Note: I wrote this story before seeing the movie "A.I." where I was surprised to see some of the same concepts presented. I'd like my readers to be aware that I did not deliberately copy ideas from that movie.
* * * * *
"And that brings the 180th annual Oscar Awards ceremony to a close. Goodnight everyone!"
"Off," I said. The TV didn't respond.
"Off!" I shouted louder, which finally tripped the switch. The wall reverted back to its image of a city at night, which I'd programmed in for the week. Didn't change the fact that I lived in an old, trembling house in the middle of one of Denver's "lost suburbs", while everyone who was anyone was heading back into the inner city - or the space colonies. It used to be that a college degree was enough without the Master's certificate, but with the machines taking over all but the most elite jobs, the only employment left for a human being absolutely required a higher education. And homework and I just don't mix.
My name is Sandi, and I'm a 23-year-old dropout from college - and hence, from life. Not that I'm destitute or anything, that just doesn't happen in the modern world. After the population drop of the last century, coupled with recent advances in both waste reclamation and energy production, there just wasn't any such thing as a "poor" person anymore. But there were people like me, who would have worked for a living if only they could, and found themselves living in the neighborhoods left behind by a mass of humanity that no longer needed them. I had bought the house I lived in for less than it might have cost me to get a moderately decent car. I had a few hundred thousand euros in the bank that I'd been saving for a lunar trip, but without a master's degree, no moon-based company would hire me. Precious few terrestrial companies would either, and even if I did get hired on I'd just be facing the inevitable layoff when someone built a robot that could do my job. Hell, with the advent a few years ago of the whorbot, even the world's oldest profession was no longer available. A human woman can't compete sexually with an android that can look like anyone and will do anything its master desires, without inhibition or guilt.
One might wonder why I'd be so concerned about education and employment if I had money and a place to live as it was. Well, it gets lonely, that's all. Ever try getting a date when you've got no prospects? It's the same in any century - there was a time when a woman needed a rich father to be desirable, or proper societal charm, or big tits, whatever was in vogue. These days, money doesn't matter much and everyone's beautiful, thanks to genetic engineering. What matters is your prospects in life - how far you can go. And with only a bachelor's degree, you go nowhere.
I guess it was that evening in front of the TV that more or less was the start of everything, and set in motion the events that would change my life. The show was on my mind as I dialed up a white wine and slumped into the other room (when you're the only one who lives in a huge house, any room you're not in is the "other room". Why name rooms when there's no one else there to go looking for in them?) Anyway, the significant thing about this year's Oscars, made even more so by the fact that no one had called any attention to it, was that every film that was nominated was completely digital. Actors, like so many other human endeavors, were a thing of the past. The machines had taken over yet another facet of life. Soon there wouldn't be a need for human beings anymore - not that I would have noticed if they all vanished. I was alone anyway. And I was lonely.
That was the moment that I decided to exercise the final resort of the terminally desperate. I gave up.
"Phone," I said, and the wall lit up. "Get me in touch with Androids, Incorporated."
There was a pause while the connection was made.
"Good evening," said the receptionist at the other end - robot, of course, but you couldn't tell outwardly. "Thank you for calling Androids. How may we serve you?"
"Sales," I said shortly. No point in being polite to a robot.
Her smile never faltered. "One moment!" she said brightly.
*********
"All right, Ms. Greene, that's one Alpha Male number JND-99. Are you sure I can't talk you into an upgrade to one of our new models? You should be aware that a used robot always retains memory from its previous position - there's just no way to wipe the brain completely."
"I don't care. As long as it doesn't call me by the wrong name or go running back to its previous owner, I can live with it."
"Not to worry, Ms, we guarantee all our robots against that sort of loss. And if you're unsatisfied in any way, please feel free to contact us."
I broke the connection. There went half my savings in one fell swoop. But, like I said, there weren't any prospects for me on the Moon anyway, so who needed that trip? And a robot wasn't the ideal companion, but I'd gotten to the point where I was willing to be satisfied with less.
*********
The package took three weeks to arrive, which should have tipped me off right there. Delivery of a customized robot only took two weeks; this one was an off-the-shelf job with a memory wipe and just the basic reprogramming. I should have had it in one-quarter the time.
But the box did arrive and I was glad to have it. My next mistake was cracking the seals before I'd looked at the shipping label. The box opened and revealed my new robot companion.
Female.
I stood there and stared at it for a while, blinking furiously as if that would change the slim, fair, feminine form in front of me to the tall, dark, muscular man I had ordered. But there was no denying it - I'd been sent the wrong robot.
The next hour was spent hollering at the implacable face on the screen that represented Androids, Inc. I got nowhere fast. I had opened the box; therefore the robot was mine. They offered to buy it back at half-price now that it had an additional owner on its resume, but I was damned if I would accept that. Finally, they agreed to replace the body with a male, and transfer the brain. A cross-gender brain swap wasn't recommended, but it was as far as they were willing to go. And I would have to wait five months for the technician - a human, therefore in high demand. The thing on the other end of the screen was just as much a machine as the screen itself; there was no point in arguing with it. Customer Service was one of the first places humanoid robots were ever installed.
In the meantime, I could either let my android sit in its box and collect dust, or activate it and at least have someone to clean the house and such. I went over and took a closer look at my new appliance.
It was modeled as a brunette, about five-foot-six (same as me), slim, attractive (obviously - why make an ugly robot?) and, from what I could tell, very well-made. The skin was expertly created and toned, the hair was fine and convincing, the overall appearance precisely human. It even had a tiny freckle on its cheek and a very, very slight bump in the bridge of the nose, robbing it of the perfection that would have made it seem less real.
I suddenly felt something I hadn't in a long time: self-conscious. It was almost as if I were in the presence of an actual person. Oddly, I even felt the need to make a good first impression. I was halfway up the stairs on the way to the shower when I realized I was being silly, but I didn't feel silly enough to go back down and forget about it. This was the closest thing I'd had to a guest since I'd dropped out of college, and the need to present a decent appearance overrode the knowledge that it was, after all, just a robot.
*********
So, half an hour later I came back down the stairs, showered, clean, and dressed, even wearing a light touch of makeup - something that women hardly bothered with anymore, what with genetic and cosmetic surgery being readily available. Perhaps I was thinking about how perfectly sculptured the robot's features were, and actually found myself competing with it on that level. Silly, I know, but that's one of the things that makes us human and them robots.
I hovered the box into the living room (suddenly it wasn't the "other" room anymore) and took the activator from its protected pouch.
"My name is Sandi Greene," I said into the activator with a clear voice. "On. Off. A, B, C, D..." I recited the alphabet and several sentences written on the instructions. It was all to calibrate the device to my voice. Once complete, I slid the activator into its receptacle deep inside the robot's ear and stepped back.
Ten seconds later, its eyes slid open. I was startled to see what a vivid shade of green they were - it was the first obvious clue that the thing in front of me wasn't human. I wondered why it had been made that way, as the eyes were one of the easier parts to fake - the technology for convincing false eyes had been around for over a century.
The robot didn't move or speak. As the human, it was my place to speak first.
"What is your designation?" I asked.
"I am Alpha Female JNE-99," she said. Her voice was another shock - it was low, breathy, almost sensual. She, I mean IT, dammit, was full of surprises.
"Are you aware that you are not the robot I ordered?"
"No."
