"The Android"

The following is a chapter from my first novel, Kismet. The backstory expressed by Grey is autobiographical in nature.


25. 


1404 Monday 9 April 2351

Tourellian Republic, Aylon's Folly, AF orbit, TR Station Kembolok, outer ring, #373
 
"Commander Grey?" I ask the panel next to the door.
 
"Yes, who is it?" the sound comes. A male voice, human.
 
"Lieutenant commander Dan Walker, reporting as ordered for the Executive Office interview."
 
"Of course, come in." The door unlocks, and I enter his quarters. Chocolate skin, short, curly black hair, brown eyes, he stands a bit shorter than me. He looks to be about thirty, but I could just as easily confuse him for twenty-two. He's wearing a casual civilian sweater, a pair of old jeans, and slippers. He looks relaxed.
 
There's something odd about him.
 
He stands to meet me, putting down a book entitled Armor. I haven't read it. "Hello, commander. Please, have a seat. Something to drink?"
 
"No, that's okay, Sir," I say, sitting.
 
"All right. Have you eaten?"
 
"Yes, thank you." I did have breakfast. Lunch, I'll have with Paige.
 
"I see. Well, I suppose I should begin by telling you a bit about myself," he says, getting comfortable. Something's strange about this whole thing, but I can't seem to put my finger on it. Might be the fact that he still doesn't have but one name in my mind.
 
"Yes, actually, that's basically how I'd like to start this interview."
 
"Very well then. Commander Walker, I'm an artificial life form." 

I think that was it.
 
"You're kidding me," I state in disbelief. Suddenly, his name is both less a mystery and less a concern.
 
"Oh, hell no," he, that is, it, says back to me, relaxed and at ease enough to swear a bit. "No, I'm an Al Amir mark IV simulant prototype, programmed and constructed for human emulation."
 
"Can you prove this?"
 
"Certainly." He slides back the left sleeves of his sweater and undershirt. He then, without further ado or even any indication of something odd about to happen, immediately dislocates and rips his left arm off at the elbow, holding it limp in his right hand, the lacerated, extremely realistic yet unbleeding artificial flesh concealing complex and compact machinery embedded within the limb.
 
I'm impressed.
 
Looking at his dismembered arm, I ask, "Who constructed you?"
 
In response, he remotely commands his wrist to rotate, waving his dismembered hand at me, robotically, as the hairs on his forearm rhythmically stand on end and relax, as if they were part of a stadium audience, doing "the wave."
 
I shudder at this event, something an artificial limb for a human amputee simply cannot do. Chuckling, he replaces his limb, his synthetic skin grafting itself back together. He flexes his arm muscles and stretches the fast healing skin before answering.
 
"My creation was a team effort; I was designed and constructed at the Rhodes Neurosynthesis Institute, with technical assistance from Applied Cybernetics and Prosthetics. The project lead was Farah Gardner." He then either assumes a relaxed pose or just actually starts relaxing. "I guess you could call her my 'mother.' The lead designer was Ben Ali Al Amir, so I guess he would be my 'father,'" he guffaws. "Why? Who constructed you?" He smiles a smile that actually has a few crooked teeth.
 
I laugh, ignoring the rhetorical question. "I've never met an android before. I mean, a simulant."
 
"To the best of your knowledge, of course," he reminds me. "If it weren't my policy to tell those with whom I work what I really am, you probably would never have guessed."
 
"I'll bet… but—Sir—um…"
 
He chuckles. "How human am I?"
 
"Yes, that."
 
A smile. "Quite near, commander. I have the ability to bleed, but if it would not serve the situation, I don't. My epidermis can harden or soften, too, so I'm able to choose when I get cut or bruised or scraped, and in that case, exactly how quickly I repair myself. On the same line of thought, my 'bones' can break if absolutely necessary, but I can reset them almost instantly. I can even feign death." He pauses as if to think, probably an illusion purely for my sake. "I'm completely non-biological, but I have damping field generators and sensory transmitters that can fool virtually anything short of exploratory surgery.
 
"I can consume and metabolize food; organic molecules power me quite efficiently, but I only need to drink water-based liquids to power my fuel cells and my compression fusion generators. My strength has been rated to at least fifty times that of a human, and things like radiation, cold, extreme heat and weather are all meaningless to me, though to blend in, I can show the appropriate responses to all of the normal stimuli."
 
"Well… that about covers that. Does the fact that you're a simulant, as opposed to other kinds of more-obvious androids, that is; does that ever present any problems?"
 
"None have come up, actually. I am as physically capable as any given android, if not more so because I was designed to be so human."
 
"Like target practice, aviation, calisthenics…"
 
"Yes, including acrobatics, martial arts… practically everything a human can do, I can do."
 
"Would you say that you have any practical limitations?"
 
"Of course. I may be stronger, faster, and a better shot than any human alive, but I've still been operational for only nineteen years. I can quote and understand every regulation in the book, download, access and instantly interpret information from every tome on tactics and warfare, and remember every word spoken within the limits of my hearing, but that alone cannot make me a good Commanding Officer or tactician."
 
"Yes," I agree. I clear my throat. "But, you're obviously far stronger and more capable than any mortal man, so I'd say that's a bonus. Moving on, I'm afraid I need to ask you about your service record."
 
A slight frown darkens his face. "What's the problem?"
 
"Oh, no problem, really. Captain Marx told me he approves of it, but he only told me your name just this morning, right before I left. I haven't had a chance to read it myself."
 
He looks relieved. "Ah, I can understand that."
 
"What would you say was your biggest mistake, in your career?" I like to think this is a decent interview question; I use it for the entrance interviews in my section. It helps discuss integrity and honesty, and reinforces the idea that we, as officers, should be open enough to talk to one another about anything.
 
It also cultivates the idea that I'm completely aware of the records of my men, that I've probably got my own ideas about their biggest mistakes already, and that I'll be comparing their pasts to their presents. It's been working so far, and even though I was thrust into this interview with no background, it's still an appropriate thing to ask.
 
"That's a good question. I'd have to say it was when I cheated on qualification day at the rifle range in IP."
 
"You cheated?" Cheating in Indoctrination Phase, especially for Officer Candidates, is a potentially prosecutable offense.
 
"Yeah… No one really talked about their practice scores in the unit, so we just assumed our instructors were on top of any issues. Turns out they weren't, and a few of my platoon were really hurting on marksmanship. One OC in my platoon—let's call him Bill—he had his rifle's sights all out of whack when we were practicing, so he had no idea what a kill shot would actually look like."
 
"Yeah, those training rifles are antiques." They have hand-adjustable iron sights. They're really good training aids for learning about basic ballistics, and extremely durable and sturdy, but they're not representative at all of how a TAMR or other modern weapons work. If your unit needs or expects you to fight, you learn real marksmanship from them.
 
"Right? Anyway, the company was so big, we talked among ourselves that we should, in the name of teamwork, 'help' the ones who couldn't shoot. We were just faces in the crowd, hell, no one even knew I was an ALF. No one thought we'd get caught.
 
"When qual-day came, I wasn't even supposed to be involved in the conspiracy, though I knew about it. The problem was that the guy who was going to shoot for Bill—let's call him John—was actually in line to qualify, after Bill was pushed to the back of the line, in the recycle order. It was impossible for John to shoot for Bill, so, I took it on myself. I told Bill to excuse himself to the latrine, and in there, we swapped nametags.
 
"I got back in the firing order for him, I shot for him, and everything was fine until the CO was pinning the marksmanship medal on my armor. I don't know what tipped him off, but one of the instructors lined me and Bill up for the CO, who proceeded to yell at us about us thinking he was an idiot, this and that.
 
"Finally, he screamed at me 'Where are your Navy Values?'"
 
There are a list of them we have to memorize in the early parts of training. They harp on them a lot during IP, before OC's go to the Academy proper and sailors and marines get their Advanced Individual Training phase.
 
"I was quiet. When he screamed 'Answer me!' I said 'This was 'teamwork,' Sir.' At that point, the instructor off to my right did an about-face, and started marching away, as if I was beyond saving. The CO wanted an actual answer, so he corrected himself and shouted, 'Where is your Integrity!?'"
 
Integrity being both an official Navy Value and the violation of which is a court-martial-worthy offense.
 
"Envisioning five years on Charon in my future, I said back to him 'With my unit, Sir.' He was quiet for a second, then told us to 'get the hell away from him.'"
 
I guffaw. "Holy shit! That was the best thing you could've said!" The way they use "integrity" means "honesty," but they make no explicit distinction between that definition and the idea of "unit integrity."
 
"Yeah, I know! I hadn't even processed that he actually meant 'why are you lying to me?' until later."
 
"You get a bad-conduct violation?" If you can make it through training honorably, violations are typically expunged from your permanent record.
 
"No, actually, I got a reprimand with just fourteen-and-fourteen," he says. Two weeks extra duty and two weeks confinement to post, a typical sentence allowed under the non-judicial punishment clause in the Uniform Military Code. "Since my platoon instructor was impressed with the way I handled myself, and because the IP environment is basically confinement and extra duty for fifteen weeks anyway, he just claimed he was enforcing it. The other instructors had all heard about it or saw it in person, and from what I could tell, they were thoroughly impressed, so, I came out of it okay.
 
"Mostly I regret doing it that way. I should've stood up, stopped the conspiracy, and told the instructor about how Bill's weapon was sighted so wrong. Maybe then everything could've worked out better."
 
"Wow. Well… what could you say you learned from this?"
 
"That's easy. Never mess with the Navy," he grins. "It coulda got bad for me, but I played it cool, I was ready for whatever they were gonna toss at me, I didn't lose my shit, and they respected that. They knew I wasn't a criminal, that I was just trying to help a shipmate in my own misguided way, so they let me off with a firm warning."
 
I chuckle in response. "That's a damn good lesson."
 
"The best part was that every time we went to a new range for other training, Bill was put on the firing line, alone, and was trained individually in marksmanship. He eventually qualified, all on his own."
 
"That's excellent."
 
"It was formative. Because I'm a simulant, RADCom are studying my career quite closely, helping me out in certain ways to better help me blend. I was actually only five years old during the cheating incident; RADCom issued me a birthdate for records purposes, but they assured me they had nothing to do with the handling of the incident, that I got through that by myself. They described it as a major event in the field of artificial intelligence."
 
"Heh, okay. Well, moving on, how did you come to Aylon's Folly?"
 
"I was the Commanding Officer of USCS Bantu, a Lakota-class destroyer. 315 souls, lost 254. My boat was blasted soundly to hell three weeks ago. Obviously, I regret that, too, but I acted correctly according to what I knew at the time, so I can't really call it a 'mistake.'"
 
"I'm sorry. How'd that happen?"
 
"We were the first ones hit by that main cannon the Thrax have. Barely two minutes into the fight and 'boom.' The floor of the command deck stops holding me, the lights go out, I float myself to the back of the conn, punch through a bulkhead to hold on to a structural beam, and the command deck tears itself in half. All I can see is starlight, sparkling debris, and other ships."
 
"Sounds like a nightmare—"
 
Hang on, three weeks?
 
"—wait, ever?" I ask. He nods. "You were at that first contact battle?"
 
"I was right there with USCS Seneca. I was the only one from the conn to make it out alive; some of the engineering section survived, but I lost all but five officers. SaR was swift, but…" he pauses. "Command reassigned the survivors of 263 around the entire Navy, and I found myself part of the replacement battalion they've established aboard the station."
 
"That's amazing. Were you aware that we were there?"
 
"Of course. I specifically requested Kismet the moment I saw you had an open XO position. I am sorry about commander Denning."
 
"I am too. I never met him, but I understand that Marx knew him personally. Well, commander, unless you have anything else to add, I believe that you've more than satisfied our requirements for an Executive Officer."
 
"Glad to hear it. Kismet should be quite an exciting post."
 
"Let's hope it's not as exciting as your previous commission. Before we head out, may I ask a few more questions?"
 
"Quid pro quo, commander."
 
I pause, considering the proposition. "Okay. How many others are there like you?"
 
"There are four Al Amir mark-IV androids, including myself, five mark-III, two of them still functioning, another five mark II-androids, none operational. My mark-I 'brothers' could never actually function outside the lab. There are other androids out there, but none, if I may say, as sophisticated as I. The total number of other known models is ninety-three. There are 1026 known simulant androids operational today, and between two and six million other androids in USC territory, depending on where you draw the line between android and robot. More than that, I do not know.
 
"Now, you tell me, commander, about yourself. Have you had any pets?" From an android, that question just seems to fit.
 
"Yes. I have a cat, a blue American shorthair called Hobbes. I also had a dog once, a longhair German shepherd named Lou. He died about nine years ago, before I joined up. Have you had any pets?" A wasted question, but whatever.
 
"I've never had any pets. Captain Marx allows pets?"
 
"Yes, with a few provisions. Why do you ask?"
 
"Animal behavior has always fascinated me. To see the reaction to stimulus of an organic being without sapience or sentience is something that only an artificial intelligence can truly appreciate, I think. I'd like to know if an animal will treat me with the same affection that it would a human, but I have not yet had the opportunity to share quarters with one."
 
"It can be very rewarding, especially if you're familiar with animal psychology. Did you have a species in mind?"
 
"Canis lupus familiaris, actually. I was thinking along the lines of the traditional affection and loyalty of a Terran dog."
 
"We have a few dog owners aboard; you'll learn everything you'll need to know from them. Some are hunters, too, so you may want to try your hand at that. As XO, Marx would probably allow you a menagerie if you so wanted."
 
"I'm not XO yet, commander."
 
"Well, right now you're not. For the moment, I am, and frankly, I want to get out of it before we see any combat, and back to my real job. As far as I'm concerned, you're my choice."
 
He considers that. "Thank you, commander," he says, standing. I follow suit. "We should return to the business at hand."
 
"No argument there, Sir," I say, standing before realizing something. "You know, I never got your first name, commander."
 
He spends a moment reviewing our conversation. "That's right. I'm Earl. Earl Grey."
 
I laugh out loud. "Are you serious?"
 
He looks embarrassed. "Sadly, yes. I came online for the first time and Doctor Al Amir was pacing slowly around my design slab with a cup of tea, Doctor Gardner and a few graduate students observing my first operational moments. I finished my first task, that of running a full self-diagnostic, and when I reported total operational function, Doctor Al Amir certified me ready to join the world, as it were. One of the students, beginning the final paperwork on my creation, saw that I had no name, and asked the Doctor what I was to be called. He stood for a moment, took a sip, glanced at his cup, said 'Earl Grey,' and… that was that. I tend to just go by 'Grey.'"
 
I laugh heartily. "Wow. I like it. You tell a good story, commander."
 
"Thank you very much! I do try!"
 
"Can I tell you something?"
 
"Sure."
 
"I just want to say that you aren't what I thought an android would be."

"Commander, that's exactly the point," he says, his grin exposing his crooked teeth.