The Body Electric

Chapter 6

I walk slowly back to my apartment and the Reverie Mental Spa. I have no idea who that guy was, but there’s something about him that feels like déjà vu. I shake my head, trying to clear it. I’m tempted to call Akilah, but she only has certain blocks of time she can use her cuff; the military is strict about communication on the base. I have no idea how that guy knew Akilah, but he was clearly—

I stop in my tracks, almost slapping myself on my head. Of course. He was wearing a jacket, even though it’s so hot outside today. He was trying to cover up his cuff. He was my age, he knew Akilah, and he didn’t want anyone to see his cuff.

He’s a defector.

Anyone assigned to the military has a yellow band on their cuff. After their year of service, the band turns gold. But if they scamper, then their cuff turns black so everyone can see.

That guy was probably assigned military for his year of service, just like Akilah. And instead of serving it, he defected. He must have been enlisted long enough to meet Akilah—he knew her well enough to learn who I was, at least—but then dropped out. What a loser. Without completing his year of service, he’s lost all chance of going to university, he can’t vote, he might as well pack it up and go to a Secessionary State. I don’t know why he bothered to try to say something to me about Akilah, but someone willing to defect has more issues than I care to try unravel.

By the time I get back home, Mom and Ms. White are already there. Mom assures me everything’s fine, but my eyes shoot to Ms. White’s grim look.

“Oh, don’t be so doom and gloom!” Mom says. “Look what Dr. Simpa gave me!”

Mom points to Ms. White’s office. I shoot her a confused look, and then someone steps out of the office.

Not someone. Something. “No,” I groan. “A new nursing android!” Mom beams. Her old one had broken down a few months ago, and I’d done my best to delay her getting a new one. During the Secessionary War, androids played a huge part in suppressing the uprising and helping end the violence. Now, decommissioned androids are cheap, and everyone has at least one. We have cleaning androids and a few working in the spa, but a nursing android will be around Mom all the time, impossible for me to avoid.

This one moves to stand beside Mom. It’s wearing normal clothes, the only sign that it’s an android from the label pinned to its chest: Robotic Operations Service Interface E-assistant.

“I’m going to call her Rosie,” Mom says proudly.

“It doesn’t need a name,” I say, even though it’s useless to argue. Mom always names the androids like they’re human.

Maybe that’s why I don’t like them. They wear human clothing over human skin—not literally, it’s really just a finely textured rubber and silicone mix—and they have perfectly groomed features. From behind, all androids look human. They sound human, too, if you ignore the fact that they never say anything worthwhile, only spitting out programmed phrases and responses. It’s really only when you see an android’s face that you know something’s... off. Every effort has been made to design android faces to look as human as possible. But the more they try to make the robots look human, the more I’m unnerved by the little things that remind me they’re not. Eyes that are lenses.

Facial features that respond to a program, not self-will. Too-even smiles hiding porcelain teeth.

The more human they try to make androids look, the more they just remind me of death.

I’ve only seen death once. But at the funeral, when I peered down at my father, I remember thinking that although the body looked like Dad, it wasn’t, not really. The thing in the casket wore his face, but not his life.

That’s what androids remind me of. Something with a face, but nothing behind it.

“I was about to have Rosie give your mother a reverie,” Ms. White says. “I’ve already programmed her to use the machinery.”

I expect Mom to protest—reveries are expensive to create, and we’re such a new business that she always insists we can’t afford it— but instead Mom sighs. “That would be nice,” she says.

My heart sinks. The news from the doctor must have been really bad.

Ms. White stands, but I jump to Mom’s side. “I’ll do it!” I say quickly. I don’t want to be replaced by a robot.

Ms. White walks with us to the lift, and, after Mom gets on, touches my elbow to hold me back.

“Was it—?” I ask

Ms. White nods. “The nanobots are in complete remission,” she says. “They’re failing, one by one. And Dr. Simpa confirmed—your mother can’t have any more. She’s at max—over max, actually.”

When she sees my face, she pushes me onto the lift. “Don’t worry about it,” she says. “We’ll figure something out.”

Mom chats as we descend, and I realize why she’s had such a forced cheerfulness lately.

She knows something’s wrong.

She’s trying to keep it from me, to make me think it’s not as bad as it is. I shut my eyes briefly, weighing my options. When I open them, I smear a grin across my face. If she wants me to pretend everything is fine, I can pretend. For her, I can pretend.