“Somebody do something,” I shout to the workers. No one pays me any attention. The slack-jawed morons. I flex my hand again, and the back of my neck goes cold as a terrible, throbbing pain washes over me. And still, nobody acts.
Mr. Nomura falls to his knees, his fingers gently curled over Mikiko’s forearms. He holds her arms and does not struggle. As his throat collapses, he simply looks up at her. That flowing rivulet of blood courses unnoticed down his cheek, pooling in the hollow of his collarbone. Her eyes are locked on his, steady and clear behind the anguished mask of her face. His eyes are just as clear, shining behind small round spectacles.
I never should have played this prank.
Then, Jun returns, holding a pair of defibrillator paddles. He rushes to the middle of the factory floor and presses them on either side of the android’s head. The solid slap echoes through the factory.
Mikiko’s eyes never leave Mr. Nomura’s.
A frothy sheen of spittle has collected around Mr. Nomura’s mouth. His eyes roll up into his head and he loses consciousness. With a flick of his thumb, Jun activates the defibrillator. A shock arcs through the android’s head and she is knocked off-line. She falls to the ground, lying face-to-face with Mr. Nomura. Her eyes are open and unseeing. His are closed, ringed with tears.
Neither of them breathes.
I am truly sorry for what we did to Mr. Nomura. I do not feel sorry because the android attacked the old man—anyone should have fought back against such a weak machine, even an old man. I feel sorry because he did not choose to fight back. It occurs to me that Mr. Nomura is deeply in love with this piece of plastic.
I drop to my knees and peel the android’s delicate pink fingers away from Mr. Nomura’s throat, ignoring the pain in my hand. I roll the old man onto his back and deliver chest compressions, shouting his name. I make quick, forceful little pushes on the old man’s sternum with the heel of my left hand. I pray to my ancestors that he will be okay. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. I am so ashamed of what I have done.
Then, Mr. Nomura takes a deep, gasping breath. I sit back and watch him, cradling my damaged hand. His chest rises and falls steadily. Mr. Nomura sits up and looks around, bewildered. He wipes his mouth, pushes up his glasses.
And for the first time, we find that it is we who cannot meet eyes with old Mr. Nomura.
“I’m sorry,” I say to the old man. “I didn’t mean it.”
But Mr. Nomura ignores me. He is staring at Mikiko, his face white. She lies collapsed on the floor, her bright red dress smudged and dirty.
Jun drops the paddles and they clatter to the floor.
“Please forgive me, Nomura-san,” Jun whispers, bowing his head. “There is no excuse for what I did.” He crouches down and takes the fluke out of Mikiko’s pocket. Then, Jun stands up and strides away without looking back. Many of the other floor workers have already scurried away, back to their posts. The others leave now.
Lunch is over.
Only Mr. Nomura and I remain. His lover lies across from him, sprawled on the clean-swept concrete floor. Mr. Nomura reaches over and strokes her forehead. There is a charred patch on the side of her plastic face. The glass lens of her right eye is cracked.
Mr. Nomura drapes himself over her. He cradles her head in his lap, touches her lips with his index finger. I see years of interaction in the gentle, familiar movement of his hand. I wonder how they met, these two. What have they been through together?
This love. I can’t understand it. I’ve never seen it. How many years has Mr. Nomura spent in his claustrophobic apartment, drinking tea served by this mannequin creature? Why is she so old? Is she built to resemble someone, and if so, what dead woman’s face does she wear?
The little old man rocks back and forth, stroking the hair off Mikiko’s face. He feels the melted side of her head and cries out. He does not, will not, look up at me. Tears streak down his cheeks, mingling with the blood drying there. When I ask again for forgiveness, he fails to react in any way. His eyes are focused on the blank, mascara-caked cameras of the thing he holds tenderly on his lap.
Finally, I walk away. A bad feeling pools deep in my stomach. So many questions are in my mind. So many regrets. Above all, I wish that I had left Mr. Nomura alone, not disturbed whatever strategy he has built to survive the grief inflicted by this world. And those in it.
As I go, I can hear Mr. Nomura speaking to the android.
“It will be okay, Kiko,” he says. “I forgive you, Kiko. I forgive you. I will fix you. I will save you. I love you, my princess. I love you. I love you, my queen.”
I shake my head and return to work.
Takeo Nomura, retrospectively recognized as one of the great technical minds of his generation, immediately set to work finding out why his beloved Mikiko had attacked him. What the elderly bachelor discovered over the next three years would significantly affect events of the New War and irrevocably alter the course of human and machine history.
4. HEARTS AND MINDS
SAP One, this is Specialist Paul Blanton. Stand down and deactivate yourself immediately. Comply now!
This transcript was taken during a congressional hearing, held after a particularly grisly incident involving an American military robot abroad. The supposedly secure video conference between Washington, D.C., and Kabul province, Afghanistan, was recorded by Archos in its entirety. I find it to be no small coincidence that the soldier under questioning here happened to be the son of Officer Blanton in Oklahoma. The two men would each have a large role to play in the coming war.
(GAVEL STRIKE)
The closed hearing will come to order. I’m Congresswoman Laura Perez, ranking member of the United States House Armed Services Committee, and I will be chairing this meeting. This morning, our committee begins an investigation that could have ramifications for the entire armed forces. An American safety and pacification robot, commonly called a SAP unit, has been accused of killing human beings while on patrol in Kabul, Afghanistan.
The purpose of this committee’s investigation is to determine whether this attack could have been foreseen or prevented by the military agencies and individuals involved.
We have with us Specialist Paul Blanton, the soldier charged with overseeing the actions of the faulty safety and pacification robot. We will ask you, Specialist Blanton, to describe your role with the SAP unit and to provide your account of the events as they transpired.
The horrific actions perpetrated by this machine have marred the image of the United States of America abroad. We ask that you keep in mind that we are here today for one reason only: to find out all the facts so we can prevent this from ever happening again.
Do you understand, Specialist Blanton?
Yes, ma’am.
Start by filling us in on your background. What are your duties?
My official job title is “cultural liaison.” But I’m basically a robot wrangler. My primary duties are to oversee the operation of my SAP units while maintaining a clear conduit of communication to the local national authorities. Like the robot, I speak Dari. Unlike the robot, I am not expected to wear traditional Afghani clothes, befriend local citizens, or to pray to Mecca.