Perion Synthetics

by Verastiqui, Daniel

  Joe shook his head.

  “It’s difficult, maybe the most difficult task life will throw at you.” Dad looked to the ceiling. “We kept so many pictures of her around the house. Every video had her smiling face in it. I watched them after you fell asleep, over and over, for years. I sat in her favorite chair and listened to the piano play back her music. The keys moved like she was still there.”

  Joe remembered his mother playing piano, practicing for hours on what already sounded like perfection.

  “There was a company out of Glendale called Companion Dynamics. They had a silly tagline like one plus one equals one. I heard about them when Vinestead tried to make a buy in the late nineties. CD refused, of course.”

  “What were they selling?”

  Dad managed a playful sneer. “Love dolls. Silicone sex toys for the well-to-do but lonely American.”

  “You didn’t…?”

  “Please,” he replied, shaking his head. “Companion Dynamics was blowing up, quarter over quarter, really positive growth. And I didn’t understand it at the time. Maybe I was arrogant, but I judged every sale and every customer they ever had. How could people be so depraved?” He paused to take a sharp breath. “Some months later, I saw a documentary about CD customers, men who treated their dolls like wives and girlfriends. They dressed them up, took them to parties, the whole thing. I remember wondering how humans could bond so deeply with inanimate objects. Whether or not these men were deranged or depraved, they believed they loved these things.

  “That’s when I realized it wasn’t just about sex for those men; it was about companionship, as CD claimed in their brochures. They just didn’t have the funds or resources to take their companion dolls to the next level. When Vinestead eventually took them over in ‘03, all they added were ridges in their bajingos.”

  Joe laughed through his nose.

  “Think it childish if you want, but Vinestead rolled CD into a new company along with Kitzingen Escorts and turned artificial sex into a multi-million dollar industry. Sex sells, Joey, but Vinestead was missing the point, as usual. I thought about what I wanted and realized it wasn’t intimacy with your mother. I just wanted her around again. I wanted her presence. That’s when everything changed for me.”

  “So why didn’t you get a doll that looked like her?”

  Dad rolled his eyes. “I didn’t want a doll; I wanted her. Plus, there was a stigma in those days. If people found out you had a doll at home, they immediately thought you were a sex-crazed deviant or maybe just a lonely, pathetic man. God help them if they took their dolls out in public. So I thought, what if the dolls were indistinguishable from a real woman? What if they actually had a purpose beyond sex and a personality beyond pillow talk?”

  “But we don’t have any companion doll products…”

  “Of course we do, Joey. Don’t you get it? All of our synthetics have the capacity to be companions. The last piece of the puzzle was the user and how to convince them they should love an inanimate thing. Virgos will change that; they have a spark of humanity that makes them more real than real. Roberta will be the first prototype in the Domestic Partner series.” Another sharp breath brought a grimace to his face. “I was so close. Simple companionship. That’s all people want.”

  “And you think Synth J will carry on that vision?”

  “The other me has different priorities now, I expect. I don’t know what they are, but I don’t believe…” He paused, groaned. The heart rate monitor spiked.

  “Dad?”

  “Who would have thought dying would be so painful?” he asked. His eyes shut tightly over a forced smile.

  “The Creator is in pain,” said the nurse. The beeping of the monitors had summoned her from the library. “Doctor Parris instructed me to resume the morphine regimen. If you do not allow me, I will have to notify her.”

  “Not yet.” Joe moved in front of her, blocking access to the tray of syringes next to the bed.

  “Joey, listen to me.”

  Joe turned and faced his father; agony burned behind those tired eyes.

  “I’ve always asked you to trust me, to listen to me and believe I’m doing the best I can for you. I won’t be around much longer; you’ll have to figure things out on your own now. You have a lot of your mother in you, but I’m in there too, and the world will have you to remind them of me. You, Joseph, are my legacy.”

  “What about Synth J?” asked Joe, squeezing his father’s fingers.

  “You will figure out what to do about him. Just know, whatever you decide, I will support it. It’s your company now. If you want something, you demand it from him. Or remove him.”

  Dad cried out as his body convulsed.

  “Please,” said the nurse. “Don’t let the Creator suffer.”

  “Let her do her job. We can talk a little later.”

  Joe thought of the inert code card in his pocket. He would have to get another one if he ever wanted to talk to his father again. He stepped out of the way and allowed the nurse to resume the morphine drip.

  “I’ll let you rest for a bit,” he said.

  “Thank you,” said Dad. He pointed to the vidscreen on the far wall. “Do me a favor and put on a video of your mother. I’d like to see her again…”

  One last time, thought Joe.

  “Sure,” he replied.

  The vidscreen woke at his touch and displayed the company’s feed. Joe switched it to his father’s personal media and brought up a playlist of clips from the eighties. Victoria Perion appeared on the screen, looking young and healthy in her early thirties. Her voice flowed from hidden speakers in the ceiling, drowning out the beeping and whirring of the medical equipment.

  A smile appeared on his father’s face, but whether it was from the morphine or the movie, Joe couldn’t tell.

  “I’ll see you later, Dad.”

  James Perion nodded and closed his eyes.

  36

  Joe drank the rest of Monday away.

  He had only intended to fill the heavy tumbler once—the gritty but sweet taste of Glenfiddich was more his father’s preference—but after feeling the comforting warmth in his stomach, Joe found himself pouring another, then another. Each time the tumbler grew empty, Joe held it close to his face and looked at the skewed world though the glass bottom. The cuts transformed reality, allowed him to see things from a different perspective. The answers he had been looking for pushed up through the dark wood of his desk, dancing in the shadows cast by the LED clock on the wall. Joe watched the shadows twist into letters, coagulate into words that foretold the future.

  The events of the next few days unfolded before him.

  Succumbing to the alcohol early, Joe fell asleep at his desk, missing the group dinner Sava Kessler had invited him to. He dreamed of his father’s death and resurrection, repeating in an endless loop, with a synthetic audience looking on with indifference. And each time his father died, the more nauseated he became, until finally he awoke and threw up in the trashcan beside the desk.

  The blinds were still open from the night before, and the clear weather allowed the moon to shine unopposed on his apartment. He used the ambient light as a guide to find his way to the bathroom where he washed his face and examined his features in the mirror, wondering when they would start to resemble his father’s. The vidscreen by the door showed the time just passing three. Joe stumbled back to his bedroom and collapsed onto the thick pillows on his bed. The cool silk welcomed him, made him forget about the tempest in his stomach.

  Around six, the sound of footsteps roused him from his dark sleep.

  Nico was standing at the foot of the bed, his eyes red but his suit and tie in place. He cleared his throat when Joe refused to turn over.

  “No meetings today, Nico.”

  “I know. I’ve cleared your schedule. You should come upstairs, Mr. Perion. Your father…”

  Joe felt the fog slip away. He bolted upright.

  Nico shook his head. “No, but it may come
soon. Doctor Parris thought you’d want to be there for…”

  The end, thought Joe.

  “I’ve got the elevator waiting,” said Nico.

  Each action blurred into the next. Joe rose from the bed and navigated the minefield of his dirty apartment. The desk flashed in his periphery; a foul smell emanated from the trashcan. In the hallway, the walls rotated back and forth, the floor swinging like a pendulum. Joe imagined the whole Spire rotating around its highest point, suspended from the heavens like a knife held by the tip of its blade. His stomach lurched, but Nico had him by the shoulder and steadied him as they entered the elevator. When it opened on sixty-eight, the walls had stopped moving. Joe broke free of his escort and sprinted the last thirty yards to his father’s bedside.

  James Kirkland Perion was more corpse than man. The skin on his face had sunken even further. The eyelids were crusted in a white substance and nothing moved beneath him. Machines beside the bed beeped a forlorn tempo.

  Alerts on the vidscreens flashed silently.

  “I’ve turned off the audible alarms,” said Dr. Parris. “I know it looks bad, but he isn’t feeling any pain right now.”

  Joe grabbed his father’s hand; the fingers were ice cold and unresponsive.

  “Hell of a thing, isn’t it?” asked Synth J. He was standing in the corner of the room with his arms folded and head slightly down. “I never thought I would live long enough to see myself die.”

  “This isn’t about you,” said Joe. “My father is dying.”

  Synth J approached the bed. “We all die, Joseph, in our due time. I’m not uncaring, but look what we’re about to witness. If that James Perion dies and I continue to live, then the soul is truly divisible. We will have found a way to split the essence of a human being. That is simply amazing.”

  Joe didn’t take his eyes off of his father. “I know you think you’re this man, but you’re not. You’re a dermal veneer on a carbon-fiber skeleton. You’re…”

  “I understand you’re upset,” said Synth J.

  “Yes, but can you empathize?” asked Joe. “Can you feel it?”

  “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

  “I can feel it,” said the synthetic nurse. Though her voice was digitized, Joe thought he heard sadness in it.

  “Aries-class,” said Synth J. “The only thing they feel is obsolete.”

  “Joe, I think I should tell you,” said Dr. Parris. “Your father was asking for you earlier this morning. I tried to ring your apartment, but there was no answer.”

  “I didn’t think he’d regain consciousness again.” Joe thought about the bottle of Glenfiddich in his apartment. Last he had seen, it was on its side on the floor by his desk.

  Dr. Parris cradled her palette in folded arms. Strands of her blonde hair had fallen out of her bun, obscuring the bags beneath her eyes. “He’s a fighter,” she said, choking back a sob. “James Perion does not die until he is ready.”

  “Amen,” said Nico. He had drifted to the door by the bathroom, a crumpled tissue in his hand.

  “Mr. Shaw,” said Synth J, “I don’t think we’ll be requiring your services anymore today.”

  Nico took a step, hesitated.

  “He stays,” said Joe. “I want him here.”

  “It’s my goddamn death. I say who needs to be here or not.”

  “It’s happening,” said the nurse.

  The monitor next to the bed flared bright red as Dad’s heart rate dipped below viable levels. His chest shuddered, sending the EKG to the top of the frame before it dipped down again.

  “His body is making its last efforts,” said Dr. Parris. “You should say your goodbyes now, Joe.”

  “Shit.”

  Synth J snorted. “So now I know. The last thing my son says to me on my death bed is shit.”

  Joe leaned over and put his mouth near his father’s ear. All of the speeches he had rehearsed fluttered into the breeze.

  “Dad,” he said, his voice failing. The tears began to run down his cheeks. “There hasn’t been a day in my life when I haven’t looked up to you. You’ve done so many great things. You’ve set the bar so high. I understand why you did what you did. You were scared I couldn’t step up, but I’m going to make your dream come true. Go see Mom and tell her I love her.”

  A hand appeared on Joe’s shoulder; it was Nico’s.

  “It’s okay to go, Dad. I’ve got things covered. I love you.”

  Joe kissed his father on the forehead and stood up. He reached under Nico’s arm and put his hand on his assistant’s shoulder.

  “Goodbye, Mr. Perion,” said Nico. “It has been an honor to work with you.”

  The nurse approached the bed and said something in garbled white noise. Only Synth J seemed to understand what she was saying.

  Dr. Parris tapped the vidscreens; their contents faded away. The respirator wheezed to a halt a moment later. “God speed,” she whispered, hugging her palette again.

  The room waited as James Kirkland Perion, founder and CEO of Perion Synthetics, drew his final breaths.

  His chest rose and fell for the last time, and then the titan expired.

  “Un-fucking-believable,” said Synth J, before collapsing. He struck his head on the railing of the bed and hit the floor with a heavy smack.

  Beside Joe, the synthetic nurse fell backwards into the window and slid down the smooth glass. She ended up in a sitting position with her eyes wide and her mouth agape. A hand from Dr. Parris prevented her from falling over completely.

  Nico rushed around the bed to check on Synth J.

  “Goodbye, Dad,” said Joe. He reached out and put his fingers to his father’s neck. There was no pulse.

  “Mr. Perion, can you hear me?” Nico shook Synth J by the arm, but got no response.

  Joe patted his father’s chest. “I got this.”

  “Joe, help me! Something’s wrong with your father.”

  “My father is dead,” replied Joe, refusing to turn around.

  “Do you want to lose them both?”

  At that, Joe stepped back from the bed and looked at Nico. The man’s bloodshot eyes were pleading, but Joe simply crossed his arms. He drifted to the window and watched the city twinkle in the early morning sun.

  When Dr. Parris saw him standing there, she seemed to remember herself. She stood and checked her sliver. “Time of death, 0708 hours.”

  Nico cried out as a synthetic hand closed around his throat. It tossed him across the room as if he weighed nothing. Synth J rose from the floor and surveyed his surroundings. His face was cold and toneless, a common configuration for newly minted synthetics. His eyes flickered, settled on the bed.

  “The Creator is dead,” he said.

  From the floor, the nurse’s voice echoed his statement.

  Synth J looked at her when she spoke. Something clicked.

  “Mr. Shaw,” he said, kneeling down. “Are you alright?”

  “Get the fuck away from me,” screamed Nico. He pushed ineffectually at the synthetic’s hands.

  “Dr. Parris, this man needs attention.” Then to Nico. “I apologize, Mr. Shaw. I don’t know what happened.”

  “You glitched,” said Joe, uncaring if anyone could hear him. “Not many people get to watch themselves and their Creator die in the same day. Your synthetic mind probably couldn’t handle it.”

  Synth J stood slowly.

  Joe faced him, drew himself up.

  “Hell of a thing, isn’t it?”

  37

  The body of James Kirkland Perion was burned at sunset.

  In the morning, Joe placed his father’s urn on the mantel beside his mother’s and watched the polished silver gleam in the morning light. They had similar designs except for the etching along their lower thirds: schematic symbols, logic gates, and equations for his father; floral fractals and ribbons for his mother. Though their deaths had been decades apart, both urns gave off a brilliant luster.

  He couldn’t help but reminis
ce about his parents as he took the elevator down to the fifth floor. The vidscreens showed the same reassuring text from the day before, urging the residents of Perion City to continue business as usual. For the most part, people listened, though there was some talk, some whispering behind closed doors.

  The fifth floor of the Perion Spire was home to the security arm of the company. Its primary mission was the protection of the city, its occupants, and its secrets, from both a physical and virtual perspective. At the head of the division was Steve Phelps, Vice President of Security. His direct reports were Deborah Keats, Director of Tech-Sec, and Robert Gantz, Chief of Police. While Deb and her team stayed behind closed doors, typing on laptops and palettes long into the night, Gantz’ department ran more like a typical police station with an expansive, yet empty, reception area. If Perion City had criminals, they would have found the padded chairs and numerous vidscreens comfortable and inviting.

  “Good morning, Mr. Perion,” said the desk sergeant. “How can I help you today?”

  Joe nodded to the hallway to the left of Booking. “Just here to see Mr. Gantz. Can you buzz me in?”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Perion. I’ll let the chief know you’re headed back.”

  The door at the far end of the hallway buzzed and the magnetic locks at the top of the frame released. The frosted glass turned clear as the door swung open.

  Joe walked past the front offices and the Quick Response room where two-dozen riot-geared AGs sat immobile on metal benches. Each held an assault rifle by their side, moving it only when a woman in a lab coat stepped in front of them to run diagnostics. Gantz must have been shaken up by the Collapse the day before, evidenced by the lack of Scorpios freely roaming the halls.

  Gantz was waiting in the threshold of his office. He smiled when Joe came around the corner.

  “Greetings, Mr. Perion,” he said, bowing his head slightly. “What brings you to the lower levels this morning?” His eyes scanned the hallway, connecting with other uniforms in earshot.