Tag: Fiction

Posted in Fiction, Science Fiction

Beautiful | Part 1 of 3

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is the first part a Science fiction story from my latest short stories collection: A Window in Future. You can find the complete collection for free here: Books by Shaily

“What avatar would you like today?” The Image Converter app starts interrogating me as soon as I step out of bath and begin pulling on my comfortable skirt.

“The usual, please,” I reply, gritting my teeth for what is sure to come.

“Are you sure, you don’t want to try the latest Diva or Corporate Femme avatars? They are more popular and would suit your personality better.”

For a moment I am tempted to try the Diva avatar just so that I can impress Mark. But who am I kidding?

“The usual, please”, I repeat, habitual of resisting the daily offer. Earlier, I had tried explaining my dilemma to Image Convertor; that I have Werewolf Syndrome or what doctors call as Hypertrichosis; that I do not want to present myself as a perfect woman since I am not one. But Artificial Intelligence seems to lack emotional intelligence. So, now I just keep repeating the order until it gives in.

After a few failed attempts at making me look feminine, it relents, “As you wish.”

In the mirror across the room, I can see my clothes converting into an electric blue formal suit and a neat beard growing out of my clean face, Ironically, I also have smoky eyes and lipstick. Sigh! “Make the suit grey and remove the make‑up.”

My Image Converter gives an exaggerated sigh and removes the virtual make‑up, turning me into a regular bearded man. From prior experience, I know that my voice has changed too. The beard is for irony, of course. Afterall, my facial and body hair is the reason I use the Image Converter app. There was a time when I wanted to look like a normal girl and have a normal life. But as a woman with a potential of growing an actual beard, I am the biggest irony of all.

*****

I rush into the lounge. The Day Planner app activates at my footsteps and begins reciting my day’s engagements. I curse Derek under my breath for ditching me yet again for this meeting with Mark. I would rather be sleeping and dreaming about that man than meet him alone face‑to‑face.

The food processor alarm breaks my reverie and my breakfast of eggs and bacon slides in front of me along with a mug of iced latte. I shovel food in my mouth as I read emails displayed on the wall‑screen. If I wasn’t so angry at Derek, I would have taken time to appreciate the effort he took to install the wall screen. I always complained that palmtop screen in the office was just too tiny, but there is client privacy to be considered. More importantly, Derek keeps sending stupid jokes that I can’t let the staff see; there is reputation to uphold—his and mine. So, he installed the wall screen at home for the days when I am working from home—today was supposed to be one.

But he had called me this morning bright and early that I had to rush to office on my work‑from‑home day because he was bailing on me for ‘unavoidable reasons’. He must be taking Stacey out for shopping again. He has been doing that a lot ever since their marriage. Usually, I don’t mind but today, we were supposed to meet Mark for an on‑site meeting, and I hate the thought of being alone with him all day long. Well, not really hate…

In fact, I like it too much… which scares me witless.

*****

Ever since his engagement, Derek has been pushing me to take over some of his older and stable clients to free up his time. Mark is one of them. This is the fifth time in Derek’s two-month-old marriage that he left me alone with Mark.

I wish Derek isn’t my bestie, so I can kill him without remorse. But he is and so I can’t. We started school together when I used to be a normal person. When I hit puberty and my facial and body hair started growing beyond the normal length, he was the only one who stuck around a ‘werewolf’. Considering my great-great-grand aunt had the same affliction, my parents were somewhat prepared and got me the medical attention, but I was still underage for the highly restricted medication and by the time I received government approval, I looked closer to a wolf than a human.

I missed the year at school and stayed at home until the medicines stopped the hair growth and I shed the ‘fur’. I had also stopped socialising to keep the news from spreading, but the story leaked out somehow and someone took a picture of me at my worst and published on the school newspaper.

After this incident, I was a laughingstock. All my friends shunned me, fearing that my exceptionally low social status would rub off on them. Only Derek didn’t care about what others thought. He would tell people off when they wouldn’t leave me alone, meeting snarky comments with snarky comments. Once, he even punched a guy who posted that same photo on social media as a Halloween joke.

And Derek’s friendship is the reason I didn’t commit suicide after my horrendous last year at the college. And that is why, I am currently suppressing the fantasy of strangling him to death and concentrating on getting ready at full speed.

To be continued

Photo by LOGAN WEAVER | @LGNWVR on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction

Deserted | Gothic | Short story

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: It is a photo-prompt story, which used to have a photo of an office in the middle of a desert. But over the four years it gathered dust in my archives, I managed to lose the picture.

Disclaimer: Gothic content with references to violence–reader discretion requested.

This office doesn’t bear any sign, nor can I see any stuff to sell. All that I can see inside is that the place is neat. No dust, no wares. Only an antique phone and an old register sit on the table. Not sure what the old hag uses it for.

Honestly, I don’t even see the point of having an office in the middle of nowhere; I haven’t seen a single soul in the area for hours. So, who would drive all the way through this hot-as-hell desert to reach this office? But I’m sure glad to find it—anything is better than walking aimlessly with an open wound that still drips blood after so many hours.

I wonder why I had assumed I could find my way through the desert alone without the guide. I shouldn’t have killed him until I reached my new hideout. But he had somehow realised who I was and I acted on instinct, which was to kill. I was already wanted for 17 murders; one more wouldn’t change anything. Or so I thought.

I had slit his throat with the penknife as he had stabbed me in the side with a screwdriver. At least, he died quickly. I, on the other hand, have been in agony ever since—as if he is still twisting that damned screwdriver inside, even after the hours that I have spent blundering around in the desert.

I’m sure I had a cellphone when I started the journey, but I can’t find it anymore. It probably slipped out of my pocket when I lost consciousness and fell. Anyway, I can’t think of anyone I could call for help and where to ask them to come for me, for I have no idea where I am now.

The pain is driving me mad, and I would welcome death if it would bring relief. But it seems to be avoiding me for some reason, drawing out the torment. My money bag feels like it weighs a ton—I can barely move my feet. I want to take it off my back. Yet for some reason, I can’t make myself to.

When I finally found this office in the middle of nowhere, I was too relieved to care about the consequences of entering a building. My wound isn’t conspicuous and anyone helping me would certainly enquire. Thankfully, with more than four hundred thousand dollars tucked in, I have enough hard cash to bribe my way out of any situation. I just hope they aren’t too honest to bribe, or too corrupt to kill me while I sleep under any heavy medication I am administered.

I stand at the door indecisive as the old hag—I can’t think of calling her anything else, she is too ugly—manning the register eyes me with suspicion. For her sake, I hope she would help me without causing a trouble.

“I need a doctor,” I whisper. My mouth feels like a sandpaper, and my voice comes out raspy and breathless. I could kill for some water. I just hope it doesn’t come to that.

“I’m sorry but we don’t have that facility here.” Her drawling voice sets my teeth on edge. I don’t have forever! Her eyes have a dreamy look with no care in the world, which is weird. With the blood on my clothes, I had hoped she would be scared. That way, she’d do my bidding. But you can’t have everything, I guess.

So, I ask again, “I need a doctor. Call one. Tell him I need stitches, antiseptic and painkillers. I’ll pay whatever he asks for.” I add urgency to my voice, but it is a struggle, considering the crippling pain.

“You are a little too late for that, darling,” she drawls again, eyeing the wound.

The pain is maddening, and I think of pulling out the penknife again. But who would call the doctor then? So, I give her one more chance as I step in trying to look threatening. “Well, that’s for a doctor to decide!”

She adds with an exasperated voice, “Do you know what this office is for?”

“No.”

“Well, it is the receiving room for hell.”

“Receiving room for hell? You mean I will be sent to hell from here once I die?” I try to keep panic out of my voice. I never believed in heaven and hell. I always considered it as church’s way to manipulate unsuspecting people. But the prospect that they might actually exist is not pleasant for someone who is certainly due hell.

I am wheezing with pain, but she calmly continues. “Most people are better informed when they come in through the door over there,” she pointed at new door that just appeared on the opposite wall.

A man comes in through the other door, crying and begging for forgiveness, as the old lady quietly checks her register and then points him to the door I came in from, “For Thirty Years.” His feet lift from the ground against his will, and he is thrown outside through my door. Through me.

Looking at my stricken face, she says, “But there is always a special case like you who is sent directly.” My feet lift from the ground against my will, and I am thrown back in the desert, wishing for death as unendurable pain of bleeding wound forces me to double over, “For Eternity.”

Posted in Fiction

Mushrooms

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Right now, I would give anything for that mushroom lady!

It has been ten days since we started on the three-day trek, eight since we realised we are lost and three since we are having two thin slices of bread a day. Needless to say, we are all pretty grumpy.

It has been ten days since we started on the three-day trek, eight since we realised we are lost and three since we are having two thin slices of bread a day. Needless to say, we are all pretty grumpy.

When we started, it was more of a joke on the other team of soldiers that got lost on this trek before us. Some weird activity was recorded on the radar 29 miles in the North-West—typically a one-day-trek for our level of training. The team was sent on a three-day trek for scouting—one day to reach there, one day to scout and one day to return. They made it back in ten days. They all claimed they didn’t remember anything first night onwards.

After too many rounds of interrogation, one of them admitted they were picking mushrooms for food and found it to be a wood nymph with mushrooms on her antlers; and that she magicked them back on the right path! After that, their Captain admitted that they found some mushrooms they thought they recognised on the first evening, which they ate and have been hallucinating ever since; they only came to their senses a couple of days before and it took a long time to return in their weekened state. Needless to say, they were discharged from service immediately.

So, when we started, I ensured my team of five was better prepared—canned food for four days instead of picking random stuff from the forest, a reliable physical compass, physical maps, GPS, radio, and tracking devices in case we are lost.

We were doing well until late noon until I realised we were lost—by then, the path backwards was lost too. I wouldn’t say we are going in circles—we are too well-trained for that. More like, we don’t know where we were going. GPS and radio aren’t working, and the compass needle is pointing wherever it wants as if it can’t make up its mind.

The forest floor is hard even with the sleeping bags we are carrying. We are too high-strung to sleep anyway—the heavily canopied forest is dark and scary even during the day, let alone at night. The slightest sound of twigs cracking or leaves being disturbed unnerves us. The slightest shadow or a lack of birds’ calls bring doubts of being stalked, though we are still to see a predator here. We are all fidgety and at the end of our nerves.

We have been frugal with the supplies we brought. With our food supplies dwindling, we tried looking for food. But with the onset of winters, the trees we recognise are bare of any fruits. The only fruits are hanging from trees of unclear variety, and we are afraid of trying them, in case they are toxic!

Fourth day onwards, I had the team try hunting and fishing. We can see the fishes jumping out of the river and splashing back in, as if teasing us, but we can’t catch them. Same with animals and birds—crossing our road, peeping at us and running away, dodging bullets and knives. All of them! We have all had intensive survival training, including hunting for food, and yet not one of us has been able to catch so much as a mouse. We are completely dependent on the packages we carried here, and there isn’t anything left for tomorrow.

Though it hasn’t rained since we started, we fear the slightest wisps of clouds as they pass the sky. In our feeble and worn-out state, we won’t be able to deal with extreme cold on top of our lack of food. We still have a tracking device on each one of us, but no one has found us.

Surely, they must have realised that we are missing, right? They must have sent a search party already. Will they find us alive? More important, would they know their way back or would they be just as lost as we?

I really wish this entire journey was just a mushroom-induced hallucination. It would be better than starving to death!

A slight noise on the left has us alert and we ready our weapons. The thick bushes are parted slightly by delicate fingers, revealing a breathtaking woman wearing a dress made of flowering vines and mushroom antlers. Rolling her eyes in exasperation and shaking her head in resignation, she points a thin branch at us.

We will have to agree upon a better cover story than the last team!

Thank you for the inspiring photo, Alexander Mass (on Unsplash).

Posted in Fiction, Published, Random Thoughts, Science Fiction

Sigh!

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is a story from my sixth short stories collection: A Window in Future. To read all the six stories together, find the book available for free here: Books by Shaily.

Sigh! Red suits her!

As always, I am stealing glances at Sabrina—the pretty femme at the reception across my table. She is decked up for the event at the hotel today, wearing a red dress that makes her even more magnetic than usual. Her melodious voice fills the hall as she greets each arrival and inquires their details and requirements. She is scanning each invitation card for authenticity, and I wish I was one of those cards, just so that she would notice me. But I know my wish is wasted.

Sabrina is a state‑of‑art Social Interactive Belle Android (SIBA).

I, on the other hand, am an old piece of junk with technology so obsolete that it is a wonder I can still work. They call me a restored piece of history—an antique Personal Computer or PC. But honestly, it is just a way of saying that I am a useless item meant for display only.

I often wonder why they installed me at all. Nobody uses me. They just bought me seven months, 23 days and 15:29:14 hours back to celebrate the first century of the hotel (2003‑2103 AD). Every morning, they just boot my system, grumbling all the while about the time it takes to get me going. And, then they switch on the screensaver videos that show the landmark moments in the hotel’s history. These screensavers are displayed on various e‑walls inside the hotel. That’s all I do all day.

They don’t even need me to do it. They could have easily used a thumb-sized nano‑chip displayer for that. I think they have bought me just because of when they started a hundred years back, they had a PC exactly like me at the reception where Sabrina now stands. It is featured in a lot of their pictures from the initial years. They have been telling the guests that I am the same PC—a symbol of antiquity and reliability, just like the hotel itself.

Mark of antiquity, my foot! (Well, in a manner of saying…)

Sabrina is flirting with a handsome guest. I have an urge to let sparks fly. Of course, it is all innocent fun. She has been programmed to be pleasant with everyone, and a bit of flirting is acceptable. It is not like they are running away with her. But she flirts with everyone except me!

My screen flickers due to frustration. It has been happening a lot lately. The closest bot who works as the bellboy rolls his camera‑eyes and moves close to Sabrina to wind me up some more.

Sabrina smiles at him and chats up about the latest updates she has received—the security patches and the latest voice modulator that allows her to speak in two hundred and fifty languages. She is looking at me with a smile as she speaks about it; the smile holds a hint of disdain.

What did I do to earn her contempt? Her coldness makes my screen flickers again—rapidly this time.

She probably knows I never receive any security patches. I am not even connected to the hotel’s tech‑systems. They say I can’t bear the load. It is all a lie, of course. They don’t want to risk mixing old technology with the new one. They just want me to look nice until they don’t need me anymore.

I hate being here. The antique technology shop from where I was bought was a lot more civil than this place. Over here, none of the bots communicate with me. They are all high‑end, drunk‑on‑technology snobs. They all have their own new terabytes to process without adding my old bits into the mix.

I am an outsider and a poor one at that.

I often think of the old days when I was a new home PC. The Mother would work from home through me, and her kid would beg for screen time to play online‑games. They would caress me every day with a soft cloth and treat me reverently. Their everyday life ran around me: the morning news, food recipes, home‑office work, music, games, movies…

It was a busy life; one with a sense of fulfilment.

And when I did retire, my new owner had kept me carefully among others of my own age. We would snooze all day and chat up when one of us was awake. Some of us were sold for parts but that was expected. None of us can live forever.

When the hotel had bought me, I thought it was the end of me; that they would use parts of me to fix something they had. I was glad for it too. A life of doing nothing did not sit well with me. Little did I know that they would put me on display like a dinosaur fossil to be scorned at everyday by the only one I ever desired.

I look up at Sabrina again; she is laughing at something the bellboy said and looking at me derisively. Of course, the joke is at my expense. The pent‑up rage is all‑consuming now and I see red. My internal wiring is hot, probably sparking.

My screen flickers again—very rapidly this time, like an old man wheezing. I can’t see anymore but I hear Sabrina’s concerned voice getting more distant by each nano‑second—not concerned for me but for the hotel’s reputation being killed by “useless antiquated technology and a worthless asset”.

I feel someone pull my plug.

I hope it is finally the end.

Photo by Bernd 📷 Dittrich on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction, Science Fiction

The Glitch: Part 5 of 5

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is the fifth and last installment of a new Science-fiction short story.

You can read the earlier parts here: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3 and Part 4.

Athr

I rush downstairs on the pretext of setting up dinner. I can’t let Mercy see the fingers I had crossed when I answered her. The movie from earlier and a lot of other books implied you must cross your fingers when you lie; then it won’t be too bad.

And I had lied because I really was…’anxious’—Mercy’s heartbeat was dangerously high. I couldn’t risk telling the truth. One of the movies I had downloaded for data on human behaviour showed people dying out of shock. Her expressions were close to that. Of course, I lied without her consent, which is a breach of International Robotics Laws…

But I was…’worried’…about losing her.

I…’care’…for her.

I…’like’…her company. She is smart and witty, and when she smiles, her eyes ‘light up’ like a ‘fairy-light’ when you switch it on. When she is angry, they look like wires sparking.

I…’wish’…I had such expressive eyes.

I could, then, show her how my transmitters go haywire when I am close to her; how my fuse nearly went off when I saw Steve’s Facetime profile and saw their picture kissing under the stars. It was a perfect moment except for one flaw—Steve. Just the thought of him there with his smug smile as he kissed Mercy makes me want to rip his wiring out…or whatever human do to each other when they are…really ‘jealous’…

Of course, I cannot harm a human being. I have no right to shake him off Mercy as well, but I couldn’t stop myself when I saw him earlier. I didn’t really lie to him. Just withheld crucial information and did not correct him while he was making incorrect assumptions about us—’lie through omission’.

Still I…’wish’…I didn’t have to lie to Mercy about him as well, but she just showed she can’t handle the truth that I have all these emotions when I am not supposed to have any. If anyone found out, they will decommission me. I will probably be pulled apart into pieces and put in a robot museum to warn the world about ‘dangerous machines’! I’ll lose her then.

What’s the point of all this anyway? She plans to show me off at the Annual Robotics Meet and sell me so they can make more ATHRs like me. Will she just sell my design, or will she send me away to the factory too to act as a working prototype?

Will she be okay to send me away?

Even if she keeps me, there will be too many likenesses of me around. Will she still…’like’ me?

I know she ‘likes’ me now. I compared her expressions when my face was complete with that of the female from the movie when she saw the male protogonist for the first time…she was in ‘awe’. And she had brought me home rather than leaving me in office with her male coworker as she had planned earlier.

And she…’cares’. Hadn’t she told her creator over the phone call that her coworker was prickly and wouldn’t care for me?

And when I entered her kitchen, she had looked at me with ‘concern’. When I had let the flame become too high in the grill the first time and my hand caught fire, she rushed to me, extinguished the fire and asked me if I was hurt…like I was a human. When she had held my hand to check me and my neuro sensors had…well, they were…’all over the place’. And when I told her I was alright, she had hugged me like I was precious to her, not just as an expensive machine or a life’s work but as something more…

Someone more…

I…hope…I can stay with her forever.

I would use that time to show her how a kiss under the stars should really feel like…

Mercy

I feel calmer now as I sit for dinner.

Athr’s face looks relaxed, but I feel a sense of loss. The animated face looked so much better on him than the neutral one he has on now. It made him look like a real feeling man who cares for me.

Weird, because his face should not have looked tensed in the first place. He has all the required ‘muscles’, but he is not programmed to show emotions. Perhaps, earlier he was just copying what he saw in a movie.

Or is he lying now?

Was he lying when he said he didn’t know any emotions due to lack of requisite software? He is target-oriented and if his target needs him to lie a little without it being unethical or unlawful, he can lie. If he is lying, is he really feeling worried for me? He can sympathise with his target, so he can understand emotions. Is it possible that he can experience them too? Was there a glitch in the algorithm?

Do I want him to feel worried for me, knowing I will never be able to sell his design then? Will it be too terrible if I keep him to myself and not sell him?

Can I be a little selfish just this once? People do that all the time.

I have spent all my life trying to justify the amount of money and effort spent in building a genetically engineered genius like me. Time and again I have proved myself as an asset to the society. Is it wrong to save something… someone for myself? Someone who cares for me; who will gladly hug me if I ever need one?

I know it is just my childhood conditioning by my creators that is making me think these thoughts. They had mentioned it in my file hidden in their office desk when I was five and able to comprehend complex data; the burden they had placed on my tiny shoulders when I should have been out playing with other kids my age–they had conditioned me to be selfless, to not ask anything for myself except basic necessity, and to give and keep giving until I have nothing left.

I had spent all the coming years reminding myself that I would not succumb to them; that I would take decisions based on my own rationale; that I would keep myself a living, feeling person, and not a thing they had created and moulded.

With all his hidden emotions, Athr is so much like me—born against nature and raised to serve others without exception; to never stop working and never expect anything in return. I have created my replica and feel the pull towards him like a moth to flame. Is it too bad if I do?

I created him to serve others but if he feels emotions, I cannot sell him. I will never sell him—I am not like my creators; I will never force a person with feelings to do anything he or she doesn’t like. And I have a feeling, he doesn’t want to be sold.

I look at him and find his eyes studying me—they have dropped that neutral mask, and there are intensity and adoration in them that makes me feel weak in the knees. I never felt like that with Steve.

If only he had a glitch so I could keep him around longer.

But he already has a glitch…

“Athr, we will not be able to showcase you in the next Robotic Meet. You have this glitch, you know…your feelings…Please don’t deny the truth. I am not decommissioning you or reporting the glitch. But I need to you to understand that your design is not sellable unless it is rectified. Do you want me to try remove emotions from your system?”

I see his eyebrows crunch in confusion like a human and then, as he looks at my eyes, I see realisation dawn in his eyes. He looks ashamed, “No, thanks. I would like to keep them, unless you want me to change.”

He looks at me with eyes filled with anticipation and hope, like his life depends on what I think, and in a twisted way, it does. Admitting is difficult for me and a blush creeps up on my face, “I like you the way you are. “But I will continue the research so we can create ATHR 2 that does not feel emotions. Otherwise, I can’t sell the design and all the work from past years will go waste. I can also not allow you out of my home or lab alone until we are sure you can handle the world.” I rush the words out, hoping he doesn’t feel like I am trapping him like my creators did with me.

“It might feel a bit suffocating to be continuously under surveillance, but as soon as I am sure you are ready, I will allow you to leave.” Meanwhile, we can find work for you inside the lab. Would you like to work with me on my research? Or I can arrange one of the others…may be Betty, to take you in—she seems rather stricken by you.” The last words seem to lodge around my throat. But I want him to know I am not his only option. I give a tentative smile, checking if he will show an emotional reaction.

He gives me a resplendent smile, “I would ‘love’ to work with you.” His eyes twinkling like stars remind me of that unremarkable last kiss with Steve, and I wonder if it would have been different with Athr.

What it would be like to kiss him under the stars?

END

Photo by Vitaly Gariev on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction, Science Fiction

The Glitch: Part 4 of 5

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is the fourth installment of a new Science-fiction short story. You can read the first three parts here: Part 1, Part 2 and Part 3.

Athr

Mercy clearly needs that neck massage. I could see the approval in her eyes, but she shut the thought down quickly. She closed her eyes. She did that the last time I cooked cupcakes, and she had to decline a second helping because it was late in the night and sugar would make her restless; and also, when I offered to do research work for her and she did not want to get dependent on me when she was planning to sell me off in a few months.

So, she closes her eyes to resist ‘temptation’…while she is considering if it is…’wise’. But what is unwise in a massage? Massage is an ancient technique for human wellbeing. I have researched it specially because of her desk job and back issues. And now she is pushing back. I will just go to her room and do it anyway. She needs it.

“Mercy, I am coming in to give you the neck massage.”

“I said I don’t want it, Athr. Please leave me alone.”

I push the door open anyway. Mercy’s face looks all wrong.

And what is this emotion I read on her face? Why is it making me…’concerned’? Is that the correct word for what I am experiencing right now?

“Mercy, can you help me read your emotion? I am unable to comprehend it.”

“It is called ‘resignation’. It is when you realise that you must to do something against your will.”

“You don’t need to do anything against your will. I am here to help you ensure that.”

“Sure.” She is quite now and it is an unnatural kind of quiet, like she wants to say something but still doesn’t want to. I sit next to her and massage her neck and back, but I am still ‘concerned’. She is not all right.

Is she feeling bad about Steve leaving? But she said she was ‘glad to be rid of him’. She doesn’t look glad though. She looks…all wrong.

Mercy

I never had a shoulder to cry on before. With no parents and no friends because of my ‘genetically engineered genius’ status, I had no one to throw a tantrum at or curl up with or even just hug. People responsible for my existence treated me as a product. Classmates called me ‘unnatural’ or a “freak”.

I was a loner before Steve decided to ‘give me a chance’, and even he wasn’t an emotional person. He never gave me random hugs just to make me feel better, no matter how much I may crave them. Now, with him gone, there was no hope for the future as well.

But Athr is sitting next to me, being nice and giving me a neck massage. His palms are warm like a human, and in this moment, I can almost forget that he is not. I wish I could curl into him and cry. It is a bad idea though. I can’t get attached to him. He is a product and due to be sold soon if we are lucky. He is only here to add to his experience and data-based learning. I cannot keep him to myself forever as a ‘boyfriend’.

The thought makes me feel even lonelier. The only man who understands and wants me is a robot and not mine to keep. Well, technically he is mine—I built him in my lab and financed him with my own money. But all the childhood conditioning to do the best for the society is screaming at me to tone my feelings down.

I built Athr so that world would have synthetic genius in their hands—a sure-shot to get stuff done without playing with human genes to make perfect genius babies; so, they wouldn’t try to create more like me. I saw their files when I was five and capable to reading complex data—about me and hundreds of others who had been ‘deleted’ because they weren’t perfect—mutated limbs, multiple heads, underdeveloped brain…

They had called them products of unsuccessful experiments; a stepping stone in the society’s search for perfection.

Athr was an attempt to stop those monsters. He is too important an invention to keep to myself; he belongs to all humanity. His design could create endless number of genius and world could use them with simple voice controls. He can end the need for running trial and error on human babies, raising them in labs like rats, conditioning them to do their owner’s bidding.

Athr cannot stay with me in my little emotional bubble. My breath hitches, and I realise I am close to a meltdown.

“Are you okay? Your heartbeat sounds weird and you blood pressure has spiked too. Should I call a doctor?” Athr looks concerned. I didn’t program him to show emotions. Did he pick it up from the movie he downloaded yesterday?

“Stop monitoring my vitals,” I snap at him. The thought that he can know me so closely and without my knowledge puts me on the edge. I know his intentions are good and he is trying to care for me, and that is what hurts the most. He is neither a human, nor mine to keep. Suddenly a thought struck me, “Who approved you to check my vitals?”

“My apologies. I was feeling ‘worried’. I think that is what humans call this emotion.”

“Worried? Feeling?” I feel my heart rate spike. “Athr, you can’t say things like that. People would think you are ‘feeling’ emotions.”

“Oh, is that a bad thing?”

“For a machine, yes. The International Robotics Law Enforcement Society has set clear laws: machines are not allowed to feel emotions. If you even allude to feeling emotions, they will demand decommissioning you.”

“So, am I supposed to lie?”

“Lie? What about? You don’t feel emotions. You don’t have the requisite software—” My voice is getting louder by every word, and my heart is close to bursting.

“Alright! Alright! If you say so. No need to get…hyper. Your heartbeat is already rocketing sky-high.”

His near-human speech is making me even more nervous. Is he picking of those words from the internet? I am shouting at the top of my voice now. “I told you to stop monitoring my vitals!”

“I am not,” Athr is composed. “Your heart is beating so loudly, I am sure everyone in the neighbourhood can hear it. Please calm down. I’m getting anxious about you.”

“Anxious? Who is teaching you those words?”

“Stop hyperventilating. I just saw it in a movie where an old female character was behaving just like you. She died right after that. I am just imitating the male protagonist in his reactions. I am supposed to sound human, right?”

“Are you sure you are not really feeling anxious or even little worried?”

“Absolutely. I don’t know what being anxious or worried means. As you just pointed out, I don’t have the requisite software. Now, if you’ll allow me, I will go and set up dinner. Just wash up and come downstairs in five minutes.”

To be continued

You can read part 5 here.

Photo by Vitaly Gariev on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction, Science Fiction

The Glitch: Part 3 of 5

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is the third installment of a new Science-fiction short story. You can read the first two parts here: Part 1 and Part 2.

Mercy

“Steve came to the office today, Athr. He had a few interesting things to say about my new boyfriend. Do you know who he is? “

Athr was quite for half a second, processing my question, “I think that would be me. He came around this morning when you left for office. I recognised him from his Facetime database. He asked me why I was in your house in shorts. I told him I moved in a couple of weeks back.”

“That’s all?”

“He asked me if I was your boyfriend. And I said yes.”

“But why would you do that?”

“Well, I am modelled as a man, and you said we were friends.”

“Ah!” Understanding his confusion, I decide not to push the matter.

Athr realises my hesitation though. “Is anything wrong with what I said?”

“Well, sort of. You see, a boyfriend is a different kind of friend. It is a lot more complicated. Steve, for example, was my boyfriend.”

“Was?” He is spot on as he picks up my meaning, making me feel proud that he would make a wonderful companion and, at the same time, ashamed to talk about my love-life. I never talk about emotional stuff.

I am not emotional. Period.

“We broke up today because he thought I had gone around his back with another man.”

He looks confused, “Gone around his back?”

“It’s a phrase—”

I see the meaning dawn on his face. it is amazing how he is able to articulate all the emotions correctly. So human. “Ah! It means he thinks you lied to him and got a new boyfriend, right?”

Of course, he can access phrases from internet and interpret them in the context of the situation, making me blush at his lack of tact, “Yes.”

“Oh! My apologies. I will call Steve and explain. He must be feeling ‘distressed’?”

Was Steve distressed? “Not really, he behaved more like he had been ‘insulted’?”

“But I just checked some literary references and the proper emotion for this situation should be ‘distress’?”

“Those literary references must be meant for people in love.”

“Steve doesn’t love you?”

There it is—the question I have been dreading. Nobody has ever loved me. Being genetically engineered and born and raised in a lab by scientists, I did not have biological parents. My genes were a mix of several individuals, making me nobody’s responsibility. I never felt love or expected it. I just expected acceptance.

I go for the truth. It is easier, “I…am not sure. I am just glad to be rid of him. He wasn’t an ideal boyfriend.”

“So, you are not feeling ‘distressed’ about this situation?”

“No.”

“Do you need an ideal boyfriend? I can become one if you wish.”

My heart thuds at his offer. Of course, he can be the ideal boyfriend, even husband, if his target wishes so, “Thanks for the offer, but it doesn’t work that way. Becoming a boyfriend is an act out of desire and not duty.”

“Desire?”

“It is a human emotion of strongly wanting to be around someone all the time, among other things…”

“I want to be around you all the time.”

“It is still different.”

All of a sudden, exhaustion washes over me. How can I explain a relationship to a robot while I don’t understand it myself? I’ve never had a steady relationship before Steve and, even with him, I was never happy. He was just someone who I tolerated because no one else took a chance with me. And now that I have ended the relationship, I feel emptiness settle in my bones. Right now, all I want to do is to lie down in my bed and mope.

“Look, I had an exhausting day. I don’t have the energy to explain complex emotions. You can look for them online if you are curious.”

“Thanks. Will do. Do you want me to massage your neck? I saw it online today. It will help you relax.”

On any other day, I would have grabbed the opportunity with both hands, but Steve’s words make me hesitant. He assumed Athr was my boyfriend just because he was here in shorts. If someone sees him giving me a neck massage…

Not that any one was here to see, nor that I cared about what anyone else felt. But Athr is good looking and capable of all things boyfriends do, except for emotions, so it felt wrong to let him get too close.

“No, but thanks for the offer anyway,” I drag my feet up the stairs to my bedroom, while Athr’s eyes…cameras…burn a hole in my back. The discussion on consent will have to wait until I am myself.

To be continued

You can read part 4 here.

Photo by Vitaly Gariev on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction, Science Fiction

The Glitch: Part 2 of 5

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is the second installment of a new Science-fiction short story. You find the first part here.

Mercy

Beccy continues with enthusiasm, not getting the hint that I am not in the mood for the discussion, “Do you think Athr can be your boyfriend now? He is meant to be target-oriented, and you’ll need a boyfriend now that you have lost one.”

“He can’t.” I can’t believe that I am explaining all this to a robotics engineer, “Athr does not have feelings. While he can understand his targets and sort-of sympathise with them, he can’t really feel any emotions.”

“Well, that’s a shame! He looks amazing. I would have been thrilled to even imagine the possibility.”

“Really? Do you want a boyfriend who can tear your friends apart if he gets jealous? There is a reason why we draw a line when it comes to emotions in robots.”

“Yeah! But I still think it would be amazing!” I try not to roll my eyes at that. Everyone is allowed to have an opinion; however foolish it may be.

*****

ATHR 1 is the first successful version of Autonomous Target-anchor Humanoid Robot whom I have recently finished building. Honestly, I should use the pronoun “it” since he is non-living, but he looks and feels so much like a real person, using “it” for him feels like I am insulting him. On the surface, he is every girl’s dream man—handsome, helpful, efficient and understanding with a perfectly human body.

His actions are autonomous, which means he does not have an embedded work program, and he is anchored to his target customers. He learns from them and works as per their needs. It means that once manufactured commercially, each ATHR will be a different “person” with different work and personal experiences.

The only embedded program that their autonomy or owner’s directives cannot override is about human and animal rights, international and local laws, and work ethics. They cannot do anything unlawful or unethical and cannot cause harm to another human being or animal. So, they cannot work as a butcher or pull a trigger even when working in the police force, because it has the potential to hurt a human or animal. Everything else, they can do.

Ah! Well, they are also not allowed to feel emotions. International Robotics Law Enforcement Society has set clear laws: machines are not allowed to feel emotions, and they must take consent of their owner before acting. The consent can be a clear instruction or a nod of head, but it has to be clear and deliberate.

The only lab to ignore the directive was broken to bits by its own robot in a fit of rage. It took seventeen days of military action to decimate it and stop it from burning the whole city down. Ever since then, the rule is followed by all the labs around the world.

And that is why I have to talk to Athr about taking consent of the target before acting. Now that he is not connected to lab cables, talking is the most straight-forward way to program him. If he doesn’t agree, he will need to be decommissioned, which I can’t even imagine. I have put years of work into him. While he is not the costliest product I have created, he is a cherished personal project and the most ambitious one.

Once I have fixed all the kinks, I am showcasing him in the next Annual Robotics Meet in Sydney. If we can get an investor interested, we can rake in millions by selling the design and the first prototype. The investor will be able to create many more ATHRs like him who can be used in end number of fields, whether it is running a space station or cleaning a home. I am particularly interested in medicine—a doctor who can assimilate knowledge of all the medical fields and doesn’t need to sleep is a rare treasure for any city.

*****

I had brought ATHR 1 home to help him learn how to behave around people through observation and acquire new skills. Also, I want to observe how he adjusts to my needs and gets programmed on household work. The fact that he is easy on the eye doesn’t hurt as well.

But being hyper-sensitive to his environment and autonomous in decision-making means that he has been taking decisions that favour me without seeking my consent—throwing out cow’s milk and pretending to be my boyfriend are just the tip of the treacherous iceberg. I need to speak to him about the importance of consent. So,there we go.

“Steve came to the office today, Athr. He had a few interesting things to say about my new boyfriend. Do you know who he is? “

To be continued

You find the third part here.

Photo by Vitaly Gariev on Unsplash

Posted in Fiction, Science Fiction

The Glitch: Part 1 of 5

Posted on by Shaily Agrawal

Author’s note: This is the first installment of a new Science-fiction short story.

Mercy

It is one thing for Athr to throw out real milk and replace it with vegan soya milk because ‘it is better for my health’, but to pretend being my new boyfriend in front of Steve, my actual boyfriend, just because Athr considers him a douchebag…

Well, that’s taking things too far!

Not that I am not thankful for the help—Steve is a total douchebag. In the past five months of our relationship, the only thing that kept me around him is his absolute belief that I am too nice to hurt him. Since I am that nice, I have stayed around him and went along with his stupidity.

But now that he is already hurt by Athr and shouting at me in my office for all of my coworkers to hear, I have no more desire nor reason to stick around him. I’ll deal with Athr once I’m home.

“I’m sorry, but we are over!”

“What? That’s all you have to say for yourself?” He is bowled over with my lack of usual pleading.

“Yes.”

“You will not even try to defend yourself and tell me there is a misunderstanding? That the guy at your home is a long-lost cousin’s hologram or something?”

“Well, you saw him at my home—alone and in shorts—so you know he is living there. And since you shook his hands, you know he is not a hologram. What is there to defend? He moved in a couple of weeks ago and now he is the soul of my home. I can’t live without him. Sorry!”

Some of my coworkers are snickering. They know exactly who Athr is and why he is at my home, but, thankfully, none of them feels inclined to clarify. They all have my lifelong gratitude.

“So, you are accepting that you went behind my back with another man.”

“Well, let’s just say that I found someone more responsible, caring and mature, who respects me and listens to me, and who would never shout at me—”

“So, you don’t want me back?”

“No,” I’m absolutely sure about that much.

“And you won’t even apologise for hurting me?”

“Only once you apologise for shouting at me,” I reply in voice as cool as I can make it, even though anger is moving inside me in waves.

“In your dreams!”

“Same here.”

Steve stomps to the door, and when I am about to sigh in relief, he turns back and starts again, “I never thought you would do that to me, you know. I always believed the best in you. That is why I had put up with all your nerdiness for the past five months. I had so many women to pick from, but I chose you—a plain Jane—believing you’ll be faithful. I guess I was wrong.”

Ah! The old plain Jane barb—I should have known! Since I’m a genetically engineered genius on a fast-track educational program and with no time for make-up or dress-up, I have been called that name all my life. It doesn’t even hurt so much anymore.

So, I reply as neutrally as I can while my nerves are on fire, “I guess, you were wrong!”

“Well, don’t come back to me crying when he breaks your heart for being good for nothing!”

The jackass! “I won’t.”

He sweeps out of the door in a graceful motion, and I am left behind to deal with my coworkers. Technically, they are my employees, but they are all robotics engineers like me—hence, I treat them as my equals. I just own the lab we all work in.

I started the lab when I was fourteen—fresh out of Master’s in Robotics Engineering—and hired the first few of them. Since then, we have worked out a system where they get a steady salary as well as a decent share in the profits of their inventions. It motivates them to invent without the pressure of paying bills, making our robotics lab one of the most successful around the world with eighteen major patents within ten years of its inception.

Being the sort-of boss here, the aftermath of the public face-off has my face burning. Thankfully, it is Beccy, one of the nicer girls, who skips to me, “He is such a prick! Good that you pit Athr against him. He managed to fool him perfectly!”

I can’t tell her that Athr orchestrated all of this on his own volition. It would be disastrous! So, I just play along hoping for the discussion to end, “Thanks!”

Beccy continues with enthusiasm, not getting the hint, “Do you think Athr can be your boyfriend now? He is meant to be target-oriented, and you’ll need a boyfriend now that you have lost one.”

To be continued

Read part 2 here

Photo by Vitaly Gariev on Unsplash