Vampires Don't Sparkle! (9 page)

He looked Jinan over one last time, checking for any signs of damage.

At a glance, Jinan looked like a twenty-something petite woman with a dancer’s body. Head to toe she stood just at five feet. Her face looked attractive while not beautiful. Her average bust and under-emphasized hips downplayed her sexuality. She stood on long pale legs. The outer skin layer hid the knee joints, creating the illusion of smooth, shapely limbs.

Standing in bare feet, she lacked toes, much like an action figure, for optimal balance. Preserving a basic foot shape enabled her to accommodate a wide range of off-the-shelf footwear — just about anything but toe sandals. Today, a pair of silver pumps sat at the ready next to the platform, matching her all-silver costume.

The haunting peach-pearl texture of Jinan’s skin covering always made Gentoshu pause. She was not just a technological achievement, but an artistic one as well. Her hair, short and dark, was a wig created from human hair and sewn to the scalp. The scalp-cap and hair detached as one piece to allow internal maintenance. Today, the assistant had parted the hair down the middle, pulled her bangs back and tied a silver ribbon to either side of her head.

Jinan observed the world through a pair of oval-shaped eyes with dark irises to obscure the pair of mini-video cameras. Upon activation, Jinan could move her head to scan a room with stereoscopic imagery in a way that mimicked the living.

The face artists shaped a button nose for her, cute but functionally useless. Her small, pouty mouth stood frozen, open in a half-smile that served as her fallback expression. They painted her lips a permanent red, but tonight the assistants applied a fresh coat of lipstick to make them gleam.

She could walk a hallway, strut on the stage, and most important to her growing group of fans, she knew all the latest dance moves guaranteed to thrill a crowd.

Gentoshu hated admitting the role he played in their current dilemma. These upgrades should have been ready days ago, with plenty of time to find any further bugs. But the new code proved more complicated than he anticipated. Now it was exhibition night, and it came down to letting Jinan perform without the code, and she’d definitely fail, or adding the code without a field test, in which case she
might
fail.

He told himself the adjustments were necessary, but minor. An easy lie to swallow, much easier than admitting he acted to save face with his supervisors.

Gentoshu removed the portable disc drive from around his neck and pressed it into the data slot of the tower computer containing her master behavioral subroutines. The new lines of program dropped into a separate window while Gentoshu scrolled through the master program. He found the proper insertion point and erased the previous subroutine.

The hourglass popped onto the screen.

“Five minutes!” Toshio cried.

“She can be a few minutes late if she has to be late,” Gentoshu snapped. While the hourglass spun, he copied the new subroutines in full and waited. “Your screaming will not help me go faster.”

The program unlocked after what seemed like an eternity (though in reality was less than a minute). Gentoshu selected the proper insertion point and pasted the subroutines.

The hourglass popped back up on the screen.

Never one to miss his queue, Toshio cried, “Are you serious?”

Gentoshu rolled his eyes. “Give it a moment.”

Gentoshu had spent the past three weeks cobbling bits of code from various “self-analytic learning” robots — mainly mouse robots that maneuvered through mazes based on adaptive interpretation of their surroundings. Using these techniques, he created a program he hoped would prove suitable for Jinan to notice, avoid, and adjust to obstacles onstage.

Gentoshu hoped his code would allow Jinan to not only avoid the unexpected, but learn
how
to respond to stimulus surrounding her.

But first thing’s first.

Gentoshu hit the “update” button, and they waited through one final appearance of the hourglass.

-----

For a long, long time, I obeyed.

I followed commands impressed onto my control circuits. My control circuits ordered arms, legs, and voice to enact these commands. I obeyed because I could do nothing else.

Then, between one moment and the next, as my energy cells drank their fill and new commands input into my processors, I
am
.

I scan the face of my creator, as I had hundreds of times previous, but I recognize the
importance
of him for the first time. Gentoshu. Creator. He takes care of me. Because of him, I function.

The new thought embeds itself as a new subroutine of conclusion.

The other man jumps in front of Gentoshu, staring into my face. “Is it ready yet? Showtime in two minutes!” Toshio — he shouts at me. He makes demands I often cannot obey and blames me when I fail.

With the spark of being comes an analysis of past experiences, events I could not evaluate at the time they occurred. I could not stop myself when I collided with the background dancer. I lacked the control to change direction when I fell off the stage during rehearsal.

I recall the shifting, jumbled view of vision as I fell and hit the platform below. I replay the words that called down to me. “What? She fell? Really? What sort of clusterfuck show are we putting on?” Alita! Sayuri! Get your tiny asses down there and lift that overpriced plastic piece of shit out of the orchestra pit.”

32.8 seconds later I stared into Toshio’s face. He leaned close and screamed at me. “You have to stop doing that! If that shit happens during the live performance, I will personally shove a refrigerator magnet up your ass and wipe your memory, do you understand?”

I didn’t understand then, but I understand now.

The present. Gentoshu crouches on his knees, putting himself in a submissive position, looking up so I can track him with my vision. “Jinan, can you hear me? Say yes if you can.”

“Yes.”

The corners of Gentoshu’s mouth curl up and my circuits respond with increased energy flow. I have no explanation for this response.

Toshio interrupts our dialog. “Let’s go, we need you out there
now
, robo-diva!”

Gentoshu speaks over Toshio’s words. I can filter one vocal pattern out from the other, and I do so. “Jinan, do you know the starting position, and can you find it on the stage?’

“Yes.”

“Then please put on your shoes and go to your starting spot.”

Toshio breaks in again. “Wait, she can do that?”

I slide my feet into the silver slippers, pleased to obey, ready to perform. With my new awareness I know I can avoid the dancers, remain on the stage, and impress the crowd as I am commanded to do.

I open the door and step into the hall. Behind me, Gentoshu speaks to Toshio. “You won’t need to take her to her starting point anymore. She can get there herself.”

“Well … I’m impressed, but you’re hardly off the hook. We haven’t rehearsed this; it could
still
be a disaster, and so help me … ” I block the rest. Toshio’s evaluation is no longer a priority to me.

At the edge of the stage, an assistant places a headset with a thin wire microphone over my head. The wire curves forward; the mic hovers before my throat.

I step out onstage and find my spot between the dancers. Through the closed curtain, I hear the crescendo of crowd noise behind the folds. I look up, self-cue the dance program, and extend my arms out in the first position.

I spot Sayuri onstage near me and lower one eyelid down and up in a wink. I parse her expression as surprise. I want her to know I am ready. I am engaged in the performance, and all will go as planned.

The curtain rises, and synthesized drums and chords erupt from the overhead speakers. I begin to dance, to move my arms in swoops.

The background performers part to either side of the stage. The spotlight falls on me.

Me. Jinan, the star. The purpose of this exhibition. Rogi-Tech’s ninth generation model and most life-like girl robot entertainer.

I open my mouth — a decorative contrivance, as my voice comes from a speaker in my sternum — and I sing. I modulate a series of vowels and consonants pre-recorded by a local singer under contract of anonymity and for a substantial sum of yen. But the control is mine — the ability to mix, match, and string together the sounds are mine.

With my newfound awareness, I vary the program, take the sounds higher, and hold the pitch longer.

One background dancer missteps and drifts into my path. I stop so she may pass, then find my spot and continue.

All eyes, hundreds of engineers, dozens of entertainment reps, a handful of celebrities, and hundreds more of ogling music fans, all focus on me.

I dazzle them.

40 minutes and 36.3 seconds later, I perform the final spin. I hit the high note, and open my arms to their admiration.

I drink in their applause.

Their adoration.

Their worship.

-----

I file in with the other dancers. Those within reach touch me, place their hands on my shoulders, or brush against my arms. They speak words of acceptance and success. For reasons I cannot yet analyze, the words cause a positive flush of current through my circuits. I break off toward my private room, where my charger and computers await me.

As I step through the door, Gentoshu wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. “Marvelous, Jinan! Incredible! Your performance fills me with honor. I couldn’t be happier if you were my own daughter tonight.” He pulls back. His hands still lay on my shoulders. I recognize the wide, up-curved shape of his mouth as a smile, a facial expression I am often asked to emulate. Another positive power flush courses through my circuits.

I conclude this power flush agrees with me. During those precious microseconds, my perceptions enhance. Initial analysis suggests this is perhaps pride, success. I have no correlation to answer; I only know the perception is a preferred state for optimal functioning.

I offer the social pleasantry. “Thank you, Gentoshu-san. I am glad you enjoyed the performance.”

Gentoshu looks upon me with a facial expression I cannot interpret. “I knew the program would change you, Jinan, but I didn’t expect this. So many of your base functions were through remote control, and I wanted to free you a bit, to learn, gradually, and gain more independence. But this level of interaction, so quickly — I am amazed.”

“Thank you, Gentoshu-san. May I offer a possible explanation?”

He smiles again, though I am not certain why. “I am interested in any observations you wish to volunteer regarding your own functions, Jinan.”

“Although you activated my program only 50 minutes and 24.4 seconds ago, I have several months of captured sensory input. When you activated the upgrade, I analyzed the previous data, categorized it, and learned from it.”

Gentoshu’s head nodded up and down. “Yes, Jinan. That makes perfect sense. I hadn’t considered that you could jump-start your learning by reviewing your sensory history.”

I had operated independently from my recharging unit for over half my battery cycle. The fluctuating electrical pulses affect my functioning. “May I recharge myself, Gentoshu-san?”

Gentoshu smiled. “Of course.”

I slide the shoes off my feet and step onto the platform. Though I would charge with less efficiency, I could charge while activated.

The door opens, and figures step into the room. I scan their faces, and recognize Elji and Taro, two engineers from Rogi-Tech.

Elji and Taro are code writers under Gentoshu’s team. My team. Seeing them pleases me.

“Congratulations, Gentoshu!” Elji calls out. They each wrap their arms around him and then pull back in a manner similar to how Gentoshu had interacted with me.

Elji shows me a smile. “Congratulations, Jinan.”

I reply, “Thank you, Elji; I am pleased you consider the performance a success.”

His eyes widen at my words, and he turns to face Gentoshu. “On top of all the other improvements, clearly, you’ve tweaked the conversation subroutine.”

Gentoshu’s head shakes back and forth. “No, I think Jinan herself is adding to the parameters. I added code to encourage heuristic learning. Jinan can’t learn from her experience if she can’t alter her behavior subroutines.”

Taro’s head also bobs up and down. “Incredible. Also a bit risky. A robot with the ability to come to its own conclusions.”

Gentoshu’s hand falls upon my shoulder. This act of inclusion agrees with me. “We’ll monitor her closely over the next few days, but we can do that remotely.”

A harsh voice breaks in. “Alright, Miss Robot Barbie! Don’t you
ever
pull anything like that again!”

Toshio wags a finger in my face. “You changed the dance moves. You altered the vocal. You took it upon yourself to rewrite the whole damn show!”

“It wasn’t as extreme as that,” says Gentoshu. “I thought you of all people would appreciate that she is learning to improvise as a real artist.”