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Authors: John M. Cusick

Girl Parts (5 page)

BOOK: Girl Parts
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He stepped forward, swaying slightly. He never felt awkward in front of girls, but this was somehow different.
Say something!
David’s mind, faced with unfamiliar territory, became a feedback loop, asking itself over and over again what to do. None of his trusty icebreakers seemed right, and so David resorted to a default, the lamest thing imaginable: a handshake.

Meanwhile, in Rose’s brain, nothing was that complicated.

If David’s mind was a loop, Rose’s mind was an arrow. It pointed to David. The rest of reality, whatever didn’t fall along the length of the arrow, was insignificant.

A satellite link connected Rose to a data bank at Sakora HQ in Japan. As her emerald eyes passed over the lawn, information queued for access.
Grass. Flower pot. Stairs. Driveway. Tree.
Each node was the center of its own web.
Tree
connecting to
Green, Poplar, Seasons, Paper . . .

This complex veil, pierced by Rose’s unwavering arrow, was a techno-semantic marvel. And yet at three minutes old, her thoughts were as simple as Dr. Roger’s red wooden bird dipping its beak into a glass of water over and over and over.

David extended his hand. Without hesitation Rose shook it, and as she did, spoke a message:

“Hello, David. My name is Rose. It is a pleasure to meet you. We are now entering minute two of our friendship. According to my Intimacy Clock, a handshake is now appropriate.”

“Oh! Uh, OK. I . . .”

“As we get to know each other, we’ll have access to more intimate forms of expression.” Here Rose cocked her hip and winked. “And I
am
looking forward to getting to know you better.”

Inside Rose’s brain, *mmonroe.exe registered
complete.

David withdrew his hand. “Uh, right. Do you want to come inside?”

“I do.”

“OK. Head on in, and I’ll wheel your box around to the garage.”

“OK,” said Rose.

David watched her mount the stairs, admiring the view. She sure moved like a real girl.

David found her in the foyer. She had taken off her sweatshirt and tied it around her waist. At first she seemed to be admiring the marble columns, but no. She was just standing there, staring.

“Hey.”

“Hello, David. It is nice to see you again.”

“Yeah. Should you like, come up to my room, or . . . ?”

“Are you hungry? I could make you a sandwich. I’m very good at making sandwiches.”

“Uh, sure,” David said. “Kitchen’s this way.”

“Uh, great.”

Near dusk, the Suns’ kitchen lit up like a hall of mirrors. Sunlight bounded off the stainless-steel range and immense Sub-Zero, so that David had to squint. Rose was unperturbed. She set to work, going directly to the meat drawer. “So, what do you like? You have salami, ham, or . . . ?”

“Ham’s fine.”

Rose glanced over her shoulder. “OK, sit on down, and I’ll serve you.”

David sat at the counter, feeling like a little kid. Rose buzzed around the kitchen, pausing to ask where things were. She seemed less stiff already, more human, brushing a strand of hair from her face, licking a dab of mustard off her thumb. Even her speech was changing.

“So, tell me about yourself.”

David rested his chin on his arms. “What’s there to tell? I’m just a normal guy, I guess.”

“What do you like to do?”

“I don’t know. Watch movies. Hang out. Be awesome.”

This last line was a joke, but Rose didn’t laugh. She sliced his sandwich and slid the plate across the counter. *bettycrocker.exe registered
complete.

“That’s interesting.” She folded her arms across the Formica and rested her chin.

David sat up. Rose did the same. He balanced his chin on his fist. Rose mimicked him.

He’d seen a video once of apes in the wild. The researchers acted like monkeys, crouching in the grass, scratching their pits, hooting. After a while the apes relaxed and started to play.

“You’re like a researcher,” David said.

Her smile didn’t flicker. “I don’t understand.”

“Like a researcher that mimics apes to learn more about them.”

“I’m like a researcher that mimics apes to learn more about them.”

David laughed. “See? There you go.”

Rose blinked.

In that instant, a query packaged in a photon launched into space, ricocheted off a satellite, and penetrated the Sakora data banks in Osaka. An answer vaulted back to Rose’s mind in the time it took her to blink.

Simile: Comparing one thing to another to convey a richer understanding.

Rose had a richer understanding of David, how he thought and how he spoke. And this made her glad. And her gladness was . . .
bright like sunlight reflected off steel cabinets.

“This is pretty good,” David said, chewing.

“Thank you.”

Rose prepared herself a sandwich. It was hard not to stare at her, especially when she bent over to reach a low shelf. At first he looked away whenever she caught him,
but eventually he just stared. She seemed to want him to. And she was
his,
after all.

“You’re good with those hands. In the kitchen, anyway.”

“Thank you.”

David tried a more direct approach. “And the rest of you isn’t too bad, either.”

She glanced at him from under her bangs, her cheeks flushing.

“Oh. Well, I think you’re . . . awesome.”

David laughed again. He couldn’t help it. This had to be the lamest flirting in the history of mankind. But he liked it. He liked her. She seemed . . . honest.

After, when Rose rinsed the dishes, David sidled up alongside her, wondering if her breathing quickened or if he imagined it. She smelled like strawberry perfume, and her skin gave off heat. Maybe this was all a joke. This was no robotic girlfriend. This was a beautiful chick hired by a company, a hot actress in a black tank top and tight jeans. David placed his hand on her shoulder and felt, for an instant, her warm softness. Then she electrocuted him with two hundred and fifty volts.

Blue light arched across the room. David heard a snap and felt a hot vise around his arm. His jaw clenched so hard it felt like his teeth might crack. The vise released, and he flew backward against the refrigerator door. An acrid smell hung in the air, and the room seemed hazy, either from smoke or his eyes crossing.

He stared at his hand. There was no blood, but the skin was an angry red. Rose was doubled over, clutching at her stomach, but her eyes were on him.

“Dude, what the hell!”

“I apologize!”

“Jesus Christ!” David shook his hand. “What the hell was that?”

“I am so sorry. My Intimacy Clock has a security system. Not telling you sooner was an error.”

She stepped toward him, but he retreated around the counter.

“What are you, a freaking bank?”

“It’s only temporary. There’s a countdown. At two minutes you can shake my hand. After a little more time we can kiss.”

She reached out to him, but David moved around her in a wide arc, heading for the sink. “Babe, if you think I’m putting my lips anywhere
near
you, you’re crazy.”

She lowered her arms and looked — if such a thing were possible — stung.

David ran his hand under the cold water. Rose stood away, her hands folded. “It is painful for me, too,” she said quietly.

“What?”

“The shock. My pain receptors sense it, like yours. I enjoy your touch, but . . .” Her eyes shone with —
tears
? “It’s not allowed.”

“Who doesn’t allow you?” David’s arm muscles were beginning to unclench.

Rose blinked, twin teardrops sliding down her cheeks. “I have failed to be pleasing.”

“All right, all right. You can turn off the waterworks.”

“I can’t. They’re involuntary.”

At those words, something in him melted. He sighed and smiled weakly. “And that was just a shoulder. Imagine if I grabbed your boob.”

Rose smiled through her tears. “You’re being funny.”

“So you
do
have a sense of humor,” he said. “Are you OK?”

She nodded. “I’m experiencing embarrassment.”

“Me too.”

She wiped a tear.

“Do you want to go watch a movie?”

“Yes.”

“Can I take your hand?”

“Yes.”

David laced his burning fingers between hers and squeezed.

Rose’s egg contained a large black case — her luggage. Inside, David found a certificate of ownership (he’d have to get a frame), a pair of jeans, green sneakers, black pumps, sweatpants, three designer T-shirts, a tweed skirt, tights, a black cocktail dress (he couldn’t wait to see her in
that
), checked boxers and a long cotton T for sleeping (that, too), cherry-blossom socks, a Dopp kit with twenty gel packs labeled “ablutions,” jewelry, makeup, and a black plastic bag of “unmentionables.”

There was also a disc, which Mr. Sun played on the den entertainment system. The family gathered around, the parents in the armchairs, David and Rose on the loveseat. The Sakora logo appeared on screen. Music swelled.

“Welcome to Sakora,” a woman’s voice said. “Solutions for Life.”

The screen darkened and faded in on an empty classroom. A woman with graying chestnut hair and a pencil skirt leaned against the teacher’s desk and smiled.

“Hello, and welcome to Sakora Solutions’ Companion Program Welcome Presentation. I’m Dr. Paula Love, chief behavioral specialist here at Sakora Solutions, and your guide through this instructional tutorial. Over the next sixty minutes . . .”

“Do we have to watch the whole thing?” David said.

Mrs. Sun shushed him.

Dr. Love gestured to the chalkboard, where three words were written. “Did you know that more than forty percent of young adults experience chronic feelings of disassociation . . . discomfort . . . and depression?”

“No, I didn’t know that,” David mumbled.

“In our digital age, interpersonal relationships are increasingly crowded out by electronic distractions.”

A boy David’s age ran in front of a green screen, pretending to duck the images of computer monitors, cell phones, and game systems dive-bombing his head.

“I feel so disassociated!” the boy shouted. “Disassoooooociated!”

The music switched from menacing to hopeful. Dr. Love, now in a relaxed sundress, strolled through a sunny park.

“Studies have shown that young men from thirteen to seventeen are particularly at risk. Cases of anhedonia, moral apathy, and even suicide are on the rise. That’s why there’s Sakora Solutions’ Companion Program.”

Over Dr. Love’s shoulder, a boy and girl walked hand in hand.

“Using the mechanics of punishment and reward, the Companion dissuades dehumanizing behaviors and encourages healthy human interaction.” The boy, leering, palmed the girl’s ass. A spark (added in postproduction) snapped at his hand. The boy withdrew, pouting.

“That’s not how I remember it,” David said under his breath.

Dr. Love continued. “The Companion’s Intimacy Clock measures the degree of interpersonal connection over time . . .”

Mr. Sun checked his watch. “Maybe we can skip a bit.” He hit the advance button. Dr. Love (pantsuit) strolled through the halls of an enormous library.

“Ugh, that outfit,” Mrs. Sun said.

“Your Companion has access to nearly a million logographic and encyclopedic entries, including a vast database of nonverbal facial and body-language cues. But she still has a lot to learn!” Dr. Love chuckled stiffly. “Because our world is always changing, Companions are not programmed
with slang, jargon, or technical language. But thanks to Sakora’s ABC Protocol, she will quickly absorb new words and phrases and incorporate them into her vocabulary.”

“Like
groovy
and
far out
?” David said.

Rose blinked. “Far out?”

“Don’t actually say that,” David said.

A man in a white lab coat joined the doctor. The caption read
Dr. Samuel Froy, Chief Developmental Engineer.

“Well, hi there, Sam. Why don’t you tell the folks at home a little bit about how the Companion’s brain works?”

“Thank you, Paula.” Dr. Froy had a thick foreign accent, so it sounded like, “Zank you, Paula.”

“Ze Companion’s mind is comprised of two parts — an emotional core, where her desire for you is located, and a strict moral code, which checks this desire. Like our informational database, this moral code is connected via satellite link . . .”

“They lose me with this technical stuff,” Mrs. Sun said, reading the back of the DVD case. “Is there a special features section?”

“Hold on, he’s saying something important,” Mr. Sun said.

“This is a delicate balance,” Dr. Froy was saying, “between impulse and control. This is why your Companion must never enter a lead-lined room or be submerged entirely in water. Doing so severs the link, and will cause the unit to be . . .
decommissioned.

To illustrate, the image returned to the girl in the park, who, in a surprisingly realistic animation, exploded in a fiery ball.

“Oh my,” said Mrs. Sun.

Rose blinked.

When the DVD was over, Mr. and Mrs. Sun retired to the dining room to eat the meal Lupe had prepared. David was in the kitchen, microwaving a pizza. Rose was alone in the hall. Eating pizza with David meant first processing her lunch, and this required privacy. Her body had reduced the food to vapors that needed expelling. Rose burped.

She could see Mr. and Mrs. Sun through the glass doors separating the dining room from the foyer, candlelight gleaming on their twin wine glasses.

In the den, David watched television while tipping a slice of pizza toward his mouth.

“Do your parents like me?” Rose asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Do you want them to?”

“I don’t really care.”

“I don’t either.”

She settled back, careful not to touch David’s shoulder. On-screen, a helicopter exploded.

“You know, you don’t have to do everything I do.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, you don’t have to just think what I think.”

“Don’t you want me to agree with you?”

“Well, yeah but . . .” He scowled, thinking. “Look, you want me to like you, right?”

BOOK: Girl Parts
4.21Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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