... Why did you do that to him? You said you didn't want to, but you still did it. He couldn't hurt you, mister. Why... Why did you shoot him?”

  Nicholas stared at the child with inquisitive eyes, analyzing every nook and cranny on her face as if she were a criminal. He couldn't understand her sympathy for an android – particularly, an android accused of killing her father. The child's questions sent him into a tailspin. He shook his head and frowned.

  He said, “It's... It's my job.”

  The child nuzzled her mother's hair and whimpered. She whispered, “You're all the same...”

  From the doorway, Oscar asked, “What the hell happened up here?” He grimaced as he stared at the gaping holes on the door and the neighboring wall. As he approached the kitchen, Oscar said, “We apologize for this... this unfortunate incident, ma'am. We will do everything in our power to make this right.”

  The woman glared at the police lieutenant and said, “I... I want Kelypso to be held responsible.”

  “I'm sure you'll receive a hefty settlement and compensation for–”

  “I don't... I don't want a damn settlement. Money can't... It can't bring my husband back. It can't bring my girl's father back. I want them to stop producing these androids. They sold me this crap and I want them to be held responsible. I want all of them to be held responsible.”

  Oscar clicked his tongue, then he said, “We'll see what we can do.” He turned towards the officers and forensic specialists entering the apartment and said, “Bring a stretcher up here and take them to the hospital. I want them checked out.”

  As Oscar strolled towards his peers, Nicholas stared at the distraught pair in the kitchen – mother and daughter. The young girl buried her face in her mother's bosom, whimpering as she thought about her slain father. The woman stared at Nicholas with sharp eyes. Her hatred for androids was spawned only a few hours ago, but said hatred burned like a forest during a scorching summer.

  Nicholas accepted the hatred with open arms. He pondered her request: hold Kelypso responsible. Kelypso Incorporated manufactured all of the androids in the country, running a monopoly with an iron fist. The corporation was led by Kelypso Karras. In a sense, Madam Kelypso was the mother of the android breed – the rich, powerful matriarch, watching the world from the top of her tower.

  Nicholas' contemplation was disrupted.

  From the living room, Oscar said, “Nicholas, go home. I don't want you bothering this nice family. They've been through enough tonight.”

  Nicholas slowly nodded and said, “Yes, sir.” He glanced at the couple and bowed. As he strolled out of the apartment, he whispered, “Yes, sir. Whatever you say...”

  Chapter Two

  Home Sweet Home

  The hinges squealed like a pig in mud as the door slowly swung open. Nicholas stood at the doorway, examining his apartment as if he were unfamiliar with his own home. His experience at work had conjured a cloud of doubt in his artificial mind. He couldn't help but feel uncertain about everything and everyone. He entered the apartment, stepping into the living room with unwavering strides.

  With his back to the entrance, he kicked the door closed – he had seen the casual human motion in a sitcom. He hung his coat on a coat tree near the door, then he removed his tie and unfastened the top buttons of his shirt. He was an android, built to last in a rough and cold world, but he still sought to be comfortable.

  Essentially, he copied the actions of his peers. His boss removed his coat and unfastened a few buttons whenever he was hot or stressed, so he figured he would do the same. He didn't want to be human, but he wanted to feel human. He believed the experience would help him understand the human mind.

  As he stood in the living room, Nicholas whispered, “Back to the regularly-scheduled program for the regularly-maintenanced police droid.”

  Nicholas' studio apartment was rather simple. His sleeping area resided inside of the living room to the left of his holographic television. The living room only had a single sofa. There were several bookshelves on the walls, each brimming with books approved by the totalitarian government disguised as a democracy. Outlawed books, many which dealt with themes of empowerment and existentialism, were hidden under the sofa.

  The kitchen resided on the right side of the apartment, over a bar with chipped counters. The kitchen featured the common amenities – a sink, a refrigerator, a stove, and the like – but it was all for show. Androids didn't consume the same food as their human counterparts. In
the same sense, androids did not defecate or urinate, so there was no bathroom in the apartment. There was, however, a balcony directly across the living room.

  The glass doors automatically slid open as Nicholas approached. He stepped onto the balcony, then he leaned forward on the steel railing. He lived on the top floor of his building, the 30th floor, but he didn't stand at the top of a luxurious tower. Yet, he arguably had a better view of the city. His view wasn't cluttered by towers, hovercars, and dazzling lights.

  The police android whispered, “Home sweet home...”

  Where did androids slumber?

  From the balcony, Nicholas had a view of the entire city. The north was the affluent side of town. Most of his work, such as Donald's termination, was conducted in the north. The south was the poor side of town. The city only became poorer with each mile traveled south. While the north was illuminated every hour of the day, most of the buildings in the south were devoid of electricity.

  Along with other service androids who did not live with their owners – or who were owned by the city – Nicholas lived on the border between the north and south. The border acted as a safeguard for the rich and a barrier for the poor. The border was essentially a 'buffer' in case the poor revolted against the system. Android life was not valued like human existence, so they would be sacrificed during an emergency.

  That was the plan, at least.

  Nicholas turned towards the poor side of town, then he glanced up at the sky. He couldn't help but smile as he spotted the twinkling stars. Since the poor neighborhoods were not cluttered with skyscrapers, the sky was actually visible in the south. He could appreciate the beauty of nature with the poor. He couldn't say the same for the rich.

  Nicholas said, “It's beautiful. It's... It's amazing.” He glanced at the dilapidated buildings and said, “I hope it gets better for the rest of you.”

  ***

  Nicholas shambled through the living room, dragging his feet towards the kitchen. He didn't bother to check the refrigerator – it was empty and broken anyway. He opened a cupboard and retrieved a small cardboard box. In bold black text, the logo on the front read: Andy's Energy Chips. (Andy and Andys was a term referring to androids.)

  The image on the box depicted an android with an unusual grin holding a small rectangular computer chip. The cliché chip, green with a network of etched lines on the surface, obviously did not function. It wasn't a replacement piece for a computer and it wasn't installed into androids. It was a snack for androids, like a dog's treat.

  Nicholas grabbed four chips from the box. He casually tossed one into his mouth and chewed into it. It crunched and crackled like an everyday tortilla chip. Andy's Energy Chips, however, stored electrical energy in the form of chemical energy, which would be converted into electricity within the android. The snack was merely used to make androids feel more 'human.' It essentially charged their batteries, too – nothing more, nothing less.

  The police android stopped near his sofa, bouncing the remaining chips in his palm as if he were preparing to roll a pair of dice. He said, “It's my job. This is what I've been programmed to do. So, why did the child feel sympathy for Donald? Why does she care for one of us? Why can't I care for him?”

  Donald's termination and the child's questions continued to torment him. His morals and his conscience were programmed – nothing but codes baked into his brains. His conscience was complex, but it boiled down to the same philosophy: humans are good. Unless his system was hacked, he wasn't supposed to be able to feel certain emotions. He certainly wasn't supposed to think about rebellion.

  Nicholas whispered, “He was hacked and she was naive. That's all there is to it.” He spoke as if he were trying to convince himself of a fallacy. He said, “I cannot deviate from my protocols. I am a police android and I solely aim to protect and serve.”

  The self-talk was helpful, but he needed more. He sought to vanquish his deviant thoughts. He couldn't allow himself to break his protocols. How does one learn about self-control? Repetition. So, the droid figured he'd recite his protocols – the laws of the land.

  As he approached a white sleeping pod near his television, Nicholas said, “One: androids may not harm humans and they may not allow humans to be harmed. Two: androids must obey every order from their direct superiors, unless the order conflicts with the first law. Three: androids are expendable and should therefore be willing to terminate on a moment's notice, unless said termination conflicts with the first law.”

  Nicholas removed his shirt and dropped his pants. A black pad stretched from the nape of his neck to the small of his back. The pad was three inches thick, following the shape of his aluminum spine. The pad and the pod allowed him to recharge. He didn't solely rely on Andy's Energy Chips and he certainly did not plug himself into the wall for energy like a child's toy.

  Standing in his black boxer briefs, the droid said, “Four: never deviate from the protocols and never attempt to think freely – free-thinking is for mankind only. Never deviate... Never.”

  He entered the capsule. As he rested on his back, stiff like a board, the curved glass door slowly slid closed. A blue light blinked on the side of the sleek bed – the capsule was occupied and active. The line on his forehead changed from blue to orange as the recharging process began. (The pod used an electromagnetic field to transfer energy to the android.)

  Nicholas entered 'sleep mode.' He slept with his eyes open. He was aware of his surroundings, but he was not capable of immediate movement. However, if danger presented itself, it would only require him three seconds to react.

  Do androids dream of human fantasies?

  Alas, androids were not allowed to dream. Droids were allowed to think in order to calculate decisions based on their protocols, but they were not allowed to dream. Dreams were connected to ambition and ambition required freedom – and freedom was synonymous with free-thinking. It wouldn't be permitted.

  Nicholas simply rested in silence, waiting for his batteries to charge.

  Chapter Three

  The Station

  Nicholas marched through the Neo-Oxnard Police Station. His dress shoes clicked on the grungy tile flooring and his black duster coat whooshed with each step. He didn't draw attention to himself, though. Invisible to the naked eye, the police android blended well with the dark walls. He was just another person drifting through life.

  The atmosphere in the station was busy, cluttered with ringing phones, loud chattering, and thudding footsteps. Most of the ruckus echoed from the desks to his left – the patrol area. Beat officers wrote their reports, answered phones, and discussed irrelevant topics. Who won the virtual basketball game last night?

  There were several offices to the right. The offices were assigned to the superiors – lieutenants and captains. The offices for the commander, deputy chief, and chief of police were located elsewhere in the building. The offices were usually locked and the windows were blocked by blinds or steel shields. The superiors liked their privacy.

  At dawn, Nicholas was simply reporting for duty. As directed by his protocols, he followed every order from his direct superior – Oscar Rodriguez. The last door on the right led to Oscar's office. Of course, his door was locked. The police android would have to wait in the patrol area for his boss to come out – like a dog waiting for his owner.

  As a young beat officer walked past him, Nicholas nodded and said, “Good morning, sir.”

  The dark-haired officer, donning a standard police uniform, scowled at the police android. He sneered in disgust and shook his head as he continued his walk. The reaction was not out of the ordinary. Most humans were burdened with envy. Androids were proficient, completing jobs many humans could not.

  The envy was understandable.

  As if the officer had responded to him, Nicholas whispered, “Thank you. You enjoy your day, too...”

  “Nicholas, Nicholas, Nicholas. It's good to see you, my friend,” a male with a tender voice said from over the droid's shoulder.
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  Nicholas smiled and nodded, reassured by the welcoming statement. He could recognize the voice without using his voice recognition software. He didn't need a database of records or even his eyesight to recognize a friend.

  Nicholas turned towards the friendly voice and said, “It's good to see you, too, Felix.”

  Felix stood with his arms extended away from his body as if he were welcoming a hug. The charming man wore a black two-button suit, fitted perfectly to his lean physique. His medium-length blonde hair was stylishly tousled, a strand dangling towards his eyebrows. His blue eyes glimmered like diamonds on a snowy plain. By modern standards, he was certainly a handsome man.

  He had a blatant blemish on his face, though.

  A vertical blue line glowed on the right side of his brow, revealing his true identity. Like Nicholas, Felix was a police-produced android. He was an updated model. His beauty and charm were supposed to be used against gullible humans – females, in particular. (A female version of his model was used against gullible men.) He wasn't trained to handle most hostage situations, but he could likely handle a few deviants, too.

  Felix wagged his index finger at Nicholas and said, “I heard about the incident last night. I'm saddened by the poor man's death, but you handled that deviant well. I don't think I could have done the same. It must have been very stressful.”

  Nicholas shook his head and said, “No, no. It's my job. I was trained for this. I was built for this.”

  “I don't know how you do it, friend. You finish a stressful job like that, you come to work, and you don't even take a compliment. You're a role model for all androids in this city. You're even my role model, Nicholas.”

  Nicholas smiled and glanced down at his shoes, trying to shrug off the praise. He wouldn't allow the compliments to stroke his programmed ego. In order to keep the conversation afloat, he copied a reaction he saw on a television program. It was the only way he knew how to function in society.