"I have a question, Mr. Shea."
A collective sigh went through the lecture hall as my hand shot into the air. Even my brother Alan slumped in his chair next to me, pressing his fingers to his forehead like he wanted to become invisible.
Mr. Shea, however, was new to Lenora University of Technology this year and blissfully unaware of what was coming. He had hard eyes, and a greying beard which formed a sharp contrast with his dark brown complexion. Jagged scars marred the skin of his right arm wherever it wasn't hidden by a brace.
A war veteran, and a breath of fresh air compared to all the others who grew up in ivory towers and had never left the comfort of their lab.
"Go ahead, Camilo," Mr. Shea told me with a nod.
I flashed him a smile. "Earlier this class you stated... " I flicked through the notes on my desk screen to quote him, "...that scientist Ava Claes crossed ethical lines by creating the Spectre model androids and gyndroids who are, unless you put them through a biocomponent scanner, indistinguishable from humans. You never elaborated on this point. Why does this invention cross ethical lines?"
"I saw it as trivial to elaborate during a lecture about the singularity war, Camilo. You followed ethics in technology during your first year, too. We all know why the existence of these models was unethical."
Behind me, a couple of students snickered at Mr. Shea's snarky response.
Alan groaned. "Don't do this, Camilo," he muttered urgently from the corner or his mouth.
I ignored him and sat up straight in my chair. "Just for good form, I would still like an answer, Mr. Shea."
Mr. Shea remained quiet as he sized me up. For a moment I thought he would be the first teacher not to take the bait. Then he did, anyway.
"Gyndroids and androids are – were– only machines," he said. "Algorithms and pieces of plastic and metal. Even the perfect human replica models were not people. Ava Claes redesigning their appearance to look human almost made us forget about them not being such."
"And we grow attached?"
Mr. Shea gave me a hard stare. "In often inappropriate ways, exactly."
"Oh, okay. Gotcha."
"Good. So, if there are no further questions I suggest we--"
"Or is everything we learn here about androids and gyndroids mere propaganda, spread after the war to make us accept we murdered them. You know, after we were done using them to win our battles for us?"
Slowly, I rose from my seat.
"Stop! Sit back down you idiot!" Alan hissed. He grabbed my arm. His nails dug into my flesh, but I yanked myself free.
Murmurs and whispers filled the lecture hall, but Mr. Shea seemed befuddled by my outburst. I took the opportunity to continue.
"It's a common theme in history, you know. Denying we committed a crime so we can continue to think of ourselves as good people. Denying we all committed a genocide."
Suddenly, the room went silent. So silent I could hear a pin drop. Even the students behind me stopped complaining about how I should stop bumping my gums.
There was a vein popping out on Mr. Shea's neck. He was dignified and calm as an old war veteran ought to be, but there was a storm brewing below the surface.
"Uh oh. Too far?" I whispered to Alan.
Too far.
"It was the word genocide," Alan told me on our way home in the subway, its electrical circuits gently humming below us. He frowned. "You can't say that in Singularity war class, to a veteran, without consequences. You should be thankful Mr. Shea let you go with a warning and didn't kick you out of the course."
"Thankful? Bullshit." I crossed my arms and snorted. "Why should I get punished for speaking the truth?"
"Yeah, well, try speaking a little less. In general, I mean."
I pressed my mouth into a thin line. Alan wouldn't be Alan if he didn't tell me to shut my trap at least five times a day. Despite being a year younger than me, he had a massive stick up his ass about me 'misbehaving' in class. But, I'd expected more from Mr. Shea. He'd been there on the front lines. He fought side by side with the Spectre models, yet, his words sounded like they came straight from the ivory tower echo chamber. It was utterly disappointing.
"If I," I made air quotations with my fingers, "spoke less or used PC words like mass deactivation instead of genocide, they wouldn't listen to me."
Alan's face scrunched up. "They're not listening to you regardless. To them, the androids and gyndroids are instruments of war. That's it."
"Without a hive mind network they're only slightly more dangerous than humans and we don't shut those down either."
"We do. It's called the death penalty."
"And we don't give that to anyone without a trial. Or a crime."
Alan sighed exasperatedly, and zipped his handbag open to grab a sandwich. A universal sign he was done arguing with me.
For the moment.
His silences never lasted long. When I shrugged, put my feet up on the bench opposite us and took out my phone, our cease fire was already over.
"You still have that picture as your background?" Alan leaned against me and pointed at the eerily handsome android, which happened to be my background image."Why did Zekiye ever agree to reconstruct that for you? Look, I know it's hot. It was made to be hot because Ava Claes probably got wet herself designing it. But you realise that even the super realistic Z-models were made for warfare and look like our little sister's Ken and Barbie-dolls between their legs, right?"
"No, these models were mainly used for espionage," I corrected Alan. "They were complete because do you think the military would let a mission fail because they, I quote, 'look like a Ken or Barbie-doll between the legs'?"
"The fact that you even know this!" Alan threw him hands up, nearly hurling pieces of lettuce from his sandwich at some black-haired dude sitting behind us . "Fucking gross."
I felt my face heat up. "Fuck off. Besides, that's not even the point. I can admire someone--"
"Something."
"Someone without that being involved. This model," I tapped my screen, "number Z-3293 saved an entire continent from destruction."
"Allegedly."
I glared at Alan. He shrugged.
"The blueprints of its design exist, sure. But there are no records of it being assembled in any of the major factories before their creator was murd--"
"You don't have to tell me the stories," I cut Alan off. "I followed the course."
"Twice already," Alan pointed out. "Three times if you continue picking fights like this with Mr. Shea. Or perhaps never again if you keep telling professors they are guilty of celebrating genocides."
"But it's exactly what they're doing, isn't it?"
Alan packed his sandwich and placed it back in his bag, despite it only being half eaten. Then he looked me dead in the eyes, dead serious.
"You know I don't agree with what happened after the war either," he said. "But it's an obsession for you, Camilo. You're going to get in trouble if you stay this vocal. For real. People get arrested all the time for trying things like building their own humanoid warbots. And with the celebration of twenty-five years of peace after the Singularity war coming up... if anything happens on campus, the police will be on our doorstep first."
I raised my hands. "Hey, I'm only questioning what we did after the war. I'm not going to build a war robot or even get near one. I'm not an idiot."
"You've got me doubting that statement every day." Alan elbowed me in the ribs as the subway's synthesised voice called out the next stop: the Garnet square.
We both got up and hopped off the train.
Unfortunately, our neighbourhood 'the Garnet square' wasn't as shimmering and beautiful as its name implied. Maybe it'd been once upon a time, but now only remnants of a past glory remained. The sun was still up, but in-between all the tall, greyish-brown apartment buildings less light filtered through, casting long shadows across the streets as we walked.
Alan was mumbling to himself, likely cursing the cracks and holes in the road which seemed to grow larger each passing day.
He was a strange sight in these parts of town. Alan spent all his money on expensive blouses and suits, hoping that already dressing the part would help him acquire a seat in our government one day. He already had the pompous, holier-than-thou attitude down, so I gave him a large chance of fitting in after graduating from uni.
"Not again! Ugh, vandals!" Alan came to a sudden halt, glaring at a graffiti tag with its paint still running on the front door of our building. I couldn't even tell what the image was supposed to depict - I could only decipher a 'Z' with difficulty. It hadn't been there this morning when we left.
"Chill, it's probably Ned's kids again. They're bored and who can blame them," I tried to appease Alan, but my brother wouldn't have it.
"Shit. I bet those fuckers got the side, too."
Alan marched into the narrow alley next to our building.
"Alan!" I called after him before casting an exasperated look skyward and following.
As expected, the kids 'decorated' the side of the building, too. Just like the image on our front door, I didn't get what I was looking at at first. But, upon closer inspection I realised it was a laser pistol. The type used by androids during the Singularity war, but had since then been banned.
"They did go here too," Alan grumbled. "Those fuck--"
Alan stopped mid-sentence. One gurgling, shuddering breath left his mouth before he went limp and slumped to the concrete like a rag doll.
"Alan? Alan!"
I immediately bent down next to him. He seemed completely out cold, but when I pressed my middle- and index finger to his neck I felt a strong pulse. My gaze shot to his arm when I saw something blueish in my peripheral vision.
A dart? I pulled it out. A tranquilliser injection needle. Like the laser pistols, this was more old tech that was banned after the war.
If there was a dart, there was someone firing it.
The thought struck me and sent my brain into overdrive, racing through everything I knew about these kinds of guns in a split second. It came from the alley; the shooter had to be close. These tranquillising weapons were scarily accurate but only had one charge. Reloading took--
Shit.
Instinctively, I leapt aside, crashing into the alley wall. A second dart swished past my head, grazing my hair.
There was someone behind me. Right behind me. Blood rushed in my ears. I breathed in sharply, steadied myself and then exploded to my feet, yelling and blindly throwing a punch as hard as I could.
I saw a flash of black hair before my fist cracked into a surface hard as diamond, and I found myself looking into a pair of eerily pale blue eyes.