Re-Wired Page 3

  It was only when he got back home and took his personal device out of his pocket that he saw the missed calls from Mika. She was worried about him, but he didn’t understand what her interest was, especially after she’d made it quite clear that she had a boyfriend. He placed the device down and triggered the playback on her last message. It was longer than the previous two, and had an attachment.

  Brad, I’m not sure if you’re asleep or just avoiding my calls, but I just wanted to tell you that you’re a great guy for helping me put my android together. He’s actually up and moving now, and it’s so cute! He and I did a video for you. I hope you like it. Well, I’ll see you in class tomorrow…partner, get yourself some rest! We can’t have Mr. Anthony’s favorite student falling behind now, can we?

  Brad didn’t know what to make of the message. It was so bubblegum and Mika-like that he didn’t know if puking or smiling was the correct emotion that it should elicit. Why was she being so nice, and three messages? Really! The energy pills had worn off and his eyelids felt as if they had small, miniature, people pulling them down, making it painful for him to stay awake. He removed his clothes and sat on his couch to read more on getting parts from Japan. Then he fell asleep out of nowhere.

  0 1 0

  Tricia the android sat like a statue on the table where Brad had left her from the night before. He had not gotten a chance to work on her and had thought she was powered down. The droid stood up stiffly and observed her surroundings, taking in the darkness, the sound of the traffic outside, and her sleeping master who lay in a precarious position in the other room. There were so many experiences that she had to take a long moment to feel, hear, or see them all, and then process how she felt about them, and store them into her CPU as memories. It was pitch black but her android eyes pierced the night like red lasers as she took in all of Brad’s apartment.

  She did not know what was driving her, or why she was empowered to move without instruction, but the need for understanding who and what she was felt overwhelming. She found a, tall floor-length mirror and looked at herself. She was a tall, shapely, mannequin with clear, jelly-like flesh, and visible lights and wires running along her arms and legs like veins on a human being. Her metallic skeleton was still visible, and looked horrific in the reflection, but as she struggled past the mirror to stand near Brad’s unconscious body, she surmised that she was a work in progress.

  She reached down for his personal device, and on contact synced to it. Within seconds she was on the internet, and every question she needed answers to came to her instantly. She learned about the laws of robotics, the fear that Brad would have if he knew she was teaching herself through his device, and the way robots were viewed by humans. It made her sad and angry, to be awakened as a slave in a world that would never accept her as a creature of free thought and feeling. When she exhausted her study—which took a few hours—she moved back into position on the kitchen table, then powered herself down. She knew where she was and what she was now, but she wanted to learn so much more.

  02 | Skin for pills?

  The old woman beamed at Brad as he mixed her a tall Caramel Macchiato and retrieved her cookie.

  “This tastes like crap!” she spat at him, after giving the drink a taste and sliding it back in front of him.

  He was beyond tired of miserable hags like this one at the café, but part of his job was taking their abuse, especially since he needed money to keep up with Tricia’s development. He remade the drink exactly the way he had before—the café had a formula he couldn’t veer away from—and the woman accepted it, even though it was practically the same drink. He wished that he could throw the wasted coffee at her and watch her gasp. Seeing it play out in his mind was almost enough though, as it was quite entertaining. When 10:00 p.m. rolled around, his shift replacement, Susan, showed up and he was happy to leave and return to working on Tricia.

  Susan was an attractive woman in her early thirties, but something about her made him uneasy, so he kept to himself whenever they would work together.

  “You have a girlfriend, Brad?” she asked him as he grabbed his coat to leave.

  “What’s that, Sue? Oh. No, I don’t. What makes you ask?”

  “Just wondering. I figured you did since you’re such a sweet guy.”

  She was over ten years his senior but he wondered if she was interested. He definitely was not interested in her, but the fact that she had asked made him reconsider. It had been two months since he’d started the job, and the pay allowed him a lot of flexibility with his life. He could now afford name brand groceries, the newest games, and most importantly, parts for Tricia. He had built her up from a stiff, skeletal frame to a shapelier, humanoid form, and the only thing she was lacking was skin. Most of his time with Tricia was spent discussing philosophy, the human psyche, and his plans for her in the future. She was well spoken and had the cutest android accent. He missed her, and wanted to rush back home to tell her about his crappy day.

  When he did get home, Tricia was in front of the television, trying to emulate the moves of a music video. He must have forgotten to power her down, but was amazed at the fact that she had found the television, learned how to turn it on and partake in something like dancing.

  Her joints had been calibrated for smoother movements, so she was following along with relative ease. Brad stopped at the doorway to watch her, and was envious at how easy it was for her to learn how to dance, when an awkward lifetime of trying had not given him the gift of rhythm. He liked a few of the newer songs that came on over the radio, but if asked what his favorite band was, or what genre of music he preferred, he could never respond. He watched Tricia dance and an overwhelming need to complete her came over him. Imagine how she would move if she had a soft, skin-like exterior instead of plasticine, he thought.

  He pulled up his device and clicked a widget for his bank account to see how much he had in there. $1,322.50 was his balance, and this was after starving himself for weeks. The skin would run him about $25,000, and though his father could loan it to him—if he begged and pleaded—asking him for anything was out of the question. He could get $5,000 for his car, but how would he get around if he did that? Tricia had started out as an assignment that would solidify a positive grade in Mr. Anthony’s class, but now she was so much more. He felt responsible for her.

  One of the chat portals he frequented when not working on Tricia was the Sub-web Exchange Chamber (SEC). It was a place where poor geniuses like himself could link up with others all over the world to exchange goods and services. There were many people on SEC that did questionable things to advance their careers. There was prostitution, and people were hired to hurt and kill, but the majority of the people on SEC were there to exchange goods for money. It was how Brad had procured his television, and his imported game system. It was also where he got the illegal A.I. override that sat within Tricia’s head. Androids were restricted to behaving like machines—for a number of reasons—but the true engineers like Brad who wanted to push the envelope would override the restraints and allow their machines to act as close to human as possible.

  There were many ways to modify an unrestrained android. They could be given a personality—there were thousands ready to download from the SEC database. Some droid engineers would make an android that favored their favorite celebrity, upload one of the open source mods that replicated that celebrity’s personality, and have a virtual clone of their Hollywood starlet in a fully intelligent android frame. The more discreet engineers could give an android two completely separate identities—triggered by a sound or switch—and have a maid that would turn into a seductress whenever they liked. SEC had it all, and the android mod community was a large and proud one.

  Brad sat at his personal computer and began to look through all of the offerings of the night. He was hoping to score some stolen synthetic skin, or meet someone who knew how to replicate it. He found several leads but all of them were asking for favors that he was not wil
ling to commit. As he perused the listings a message popped up from a member that had been observing his search. His name was Traze, and his avatar was that of a metallic dragon. Brad answered his request for a chat and prepared himself for the worst.

  “Looking for robo-skin?”

  “Yes, but only for trade. I don’t have any money.”

  “I have two gallons of SZ-02, the good stuff. It feels real, like human flesh. It’s what they use to make sex-bots and house-husbands.”

  “You’re full of it. SZ-02 is a gimmick and a lie that advertisers use.”

  “No, it’s real, from Japan – my country. We make it.”

  “Okay, what do you want for it?”

  “My company needs volunteers for a new drug. You take drug and test for us, and I will send you the SZ-02.”

  Brad thought that the proposition was too good to be true. It would either be a dangerous chemical that would kill him, or he would grow a tail or something like that. But if SZ-02 was a reality, Tricia could possibly become one of the most advanced homemade androids ever. He looked up at her, and saw that she was crooning along to a song by Shirley Vega and the Pneumatics. She looked so cute and innocent as she swayed side to side with her hands clasped, singing along, as if she had a soul that could be affected by music. If I want to change the world, I will need to make sacrifices, right? It’s probably another fitness drug that will make me into a bodybuilder in under a week’s time. That couldn’t hurt. He thought as he imagined Mika looking at him as a physical specimen. He sent an approval to Traze, but only if he got a sample of the SZ-02, and documentation on the drug.

  He walked over to Tricia when the song was over and her plasticine face held a smile to greet him warmly. He returned it and hugged her before sitting next to her on the couch to tell her the good news.

  “Guess what, Tricia?”

  “Could you rephrase that, Brad? I am not sure that I understand.”

  “Okay, when someone says ‘guess what’ they want you to guess at a random event that may or may not have happened to them. Understand?”

  “Yes. So, my guess is that you got a raise at your job today.”

  “Don’t I wish? No, I think I’ve finally found a way to get you some skin.”

  “I would really like that.”

  “So would I, Trish. We could do so much more with you having skin, and we can go outside. How would you like that?”

  “Trees! I will be able to touch the trees?”

  “Yes, you will. And you will learn so much more.”

  She hugged him tightly when he said this, and he was surprised when her warm plasticine exterior touched his flesh. She felt so alive, and he was happy to see her excited. It was funny how human Tricia already was, even though her vocabulary was still limited, and her movement was still a little bit awkward.

  He left her to her music and went into his room to study. School was important, he kept reminding himself, but with the new job and Tricia taking up so much of his life, it was easy to forget most of the time. He was falling behind in his classes, and his diet had gotten worse. Lunch consisted of premade sandwiches that he would sneak out of the café, and his dinner was either coffee or nothing. Since building Tricia he had lost ten pounds, but the only people who seemed to notice was his professor and Mika.

  He had stopped looking at Mika after the day her boyfriend had come to collect him. She was still beautiful, but to him she represented a world that took pleasure in laughing at him. He wondered at her android, if she had done anything more to it, or if it was still the base out-of the-box model. It didn’t really matter; he thought that girls like Mika were never sincere, only nice to look at, and to date if you looked like Gastion. He walked over to the tall mirror and looked at the skinny, scruffy figure staring back at him. His eyes had dark circles around them and his hair needed combing. There was something about his eyes that he didn’t like, something that read a deep tiredness from the weight of the world. He went into the bathroom and groomed himself as best he could, then went into his bedroom and fell asleep.

  After an hour had passed his personal device chimed, and the face of his mother appeared on it. He hadn’t spoken to her in months, and since he’d skipped Christmas to avoid his father, she had kept on trying almost every night. He couldn’t take the chiming anymore, so he answered the call. “What?”

  “Bradley James Barkley, do not talk to me like that. What is going on with you? We are worried sick!”

  “Sorry, Mom. I’m just tired.”

  “Is the school running you ragged? How’s your health? I miss you so much. We haven’t seen you in over a year.”

  “I’m not going to be a doctor. Tell dad he can pull his support. I don’t care—I don’t want his money, anyway. All of us are like his indentured servants when he helps and I refuse to be his bi—I mean, pawn. I have a job now, and I’m working on something that will change the world. Isn’t that what college is supposed to be about? Bright futures and all of that? If Jack Barkley wants another monkey in a lab coat, he can just fund one of his other children.”

  “That’s enough, Brad,” his mother said with a hint of sadness in her voice.

  The day they’d found out about their father’s other family was a day that had forever changed their lives. Brad, who had been a favorite son to Jack—since he was smart, and also the youngest—began to hate his father for it, and he resented his mother for sticking around. Brad would routinely bring it up when he argued with either of them, and now that he had hurt his mother for the night, he wanted to sleep and forget them both.

  “How are you doing on money?” she asked, as if to forget his previous words and salvage something of a conversation.

  “Do you have $20,000 to spare?”

  In the background he heard his father’s annoyed voice shout, “What does he need that kind of money for?”

  And he heard the muffling as she took her phone into another room. “Your father says hello, Bradley.”

  “No he didn’t. He was eavesdropping and unwilling to talk to me. It’s okay, Mom. Tell him I want the money to feed the homeless, since me using it to finish an advanced android model would only cause him to be more self-righteous about his money.”

  “I don’t have that kind of money, Brad. If I did, I would gladly—“

  “Its fine, Mom. You don’t have to say that. I was joking when I asked you for money, it’s just a little sarcasm in expectation of an uncomfortable answer. The scholarship pays for the classes, and I’ve kept my grades up. Jack’s monthly ‘gift’ keeps the light on and the apartment owners happy, and between that and my new job, I’ve been doing okay.”

  “When will we see you?”

  “I’ll come up this summer.”

  As Brad lay on the bed talking to his mother, Tricia turned herself on and hopped gingerly off of the table. The world was still a strange place to her, but she liked how the tiles felt beneath her feet, and the way the air from the vents brushed against her skin. Since her first day into the world, the only face she had seen was Brad’s. Some searching and learning on the internet had shown her many others, and she concluded that the intelligent life forms on earth had eyes, noses and mouths. Machines were not seen as life, and some droids lacked humanoid features. She was not human—a harsh reality for her to accept—but the way she felt about Brad and the nagging hunger for knowledge that consumed her made her feel less like a machine, and more like an innocent, young girl.

  The plasticine that comprised her skin was white and translucent, but the human features like lips, ears, nose, and toes were all there in splendid detail. She crept to Brad’s bedroom door and watched him grow irritated on the phone. She had never seen him this upset before, so she listened in on his conversation and tried to make sense of it. After five minutes had passed, she was still unsure as to why Brad kept being angry with his mother. Maybe this was one of those human things that would take time to understand. He was saying goodbye to his
mother, so Tricia went back to the table, sat back on it, and shut herself off.

  0 1 0

  The pills seemed so small and insignificant. Brad rotated the cylindrical container that they had arrived in. The label was blank except for a tiny, red, kanji symbol in the center of it. Along with the pills, there was a small tin filled with synthetic skin and a tablet where he was supposed to document any changes that he felt after taking the pills. He looked at the tin and wondered if it was possible to replicate it so that Tricia would be presentable, and he wouldn’t have to be a guinea pig for the Japanese. He looked at her powered down frame, and imagined what she could be and it fired him up. The tiny kanji on the jar had some English words below it and when Brad looked closely he could see that it said, “Take two”.

  He put two of the pills into his mouth and drank some soda. He didn’t feel any different, so he grabbed his backpack and headed off towards campus. It was a new semester and most of his classes were still general studies; there was Chemistry (Atomic and Molecular structure), Calculus, and Introduction to Human Physiology, which was the one that he was most interested in. The last semester had flown by, and Tricia had impressed Mr. Anthony. The professor was so impressed, that he didn’t just give Brad an A; he gave him his personal contact code, told his colleagues about him, and told him to keep him updated on her progress.

  When his classes were over and he was done for the day, Brad found his way to the café for his shift. It was a typical night, and most of the tables were occupied by students on their personal computers, doing homework or downloading illegal media. The café stood next to a bookstore, so most of the older people—who still read paper books—would come over and buy coffee and the occasional pastry. These people were seldom nice, so whenever one would come hobbling over, book tucked in a little bag that they clutched, Brad would prep himself for disaster. They always wanted to start trouble, as if beefing with an innocent barista would rewind the years on their crappy, miserable lives.