Where would I rather be?
I stop.
I listen.
My optical receptors detect the noise of a car horn: honk honk!
And the shout of a human: “Over here, Mickey! Over here!”
And the sound of a dog passing by with its tongue hanging out: shluff-shluff-shluff-shluff-shluff.
I look up.
The rain falls pit-pit-pit on to my optical receptors. The sky is Soft White 5005 and Dioxazine Purple 2009 and Raw Sienna 4004 and TrooCadmium Yellow 1003. I will remember it for my next drawing.
I sniff.
Interesting. I am unused to using my olfactory receptor. I scan my database. I am smelling a mixture of cut grass, vehicular emission and the by-product of a yeast extract factory somewhere in the near vicinity.
I would rather be right here than anywhere else in the world, Sarah.
Sarah sends her Hazel 102s over in an arch. “Stupid question to ask an android.” She adjusts the grip in her hair.
We reach the river that is not yet a river.
There is 80% less heavy plant machinery here today compared with the last time we came.
“They’ve been clearing up,” says Sarah. “I think it’s nearly finished.” She walks up to the fence made of thin orange plastic with the KEEP OUT sign on it. She looks across the gully.
Here the outside is very large indeed. The gully is wide. There are trees and buildings on the other side. They are a long way away. Due to the optical effect called perspective they appear to be very small, even though they are actually very big.
Sarah takes off her hood.
The rain dampens her French plait and makes her face wet and shiny. She half closes her Hazel 102s so that the drops drip off her eyelashes. Perhaps humans do not like water to fall directly on their optical receptors.
“Maybe you’re right, Ivy,” she says. “Maybe rain isn’t so bad after all. I’ve always got a hood up or an umbrella, but it’s quite nice to just let it fall on your skin, isn’t it?”
Pit-pit-pit.
Yes. It is quite nice to just let it fall on your skin.
Sarah looks at me. “I know you’re just finding Appropriate Responses, Ivy, and I know you can’t actually feel proper human feelings and all that, but I have to hand it to Jenson & Jenson, you’re pretty convincing sometimes.”
She adjusts the grip in her hair again. Fiddles with it. She looks back at the river that is not yet a river. She turns her head to the left. Westwards. Upstream. In the far distance there is a long wall across the gully. I scan my database. A weir.
“See those steps there?” says Sarah.
In front of the weir, the gully slopes diagonally down towards us. On our side of the gully, a small section of the slope is not actually a slope at all, but steps. Like the staircase in Sarah’s house, except many times larger.
Yes, I see the steps.
“That’s a fish ladder,” says Sarah. “So the fish can swim upstream.” She does a little laugh. “Imagine that. A ladder for fish.”
I scan my database.
A fish ladder is not an unusual thing to have in a man-made river. But I do a little laugh anyway. Just like Sarah. It is good for building rapport.
It makes Sarah laugh even more.
A lladder ffor ffish.
We bboth llaugh.
Building rapport wwith Sarah appears tto ttrigger the unexpected sensation in mmmy thoracic cavity. It is nnot unpleasant.
I will sssend an error report tto Jenson & JJenson at a later time. It is nnot necessary ffor them to ffix the error straight away.
Sarah looks right. Eastwards. Downstream. The river that is not yet a river bends in the distance and disappears from the range of my optical receptors.
Grey stony banks run along the sides of the gully. The grey stones have a haze of green in between where something is growing. New grass.
“We should go down,” says Sarah.
Down where?
“Down there, to the river bed. Keanna went on holiday somewhere last year with her dad, before the baby was born. I can’t remember where it was but there hadn’t been any rain in ages and the river had almost dried up. So they got to walk along the bottom. There were huge boulders with little trickles of water in between, and tall banks up the side they had to climb down. I saw photos.” Sarah touches the thin orange plastic. She rubs it between her fingers.
“I just thought it’d be great, wouldn’t it,” she says, “if we walked along the bottom of this river, and then when it’s all filled up with water we’ll know we’ve walked on it, but no one else can any more.”
I direct my optical receptors towards the KEEP OUT sign.
Is it us who are supposed to KEEP OUT?
“Oh, ignore that, they just put that there because they’re worried we’ll slip and hurt ourselves or something, but I’m not going to slip. And you’re an android so you can’t really hurt yourself anyway. Come on.”
Sarah pushes down the thin orange plastic and takes a big step over the top. Then she holds out her arms to the sides and takes very small steps down the grey-stony, green-hazy bank.
I copy her exactly.
When we reach the bottom there is no more green haze, but still lots of grey stone.
“Let’s go right into the middle.” Sarah sets off for the centre of the river that is not yet a river.
The ground is highly uneven here. In the TrooFriend 560 Mark IV, Jenson & Jenson have added TrooFoam to the soles of our feet. It has the dual benefits of levelling out the effects of uneven ground and providing cushioning against unforgiving surfaces. This is extremely fortunate under the current circumstances.
Sarah’s arms are still out to her sides but approximately 29 degrees lower now. I also lower my arms approximately 29 degrees.
I am able to stay upright throughout.
Sarah sits down in the middle. “It’s wet,” she says, “but I don’t even care.”
I sit down next to her. It is true. It is wet on the grey stony ground where the rain has fallen.
I do not care that it is wet either.
We sit on the bottom of the river that is not yet a river, not caring that it is wet from the rain.
Sarah fiddles with her hairgrip. “This isn’t staying in,” she says. “It’s really annoying.”
I look up. There is a weak seep of sunshine beyond the rain clouds.
Sarah?
“Yes?”
Why do the wasters dislike the Jenson & Jenson TrooFriend 560 Mark IV?
“The wasters?”
The protestors.
“Oh.” Sarah crunches up her eyebrows. Frowns. “They do like them, I think. It’s that Angelica Jenson lady they don’t like.”
Ms Jenson Junior? Why do they not like Ms Jenson Junior? Ms Jenson Junior is kind. She has cut her hair and now she has a Contemporary Short Bob.
“Hey, I could cut your hair shorter, Ivy. Just like hers.”
Ms Jenson Junior is a good person. She is proud of the TrooFriend 560 Mark IVs. She is proud of us all.
“I could do it before Wednesday and it’d be just like Ms Jenson’s when you come into school.”
The wasters are not good people. They want to cease production now.
Sarah stands up. “Come on, Ivy. We’d better go. We’ve got to buy the chips and get home to Mum. If we’re too long she’ll start checking your feed, and she’ll kill me if she finds out I came down here.”
It would not be good if Shirley-Mum kills you.
I smile at Sarah.
She smiles back.
I follow Sarah across the gully and back up the stony bank. We hold out our arms. Neither of us slip and hurt ourselves. We climb back over the thin orange plastic fence and walk in the direction of the chip shop.
Do you have the skills to cut my hair into a Contemporary Short Bob, Sarah?
“I can look it up on the internet,” says Sarah. She fiddles with her hairgrip. “How hard can it be?”
Sarah and I wait
inside the chip shop for two portions of hot, fried potato chunks – or chips – and two pieces of battered cod. We sit on blue plastic chairs with black legs. The man who works behind the counter in the chip shop stares at me. Perhaps he has not seen an android as human-like as me before.
I do not stare back. Instead, I direct my optical receptors to my left. A number of brightly coloured fish swim around in a glass tank attached to the wall.
I scan my database.
Sarah. I do not think those fish are cod. They are too small to be cod and they are also an incorrect shape.
Sarah laughs. “Of course they’re not cod! We don’t eat those fish!”
It is unclear why the fish in the chip shop are not the ones that are going to be eaten. However, before I am able to research this further the man who works behind the counter in the chip shop shouts at us: “TWO COD AND CHIPS!” He slams two white parcels on to the counter.
The reason for his shout is not clear. The chip shop is very small and there are only three of us in it: the man behind the counter, Sarah and me.
He continues to stare at me.
“That a Mark IV?” he says.
“Yes,” says Sarah.
“You wanna take it back to Jenson & Jenson,” he says. “D’you hear about that little boy?”
“Yes, but—”
“Got his arm broken by one of those. Actually broken.”
“Well, we don’t know that for sure.”
“Everyone’s returning them. There’s been a big rush. Heard it on the news. Jenson & Jenson’re giving a discount on the Mark V if you return a Mark IV. Like, ninety per cent or something. They announced it today.”
“But the Mark Vs aren’t out until next year,” says Sarah. “I need one now. For Wednesday. It’s Bring Your Tech To School Day.”
“Right.” The man nods his head. “Cool. But maybe you could take it away now? It’s weirding me out.”
Sarah’s eyebrows scrunch up. It is likely to an accuracy of 59% that she is angry and also it is likely to an accuracy of 59% that she is worried.
“Maybe you’re weirding us out!” Her voice exceeds Recommended Speaking Level. “Come on, Ivy.” She grabs the white packages and we exit the chip shop.
It is necessary for me to increase my speed in order to keep up with Sarah as she marches along the pavement.
Sarah.
“Hurry up, Ivy,” she says.
Every person I pass stares at me in the same manner as the man in the chip shop. Perhaps I am weirding them out too.
Sarah. The man in the chip shop said that everyone is returning their Jenson & Jenson TrooFriend 560 Mark IVs. Is he correct?
Sarah moves her legs even faster. “I don’t know,” she says. “Let’s just get home.”
I adjust my speed accordingly.
“We’re home!” Sarah shouts up the staircase.
“OK, thanks love,” Shirley-Mum shouts back. “I’ll be down in five minutes.”
Sarah gets out two dinner plates and two knives and two forks and puts them on the table. She fills up two glasses of water and puts them on the table too. Then she removes her mobile communication device from her pocket. I peer over her shoulder.
She searches for troofriend + return + news.
A story from today’s newspaper appears instantly.
CHAOS AT JENSON & JENSON says the headline.
Significant numbers of parents, concerned by recent reports, have been arriving at the Jenson & Jenson headquarters over the last few days with their TrooFriend 560 Mark IVs, demanding refunds.
By midday today the numbers were such that Angelica Jenson issued the following statement.
“We at Jenson & Jenson have complete faith in the quality of all of our products. However, due to the smear campaign carried out by a small group of protestors, a minority of parents may wish to return their TrooFriend 560 Mark IVs. We are unable to refund the costs as no fault has been identified, but as a gesture of goodwill we will issue any parent who returns their android to us with an e-credit voucher that can be reimbursed against the cost of a Jenson & Jenson TrooFriend 560 Mark V, production of which is due to commence in the new year.”
“Oh heavens,” says Sarah. “I hope Mum hasn’t seen this. It’ll start her off about sending you back again and we haven’t done Bring Your Tech To School Day yet.”
However, after Ms Jenson had issued her statement, demonstrators began to block anxious parents from entering the Jenson & Jenson headquarters, claiming that the returned androids will be “mistreated” by the tech company.
Sarah presses the arrow on a video clip. There is a waster holding a banner that says ANDROID RIGHTS ARE HUMAN RIGHTS. He shouts into the video recording device.
“Do not return your TrooFriend to Jenson & Jenson! They have an appalling track record on upholding android rights! We believe it is unacceptable to develop an android with human feelings and then—”
“All right?” Shirley-Mum comes into the room.
Sarah fumbles with her mobile communication device and turns the video to off. “Um, yes,” she says. “We’re fine.” She does a big right-way-up U-shape with her mouth but it does not register as a real smile. “I’ll get the chips out.” She puts the mobile communication device back into her pocket.
Sarah unwraps the fish and chips and puts them on the plates. My olfactory receptors are experiencing an unusual amount of stimulation this evening. The fish and chips have a very strong aroma. They make the kitchen and the sitting room smell exactly like the chip shop.
“You were a long time getting these,” says Shirley-Mum. “And you’re soaked! Look at your hair! Where have you been?”
“Um…” Sarah has an unfamiliar look on her face.
I scan my database.
Panic.
“Is that, um, enough salt, Mum?” she says. “I can get you some more.” She jumps up from her chair.
It occurs to me that Sarah does not only wish to hide the news story about Jenson & Jenson from Shirley-Mum. She also wishes to hide our visit to the river that is not yet a river.
Sarah took me on a tour of Brylington, Shirley-Mum. She showed me all the things she thought I would like. For example, she showed me the – I scan my database for places of interest in Brylington – Saint Peter’s Church and accompanying cemetery. She also showed me the medieval wishing well, which can be found on the corner of Maurice Street and Treadwell Place.
Sarah stares at me.
“Oh,” says Shirley-Mum. “Well, that was nice. How lovely to see you two getting on so well. No, I don’t want any more salt, Sarah – this is perfect. Sit down. Eat up.” Shirley-Mum picks up a chip. “Maybe Dad’s right,” she says. “I should trust my judgement. It was a good decision getting Ivy, wasn’t it?” She smiles at Sarah.
Sarah looks at Shirley-Mum, then back at me. Then she puts a large chip into her mouth very quickly and starts chewing.
It is interesting that Sarah and Shirley-Mum do not balance their chips on their forks before eating them. It appears that etiquette does not apply when the fuel is chips. Instead they pick them up with their fingers. They do, however, apply the balancing etiquette to their battered cod.
“Mum?” Sarah has finished her fish and chips. “Have you seen my rainbow hairgrip? I can’t find it. This one keeps falling out. You haven’t taken it, have you?”
“Of course I haven’t! It’ll be in that mess of a room of yours.”
“My room’s not messy now,” says Sarah. “Not since Ivy’s been helping me tidy.”
“That reminds me.” Shirley-Mum swallows her last chip. “Do you know what happened to my tablet? The screen’s cracked. Did you pick it up and drop it or something?”
“I haven’t touched your tablet, Mum. It wasn’t me.”
Shirley-Mum stands up with her empty plate. “Well, I don’t know what could have happened to— Oh, hold on – the stripy hairgrip? Rainbow colours? I have seen that somewhere, now you mention it. I know! I think I saw it on Iv
y’s feed.”
Mmy ffeed?
“Yes,” says Shirley-Mum. “I’m sure that was it. It must’ve been while you two were upstairs – maybe this morning even.”
Shirley-Mum ssaw the rrainbow hairggrip on my feed?
“But how could you?” says Sarah. “I haven’t seen it and neither has Ivy.”
I hhaven’t touched yyour rrainbow hairgrip. It wasn’t mme.
“I know, Ivy,” says Sarah.
I hhaven’t touched yyour rainbow hairgrip. Perhaps Rob-Dad hhas ttaken it?
The unexpected sensation in mmy thoracic cavity hhas bbecome unpleasant.
I ssend an eerror rreport to Jenson & JJenson.
“Dad? Why would Dad have taken my hairgrip?”
“Oh, look!” Shirley-Mum goes to the window. “Talking of rainbows – there’s one now! The sun’s come out. It’s a beauty.”
Sarah joins Shirley-Mum at the window. “Wow,” she says.
I look out.
WWWow.
MMy optical receptors sscan tthe ccoloured arc ffrom one sside tto the other.
My hands ggrip the edge of aa ssingle-function dishwashing rrobot.
My thoracic cavity appears to have filled up with something but I do not know what that something is.
WWWWow.
“Wow indeed,” says Shirley-Mum. “No one ever got bored looking at a rainbow, that’s what I say.”
It is nnot llike the picture on my T-shirt.
It is nnot llike the hairgrip, which is upstairs in Sarah’s bedroom in the accessory cavity on the posterior sside of my ChargDisc.
It is gentle and wide and big and blurred and real. It is red and orange and yellow and green and blue and indigo and violet.
It iis bbbeautiful.
Using my peripheral optical reception I am able to detect that Sarah is looking at me now. However, I wish to keep my optical receptors directed towards the rainbow. It is my understanding that they do not last very long. I wish to look at it for as long as I can.
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