Binary, page 9
“How?” he asked.
“How are we different?” I asked in return.
“Yes,” he answered. “How?”
“Bruce,” I said, “you’re asking questions I’m not sure you’ll understand the answers to.”
“Attempt,” he urged. “Try to explain.”
He did not have any feelings. It was something I needed to keep in perspective as we moved on. I could not allow myself to see Bruce as anything more than he was. The problem, however, was that I had no idea what he was.
There had to be a way to explain the differences between us without causing unneeded stress. If he could feel such a thing, that is. I was not sure.
“Listen to how we sound when we talk,” I explained. “I’m a human being, a naturally created creature made from living, breathing, organic tissue that’s full of life.”
“And I?” asked Bruce.
“You’re a machine,” I answered. “A robot.”
I was sure he knew the difference between man and machine, but there were many things surrounding life, love, and death Webster’s descriptions alone failed to define. If a man reads the definition of the word ‘pain,’ it does not mean he has a grasp on its sensation before experiencing it.
“I’m a sentient being,” I continued. “A living creature.”
His head hung. My remark made him unhappy. It was already getting harder for me to relate to him as ‘just a machine.’ There was something special about Bruce. I saw it for the first time that day when he looked into my eyes.
“If I am not living,” he asked, “then why do I feel alive?”
The question floored. Its sincerity of delivery was off catching. The voice that bore the question sounded mechanical, but its mode of conveyance was organic. I could not get ahead of myself.
“Let’s take this one day at a time,” I answered. “Your cybernetic makeup is intricate, and I haven’t reviewed much of it yet. Or any of it, for that matter.”
“Why did the security personnel look at me so strangely?” he asked.
“We already went over that, Bruce.” I answered.
“But why?” he pressed.
“Because we look different,” I answered. “We probably feel different as well.”
He looked at the skin on his arms again. “Feel? Do you mean emotionally, or do you mean physically?”
I put my pen to rest before answering. “Both probably.”
He stood from the chair without warning. His arm shot in my direction with unusual speed, and I thought he was going to grab me. I jumped as much on the inside as I did on the outside, but he stopped before his tightly wrapped hand reached me. “What does my skin feel like to you?”
He was intimidating, and I was having trouble hiding it. But I pushed through it. I stood from my chair and made my way around the table, looking toward the large two-way mirror to remind myself I was not alone.
I reached a shaking hand out to touch his arm. Something about him seemed frightened as well. It lost me on where his young, makeshift mind was at in its current stage of development. Inciting fear was the last thing I wanted to do and a setback I was trying to avoid.
He pulled his hand beyond reach when I got close enough to make contact.
“It’s alright, Bruce,” I said. “No one’s going to hurt you.”
Bruce cut me delicate eyes. Something within him trusted me. He raised his arm again but maintained unquestioning eye contact. I could sense him connecting with me, and I liked it.
It was one of those critical moments the doctors were waiting for. I analyzed the situation carefully. My full attention went to his eyes, his body language, and his reactions to me as I reached out and gave his skin a soft touch.
“Oh,” I said. “Wow.”
“What does it feel like?” asked Bruce.
“I’m not sure if I can describe it to you,” I answered. “It’s tough like leather but feels stretchy, like rubber.”
He looked down at his arm, then up at me, studying my reaction.
“Can you feel me touching you?” I asked.
“No,” he answered.
Bruce watched me, looking over his skin in fascination as my fingers explored the surface of his forearm.
“I want to feel,” he said. “I do not want to be looked at strangely.”
The tackles in his mind were hard at work. When he used the word ‘want’ it should have been a giant red flag blowing in 100 mph of wind, but his aura was distracting, and I missed the signs. Bruce had me.
The palm of his hand flipped with unmeasurable speed and grabbed my forearm. I screamed and jumped back, but his grasp was fast. Solid. There was no breaking free.
I looked towards the two-way mirror. The doctors must have been watching. They had to be. I prayed they were.
“Can you teach me to feel, Alexis?” asked Bruce.
I did not know if it was intentional or not, but his fingers were digging deeper into my forearm. I tried to pull away, but he grabbed the table’s edge with his other hand and clamped onto it. It was impossible to move him.
“Bruce...” I grimaced. “You’re hurting me. I’m... Ow.”
While I was sure he knew the definition of the word hurt, I was also certain he did not have enough experience in life to have any empathy bound to it.
“I’m...” It ran the compound word through its proverbial mind. “I’m... I’m... I... am... I... am... I’m...” The word set in. “I’m hurting you.”
He was analyzing my expression with surgical precision, and I had to take advantage of it.
“What does this mean?” asked Bruce.
“Listen to me,” I said calmly. “You’re going to hurt me, okay? Do you want to hurt me?”
The realization manifested in his eyes. His hand opened before he took a step back. I knew he did not mean to do it, but there was already a subtle bruise forming on my forearm. Bruce had shown me he could be dangerous. Our eyes locked as I rubbed my forearm.
“I did not mean...” he said. “Are you broken?”
The sound of rushing air filled the room along with accompanying fog. The entrance corridor opened. They were coming.
I moved to grab my lab coat and slid it on to cover the bruise on my forearm as Dr. Landry and Dr. Crane entered the room. Desmond Pope and another scientist named Dr. Schultz entered behind them, who I found funny looking. He was tall and skinny, like he stuck his finger down his throat a few times a day, but it was more likely for the man to be on Adderall and too addicted to his research to come off.
Their feet glued fast to the floor when they saw Bruce and me standing apart from one another. I pretended my arm was not throbbing in pain, but it was.
Dr. Crane hurried to my side. “Alexis, are you, alright?”
“Yeah,” I answered. “I’m fine.”
Bruce watched Dr. Crane as she looked me over with concern. Dr. Landry was watching Bruce with great curiosity, and I was watching him. All were worried as much as they were interested.
I knew Dr. Landry was pondering about the possibilities behind Bruce’s actions, enquiring which motives might have possessed him to act in such a manner. I could not blame him. So was I.
“Bruce,” called Dr. Landry.
Bruce turned to him and glimpsed himself in the large, two-way mirror. His head whipped back towards it, locking onto himself with impenetrable focus. That was when it hit me—in a world full of humans, Bruce had never seen himself before.
Dr. Landry stepped forward. “Bruce?”
We looked on as Bruce drew us in, taking sluggish steps towards the two-way mirror and touching his fingertips to his face in examination. A second later, he caught sight of his arms and moved them about in curiosity.
“Are you okay, Bruce?” asked Dr. Crane.
No response. I watched his creators as they watched him, mentally searching for the best way to lure his attention from the mirror. Bruce lost himself in thought.
At that point, I realized then he was more alive than anyone within the compound could accept. My heart fluttered. “Bruce.”
“Yes, Alexis?” he answered.
Why had he responded to me when he would not respond to anyone else? Why did he insert such gentle inflection into his robotic voice when he did?
“Has he never seen his reflection?” I asked.
“He’s never left the lab,” answered Dr. Landry.
I returned my attention to Bruce. He slogged my way with gentle disposition. Pope stepped to intercept, but I motioned him to stop.
Bruce stretched his hand for my arm again and I pulled back a little as he had before. He stopped and looked at me, as if to apologize.
“It is okay, Alexis,” said Bruce. “No one is going to hurt you.”
The tables had turned. His words mimicked mine to the tee and were sincere. Part of me did not trust the artificial intelligence system running his advanced eco-skeletal system. Another part of me did not believe it to be artificial.
I eased my arm to him. He took my hand as the others watched, rubbing the backside of my palm with the fingertips of his other hand.
“Can you feel me?” I asked.
“No,” answered Bruce. “I want to feel as you feel.”
Dr. Landry cleared his throat. “How so, Bruce?”
“I cannot feel like...” he stuttered. “I want to feel as... I want to feel the way life feels with...”
Bruce had never been in a situation so stimulating. The words to compliment his thoughts were beyond his grasp. He was looking for answers he would not get.
“You mean the skin?” asked Dr. Landry.
“Yes,” answered Bruce. “I want my skin to feel as hers does. To sense...”
Dr. Landry approached Bruce and placed his hand on his shoulder. I could not figure out if something inside him thought of Bruce as a sentient being yet or not. Was the passion because he saw Bruce as a project he did not want to see fail?
“Listen, Bruce,” said Dr. Landry. “We were planning to overlay your skin’s sensory processors with organic tissue after your vocal upgrade, but we could make it, and your vocal parameters, more of a priority if you’d like. I don’t think it would change the overall timeframe of what we’re setting out to do here.”
“Please?” asked Bruce.
Doctors Crane and Landry made quick eye contact with Dr. Schultz. It felt to be the straightest remark they had heard from Bruce. The machine was already making subtle decisions on its own.
Dr. Schultz stuttered for a moment before interjecting himself into the situation. It was the first time I heard him speak. His voice lingered between excitement and over caffeinated unease. It was unclear whether his mind was racing about The Project, or because their creation frightened him.
“Uh...” said Dr. Schultz. “Yeah. I... I think we can do... do that.”
“Give us a few days to work on Bruce’s request, Alexis,” said Dr. Landry, “and you’ll be back in here with him.” He turned to Bruce. “Sound good to you?”
Bruce did not have any eyebrows, but his rubbery forehead wrinkled, sometimes at the wrong times.
“Yes,” answered Bruce.
He smiled, frowned, and made a few other random expressions without real-world experience to guide him. He would have made a horrible comedian. Or a fantastic one. Almost everyone in the room tried not to laugh.
Pope was the only person in the room unmoved. Bruce was an ‘it’ in his eyes as he moved to the opposite side of the room for a better tactical position. His eyes never broke from the machine.
It was understandable. The vessel they referred to as Bruce was an ‘it’ to me as well, but it showed glimpses of whatever was trapped in the Heart Device already trying to show itself. It did not differ from anyone else’s body: a vessel to carry our minds, hearts, and perhaps our souls.
“Alexis,” said Dr. Crane. “Would you like to come with me for a minute?”
I nodded. Neither Pope nor Bruce spoke. I gathered my folder and walked to the door with Doctors Landry and Crane.
Bruce was staring at Dr. Schultz as I passed them by but turned his attention back towards the mirror and put his hand to his face again. Fixated. Hoping.
Dr. Crane caught me rubbing my forearm when she called my name. I was certain of it. It was already sore, but I knew he had not done it on purpose. I did not want to say anything to send her into believing I could not handle The Project.
We made our way into the entrance corridor and waited for Dr. Schultz to follow us. He was looking at the table on Bruce’s side of the room, but I could not tell why. He cut his eyes to Bruce, back at the table, and to Bruce one last time before making his way into the corridor with us.
“I’ll be a few minutes behind you,” said Dr. Landry. “I’m going to talk with Mr. Pope for a moment.”
“Okay,” said Dr. Crane. “I’ll accompany Alexis to her quarters.”
Dr. Landry nodded to Dr. Schultz. “We’ll move forward as planned.”
Dr. Schultz knew something I did not and was not sharing, but I had other things on my mind. I was worried about Bruce’s perception of humanity and was unsure about leaving him in the Social Room with Desmond Pope to jade his opinion of it. It was the last thing I thought about when the door separated me from the mechanized man.
Chapter 12
Calming down
WE STOOD IN SILENCE when the decontamination process went underway, each subject to our own thoughts. The only person who spoke before the door opened was Dr. Crane.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Yeah,” I answered.
She exhaled her concerns. I was glad she did not want to push the issue, but it made for an extended decontamination process. Muscles in my chest calmed when it ended.
Dr. Schultz turned to me as he left the corridor. “By the way. My name’s Dr.... Dr. Shultz. Let... Let me know if you... you need anything, Alexis.”
“I appreciate it,” I said. “Thanks.”
He made his way down the hallway, and Dr. Crane walked me to my quarters.
“He didn’t hurt you,” asked Dr. Crane, “did he?”
“No,” I answered. “I’m fine.”
“Want me to look at your arm?” she asked.
“No,” I answered. “I’m okay. Really.”
“Alright then,” she said.
I did not want her looking at my arm. She could tell the others it was not safe for me to continue. That was the last thing I wanted. The subject needed changing.
“They said a few days?” I asked.
“That’s not entirely accurate,” she answered.
I could not help but snicker. It was the hidden smart aleck in me. Perhaps it was why I had little to no internal monologue in conversations: a coping mechanism to satisfy suppressed urges to voice witty and potentially confrontational random thoughts.
“Did I say something?” asked Dr. Crane.
“No,” I answered. “Yes. No. Kind of.”
Her brows raised again. I was not sure if it was something she did often or only when she was around me.
“Sorry,” I continued. “It’s just... You’re misleading Bruce.”
“Misleading?” she asked. “How so?”
“Dr. Landry worded things like it wouldn’t take very long,” I answered, “but I know it’s going to take time to go through whatever process you’ve come up with to blend the new skin in with his system to function properly. Why not just tell it like it is?”
“What’s a long time to you,” she answered, “might be nothing to Bruce. He’s been sitting in that room for decades. Before he even had a rump to do it on.”
“Then tell me,” I asked. “How long is it going to take? More than a few days, I’m sure.”
“Okay then.” She studied me before answering. “It’ll take at least thirty hours to get the initial overlay lined up and on correctly. After that, I’m not sure how long it’ll take to get all the nerve endings in his skin to fire and receive signals, or if it will work at all, to be honest with you. This is a first, and we’d have to work in shifts. So, plan on it being anywhere between three days and three weeks. Until then, study up on his history and explore the compound.”
“You guys need to take care of Bruce before I meet with him... it... again,” I said. “It needs to feel the sensation of touch, otherwise, I don’t think we can productively move forward. It’s all it’ll focus on.”
“What makes you think that?” asked Dr. Crane.
“A few things,” I answered. “The combination of curiosity and confusion coming from the A.I., and the desires of whatever is in that Heart Device somehow seeping into it.”
“That’s a bold observation,” she said.
“It’s an honest one,” I said. “Secure the Heart Device before we meet again.”
“Of all the scientists here,” said Dr. Crane, “three of us have ever believed the Heart Device contains a living soul, and, of those three, the two that remain have been here since the beginning.”
“You, Dr. Landry, and...?” I asked.
“She’s gone,” answered Dr. Crane. “Passed away in an accident years ago. It’s just Dr. Landry and me now. Perhaps yourself as time passes.”
“I’m looking for hard facts here” I said. “Nothing less. Does the tech in my quarters have all the information on Bruce, as in everything? I want to know what yourself, Dr. Landry, Dr. Schultz, or anybody in this building has had access to or discovered over the years.”
“I believe everything’s in your system,” said Dr. Crane. “You’d need special clearance that I can’t provide you for some of the documentation to be cleared of its classified status and re-uploaded to your system, but everything you need to know about how Bruce operates is right there at your disposal. If you’re looking to know The Project’s origin, I suggest getting used to disappointment for now.”
We approached the door to my quarters. I was daydreaming with a mind sifting through a haystack, hoping for the needle’s prick. Sometimes my brain did what it wanted to.
I needed the Heart Device installed, but if they could do such a thing, they would have either done it already or told me they were planning on it. There had to be a way. Something they missed.
