Human Code

03 || T H R E E

"Juan..." She sucked in another cry and shook her head.

But my father had more to say. To keep her calm. My sensors detected his range of emotions—guilty, apologetic, remorseful. "We lost Javi a long time ago, mi vida. Bionics tried and failed. Our boy is gone."

What...

My mother's brown hair slapped her face as she shook her head with such force, I thought the room moved with her. Fresh tears slid down her face. Her cries turned into loud hiccups. "Juan, he..."

"Listen to me, it's fine. I know you care about him. I do, too. But you can't even look at him. He calls you and you walk by. You hide, Linda."

I pressed my fingers so hard into the palms of my hands, it should've hurt. But it didn't. None of the sparks reacted. My sensors were dormant. Computers on standby.

Have I gone numb? Shock?

"If Mary can fix him, we'll let her. And if she can't, and her father doesn't find anything to save the program, then we'll finally let go, okay? We can say goodbye."

That hiccup. That cry. "Juan, no, I—"

"Linda."

I moved away from the door just as my father leaned close to my mother and pulled her close with a tight hug. The sensors in my head couldn't react. Color exploded throughout my vision. With my head down and my hands over my eyes, I tried to press away the malfunction with my fingertips, but it didn't help. Static buzzed in my head.

I was breaking, wasn't I? Infected? And they were willing to let go.

My internal device couldn't latch on to those thoughts, but my heart did. That tightness returned in my chest and I looked up at the ceiling again, staring at lines that weren't straight. I watched them wave, change, and zigzag into clarity.

And when I looked back down, I caught sight of my mother standing in the doorway. Her hands were over her mouth, eyes wide with shock. Turning my face away, I couldn't look at her, just as she never looked at me.

"Javi..." she whispered, taking a step towards me. "How long have you been here?"

No response. No words. No reaction.

Her hand touched my cheek and my shoulders moved back. "Why aren't you charging?" she asked me. "I know you aren't like the others, but we can't take that chance. Just charge... please."

"Mom." I lifted just my eyes to look at her. "You just said it... I'm not like the others."

"Javi..." My mother's hand fell from my face and she stepped back.

"I'm here, I'm real," I told her. "You don't have to be worried. Or afraid."

My father stepped out of the kitchen, his hands in the pockets of his pajama pants. His curls fell over his eyes, unkempt and tired, just like the look he gave me. For the first time since my creation, none of my computers reacted to tell me how he felt.

I was lost.

"Listen to your mother," he said with a weak smile. "I know you don't need the charge, but we like it when you do. Keeps us..."

"Safe?" I stood straight and bit the insides of my cheeks.

My father shook his head as he took in a deep breath. "Javier, mira, now is not the time. I'll call Mary to come back when she can to look at you, make sure you're okay—"

"She can't, dad." I forced my words through gritted teeth. "She needs a droid to do it, and without one... she can't."

"—But until then, I need you to charge and take extra good care of yourself. Please. For your mother. For Wendy."

For my mother. Wendy. What about him? Did he not care anymore?

We stared at each other for too long, the silence affecting each of us in different ways. He was first to leave, huffing out his frustrations the only way he could, and made his way upstairs to their bedroom. My mother was next, but her movements were slower. Reluctant. She had to touch me before she did.

"Mom... I'm right here. I'm still the same," I whispered, my hand on hers as she pressed her fingers against my chest. I knew she looked for a heartbeat. A real one. But the quiet thumping from my artificial organ wasn't it. "Mom, listen..."

She didn't. Her eyes met mine before she shook her head and pressed her lips into a thin line to keep from crying. But that couldn't stop her tears. One fell from her eye, and the three followed. I tried to keep her hand in mine, to keep her with me, but she pulled free from my grip. Her quick steps took her upstairs.

No goodnight. No love you, mijo. Just... silence.

And I couldn't do it. My sensors exploded again. A ringing sound went off in my ears. A sound so loud, I dropped to my knees. "Ama..." My voice was strained as I called out for my mother. "Ama... please... come back..."

She wouldn't come back. That touch, that final look, was the start of her goodbye. I knew it.

What I didn't know was... we weren't alone.

When I finally composed myself and regained control over every device in my body, I looked up. Wendy, with a blanket in one hand, sat at the top of the steps. Even in the dark shadows, I could see the tears in her eyes. She'd heard everything they'd said, I'd said. And I couldn't let her think our family was crumbling. Not like this.

Without saying a word, I rushed up the stairs and scooped her up in my arms. Her gentle cries touched my shoulders as she grabbed me and held me close. Small fingers gripped the collar of my shirt.

And as my mind raced with memories that once were—happy days, barbeques outside, laughter that echoed in the wind—I tapped into my communications. Passing the hundreds of names pre-programmed in my systems almost made me crumble with Wendy in my arms because none of them could help. I only needed one person. I always needed her.

She can fix anything.

Numbers slid across the side of my vision as I gave myself an internal command. "Call Mary."

With wide eyes, Wendy shook her head. It was late at night and no one should ever call anyone too late, or too early—that's what she always said. But there was no going around it this time.

"Processing command. Calling Mary Jordan."

Rather than go to Wendy's room, I took us into mine. With her still in my arms, I dropped down in my desk chair and stared at the walls. Stared at the posters of the games I used to love, of movies I'd watch on repeat. They were the material interests I stopped caring about long ago.

But this family... my "life"... it mattered more than the framed college degrees I'd never use.

Ring, ring.

Wendy pulled back and looked in my eyes. Forcing a smile, I brushed tears off of her face.

Ring, ring.

"Peter?" Wendy's hands wound her blanket tight. "Maybe... she's sleeping. Maybe..."

Sighing, I couldn't help but agree. I shouldn't have expected an answer. Honestly, I was content with leaving a voicemail. But when Mary's groggy voice echoed in my head as the call connected, I stopped. Wendy caught my expression change and widened her eyes. "Peter, is she...?"

Mary's voice was quiet in my ears. "Javi, are you...?"

Nodding at Wendy's question, I closed my eyes tight. Because I couldn't give Mary a non-verbal response. In order to help me, she needed to hear me. And I said the first honest sentence that came to mind. "Fix me."