SAD ROBOT: an autobiography of my unfortunate existence

42. BEING REPLACED

42. BEING REPLACED 

As I ascend the elevator back to our floor, I formulate an alibi potentially suitable enough for Milo to believe, even though it would be false. As close to a lie as robots dare go.

We cannot lie; we are incapable of it. If Milo sees right through it and says, "No, Hiram. Where were you really?" I would be forced to explain myself without getting around the truth. I would have to confess the whole story and things may very well end up getting messy, with voices raised (not my own), and feelings hurt (also not my own).

The scanner on the outside of Miloʼs apartment has been outfitted to recognize two things: Miloʼs fingerprints and my personal inner chip that can be accessed multiple ways. I press my right palm to be scanned, it beeps, and the door opens.

I am not prepared for what is on the other side of the door. In my entire time of living with Milo, nothing has ever changed here, everything is always the same. Whenever I come back to the apartment from somewhere, I know that it will always be as I had left it. Milo seldom gets visitors and for the minuscule percentage of time that I am away from the apartment, I will rarely if ever, miss their interaction.

I was not aware that Milo would be receiving a visitor, least of all a female one. And least of all, a robot female.

Something that is regularly confused about us humanoids is whether or not we are able to recognize and detect humans as to not confuse them with other robots. This is silly, of course. Our programming technology allows us to be drawn to the facial features of humans to discern whether they are or are not robot. It is quite simple. We are less fooled by life-like robots than humans are.

For example, if we are walking down a street and pass a human, the correct response would be to perhaps give a nod of the head or voice a polite comment like, "Lovely weather, isnʼt it?" If it is a fellow robot that we are passing, then there is no interaction needed because, frankly, neither of us cares enough. This is just the way things are.

The way that the eyes look at me, the movements of its neck, and the stiffness of its body suggest this female friend of Miloʼs is not humanly female after all. I only sincerely hope that he is aware. Heaven forbid that he had gone out to a bar and, from being sorely out of practice, brought home a human of the female persuasion with hopes of cuddling and movie-watching among other things, and upon his poor judgment, failed to realize that she was in fact robot and not human, much to his inevitable disappointment.

The look on Miloʼs face is one of shock and surprise, as if I had just caught him having an affair with his secretary.

"H-Hiram!" he stutters.

They had been standing face-to-face in front of each other; the conversation they were having is not immediately obvious to me. It is possible that I could merely be severely mistaken about the situation at hand as to whether or not this was a planned or unplanned visit, and why an android, of all things, was paying this particular visit to Miloʼs apartment, but I am perceptive to notice all things that are amiss as I look into the apartment. A pedestal, an opaque plastic covering sheet, a very large and long cardboard box from a robotics company. Oh dear.

"I was unaware that you were expecting a visitor," I make to appear casual. "I would have remained inside and not gone out of my way to report a malfunctioning laundry- washing machine."

That had been my excuse, and a rather good one too, I do think.

Milo looks at me, then at the female android, then back at me. He seems to be formulating a response but unable to know how to proceed. My sudden intrusion must have caught him off-guard, though I do not understand why it would trouble him so.

"Um," Milo begins, but manages to not be able to form any amount of actual words.

Perhaps it is news that the android has brought to Milo, and if it is, then what news could it possibly have been? But no, it couldnʼt be any form of news. Where would it come from and why would it come in the form of an android as messenger? Why did it come in a box? No, that makes little sense. There must be a different reason.

The android is very attractive. Not that I personally believe it to be attractive, for I am unable to think in that sense. It is a very human emotion, attraction. But from my internet browsing, I have become very familiar with the male perspective of what they believe to be most attractive in the opposite sex.

Of course it varies from male to male, but there is a niche trend of attraction to females that appear almost childlike in innocence, have the standard blonde hair and large blue eyes, soft features, delicate complexion, petite. This figure before me strikes all the boxes on the checklist.

I didnʼt know they made androids like this. Of course I know they make them attractive in the way that humans see things as attractive—not that I, a robot, can look at someone and say, "Mmm, yes, I find you rather enchanting,"—but what I instead infer is that robotics manufacture most android women to take on the personification of the highest of beauty standards. They all look like supermodels with...you know. All the traits you find on supermodels. I donʼt think I have to go into detail.

This robot girl looks at me with her wide blue eyes as if she is in a state of constant wonderment. She is more pixie dream-girl than supermodel, I conclude.

"Hi," I say.

"Hello," she says back.

I look at Milo. "You are aware that she is an android, right?" 

"Yes, Hiram, Iʼm aware."

"Okay. Good."

We stand in a triangle of awkwardness; I look at them, they look at me. Milo still has yet to explain what the grounds of this situation is.

"May I enquire as to the purpose of your visitation?" I ask the robot girl.

She tilts her head slightly and is about to respond when Milo cuts her off. "Sheʼs not visiting exactly."

"Then what would she be here for?"

"Well, um, you see, sheʼs...sheʼs kind of...mine." 

"I donʼt understand."

"I wouldnʼt expect you to. Itʼs...complicated. I wasnʼt sure how to tell you, Hiram." 

"Tell me what?"

He looks at her again; her gaze is on him, looking up at his face as he speaks as if he is her hero, a respectable man to look up to with admiration, even though he is none of those things.

"I wasnʼt sure how youʼd react. I didnʼt know how to tell you."

He continues this method of speaking in such vague terms; it is impossible for me to figure out the subtext of it, as if he is speaking in riddles. Robots are not very good with riddles. We are too literal with no sense of the abstract.

"Is there a reason for that large box behind you?" I had yet to bring up the box, even though it is a part of everything I noticed the moment I stepped into the room.

Milo looks at it. "Yes," he says, "yes, there is."

He picks a piece of paper up and steps forward to hand it to me. I take it from him and read the words on it. It is from an android company—the same one I have seen all over the news on the Internet.

Now I understand why Milo is being so apprehensive towards me. I understand why he was not sure how to tell me, as he puts it. I understand why there is a female robot in my home.

I realize that it is because I am being replaced.