Human After All

This late in the day, in the wee hours of the morning, London’s a pretty peaceful place. There’s a quiet, unnatural stillness which cloaks the city in mist, settling on the high-rise buildings and the concrete flyovers. The sun is still rising, creeping its way steadily up the sky, mostly hidden from view. No one’s actually seen a proper sunrise in years, not since the Great Smog of 2056, back when my grandparents were young. Instead, the holographic screen stretched across the sky changes to simulate the colours that should exist: pastel blues, pale pinks, yellows like the antique rubber duck that’s gathering dust in my bathroom.

This late in the day, there are no hover-crafts whizzing through the aerospace, no noisy vehicles bulldozing across the flyovers. Nearly everyone retreated to the safety of their homes hours ago; no one wants to risk being caught outside when the invisible sun is at its peak at the top of the sky. No illusion, however convincing, can protect you from being baked right through.

This late in the day, there are still a few people in the buildings, tall and curved and made of the shiny white azyte which reflects the fake sky. These are the die-hards, the workaholics, the people who just don’t have anywhere else to go. But even they’ll be gone soon, fleeing from the sun, the light, the heat. All of it.

On the other side, facing away from the sun, are the apartment blocks, arranged in neat, consistent rows, all twelve floors high and six windows across, like massive, robot soldiers, standing to attention.

One building is different to the rest. It’s older, wearier, made of brick and cement rather than azyte. There are nine floors instead of twelve, and the number of windows varies from floor to floor.

(It was supposedly built in the early twentieth century, but that’s probably just a rumour because all the old buildings were pulled down near the start of the twenty first century, after the massive azyte mines were discovered on the east coast of Australia. Like a miracle, people said at the time. Azyte was the answer to everyone’s problems, the perfect building material to protect us from the steadily increasing temperatures.

We’re safe, but only as long as we stay inside. Only as long as we conform.)

But back to the building. It certainly looks over two hundred years old, though how anything would survive that long in this day and age is beyond me. It’s small and rickety and looks like it’s about to fall apart any second, and indeed, it has been commissioned for demolishing more times than the local council can count. But each time, the owner refused to sign the papers to allow the bulldozers to destroy her home, the only place she’s ever loved.

The only place I’ve ever loved. Because, sure, it’s ancient and decrepit and falling to pieces but it’s mine and I love it and I’ll be damned if it’s another piece of my life I let the United Colours take away from me.

Sometimes, when I’m standing on the balcony of my apartment, right at the top of the block, I watch the fake sunrise play out across the sky and wonder if it’s possible to glimpse the reality behind the illusion.

Sometimes, I fool myself into thinking it is. I fool myself into thinking I can see the old world, the better world, behind this shiny new one filled with too much technology and too few people.

Sometimes, I’m just too fucking tired of it all to pretend.

***

I’m awoken by a light pinging noise that comes from somewhere far too close to my bed, penetrating the sleepy haze cloaking my mind and pulling me from unconsciousness. Groaning, I roll over and bury my head further into the pillow I’m clutching to my body, willing with all my might for the noise to just stop.

It doesn’t, however; if anything, it just gets louder, more incessant, until I physically cannot bear it any more. I open my eyes a crack, just wide enough to glare at the computer on the wall opposite. Its screen is flashing, on and off, on and off, in time with the high-pitched noises it’s making.

“Yeah?” I mumble, swallowing back a yawn. The computer might not be particularly modern or high-tech compared to some of the shit you can get these days but it can still recognise my voice from five hundred metres away, so I figure a little distortion can’t be too hard for it to decipher.

“You have a visitor,” the computer informs me. It’s meant to sound human, almost, but to me it’ll never stop sounding exactly like what it is: a machine.

“Status?” I eye the screen warily, wondering who on earth would be visiting me at this time of the night. Everyone I know is at work – lucky bastards – or shopping, or hanging out with friends, or whatever it is normal people do during the night.

(Call me old-fashioned, but I’m quite fond of sleeping. But hey, that’s just me.)

“Android,” the computer replies in the same mechanical voice, but as I sit bolt-upright in bed, I could swear it sounds like it’s mocking me.

“Show me a visual,” I order, my voice strangled and sort of hoarse.

The screen flickers to an image of what looks deceptively like a man, around my age or maybe a year or two older, with unruly dark hair and intense blue eyes and the same blank, emotionless expression all androids are programmed with. It’s wearing a familiar blue uniform, three stars stitched neatly onto the chest. I have one almost identical to it in my wardrobe.

“Fuck,” I mutter as I roll out of bed, wincing as the cold hits me like a slap in the face. “This is just fucking fantastic.”

I trudge to the door, my slippered feet padding soundlessly on the laminated floor, and punch in the correct code to allow it to open. It takes me a few seconds to remember the code; I changed it yesterday and it’s still yet to be imprinted on my memory. I change it every week, not because I’m paranoid or anything, like my best friend seems to think. I’m just safety conscious. Besides, it’s recommended. Honestly, people these days have too much faith in technology.

The door creaks open with a groan, slowly revealing the android on the other side. My arms are folded across my chest and my eyes are narrowed into a glare as I stand there, waiting. When the door is fully open, the android doesn’t move, doesn’t say a word, just holds my stare with an eerily intense one of its own.

I crack first – robots are unfairly good at staring contests, mainly because they don’t get self-conscious and have a damn good poker face – with a begrudging scowl colouring my features. “If this is Neil from the crime lab playing a joke on me then you can tell him from me that I will cut off his dick personally next time I see him,” I inform the android, gaze flicking up and down in a quick once-over. No weapons, none that I can see, but that doesn’t mean I can relax.

“Ashley Hyde,” it says politely, apparently ignoring my outburst. “I’m Luke. Detective Vernon sent me. Can I come in?”

Huh? My forehead creases into a frown. Why the hell would my boss send me an android? Why the hell would my boss, who suspended me last week, drop temptation right on my doorstep?

An answer occurs to me almost straight away but it is most definitely not one I want to consider, no more than I already have anyway. The robot’s probably got a message for me or some shit. I’m not really bothered, I just want it as far away from here as possible, right the fuck now.

“No, actually,” I reply haughtily, but the android is already stepping forward into my apartment.

A sudden wave of nostalgia hits me for the days when androids needed permission to enter a human household, like the vampires in those fairy tales I used to love so much, before I’m stomping after it.

My fingers itch for my gun, a solid Glock 88, sturdy and old-fashioned like everything else in my life, but it’s currently sitting in Vernon’s office, along with my badge and most of the things that matter most to me. To be honest, it’s probably a very good thing that I don’t have it on me right now, because then I can’t do something I’ll likely regret later, but it doesn’t mean I don’t miss it.

“Oh, by all means, come in,” I call after it, and it’s only by sheer force of will that I stop myself leaping across the room and knocking that android to the floor because goddammit, it is in my apartment in my personal space and there are so many alarm bells ringing in my head I can’t hear myself think. “Knock yourself out! Please note that that is actually a figure of speech and while I wouldn’t be completely averse to you knocking yourself unconscious or whatever the robot equivalent of that is, it wouldn’t look very good on my record.”

Vernon’s voice flashes into my head, sudden and unwelcome: Keep your damn nose clean, Ash, or I swear to God you are out of the force for good this time. You’re a good cop but you’re just not worth the hassle.

The android’s lips twist up into a mockery of a smile. “I am well aware of your record, Ms Hyde. That’s why I’m here, is it not?”

I narrow my eyes infinitesimally, but it’s more than enough for the robot to notice. “I wouldn’t know,” I say, with an even, polite calmness I don’t feel. “Your presence here is a complete surprise to me – and not a particularly pleasant one either, I might add.”

The android shrugs, a simple, almost human movement that makes my teeth grind together. “I’m sorry about that,” it says, but the complete lack of sincerity – the complete lack of anything – in its voice doesn’t do much to convince me of that.

“You haven’t got a message for me, or anything like that?” I ask, trying to keep the desperation from my voice.

“No.”

Fuck. “Stay right there,” I order it, folding my arms tightly across my chest. “Don’t even think about touching anything. I’ll be back in a second.”

I have a terrible, terrible feeling that I know what this is about. I’ve barely slept the past week, too worried about what’s going to happen to me. There’s no way I’m getting off with just a suspension, and I’m almost certain that the robot in my living room is part of my punishment.

I stalk back into my bedroom and say in a tight, barely-controlled voice, “Computer, I need to speak to Callie.”

I halt in the middle of the room, toe tapping against the floor as my so-called best friend appears on the screen in front of me. She looks tired, dark shadows ringed around her eyes, but it might just be the quality of the screen. She’s wearing her impeccable blue uniform, which means she’s still at work, and that realisation only fuels my anger. And resentment. And a whole lot of other things besides.

“Hey Ash,” Callie greets me, all casual like she hasn’t noticed the way I am physically shaking with anger. “What’s up?”

“What’s up? What’s up?” I take a few seconds to gape at the holo-screen. “There’s a fucking robot in my apartment, Cal, that’s what’s up.”

She doesn’t even have the grace to look apologetic, just mildly flustered. “I take it Luke arrived, then?”

I gape at her again. “Luke? What are you-” Then I remember, the robot told me it was called Luke, told me its name like that was supposed to mean something to me. “Wait, you mean the rob- the android?”

“Luke,” Callie repeats coolly, but there’s a razor-sharp edge to her voice that I know all too well and hate just as much.

I take a few deep, calming breaths before replying. “Tell me this is a joke,” I say, and it almost comes out like a plea. “Tell me this is just some sick, twisted joke and you’re about to jump out from behind a corner with the rest of the department or something. Please. Just tell me it isn’t what I think it is.”

Any hope I’ve been holding onto drains out of my chest when Callie gives me a long, pitying look.

“Ash, I warned you this might happen,” she says, more gently this time, but that doesn’t stop the ‘I told you so’ ringing clear in her voice. “I talked to Detective Vernon, I told him you’d rather do the community service than this, rather do anything than this, but he wouldn’t listen. He says you need it, you need to spend time with an android, get to know one properly. He says it’s the only way you’ll get past your prejudice because your attitude at the moment is really not healthy and to be honest, Ash, I’m kind of inclined to agree with him.”

“Fuck you, Cal,” I snap, crossing my arms tighter under my chest to squeeze away the sharp sting of betrayal. “You’re supposed to be my friend.”

“I am your friend, Ash, you just make it really fucking hard sometimes!” Callie explodes, her face red with rage. “You need to get over what happened, already. For God’s sake, it was five years ago-”

“Four and a half, actually,” I correct her, my voice acid as it squeezes out through gritted teeth, “and don’t you even think about telling me I should be over it. You have no idea how much- you can’t even imagine how it felt to-” I cut myself off mid-ramble, frustrated and furious and wanting very much to punch something.

“Ash,” Callie says, her voice softer than before, “I know it’s hard. I know, okay? But you can’t blame an entire species for one person’s mistake.”

My teeth grind together almost of their own volition, hands curling into fists at my sides. “It wasn’t a mistake, they’re not a species and it was not a fucking person.”

Callie sighs, and it comes out crackly from the speakers. She’s been telling me to get them upgraded for ages because, “They’re ancient, Ash, it’s like walking into the twentieth century when I visit you!” but there’s no way I’m getting rid of anything in my apartment. It’s vintage. It’s unique.

It’s mine.

And I am not letting that go, not for United Colours, not for my best friend, not for anything.

“This is exactly what we mean by unfounded prejudice,” Callie says quietly, her afro bobbing as she shakes her head. “You need this, Ash, even if you won’t admit it to yourself. We live in a world alongside androids now and that isn’t going to change any time soon.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it,” I grind out because fuck, I don’t, haven’t ever, really, even though androids have been around long since before I was born.

“No,” Callie agrees, “it doesn’t. But it means you have to be civilised and threatening to rip an android’s head off is not civilised. Goddammit, Ash, I told you the last three times that you won’t get away with that, that it was only a matter of time before Vernon found out and suspended you for improper conduct.” She bites her lip, glances at something off screen, looks back at me with the I told you so gleaming in her eyes even though it’d never make it out of her mouth. “But now he’s giving you an out. You’d have to be an idiot not to take it.”

“Think I’d rather stay suspended, thanks,” I snort, because yeah, being suspended sucks because I can’t go to work which means I’m stuck in my apartment all day doing fuck all instead of the one thing I am actually good at. But it does mean I can sleep during the night and no one gives me shit about willingly volunteering for the day shift, and that’s kind of nice.

Callie sighs again, raking a hand through her hair. “I know you would. Look, Ash, it’s one month, okay? One month living with an android in perfect civilisation. Is that so hard?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact, it is!” I gesticulate wildly for a few seconds as I try to sum up my consternation in words. “It’s- it’s a robot, for crying out loud!”

Callie’s quiet for a very, very long time before she says, “Luke’s not a robot, Ashley. He’s an android. It’s about time you realised the difference.”

I grit my teeth together. “Fuck it, Cal, I don’t need a lecture on the intricate differences between-”

“One month,” Callie interrupts me, her voice granite. “Do this for one month and you get taken off report and you can go back to work and everything goes back to normal. Or you can stay suspended, spend eighteen months doing community service and maybe get back into the force at grunt level five years after that. It’s your choice.”

The holo-screen vanishes as Callie terminates the connection at her end. It’s no choice at all and she knows it. It’s futile to be angry at her, to muster up the residual resentment and betrayal, but that doesn’t stop me trying.

Sighing, I rub a hand over my face, glare down at my feet and mutter, “Well, fuck,” before stomping out of the room.

The android is standing in the middle of the living room where I left it, looking mildly at me as I grind to a halt in front of it.

“Well, robot,” I say coolly, my arms folded across my chest, “seems like we’ll be spending the next month together, joy of joys.”

It nods, looking almost resigned. “I understand you don’t want me here-” it begins, in what is obviously supposed to be an earnest tone. Earnest is a bit much for a robot to manage, though.

“That’s the understatement of the century,” I mutter, narrowing my eyes to slits. “Let’s get a couple of things straight before we go any further. This is my house, you understand that? Mine. You can’t bring your mates back here and have little robot raves when I’m at work or anything like that.” It appears to smirk at that, but it’s probably just a trick of the light. “You cook, you clean, you do all the shit you robots are supposed to be so good at and you stay the fuck away from me and maybe, just maybe, the both of us might manage to get through the next thirty days. Understand?”

The android surveys me for a few minutes with its eerily bright blue eyes, before nodding. “I understand.”

“Fantastic,” I mutter, scrubbing a hand through my hair. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going back to bed.”

“Good night,” it calls after my retreating back, but I’m already slamming my bedroom door shut behind me.