Tokyo Love (5 page)

For a moment, Kathleen thought Yuriko was referring to the imminent arrival of her own PLC. But then she remembered her own words from early. “Ah, thanks.”

Yuriko smirked. “
Ja ne
.” Then she went into her apartment.

Kathleen looked over the balcony and saw a Mashida van pulling up to the parking lot.

Yuriko closed her apartment door behind her, leaning against it momentarily. Her apartment was just as she left it: a huge mess. Various tool kits were strewn across her floor. Part of a reject PLC leg was on her table, where she had been tinkering with it for a week. One corner of her living room was filled with random parts. Some even with skin or hair flaking off. A box of PLC eyeballs was on her kitchen counter, minuscule, delicate parts spread across the white surface. Her bag of
konbini
dinner was on the floor. Her mother constantly complained that Yuriko should learn to cook for herself. The problem wasn't that Yuriko didn't know how to cook, it was that she lacked the space to cook.

She toed off her shoes and stepped into her kitchen, bending over the bag. She realized that she was still holding the empty beer can she had gotten from Kathleen. She tossed it in her recycling bin.

Talking with her had been nice. Nicer than Yuriko expected anyway. Kathleen still looked like a nervous wreck, though honestly Yuriko had no idea why. It could have been the sudden order for a custom cortex scan PLC that was put into production earlier that week. But, as rare as those were, they had been made before for various testing.

Kathleen had said she had come to Japan looking for a change of pace. That wasn't surprising to Yuriko. She knew too many foreigners with the same idea. They'd come running to Japan, expecting to be swept off their feet by the cutting edge of technology or the charm of a completely different culture. They never seemed to expect the stress of culture shock or the realization that they were moving to a country where they were the minority. Where they were always the odd one out in the crowd.

Yuriko remembered when she moved to Japan with her mother. She had visited plenty of times before the divorce, but nothing quite prepared her for living there. The school, the kids, just
being
there and knowing she wasn't going back to America at the end of the summer. During her first weeks, one of the younger neighbor kids asked her why she had blue eyes. Yuriko replied that her father was American. That earned her an “oh” and the kid ran back to their friends.

Yuriko hadn't realized what it meant to have an American father. She hadn't realized that it meant she was different from most of the people in the country that she had to call home. That even though she was fluent in Japanese and had a Japanese mother, it wasn't the same. It wasn't enough. She was half, not whole.

The story of how she came to find her place in Japan wasn't dramatic. It was simply that she learned to be a little more Japanese than necessary. She spoke softer than she had in America. She kept her hair black and straight and her clothes modest and unassuming. She did everything not to stand out and never talked about how much she missed American mac and cheese or ranch dressing.

At the time, it seemed a menial thing to give up, but Yuriko wondered if it had done more damage than she'd intended. She had learned to keep her emotions close to her, locked up and away from scrutiny. Away from judgment.

She wondered if Kathleen would learn that.

She also wondered if she felt regret or pity now.

Kathleen wondered, if some neighbor or stranger or maybe policeman were to walk into her apartment, what would they think of the giant box lying in the middle of her floor?

Probably a body.

Her table and cushions were pushed to the side. The box was slightly dented—from when the deliverymen attempted to get it through the door—but nondescript. White cardboard with her address and “Personal Love Companion” stamped on the side. Kathleen had to dig around for a pair of scissors to open it. Inside was a foam casing, wrapped with more tape. Then the body, wrapped in clear plastic, half covered in manuals and information pamphlets.

Kathleen was quick to slice through the plastic. Not because she was excited to see the product; it was more like seeing a realistic body wrapped in plastic was disturbing. Maybe she should talk to her design team about sleeker packaging. Something a little more … homely than what you would find your computer packed in. But packaging aside, there was a major problem.

Kathleen's PLC, her personally made, very expensive love companion, was a girl.

Kathleen stared at her for a good ten minutes, trying not to go into a panic. This was a disaster. The cortex scan was supposed to make the customer a doll to perfectly fit their interests and needs. Kathleen had spent months working with Medical, trying to get the complicated nuances smoothed over. Making sure the companion was calm for a calm person, active for an active person, etc. But if the scan couldn't even tell that Kathleen was exclusively interested in men, then this project was already in the grinder.

She took a few even, deep breaths. Then she tapped on her wrist a small memo to be incorporated into her report for tomorrow. Maybe it was a blip in the system? Maybe it was an easy fix. When Kathleen had to fill out the forms about her name and age, they could also add a small section for sexual orientation. Their process would still be a fraction of the time other companies had proposed. Maybe this wasn't a total disaster. Maybe Kathleen wouldn't be fired by the end of the week.

Crisis temporarily on hold, Kathleen decided she should probably make more observations, if only to help distract herself from the glaring flaw.

The PLC had long straight black hair. It shimmered in the setting sun coming in from Kathleen's living room window. She touched it to find it soft and completely tangle free. The PCL had a simple cut with bangs that hung low on her forehead. Her lashes were dark and short, eyebrows thick beneath the bangs. Her nose was flat, cheeks round, but she had a pointed chin and full lips. She was wearing a standard white shirt and shorts, made from a cheap, nearly translucent material. She was very thin, with pale olive skin.

The PLC looked Japanese, though something about her face structure seemed a little more unique. Kathleen knew the body should reflect her personal tastes, but she knew the physical appearance was already flawed considering she was the wrong gender. She had never looked at a beautiful woman and felt more than just passing admiration for her appearance. She couldn't even begin to comprehend how she should be judging this PLC that was supposed to be designed specifically to please Kathleen. Trying not to freak out, she touched the skin, finding it pliable and warm.

Kathleen immediately stood up, wringing her fingers. This was insane. This was creepy. She understood why Yuriko would find it disturbing to see a PLC somewhere outside the Engineering facilities. The PLC was incredibly convincing, but Kathleen knew that this was not a person. This was a computer she had been programming for over three months. This was a project funded and run by hundreds, if not thousands of people.

But the PLC looked so
real
. Like Kathleen had just opened a box to find some unconscious woman lying in the middle of her apartment.

She took another few steadying breaths and wrote another note into her wrist.
Make higher quality default clothes
. Kathleen was truly uncomfortable that she could practically see through the shirt. She knew underwear was not included.
Make undergarments a default.

Kathleen went to her kitchen and pulled out another beer. She was starting to get a little dizzy and she knew she should probably be more clearheaded for the critical stage of turning the PLC on. But she could run through that system check later. Right now, Kathleen sort of felt like running from the apartment while screaming. She needed some liquid courage to make her stay.

She wasn't sure if it was the gender mix-up that was terrifying her, or the fact that she was simply extremely put off from the technology she had worked so hard to prepare.
Dammit
, she hadn't even tried talking to the PLC and she was already questioning her entire career. She had never run up against this with her other programs. Holo dating sims were nothing compared to this. Kathleen had always been able to separate herself from those. But this was a whole new level of realism and she found herself draining the beer.

“User Kathleen. Turn on!” she practically shouted. Full instructions were included, but Kathleen had drafted them herself. She didn't need to read the manual when she had practically written it. The PLC was voice activated for the particular customer. She could say the words in any language and the PLC would recognize her from the cortex scan.

The PLC opened her eyes. They were a glassy blue and she blinked up at the ceiling, reading the environment already. Assessing that nothing was obstructing her, she sat up and looked around until her eyes landed on Kathleen, who felt like cowering under the steady gaze.

The PLC was breathing now and Kathleen felt like she was going to hyperventilate.

She
knew
her.

This had to be a joke. The eyes, the face, the way she was grinning slowly at Kathleen. It wasn't just a PLC. It wasn't just a robot. Kathleen could count on one hand how many people in Japan she knew personally and this had to be a goddamned joke.

The PLC blinked slowly. “Doing okay there, Kathleen?”

“Yuriko,” Kathleen breathed, surprised she could speak at all.

The PLC stared. “Would you like that to be my name?”

“No. God,
no
.” Kathleen closed her eyes, running a hand through her hair, uncaring that her fingers tangled and pulled at the strands. The pain distracted her slightly and she forced herself to take in a few deep breaths. She had to get control over herself. She was just overwhelmed. She had to be mistaken. She looked at the PLC again.

The PLC was staring at her, blue eyes wide with concern. “Are you all right, Kathleen?”

Kathleen's mind felt numb, but she attempted to focus on what was important. The PLC seemed functional and she recognized her instantly. That was good. She could obviously assess the situation and understood that Kathleen was freaking the
fuck
out right now.

“I'm just … I'm just fine.” Kathleen answered. She wanted to lie on the floor and just give up now.

The PLC gave her a shrewd look, but then shrugged, flipping her hair over one shoulder. Then, quite fluidly, she stood up. She brushed off some of the remaining plastic, and then took a step away from the box. Kathleen remembered, in her youth, how robots used to be jerking, stuttering things that were constantly falling over simple obstacles. The PLC seemed to have no problem exiting her box. Then she turned around, put everything back inside of it, and pushed it to the corner of the room. She even went as far as putting down Kathleen's table and arranging some of the cushions back around it.

Kathleen just stood and watched, feeling dumb and stupid. She should be feeling a sense of great pride. The PLC was performing perfectly, better than she could imagine. She was stable, strong, and able to make decisions without prompting. But all Kathleen could think, watching her tidy her meager living room, was,
Why the hell does she look like my neighbor?

Then the PLC sat at her table, legs folded under her and motioned for Kathleen to do the same. Kathleen sat down, with much less grace, and resisted the urge to slam her head repeatedly into the surface.

The PLC smirked at her. “Tell me what you are thinking.”

“Why do you want to know what I am thinking?”

The PLC rolled her eyes. “Because I can't read minds and you are about a stiff breeze away from a total meltdown. And if I have to call an ambulance to save you from catatonic shock, then I would at least like to give them a reason why.”

Anyone else might have laughed at the PLC's dry wit. In fact, if it were any other situation, Kathleen probably would have been impressed by the nuances in the synthetic voice. “Who programmed your features?”

The PLC's eyes went unfocused for a second. “Analysis from cortex scan of Kathleen Schmitt.”

Kathleen swallowed, feeling it stick in her throat. “Specify analysis.”

“Probability of physical attractiveness to subject, 97.9%. Eye shape, 96.9%. Eye color, 99.8%. Structure of nose and cheekbones, 87.9%. Structure of chin, 95.6%. Voice intonation, 99.6%. Structure of—”

“Stop, please. Just stop.” It was just the data from her cortex scan. But how could that make a replica of Yuriko? What did that
mean
?

The PLC's eyes focused again. “Is there a problem?”

It could be human error. Yuriko did work in Quality Control. She undoubtedly had gone through every skin graft and hair fiber and eye color and face structure available and signed off on their quality. She probably hadn't intended for it all to culminate into a PLC that looked exactly like her. But subconscious human bias could have played a role.

Granted, it wasn't Yuriko's job to look at every finished product. If she had looked at this PLC, wouldn't she have been surprised? Wouldn't she have realized it had to be some mistake? When they had talked earlier that evening, Yuriko hadn't looked like she had the freakiest day of her life. She didn't look like she had come from work after seeing herself as a PLC.

Something was wrong. A mistake, a glitch in the system.

Kathleen stared at the PLC again. Maybe her face wasn't the same? Yuriko's hair wasn't that distinctive from other Japanese people Kathleen had met. Blue eyes weren't common at all, but Kathleen did admit she liked blue eyes. Brandon had blue eyes. She hadn't met that many Japanese people; she was still probably suffering from the dumb foreigner stereotype of thinking every Asian person looked the same. Maybe the hair and the eyes just reminded Kathleen enough of Yuriko to mistake the rest of it for her. She had to be freaking out for no reason.