Android Paradox (2 page)

Nothing. He swam as fast as he could for the beach. The waves slammed into him, but he kept a straight line, not stopping until he reached the coast.
 

He emerged in a shallow bay and climbed onto a white beach. He kicked off his fins and his feet dug into the soft sand. The air was salty with a tinge of brine, and seagulls fanned out over him, cawing on their way to the port. He scanned the area—no people. Just a gnarled divi divi tree a few paces away, its unruly branches creaking quietly in the breeze. An orange dot blinked over the tree with Shortcut’s smiling face just below it.
 

He ran to the dot and dug several feet into the sand. He pulled out a leather knapsack; inside was a Hawaiian shirt with parrots all over it, khaki shorts, sandals, a gold chain, and a pair of black sunglasses. There was also a letter in an encrypted language. X scanned it and the code rearranged itself into a sentence: BE SURE TO TAKE PICTURES. I HEAR THE PLACE IS BEAUTIFUL!

X shook his head as he changed clothes. Shortcut was always inserting humor when it wasn’t appropriate to do so. It made for interesting missions, at least.

The Hawaiian shirt felt light and non-existent compared to the thick wetsuit. His gold chain was warm and raised the temperature on his chest. The sunglasses were stylish but extraneous—his vision was not affected by changes in light. But he put them on because they would help him blend in.
 

He brushed sand off his shoulder and started for the road.
 

Why weren’t there any people? He scanned the area as he walked, but saw no one. He came to a parking lot with a fleet of flying Jeeps, probably for a tour group. With still no one in sight, he climbed into one of the Jeeps and commandeered it. The Jeep purred quietly as he drove down the coastal highway, deeper into enemy territory.
 

He abandoned the Jeep at a gas station just outside the city limits. The station was closed and the lights off. A sign in the window said: CLOSED UNTIL THE CRAZY ANDROID LEAVES.
 

He started into town, entering via an alley of multi-colored Dutch-style houses. The houses went on for miles, a rainbow of color against the clear blue sky. The windows on every home were shuttered and boarded up as if there was a hurricane approaching. The only sound was the breeze and the crunch of his sandals on the dusty street.
 

X measured the temperature of the buildings with a sweep of his head. There were people inside the houses, and from the heat signals, he assumed they were at the windows, watching him.
 

His instinct chip buzzed. An algorithm, calculating everything he observed, told him that the chance of a dangerous encounter was one hundred percent.
 

There was nowhere to go but up. He jumped onto a crate and climbed into the grilled terrace of a window as two black men with machine guns emerged from an alley and passed underneath him.
 

“No sign, no nada,” one of the men said. “I’m tired of scouring dis city up and down for nothing.”

“That android’s payin’ us big bucks, though.”

X heard a sound from the window behind him. A little boy with nappy hair and gaps between his teeth looked out at him. X put his finger to his lips, and the boy’s eyes widened.
 

The men disappeared around the corner.
 

X jumped down and landed quietly. He had two options: he could grab these men and interrogate them about Brockway’s whereabouts, or he could let them go. The former was too risky. No, it was better to let them go—for now.
 

“Pssst!” said a voice. It was the boy. He leaned out of a faded wooden door, grinning at him.
 

X waved at him, and then started to walk away.

“Are you an android?”

“No.”

“You gotta be an android. No way you’d be out on the street otherwise.”

“I’m trying to get to the port.”

His instinct chip buzzed again. Now he was in trouble. The men had doubled back and were heading his way. They had probably heard the boy’s voice.

He had no choice. He dove into the house, knocking the boy down, and shut the door behind him as quietly as he could.

He peeked through the window as the men passed.
 

“Thought I heard something. You?”

“Nah. Probably some family havin’ an argument. I’d be mad if I was locked up, too.”

X waited until they were several blocks away before moving. His brown eyes glowed like fire in the darkness as he scanned the surroundings for danger.
 

The little boy was lying on the ground, looking up at him in wonder. He wore a t-shirt with a running robot on it.

“You
are
an android!”

He saw two more pairs of eyes in the darkness—a mother and a father.

The boy grabbed X’s hands. “You’ve got to save us.”

Chapter 2

Shortcut sat in the cockpit and rested his head against the leather seat. The plane changed direction, flying in circles around the ocean. He had time to waste until X needed to be picked up.
 

A face appeared on the dashboard—a plump man with a chubby face and a mustache. He had greasy brown hair that looked as if it hadn’t been combed in days, and he wore a red sweater vest and a tie with tabby cats painted on it.
 

“Hey, Shortcut.”

Shortcut sighed and put his hands below the dashboard, secretly flipping the man off. “I’m on a mission.”

“That’s no way to talk to your new boss,” Crandall said. “What did Fahrens tell you? I missed the call.”

“Obviously,” Shortcut said.

“What’s the report? Did you catch him yet?

“We just got here.”

“You have
nothing
to report?”

“Jesus, did you hear what I said? I’ll be able to give you more information when I’m done.”

“All right. But we need to talk about your development plan for the year. I’ve got some feedback for you.”

Every cell in Shortcut’s body roiled with disgust. “Actually, uh, oh crap! There’s a plane, Crandall, and it’s coming toward me. I’ll have to call you back.”

“Wait—”

Click. Shortcut disconnected the video link and took it offline.
 

I can’t stand that guy.

He and Crandall had worked together as engineers shortly after college. Crandall had gotten promoted to manager just a few days ago, and he wouldn’t let Shortcut forget it.

Shortcut had applied for the job too. Android Engineering Manager. A modest promotion with a decent salary increase. He had done well in the interview, and thought that Fahrens would consider him for the job. He had woken up the next day with a feeling that told him something good was going to happen, and had gone through the day jolly and laughing and smiling more than normal. He was waiting for the good thing to happen, and his gut had never been wrong before.
 

And then he got the email from the UEA’s human resources department: WE REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT WE HAVE CHOSEN ANOTHER CANDIDATE FOR THE POSITION. Shortly after, Crandall had strolled into the engineering room, whistling and giving directions to the engineering team like he owned the place.

Shortcut punched the air. He couldn’t get over the stinging bitterness he’d felt when he read the rejection email.

He rested his head against the chair. He breathed in deeply, exhaled, and focused on the sky ahead, imagining his breath creating new clouds. Then he blinked six times in rapid succession, and a shimmering green wall of data surrounded his head, rotating slowly.
 

A password maze appeared. Shortcut’s contact lens emitted a red laser into the green wall, and he guided it through the maze. When he reached the end, a chime sounded, the maze collapsed, and his vision surged forward through a brilliant tunnel of light.

In a flash, he was in a doctor’s office. The walls were avocado green. He smelled carpet and fresh coffee. Several virtual people were sitting in chairs ranged along the walls, and they looked down to avoid Shortcut’s gaze. Futuristic jazz played from speakers in the walls, an electric saxophone riffing on a bossa nova song. He still tasted the dry air of the cockpit, but it mingled with the simulated smell of the office, taking on a strange taste that reminded him of an airplane and all of his childhood doctor visits at the same time.
 

Virtual reality always amazed him. His lens interfaced with his brain, and the doctor’s office was a simple string of code somewhere over the Internet. When Shortcut connected to it, it gave his brain specific sensory data points to recreate. His lens connected with the data points and transmitted them to the corresponding sensory areas in his brain, fooling his mind into creating a virtual environment where every molecule felt real.
 

And of course, this was just one of the many things his lens could do.

A secretary greeted him from behind the front desk. She looked real, but she was made of pixels, an avatar for someone elsewhere.
 

“How can I help you?”

“I’m here for enhancements.”

“What kind?”

“Enhancements.”

“What
kind
?”

“Artificial intelligence,” Shortcut whispered.

“You look awfully young. Are you sure?”

Shortcut sighed and said, “Just call the doctor, okay?”

He put his thumb into a scanner and his name and photo appeared in front of the woman.
 

“Your name is Shortcut?”

“Yep.”

“Can you give us a real name for our records?”

“Mr. Shortcut.”

The secretary glared at him and typed something into a virtual keypad floating above her desk. “Dr. Frantz will be with you shortly.”

Shortcut made himself a cup of coffee and sniffed a curlicue of smoke that rose from the biodegradable cup. Three pinches of sugar and hazelnut creamer. The aroma relaxed him. No matter how many times he came to this office, it surprised him how real the coffee smelled. It practically
was
real. He took a sip and the coffee slowly disappeared as if he were drinking it. Though he wasn’t really consuming it, it still felt like he was getting the benefits.
 

He sat down in a chair and put his hands behind his head. A digital screen appeared in front of him, displaying advertisements of new medical enhancements. A woman in a running suit dashed across the screen as an overly enthusiastic narrator spoke.
 

“Speed!”

A man being chased by two evil robots ran down an alley. He picked up a dumpster and heaved it at them, destroying them in a fiery blast. He grabbed his back as if in pain, then smiled and looked at the camera as if to say "gotcha."
 

“Strength!”

A tall man with shoulder-length red hair and freckles appeared on the screen. He wore a white coat and a stethoscope around his neck. His hands were in his pockets, and circular drone bots circled him. His contact lenses glowed, as if a teleprompter were directly inside his eyes. He would have looked like a hipster if he weren’t a doctor.

“Got the android blues?” the doctor asked. “Why should robots get to have all the fun? Sure, they’re intelligent, but aren’t
we
the intelligent species who created them? With my enhancements, you can be better than an android. You can be human. I’m Dr. Jonah Frantz, and for years, I’ve been helping people just like you modify their bodies so that they can pursue their dreams with confidence, get there faster, and live happier lives. Are you tired of chugging along in your cushy UEA career? Want to join the new rich? Want to get the girl? Hell, do you want to be a superhero? I can make it happen. My prices aren’t cheap, but the real question is this: what do you want to do with your life?
 

“There are two kinds of people in this world. Those with enhancements and those without them. We did a study last year. We looked at the brain activity of humans today, in 2300, versus known data for brain activity of humans in the early 2000s. Want to know what the difference was? Nothing. They were identical. Identical! I don’t know about you, but I believe that life is about progress, not perfection. I want to believe that we’re better than our ancestors—much, much better than that dark generation. After all, weren’t
they
better than the savages in the Middle Ages, and weren’t the savages in the Middle Ages better than prehistoric cave men? When did we plateau? When did humanity get so damn boring?”

Shortcut watched, enraptured by every word. “I don’t want to be boring,” he said to himself. “I refuse to be boring!”

Several of the virtual people looked at him, and he smiled nervously, embarrassed by his outburst.

Dr. Frantz laughed. “If you want to be better off than the humans of yesterday, if you want to create real advantages for your children, if you want to further the real pursuit of intelligence, you only have one option.”

A nurse appeared in the doorway. “Shortcut?”

Shortcut followed her through a winding corridor. She led him into a room with an exam table and watercolor paintings on the walls that changed every few minutes, then gestured him inside before leaving.
 

He walked to the sink, washed his hands with foamy soap that made his hands feel like velvet, and took out his contact lenses. He held them in his palm and doused them with a bottle of solution from the countertop, then held them up to his eyes, scrutinizing them.
 

It always felt weird to take the lenses out. The world, 3D and sumptuous and full of data to be explored, became flat. He couldn’t imagine how humans lived without lenses. They made everything easier. When he was walking down the street and wanted to know which restaurants had the best food, all he had to do was focus on the building and all the information he needed appeared in front of him. If he was walking down a dark street at night, his lenses could sense whether there was anyone in the shadows. They improved comfort, decreased crime, and made life more efficient.
 

And now he was nearly blind. The room hovered in front of him as if he were looking through a fishbowl.