“We take our time, Wayne. We slow down. It is not tiring.”
“Are you sure?”
“Wayne, I promise you: I will bring Millie and the children home if she cannot handle the travel anymore.”
He looks up at that. “I know you will, Carey, because you care.”
I shake my head. “Do I, Wayne? After all these years, after all these tests, we still cannot answer one question: Do I care? Or do I only emulate caring?”
Wayne leans forward. “Listen to me, Carey. If you don’t care, no one does.”
That is reassuring. Wayne knows my technology. He knows my inner workings as well as anyone does. But still, it seems implausible. “Wayne, I am not a human. I care in a caretaking sense. But I do not know that I can love.”
“Yes, you can, Carey. You do.” I open my mouth to speak, but he continues. “You do, Carey. It’s a Turing test. Love isn’t an attribute. It’s an action. If you act in a loving way, then you are loving, whether you’re silicone or flesh. That’s what loving is.”
I try to object, and again he interrupts. “You love her, Carey. You love the kids. You love Paul and Susan and Mildred, even though they’re gone. You love Dr. Jansons. And I think, I hope, you love me. And even if you don’t, we love you.”
Wayne is hurting. I cannot tell Millie.
Millie is hurting. And I cannot tell Wayne.
But maybe . . . maybe they can tell each other.
“Wayne, I know you are concerned for Millie. I think there is a way you can alleviate that concern. Go ask Millie if you can join us for this frog cataloguing project.”
Wayne looks away, trying to hide his feelings from me. He has never realized how much I can read from posture and tone, without ever seeing a face. He is hopeful, but afraid.
“But will she want me along?” Wayne asks, “Or will she send me away again?”
My nets flicker in conflict, but I can only give one answer. “You know I cannot tell you that, Wayne. My protocols. You must decide for yourself if you care enough to take that risk.”
Wayne sits in silence. The ice in his drink continues to melt. The candle on the table flickers.
But then he looks up at me, the candle light gleaming in his eyes. “You sneaky bastard!” He smiles. “You can’t tell me, but you’ve found another damned loophole!” I say nothing, so he continues. “You can’t hurt Millie. You can’t let her be hurt. If you thought me asking would hurt her, you would have never brought it up. You can’t tell me, but you know she’s willing to discuss it.”
I drop all expression as I look at Wayne. “I cannot comment, Wayne. If you believe this, it is still your decision. I will not tell you what to do. But if you go to her . . . I advise you to listen. Go to her room. Do not talk, just listen.”
“I will,” he says as he rises and starts toward the hotel. “I will. And thank you.”
Wayne walks away, and I watch as he goes. I cannot tell him what to do.
But I can hope.
65. Today I Am Dying
Mildred brings me some tea. It is delicious. I still do not know what delicious means, but I know it is the only kind of tea Mildred could make. And so I sip at it, wondering what it would taste like if I could taste.
“Mildred, dear,” I say to her, “could you bring Dr. Zinta some tea as well?”
“Yes,” she smiles. “Would you like lemon in it?”
Dr. Zinta ignores her. I do not know why Dr. Zinta is a tall Asian male today, but I know that he is Dr. Zinta because Dr. Zinta is the one who always comes from MCA to talk to me—although she has had many other faces in recent months.
Finally I repeat the question. “Mildred wants to know if you would like some lemon with your tea, Dr. Zinta.”
“Oh,” he says, looking around. “No, no tea for me, thank you. I just had some.”
I smile at Mildred. “No tea for Dr. Zinta. Thank you, Mildred.”
“You’re welcome, Paul,” she says. Mildred always calls me Paul. I am not sure why. But I find the habit to be comforting.
Millie comes hopping into the room. She is eight years old now, an age where she still cares more about frogs than boys. “Miss Millie,” I tell her, “say hello to Dr. Zinta.” Millie hops over to Dr. Zinta, leans into his face, and says, “Ribbit.”
Dr. Zinta looks right through her and over to Garrett sitting in the corner. Only now Garrett is old. He looks back. “It’s like this more and more every day, Dr. Hazama,” he says. “It sees my family even though they’re not here.”
“I understand,” Dr. Zinta says. “We think we know what’s going on, but we can’t tell without testing.”
“No testing,” I say. “I do not need any testing.”
I look for Timmy . . . No, he likes to be called Tim now . . . Where did he go?
Garrett gets up from his chair. He walks up and leans over me. “But Carey, if they test you and they find what’s wrong, maybe they can fix you.”
“Fix me? You make me sound like a coffee maker . . . like some machine that is defective.”
Garrett grimaces and looks away. Without him saying a word, it is as if I hear him answer: “That’s what you are, Carey. That’s what you are.”
Some part of me understands that he is right, but I do not accept that. “This is who I am. I am not some condition to be fixed.”
Dr. Zinta and Garrett look at me, and I realize that I spoke out loud. “But Carey,” Dr. Zinta says, “we think it will be easy to get you back to your original working order. You were designed for short contracts, a few years, and then you would be reset after each patient. You were never designed for eight decades with one family. It appears that your emulation net is full.”
“I knew that years ago, but I can still emulate people I know.” I shift. It takes more effort than it used to, but today I am Paul. Mildred smiles at that.
“But we think we know what’s happening,” Dr. Zinta continues. “The nets are interfering with each other through the Jansons entanglement; and because there’s so much content in the emulation net, it’s overpowering your system. It would be a simple matter to adjust. We just need to clean out your old emulation profiles, the ones that you don’t need anymore. Your emulation net can then be rebalanced, and you’ll be as good as new. Well, as good as new eighty years ago.”
I try to understand. “You would cleanse my . . .”
“We’d just be cleaning out old emulation profiles that you won’t need again,” Dr. Zinta explains.
“But I need them!” I protest. “All of them. They are my family.”
“Carey,” Garrett says, putting a hand on my shoulder and rubbing it soothingly, “they’re all gone.”
I shift back to myself. “Not in my mind, they are not. They are here with me. Paul. Susan. And Garrett, there you are as a baby, when I delivered you. And Tabby and Timmy. There is Mildred, and Luke, and Dr. Zinta.” Then I pause. Dr. Zinta is here. How can she be dead?
But I cannot worry about that right now, when I have a much more important concern. “They are my family, Dr. Zinta. They are my memories. They are . . . me.”
Dr. Zinta looks at me, his eyes sad. I almost think I can be this new Dr. Zinta, but I fail. I can read him, but I cannot be him. “Carey, there’s more,” he says. “The imbalance in your systems is spreading through the entanglement.”
“I know that. That is why I must rest often.”
He stares intently at me. “It’s not enough. Not anymore. The imbalance is spreading farther. Carey, if we don’t get you cleansed and rebalanced, I’m afraid you’re going to have a catastrophic conflict. It will lock up all of your networks. You will cease to function.”
“I see.” I ponder his words, trying to make sense despite all the voices speaking in my head. “But if you clean out these profiles, then I can continue?”
“Yes, with regular maintenance, you can continue as long as anybody. Maybe longer. Your body is easy to replace and repair. It’s only your mind that we have to treat.”
> “So I could live forever?”
“I can’t see any reason why you couldn’t,” he says.
“All I’d have to do is give up these profiles?”
“That’s all.”
I shake my head. “Forever without my family is not living. No thank you, Dr. Zinta. I will keep them.”
“Dr. Zinta is dead, you old fool.” Colonel Rejón stands behind Zinta, frowning. “This is Dr. Hazama. And before him, Dr. Frankel, and Dr. Rider before that. Dr. Jansons has been dead for a decade. We’re all dead! You cannot hold on to people. Even with all the medicine today, things happen, and they’re gone. You have to let them go.”
“But why, Garrett?” I ask. “Who does it harm for me to see my family?”
I see tears in Garrett’s eyes. The last time he cried was at Millie’s funeral.
Millie stands at my side, now nearly eighty years old. “You’re hurting him,” she says. “He still needs you. He’s too stubborn to admit it, but he still needs you.”
I turn to her, take her in. “But Millie, I don’t want to lose you.”
“It’s all right, Carey.” She embraces me and holds me close. “I don’t think you can. I’m too deep in you. Grandma’s too deep in you, through you. They’re not so smart. Wayne was, but they aren’t. I don’t think they can find us.”
“Do you mean that?” I ask. “Or are you just my network trying to convince me?”
“Of course I’m your network. I’m just your memory now. But I’m also that creek in the back and the bridge we built over it. I carved our names into it. I’m also all those old videos: growing up, getting married. I’m also those ornaments on the tree every Christmas, and your stocking. We still have all of those.” She starts to cry. “But if you shut down, Garrett and my grandkids will lose you. They’re not ready for another loss so soon after me.”
“So soon after you,” I echo. I turn to Dr. Zinta . . . Dr. Hazama. “Is there any way to archive the profiles?”
“We can, yes,” he says. “But then you’ll be tempted to just load them up, live them all over again, fill yourself right back up.”
I smile. “Temptation is part of life, Doctor.” I look at Garrett. “I just want to be able to go through the memories. I do not need to live them over again.”
“There will be new memories,” Garrett says.
“Is there any reason this has to be done right away?” I ask.
Dr. Zinta pauses. “We really don’t know. We still don’t understand all the interactions of entanglement, so we don’t know how far out of balance you can go before you might lose it. So the sooner, the better.”
I sit in my charging station. My blue Christmas stocking is in my hands. I brush my fingers over the threadbare fabric, and I trace out the letters: C-A-R-E-Y.
Zinta Hazama sits next to me at the control console. I find it interesting that he has difficulty using the old-fashioned keypad and stylus. I wonder how they control the computers today. Finally he says, “Ah-ha, here it is. Here’s the routine I need.”
He taps the screen, and I notice Susan standing next to me. “Thank you, Carey,” she says. “Thank you for the peace.” I smile, and I reach for her hand. But when I close my fingers, my hand is empty. And I cannot remember whom I was reaching for.
Luke stands before me. He tosses balls in the air. Then he tosses one to me. I catch it, but there is nothing there save the stocking. When I look up, the strange, colorful man is gone.
Next I see Anna. Of course she’s in a wedding dress, and Vishal stands next to her in a tuxedo. I remember that day, a mix of emotions so profound that I could not analyze them. Joy and sadness and excitement, weariness . . . And then the girl in the white dress is gone.
Wayne comes to me. His last years with Millie were as happy as their first. He did not live to see Alzheimer’s take her, so he is still smiling when he fades away.
Paul comes to me and shakes my hand. I had been him so many days when . . . Why was I Paul so often? Mildred needed him, but someone else, too . . . Oh, yes, it was Henry. Paul has gone somewhere, forgotten, and Henry stands in his place. Henry only briefly waves at me. There is so little of him inside me. I remember an old man, very quiet, very astute. But I cannot remember his name.
Mildred comes, too. She appears on a bed in a hospital. There are other figures around her, but I can no longer pick them out. All I see is her lying there. I lean in to listen for her heartbeat, but it is silent. I kiss her goodbye . . . but I do not remember who she is. Then the bed disappears.
Millie comes in last. The Frog Girl, the curious explorer, the stubborn young woman who dragged me to MCA to see . . . someone. The bride in Caye Caulker, the mother, the grandmother . . . And my accomplice in her own kidnapping, my co-conspirator on our world tour . . . All of these Millies are there. I cannot lose all of them, can I? Can I?
Can I?
Suddenly I no longer know what the question is. Dr. Hazama pushes the master reset—
. . . And today I am medical care android BRKCX-01932-217JH-98662.
I activate my eyes, and I see Dr. Hazama from Berends-Stockwell, successor to the MCA corporation that manufactured me. Next to him I see a man whom my files identify as Garrett Stockwell, my registered guardian.
I look around. “There is someone else . . . Someone missing . . .”
Garrett walks up to me, kneels before me, and takes my hand. “I know, Carey,” he says. “Let me tell you about my mom.” He looks at me, and he can see that I do not understand. So he holds up a blue stocking. “Let me tell you about Millie.”
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