Cursed Bunny
Page 9
The young man with the split belly grabbed the villager’s ankle.
Let me go …
The villager nearly stumbled off his feet.
The young man with the split belly spoke once more in a voice which was like cracked ice on a frozen lake.
Let me …
The child with the golden glow emotionlessly stared at the villager, his mouth half-open with his sharp teeth bared.
The villager shook off the young man’s grasp, turned, and ran for his life.
When he reached his house, the villager saw that the part of his trousers that the young man had grasped was glinting with gold. With some other people from the village, he went out after sunrise to the place where he had seen the boy, but the mountain trail was only muddy from the melting snow, and of the golden boy and the man with his belly split open, there was not a trace.
Goodbye, My Love
1
S12878, as soon as I turn him on, looks at me and smiles. A new feature I programmed into him this time around. A small change but incredibly detailed in its execution. I think of how great it would be, for future models, if I had them smile shyly or glance down and then up, or laugh daringly and hold out a hand, any kind of behavior, really, to simulate “personality.” I make a note of it on the chart.
Now to test interactivity: saying hello.
“Hello,” I say.
“Hello,” says S12878.
“What is your name?”
“My name is Sam.”
The default name in the factory settings. All S12000s are named “Sam.” In other words, this part is functioning normally. Under “Interaction 1,” I write down “normal” and lightly grip S12878’s right wrist.
Putting my thumb on S12878’s, I firmly press down. “Now your name is Seth.”
S12878 looks down. I feel uneasy when he doesn’t respond right away.
“What did I say your name was?”
“I will save the name once you remove your finger,” S12878 says with his head still bowed. I quickly take my hand off him.
S12878 raises his head. And just as he did when I turned him on, he smiles. “My name is Seth. Glad to meet you.”
This is good enough to merit a passing grade on first-stage unit optimization. Under “Interaction 2: Name,” I write down “normal.”
“Seth, how many languages can you speak?”
“I can converse in 297 languages.”
I take out my phone and play him a recorded voice file.
“Ладно, сейчас давай поговорим по-русски.”
“Хорошо, давайте,” he answers.
“Как тебя зовут?”
“Меня зовут Сет.”
Seth answers each standard question immediately and naturally. I play the next file.
“Să vorbesc româneşte acum.”
“Bine, hai.”
“Cum te simţi azi?”
“Sunt bine. Mersi.”
I put my phone back into my pocket and ask him a question in the language of his default factory setting, my mother tongue. “What time is it?”
“It is twelve hours and twenty-six minutes.”
Next to “Interaction 3,” I mark “normal.”
I turn to Seth again. “Come here. I’ll introduce you to a friend.”
Seth smiles and follows me out of the room.
2
I once saw a movie about androids. Among the large cast of characters, there was an old engineer with an android that had been with him for a long time, one that, even after it breaks, he is unable to discard. Saying it is for the sake of his own safety, the government demands he junk the android and replace it with a newer model, but the engineer refuses to do so and does everything in his power to keep his android in hiding.
I introduce Seth to D0068. “Seth, this is Derek. Derek, this is Seth. Say hello.”
S12878 and D0068 face each other. They touch foreheads. The capillaries on their faces—lines of their subdermal circuitry—light up in blue on the S model and sparkling green on the D. A pretty and uncanny scene that never fails to dazzle me.
Clearly, the new model is faster. Seth straightens up first and turns his head to look at me. “Initialization complete.”
Seth smiles.
The smile is so unsettling that a chill runs down my spine. I write down “normal” and “compatible” under “Initialization” and add an extra note recommending the smile function be rolled back. Seeing an android smiling like a human after doing something a human wouldn’t do is creepy. I wonder whether the concept of the “uncanny valley” can be applied to behavior as much as it does to appearance.
In that sense, D0068 is easier to deal with. Derek almost never smiles. Maybe I’m more used to him because he’s been around longer, or D0068 might have learned at some point that I prefer my androids to be quiet and expressionless instead of bandying about empty smiles.
Even now, D0068 only glances at me before leaving the living room. And so, all the information that Derek has on me from the past two and a half months has been duplicated into Seth. My daily routine, the food I like, the location of my every possession within the house, the contact information of the people closest to me, right down to how I like my clothes and sheets laundered according to fabric. And because both androids are connected to the network, Seth and Derek are synchronized with each other regarding all the things that go on in the house and every bit of information received by each android. They are two halves of a connected, digital brain.
Just one test left.
3
I open the closet and switch on the light.
“Model 1” requires quite a bit of time to boot up. I feel she’s growing slower every time she comes back online. Since there are limits to storage space and processing power on any piece of hardware, much less hardware as old as hers, my sense that she’s growing slower by the day can’t simply be my own subjective impression.
I wait silently until she raises her head and focuses her eyes on my face.
Model 1 was truly the first model, the prototype I constructed when I started developing and testing “artificial companions.” There’s a separate name for this line, a factory default name along with a personalized one I made for her myself, but none of that matters anymore. She was my first; the first model is simply Model 1.
Truth be told, the sight of her slumped over while booting up never fails to make me anxious.
What if she fails to boot up this time …
I felt the same way when I had brought her over and booted her up for the very first time. She was my first. What if she never came back online? What if she malfunctions? What if she doesn’t understand her own name? Such were the useless thoughts that ran through my mind in that short time that I was forced to wait for her to look up and see me.
Model 1 looks up and sees me. Back then, there was no such feature of smiling while making eye contact with the master.
But the moment I first looked into Model 1’s green eyes, I fell in love.
She was my creation, a companion made by my own hands. A being who existed, from head to toe, solely for me—someone who was, for lack of a better way of saying it, completely and utterly “mine.”
I purchased her after the three-month testing period. Not only was this permitted under the company’s rules, my employee discount let me purchase her at 70% off the retail price. I’ve moved companies twice since then and lived with countless artificial companions made by different companies, for durations of anywhere between three days to three months. The android companions diversified as technologies improved. From models that looked like young people in their twenties and thirties to middle-aged, even senior models. (There were children models as well, but you needed a special permit and they weren’t really my specialization.) The later the model—no matter what age group they were supposed to resemble—the more charming, beautiful, polite, detailed, and human they seemed. They inter
acted with their masters and “learned” about them, and they used that information to “think” and “understand.” Artificial companions, as time went on, changed and “grew” into the most optimal companion possible for their masters’ needs and desires.
It followed that designing artificial companions was a pleasant and satisfying job. Every time we tested a new model, the technological developments and detailed execution would astonish me. Artificial companions were often much more considerate, empathic, and patient than human companions. The androids had initially been created for the material and emotional support of senior citizens in rapidly aging countries, but they turned out to be popular regardless of the user’s age. There was even an almost comical rumor going around in certain circles that artificial companions were an industry-wide conspiracy to sell more androids by decreasing the birth rate and further accelerating population aging.
But no matter how many advanced models I brought home, Model 1 would always be my favorite. No matter how advanced and refined the subsequent models were, for me, all they amounted to was work.
Model 1 is different. My first love. There’s nothing “artificial” about her; she’s my real companion. Even now, well past the average use period, I can’t bring myself to junk Model 1. At one point, it took such a long time for her to connect that it became impossible to download upgrades, so I gave up and cut her off from the network. Model 1 has subsequently become more useless than a smart desk or refrigerator. But Model 1 will always be my first.
As time wore on and her batteries began to fail, Model 1 would slow down after ten or fifteen minutes of activation and begin to slur her words. Then one day, she froze midwalk, fell, and twisted her arm, which led me to store her in a closet with her power off. Model 1 became not a companion, but a doll in a closet. However, I still couldn’t throw Model 1 away. Model 1 was the first, and as long as I kept her connected to a power source, I could still turn her on. I have to wait an absurd amount of time for her to boot up, but I can endure it as long as I can see her green eyes look at me and smile.
Sometimes, when I bring a new model home, I connect Model 1 to a power supply and attempt to initialize or update her. More often than not, there’s an error and I have to quickly switch her off. But I can’t give up.
While I wait for Model 1 to boot up, Seth stands close to me and doesn’t speak a word. He doesn’t smile or ask stupid questions.
I have a good feeling about him.
4
As anxious as I feel, I can do nothing but look on as Seth and Model 1 put their foreheads together.
I can’t keep Model 1 in the closet forever. Of course, if I could I’d have her by my side until the day I die, but there may come a day when she simply won’t boot up. It’s not impossible to recover the memories of a broken machine, but she’s such an old android that I thought it wiser to copy her stored memories onto another model. Every time I have previously tried, however, a processing error in Model 1 would crash her system, resulting in a failure to transfer her memories.
With each ticking second, I’m getting more and more worried as the two androids keep their heads pressed together. What if Model 1 crashed again …
Suddenly, Seth detaches his forehead from Model 1’s.
“Synchronization complete.”
He says this while looking at me. He smiles.
This smile is slightly different from the one he showed me before. I can’t quite put my finger on how, but it is.
His smile doesn’t creep me out anymore.
5
I try to switch Model 1 back on but to no avail. Pressing the power button several times, taking out the internal battery and putting it in again, trying the spare battery—nothing brings Model 1 back to life. I put her back in her place, connect the external power supply with the spare battery still inside, make sure the battery is charging, and close the closet.
An hour later, I open the closet again. The battery is still only at 10%. Model 1 refuses to come back online.
I hug Model 1 and pull her out of the closet. She is taller than me and has the stature of a regular adult man. Only when I pull with all my strength can I barely manage to bring her out of there. S and D run over and ask if I need assistance, but I tell them I need time alone and shoo them away.
For a long time, I sit in the hallway with the lifeless Model 1 in my arms. Even after another hour, the battery remains at 15% and refuses to charge any further. No matter how many times I press the power button, Model 1 does not open her eyes.
I bury my face in Model 1’s soft brown hair. Perhaps from having been in the closet for so long, it smells of dust and fabric preservatives.
I want to cry. But the thought of my tears wetting Model 1’s hair and damaging her circuits stops me from even that.
6
On the riverbanks of time
I sing a silver song for you
Goodbye, my love
Goodbye, my love …
I’m grabbing some water from the refrigerator when something startles me and makes me turn around. Seth is assembling a meal at the kitchen counter, chopping some peppers and softly singing a song to himself.
You follow the flow of the silver river
I walk toward the disappeared past
My heart with yours goes into the water
So goodbye, my love
Goodbye, my love
“How do you know that song?”
My voice is too loud for the room.
Seth answers, unfazed, “It was part of the synchronization, saved as your favorite song.”
I’m relieved at that. Of course. He had said the synchronization had been complete. It's perfectly natural that he would know the song.
Seth waits politely. When he hears nothing more and sees me drink my water, he turns back around and starts slicing the mushrooms.
Someday in the distance of time’s faraway horizon
Will I wipe away your silver tears
I find myself humming along to the rest.
Will I sing again
Goodbye, my love
Goodbye, my love …
Seth finishes the mushrooms, puts them on a plate, and washes his hands. Coming up to me, he abruptly takes the cup away from my hand and puts it in the sink. With one hand he grabs mine and pulls me to him by my waist with the other.
On the riverbanks of time
I sing a silver song for you
Humming the tune, he spins me round and round. All the while dancing, we start turning around the table.
Goodbye, my love
Goodbye, my love …
Still holding me, Seth leads me around the table and into the living room.
You follow the flow of the silver river
My heart goes into the water with yours
In the middle of the living room, Seth continues to hum the tune as he holds me firmly and slowly sways me from side to side.
Will I wipe away your silver tears
Will I sing again …
Held close to the chest by what was not mine, this artificial companion I was testing for the company I worked for, I began singing along to his deep humming.
Goodbye, my love
Goodbye, my love …
7
Dinner is pasta mixed with sliced peppers and mushrooms sautéed with beef. A quick and easy dish, one that’s hard to ruin, something I throw together when I don’t have much time. Without any instructions or my input, Seth cooks it all on his own. I must’ve made it so many times that this hasty dish of pasta was saved as my favorite meal in Model 1’s mind.
After the meal is over, I go back to the closet where Model 1 is still charging. Her battery is, strangely enough, charged at 12% now, even lower than before. And on her palm, instead of the green light that appears when she is being charged, there’s the orange light for a faulty battery. This means the auxiliary battery I purchased for her, as well as her original internal battery, can no longer be charged.
Knowing
it is useless, I still try and press the power button.
Model 1 opens her eyes. Her green eyes look at me.
I almost jump out of my skin. I try calling her name, talking to her.
But the moment I open my mouth to speak, Model 1 closes her eyes.
She does not move again.
I hold Model 1 close and stroke her soft, dust-scented brown hair.
“Goodbye, my love …” Upon her hair, her forever-closed eyelids, and her still sweet mouth, I press my lips. “Goodbye, my love …”
Model 1’s skin is wet from my tears.
8
Long after I’ve laid down in my bed, I still can’t go to sleep.
The song was from a movie I’d seen years ago. It plays during a scene where the male and female protagonists first fall in love, and it reprises when the two dance together before an impending, tragic parting. I once watched this scene at the end of the movie where the two lovers dance, doomed to never meet again, as I leaned against Model 1 and mumbled, “I wish I could do that someday.”
“Do what, ma’am?” asked Model 1.
I jerked my chin at the screen. “Something like that. I’ve never learned how to dance.”
“You haven’t?”
Model 1 got up. She put one hand behind her and made an exaggerated, sweeping bow.
“Shall we dance?”
“What?”
I laughed. Her expression dead serious, Model 1 took my hand and raised me to my feet. Her hand still clasping mine, she wrapped her other arm around my waist and pulled me to her. Slowly, Model 1 began to sway with me.
“I don’t know how to do this.” I was still taken aback and a little embarrassed. “I feel like I’m going to fall.”
“Just follow my lead,” whispered Model 1. “We’ll go slow.”
As the ending credits rolled on the screen, Model 1, to the rhythm of the movie’s final song, danced with me as she held me close. As I lay my head on the machine’s chest and let myself be slowly led around the living room, I felt, for the first time, that she was not an “artificial companion” but my companion, period.
Later, when I asked her to explain why she had started to dance with me, her expression remained utterly serious. “I can instantly download various types of correctional manuals for the tone-deaf and rhythm-deficient.”