A Loaner

A beautiful android enters a shop in the seedy Baya Sector, but she has more to show than hide.

            A single wire extended from the android’s ear"the temporal port we usually called it"and ran down the side of her chair to the computer in front of me. The wire sent a diagnostics report from the android’s head to my computer, categorizing and listing any problems with her robotic body. Many androids came to my small but clean office, the sign on my door reading, “Android Repair”, because they could pay a few credits for quality, confidential service. None of them complained about the undecorated white walls or boxy metallic chairs or epoxy-coated floor. They simply came in from the street, paid their bill, and sat in the chair with a wire in their ear.

            I could tell if a client needed repair just by their face. Androids with bulging, blood-shot eyes were up for a disembodiment, an entire replacement body. Others who were calm and collected had a few issues they couldn’t fix on their own. There were some exceptions, and this android was one of them. She smelled of class. Her features were striking"black hair slicked into a tight bun, high brown cheekbones, dark eyes, small nose, thick rose lips"and she maintained an air of dignity. I didn’t understand why someone with her looks needed to come to an android repair shop in the run-down part of the Baya Sector.

            “You haven’t been for a check-up in a while,” I said to her as I read the diagnostics report. “Your system is all junked up. Your primary CPU needs eighty-seven upgrades and your nerve grafts need to be replaced.” I turned my attention to the android. For an android with something as severe as CPU problems, she looked unfazed.

            She moved her head slightly to peer at me. “Is it possible not to get the CPU upgrades?” Her voice was deep and rich, much like the androids I saw from the more affluent sectors. Still, her outsides looked nice, but her insides were almost obsolete.  

            “I don’t know. If you don’t get the upgrades now, you’ll have to face a permanent disembodiment in three months.”

            The android pursed her lips. She wasn’t happy with my reply. “I do not wish to replace my CPU,” she said with a firmness meant for commanding subordinates.

            I was used to orders. “It’s no trouble to replace the CPU.” I looked at my computer and pulled up my scenario program. I could order the parts, put her on temporary life support for her human components, and replace her new CPU within five hours.

            “It’s custom.”

            Another five hours. “It’s fine,” I said, sliding my finger across the computer screen. Another diagnostics screen appeared next to the first diagnostics report. “I’ve done a lot of custom jobs. Nothing too hard to handle.” The new diagnostics screen went from white to green. I pulled my holograph from my pocket and pointed it at the diagnostics screen. The report jumped from the computer to the green, paper-thin holograph, painting its surface white. I walked over to her with the holograph. “Just let me scan you with my holograph, and I can replace your custom CPU.”

            She peered at me from the sides of her eyes. Again, she wasn’t happy. “Do not replace my CPU. I do not wish to have my memories erased.”

            “If there are certain memories you’d like to keep, you can keep them. I can download your memories, change out the CPU, and put the downloaded memories on the new CPU. Nothing erased.”

            Her calm expression said she didn’t want to accept my explanation.

            “I wouldn’t suggest this kind of thing unless it was crucial. I’m not here to take your credits either.” I put the holograph in my pocket when she didn’t answer.

            The only sound in the room was the hum of the machines: my computer and her robotic parts. She stared at the floor with unmoving eyes. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. I just watched her, and her dead eyes told me nothing. Her clothes told me more. She must have been from the Good Sector, an area where ranked government officials lived. It was the last place to have high-quality clothes for cyborgs.

            “If you are able to transfer my memories, how long will it take?”

            “Depends on your custom job,” I said, pulling out the holograph again and putting it next to her ear. The green machine beeped, and I looked at the white screen. “Looks like your custom job didn’t include an infrared downloader, so I’ll have to transfer your memories manually.” Sometimes, I hate custom jobs. The people who built the robotic limbs for people usually failed to include some important components, skipping out on the extra effort because their client couldn’t give them a few credits. Infrared downloaders were very common now. If an android wanted to transfer data to another android, they could do it in the blink of an eye. But the old-fashioned way included a direct input and output feed between the androids, or in this case, my computer.

            I went back to my computer. “Let’s transfer your memories first.” A new screen came up on my computer. “Doesn’t look like you haven’t used up the storage on your cybernetic hard drive.” I looked at her. She watched me from the sides of her eyes. “Are these memories in your brain?”

            She didn’t reply. Only a small nod came from her.

            I couldn’t hide the sigh that escaped my lips. “What I can do is scan your brain and have the computer mimic your brain activity. From there, we can make a copy of your brain’s memories. Would you be fine with that?”

            Her face told me nothing. Only her rose lips gave me an answer. “That is sufficient.”

            I smiled. “Let’s do this.” I pulled a crank next to the chair, and the chair leaned back. A metal clamp moved to its position above the woman’s head. It had two prongs for holding holographs. As I began to fix the holograph into the prongs, the woman shifted her legs, moving enough for her dress to crawl up her thigh. The edge of a black mark appeared from underneath the hem of her dress. The tattoo had a blue rose peeking out from the blackness.

            I looked at the woman. Her facial expression didn’t change. Only her dark eyes just watched me, and I watched her. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking. After a few minutes, the woman’s lips parted, and her rich voice reached my ears. “If my memories can be transferred, I will comply.” She returned to her robotic nature.

            The tattoo…

            I inserted another cord into her temporal port. My fingers shook when I pressed the holograph switch, causing a new hum to come from her body. I returned to the computer to check on the scan. The red screen that appeared on my computer made my eyes widen.

            I heard the woman shift in her chair again.

            “So it’s true.”

            She sat up in the chair.

            Her long fingers wrapped around the circuits in her ears. She pulled them out, her face a visage of disinterest, and tossed the ragged circuits onto the floor. They swam with bits of electricity protesting from their rough ends. The red screen disappeared, but I stayed in front of the monitor.  

            “It cannot be helped.”

            Her bionic legs moved faster than mine, and she reached me just as my hand went under the computer terminal. Her breath, a breath I thought didn’t exist for androids, brushed against my ear, and a slender hand touched my wrist.

            “I apologize,” said the deep voice next to my ear. I turned my head"Am I moving in slow motion?"before her elbow connected with my chest. Everything caved in where her elbow and my chest met, and I felt my body lift off the ground. The strength of an android, I remembered, was four or five times the strength of a human.

            I didn’t close my eyes when I flew backwards. I just watched the expressionless woman even as my body slammed into the wall opposite of my computer. Light flashed behind my eyelids, and the computer terminal, the chair, and the woman became brighter, the contrast turned up. I didn’t feel like myself when my body landed on the floor. The lights were on, but I had been turned off. I could see her red heels. They were from an expensive class of shoe, one that didn’t belong on my epoxy-coated floor.

            Shoes of class…

            The light came and went, my consciousness drifting away silently before slamming back into my brain like a hammer finding its home.

            “The Good Sector has been looking for you,” the woman said, her heels making its way towards me. “It is improbable for a Good Sector employee to disappear without clearance.”

The red screen from the computer flashed in front of my eyes. It didn’t register. I didn’t need it to register. It planted itself into the surface of my mind.

            “Codename Candace, you are charged with the murder of Candace Leon and the theft of the Good Sector’s property. You will be apprehended and placed in the Good Sector’s custody. Due to the nature of your crimes, all of your individual rights have been revoked, and you will face disembodiment. Any resistance will"”

            A click in my head"the click of her heels on the floor"echoed in my head. The light flashed again, and the pressure in my head began to expand, breathe. The red screen behind my eyes moved from one side of my vision to the other, playing tricks on my sight. I beeped, and the woman’s heels nearly reached my face.

            The circuits snaked towards me.

            My body felt weightless. At first, her heels stopped. I began to see all of her legs, my sight traveling upwards with my body. More and more of her body appeared to me. Finally, her face, beautiful and emotionless, stared at me. Still, I floated upwards, above her perfect hair, her following eyes, until I was gazing at her.

            The circuits jumped from the floor and came up to me. They went up and entered my temporal port. I could feel the other wires extending from the ports in my spine. They were my friends, all extruding themselves from my shop and lifting me above my attacker.

            “I did not kill Candace,” my voice said. It wasn’t my voice; it was one with two people. “I am Candace Leon. I am only in a robot’s body.”

            “It does not matter how her life ended,” the woman replied without blinking. “In the Good Sector, it is illegal to kill, even if it is yourself. To stop your human life and continue a robotic one is considered a violation of this law. You, Codename Candace, are to be disembodied per justification by law.”

            The pressure in my head suddenly ceased. Every hum, every sound, even the smallest breath, dissipated from the shop, and we were both faced with a complete and utter silence. The shop, with its built-in controls through my spinal ports, followed my unspoken commands.

            “I would rather live my robotic life in the Baya Sector’s seedy underground,” I told the android, “than live with half my human rights in the Good Sector.”

            She didn’t think about it. Decent Good Sector androids didn’t need to think. “Your statements will be added to your crimes as slander and hearsay against the Good Sector. You will face disembodiment.”

            The circuits danced in my ear, in my spine, in my body. I was mistaken.

            She and I and the circuits were from the same class. It was one rung, one temporal port, below the bottom of humanity.