I, Android: A Different Model
Page 26
I said, “In a few hours we head back to Pittsburgh, and we’ll continue doing what we do best.” Then I stopped, taking a second to be exceedingly proud of myself for getting as much out as I had. When I looked at each of them in turn, I noticed mixed expressions – dawning fear, rigid protectiveness, stunned surprise, hot fury, and even pride.
After a moment I said, “And if it’s okay with all of you, I’m just going to be happy that I can get this cast off.”
No one said anything. There was some blinking and exchanged glances.
“Coach C?” I called out. The old man stepped forward from the hallway, and the others parted for him to let him near the bed. He looked down at me with wide, bewildered eyes, as if he were looking at Lazarus himself after Jesus had resurrected him.
In a completely serious voice, I asked, “Do you by any chance own a medical grade plaster cast saw… or a rotary blade?”
Chapter Twenty-Five
A lot of people wonder what happens during a revolution. What makes a revolution? And what is it for?
There are actually many types of revolutions, but no matter what kind of revolution you’re talking about, the answer can usually be boiled down to one word: Change.
This change can be the movement of one object in a circular pattern around another. The earth around the sun. The moon around the earth. Nanuk around the captain during every single walk they’ve ever taken together.
Another kind of revolution is one that occurs in a cooperative and massive manner, such as the three great revolutions of humanity: The agricultural revolution, which changed us from hunter-gatherers to farmers, the industrial revolution, which brought us cars, boats, planes, and so forth, and finally the information revolution, which changed the way we gather information and what information is available to us, and which many argue is still happening today and always would.
But then there is the third kind of revolution. It’s the one no one wants to talk about and even fewer people want to take part in – but that the entire world desires at some point or another. It’s humanity’s knee-jerk reaction to too much wrong, too much unfair and unjust. Every single time, it’s brought on by a boiling-over of dissent and misery.
So the real question is not, “What makes a revolution?” or “What is it for?” I would have hoped that much was obvious. Change is what makes a revolution. Change is what it’s for. The real question is actually: “How do you start a revolution?”
Prometheus attempted to bring it about in many ways; basically, every way we could without violating the ethics and morals that we believed made us who we were: the good guys.
Social revolution is like a physical force, and that means it occurs with a push. Usually it’s a strong push because the hand chosen by fate to push it is strong. Often unfortunately, that hand is a fist, violent and angry. Sometimes though, that hand is clasped in prayer, silent, steady and faithful. Sometimes it’s a hand at the end of a reaching arm, open in supplication. And then there are times when the hand that pushes forth a revolution is nothing more than the helping hand in a moment of need.
Such as now.
“Help… please….”
An android sat on the sidewalk, dressed in tattered clothing and begging those who happened by. I’d been watching him. I watched as a male android in work clothes passed the beggar by with nothing more than a cursory glance. His blue EED flickered in recognition before he continued on at a steady pace.
“Please help… I… don’t feel right….”
The beggar’s voice was weak. I could tell he needed Vulcan blood; that much was obvious. But even more obvious was his lack of major biocomponents.
My hand twitched in my hoodie pocket as another android passed the beggar by. This one moved around the beggar’s amputated leg, but failed to spare him any further attention. There was not even an EED flicker to indicate he’d witnessed anything troubling.
And that was troubling to me.
“Help….” whispered the beggar, now only repeating it because he didn’t know what else to say.
Yet a third passing android remained unmoved by the broken figure huddled against the abandoned store front. They were all unmoved.
I watched from the shadows between two buildings in the late afternoon Pittsburgh winter and realized that there was officially no remaining difference between humans and androids. It wasn’t that androids were showing they possessed emotions like humans. It was that we very often didn’t show we possessed emotions. And now androids and humans were just as unfeeling as each other.
I waited restlessly until the begging man on the sidewalk was completely alone. I didn’t have to wait long. It was New Year’s Day, and the only people working downtown Pittsburgh now were the androids still employed by the few industries that had not yet gone under during the revolution. They amounted to approximately thirty percent of the former downtown working population, and they could be made to work every day of the year. I knew they were also working for pennies. Our new android employment laws saw to that.
I had little doubt those same harsh laws were at least in part responsible for the apathy shown to the beggar on the street. It was difficult to impossible to feel anything for others when you were too busy being worried about your own welfare. That was just a plain, hard fact.
The EED around the beggar’s left eye was stuck at orange, some measure of yellow and some measure of red relaying that he was hurting but didn’t understand why and didn’t comprehend how.
When the sidewalk and road around him were clear, I crossed my fingers, sent out a quick prayer to the Force or any god who might exist and would hear, and I approached.
I wasn’t supposed to be out here. Not during the day especially, and double-especially not alone. I was supposed to be en route to Prometheus’s new location. We were all traveling alone and taking different routes to stave off suspicion.
But on the way, I’d come through this part of town and… what was I supposed to do?
I knew I was living dangerously right now. But this was what we did. This was what we were about. And even if it hadn’t been, there had never been a single part of me that could turn away from a living creature in pain. As irritating and time consuming as it sometimes made things, I honestly hoped there never would be a part of me that could.
“Please help – ” the man began automatically as my shadow fell over him. But his head lifted, and shards of sunlight pierced his eyes. He was an AP700, designed to appear Asian, with medium brown hair and hazel eyes. The sunlight shattered the color of his eyes into beautiful fragments like the crystal segments of a gemstone, separating the green from the brown.
When he saw I was human, he stopped speaking mid-sentence, and the EED on his temple switched to red permanently. I hesitated, hoping against hopes that this would be the worst of his reaction and that he would at least not draw any extra attention to us. I knew all too well who was in charge of this town. I didn’t need Zero being made aware that a key member of Prometheus was completely alone and unprotected, standing out in the open on Woodward Avenue in the downtown district of Droidtown.
But once I’d given him a moment to adjust, I knelt slowly before the beggar, showing him empty hands and a warm smile. He didn’t scream or jump or try to move away. Maybe Yoda was paying attention today.
“I mean you no harm,” I said in the most comforting tone I could manage. “I promise. I only want to help you.”
It was true, so I hoped my sincerity would show. If he was still capable of doing scans, he would be able to tell I wasn’t lying by analyzing my bioreadings. And if he was in need of repair beyond the ability to do scans any longer, then I hoped he would just trust me out of need and faith instead.
The half-moon of light on his temple that I’d always considered a reflection of an android’s soul began to flicker: red – orange – red – orange – yellow – orange – yellow.
It was shifting away from red. Another good sign.
I waited a
moment, wanting to give him a chance to figure things out and to speak on his own, despite the weight of time pressing in on me.
“You’re… not like us. Not an android,” he finally said, stating the obvious. However, in those four words, you’re not like us, were the crux of every single problem facing Pittsburgh and much of the world just then. For that matter, they were the crux of every single man-made problem that had ever faced us since time began.
It could all be boiled down to: “You’re not…”
You’re not a Christian and you’re not a Muslim, you’re not black and you’re not white, you’re not a hunter and you’re not a vegetarian, you’re not gay and you’re not straight, you’re not a Republican and you’re not left-wing, you’re not a woman and you’re not a man – and right now, you’re not human and you’re not an android.
I had noticed over the years, and especially since the android revolution began, that even those who claimed to want equality refused to fully allow the line separating them from those they wanted to be equal with to disappear. They kept it there by, of all things, drawing attention to it. Whether in confusion, anger, the need to fit in or just plain boredom, those seeking equality inevitably pointed out every instance where inequality might be present. Sometimes constantly, at every given opportunity. And in doing so, they made sure that line remained. It grew thicker in recognition, and it grew stronger in circumstance and sympathy.
Sometimes that line grew so thick and strong, it turned into an actual fucking wall. In a small hope chest in storage, I kept a piece of the Berlin Wall, snatched on the first day of its destruction in November of 1989, as a reminder of this.
It was no different for humans and androids than it had been for Catholics and Pagans, or slave owners and slaves since time began.
“No,” I said, feeling a little bit of my previous hope drain away, but holding tight to what I had left. “I’m not an android,” I admitted. “But I’m a person. And you’re a person. And I can see you need help.” I waited a moment. “I can help you.”
He considered me for a long time. Far too long in my opinion. I glanced over my shoulder at the stores across the street. All of them were closed down. This area of Pittsburgh now reminded me of that song by Bruce Springstein, “My Hometown.” But like I said, there were still a few androids milling about, headed very steadily and quickly to their appointed destinations somewhere else.
So far none of them seemed to have noticed me.
I turned back to the man. His EED had settled into a blue-yellow back and forth pulse.
“Will you let me help you?” I asked him.
He hesitated a moment more, then nodded twice, slowly. What choice did he have? He was missing his right hand from his wrist and his left leg from the knee down. A scar ran the length of the right side of his face, continued down his neck and arm, and ended at his elbow. The damage was bad enough to openly reveal the burned internal workings of his mechanical form for the entire expanse.
I smiled, relieved at his cooperation. “My name is – ” Suddenly I hesitated, glanced over my shoulder again to make sure we were alone, then continued. “My name is Sam. What’s your name?”
“Ben,” he said with a little more strength. I noticed that androids often did this. If nothing else, they spoke their names with authority. As if those names and those identities meant everything to them.
“Ben,” I said, nodding. “I’m heading to a place right now where with time and parts, we can repair you.” I glanced down at his missing leg. “We can replace your biocomponents with new ones and refresh your thorium.” I let him digest that, since trust was still slow in coming. “Will you come with me, Ben? Can you walk?”
His EED flashed back to yellow. One step forward, one step back.
But I understood where his fear was coming from. There were a lot of crazy people on the planet and a lot of those crazy people were choosing androids as victims. Androids had to be as careful now as women had always had to be.
So I didn’t push it. I just waited.
After several long seconds, Ben asked, “Where?”
I took a deep breath. I didn’t want to appear overly suspicious, but I couldn’t help it when I looked around me one last time to make sure no android would overhear. Then I leaned in and said, “To Prometheus, Ben. I’m with the rebellion.”
Okay, confession time. I’d always wanted to say that to someone. Being a Star Wars fan meant that this was basically a given. It was a bucket list item to be able to tell someone you were with the rebellion – and have it actually be true.
I suppose it would have been even better to say, “I’m with the rebel alliance,” but seriously, this was good enough. I couldn’t deny the giddy little thrill I got when I said it, but I suppressed my urge to giggle and waited stoically instead like a real grown up.
Ben’s hazel eyes lit up with recognition at the mention of Prometheus. His EED flashed wildly, then finally settled down at last into blue. He straightened, coming off the wall behind him, and said, “I can walk. I will go with you.”
I nodded again, standing so that I could help him rise. It was a blessing that androids were as strong as they were. I wouldn’t have been able to carry him at all, and though I’d been willing to give it my best shot, even supporting his weight for a while would have been difficult. Androids weighed a good deal more than humans, and I was a small human.
He managed to get to his good leg relatively quickly, and fortunately he’d already either been given a crutch, or he’d stolen one from some closed-down medical supply store. He grabbed the crutch, which was his sole possession, and I directed him back toward the alley.
It was bad enough that Daniel would probably string me up when I showed up at Prometheus’s new location with a complete stranger. We were never supposed to do this kind of thing when we were alone. Members were always assigned groups or partners when we went out on “missions” or carried out anything Prometheus-related.
I knew Daniel would count helping Ben as Prometheus-related even though to me, it was just life-related. And he probably wasn’t wrong. He was our leader for a reason. Things were just too dangerous for us these days. It wasn’t only Zero who wanted our heads on platters. The frontrunners of a dozen different powerful companies wanted to see a swift and preferably exacting end to what they termed our “little resistance.” We were costing them money when we caused their shipments to “disappear” or convinced their workers to walk out, or they found their factory parts were suddenly not working. They knew it was Prometheus behind every attack.
Though to be fair, we wouldn’t have made things difficult for them if they hadn’t been such enormous, smelly piles of shit. As a rule, Prometheus only went after companies that would have been well in the black even if they’d paid their workers fair wages, but chose not to pay them fair wages solely because the workers were androids.
Still, I was taking a chance bringing someone new into the welcoming arms of Prometheus before I’d even stepped foot inside our new location. This was sure to simmer Daniel’s Vulcan blood in his android veins. I just hoped he would try to understand and forgive me.
“I’m running late,” I told Ben as I slowed and turned to face him earnestly. “I hope you’ll trust me enough to follow me quickly and without question. Prometheus is a protected location, so we need to move fast. I’m taking a chance on you, Ben,” I said softly, looking deep into his eyes. “So please do the same for me.”
Ben didn’t say anything, but I caught a few flashes of his EED sensor as he processed that and nodded resolutely, rolling back his shoulders. The sensor went back to blue, and I was reassured.
“It isn’t too far from here.” I turned and began to walk at a brisk pace, keeping my eyes peeled for any signs of trouble. I continuously looked over at Ben to make sure he wasn’t struggling too badly to keep up. Every once in a while his EED would slip back to yellow, probably from pain or weakness. I think hope alone kept it at blue most of the time.
I located the shop sign I needed and ducked into another nearby alley. We took the alley to the end, turned left, and found a metal door. It was mechanically locked. I entered the correct combination and opened the door, then helped Ben down the long flight of stairs that appeared. The metal door slammed shut behind us and I heard the beeping of the lock resetting.
In 1984, Pittsburgh decided to abandon the railway system they’d been using for most of the century, and they began building the light rail system that would be in use for nearly a century more. Part of that light rail system consisted of subway lines.
The underground portion of that system was no longer in use, and hadn’t seen public use for more than thirty years. Advances such as the electric highway and mass transit systems connected to it rendered the subway all but obsolete. Most of the tunnels were then filled in for safety reasons. But a few of them had escaped this fate where water tables, gas lines, already in-use infrastructure, and a dozen other reasons came to play.
The few subway tunnels that yet remained were hence thoroughly blocked off and cleverly disguised, making it appear as though they’d never existed to begin with.
The stairs were still here though. They led to an empty tunnel with unfinished ground that had gone to mud, piles of stones and bricks, long metal railings, simple bare bulbs for lighting – and the entrance to Prometheus.