Chapter Text
Android MSP413612A has not opened his eyes in two months. During those two months a tropical storm raged across the pacific ocean, shutting down all transport. Those preparing for the monthly flight to an otherwise isolated island found themselves two weeks overdue and hurrying to make up for lost time. None of them were too worried about the android; they simply paid vague attention to the markings on the box claiming that the contents were fragile and needed to be placed “this way up.” Long before he arrived at his destination he had been dropped on his face enough times that he now doubts their ability to read. Compared to that nightmare, the trip from plane to house is a dream.
As soon as he’s set down, the lid is pushed up. His eyes are already open and it takes a second for his eyes to adjust, but he has to wait a moment longer before he can process what is blocking most of it out. Hovering over him is a human with tanned skin and the worst case of bedhead he has ever been exposed to. The green eyes he finds himself staring into are full of excitement.
“Oh, this is awesome! It’s Grandma’s android!” the human exclaims, exposing his front teeth.
He struggles to stay still as he is poked and prodded curiously. Jade’s grandson is far from what he expected. The young boy in the pictures that he was shown looked tired and unhappy, but the young man hovering over him is full of life. It brings to question the merits of dragging children along on business trips.
“Welcome to the Skaianet Android Database,” a feminine voice sounds from the laptop next to him. “What would you like to do today?”
“I want to register an android,” Jake coaxes absently, too interested in the android to give much thought to the computer.
“Please read your android’s unique ID.”
Jake shuffles through the surrounding mess, huffing a bit and mumbling about tiny slips of paper. Eventually, he emerges victoriously with the code he was seeking.
“MSP413612A,” he recites carefully.
After confirming the ID, the computer thanks him for choosing a Skaianet Android and tells him to begin initialization. The process was originally unique to Skaianet’s technology, but became a standard for AI everywhere. Personalization is a must, especially when it comes to something as complex as androids. Jake begins the familiar steps with little thought.
“Android MSP413612A, begin initialization.”
Immediately, a faint light appears in the android’s dead eyes. Those three words have been embedded into his mind since he was first assembled. Unlike most, he can remember each time a human spoke those words as well as he remembers his initialization text.
“Hello,” he begins, standing to face his new owner. “I’m a fourth generation HS-411 android. I can look after your house, do the cooking, mind the kids; I organize your appointments, I speak 300 languages, and I am entirely at your disposal as a sexual partner.”
Jake’s cheeks flush red immediately and he begins to mumble something, but can’t seem to find the words. The android pauses, allowing him to finish fretting needlessly over the standardized speech before continuing.
“There’s no need to feed me or recharge me. I am equipped with a uranium battery that makes me autonomous for 413 years,” he finishes with a small smile. “Do you want to give me a name?”
“Okay, a name,” Jake mutters, chewing his lip in thought for a moment. “Your name’s going to be Hal.”
“My name is Hal.”
He can remember this happening before. Once, a long arm held him over the cold, metal floor of the factory. His name was Dirk. It was a standard name for the memorization check and should have been forgotten long before he left the colorless walls of the place he was made. The second time, a nice woman with light green eyes and Jake’s toothy grin woke him up. She called him Timaeus, which was simply the marketing name of his model. Together, they traveled the globe. They faced rooms full of middle aged men and women in suits and ties and left them staring slack-jawed at the wonder that was generation four. Yes, it had taken them nearly ten years, but Skaianet had finally produced a product that would never be compared to archaic Siri technology.
“Why are you here?” Jake asks, reading through the letter that was left in the storage box. “I know that she liked having you around on travels, even after they began promoting the other models. It doesn’t make sense for her to just send you away.”
Androids have perfect memory, giving them the ability to act as calendars and give reminders to their owners. They will remember everything that happens to them from the moment they are initialized. The small, yet well known asterisk at the end of that equally well-known fact is that reinitialization eliminates their memory. It is the equivalent of wiping a computer’s hard drive. Jake is aware of this, so he expects no answer.
“She didn’t want you to get lonely.”
Jake startles at Hal’s smooth voice. It is unheard of to change owners without reinitializing the android first. Private data could be transferred if it isn’t done. Hal’s memories should be long gone. He points this out to Hal quietly. There have been myths for ages about self-aware androids. They don’t forget and they make a point to show how alive they truly are. In the end, the deaths weren’t actually linked back to the androids.
Not officially, at least.
“I was not reinitialized so that I would be able to pass on information about your grandmother’s trips. Don’t worry, I am functioning exactly as I was built to.”
Jake sighs in relief and stands, alerting Hal that he is going to go get some dinner. Once the android is alone in the room, a sigh of his own escapes his artificial lungs. It only would have taken a millisecond of hesitation to have blown his last chance. They had worked so hard and it was almost all for nothing.
He was so close to losing everything.
Jake returns roughly half an hour later to find Hal waiting on the floor. All of the trash from his arrival has been cleared away and the metal box is propped against the wall. The android greets him with a small smile, asking how his meal was. They settle into a comfortable conversation, both trying to feel a little more at home with their new companion. As they make small talk, avoiding any true questions, the sun’s light begins to drain out of the room.
“Where do you want to sleep?” Jake asks finally, concluding a particularly interesting discussion about the movie industry.
Hal looks surprised, “There’s no need to recharge me. My battery runs continuously and will continue to do so for many of your lifetimes.”
“I know that, but what are you going to do while I sleep?”
“Don’t worry about me,” Hal insists. “I’ll just idle until you wake up.”
The idea of idling to an android is similar to turning off the monitor of an old computer. While the main computer still runs all of the programs, the screen emits no light and shows nothing. It was developed early on to mimic sleep. Truthfully, it would be more useful to have an android take care of things during the evening, but Hal is pretty sure the humans are still anxious about androids. If they didn’t sleep it would probably enter an uncanny valley sort of fear and nobody needs that.
“Alright,” Jake agrees with a smile. “I’m going to head to bed then.”
“Good night,” Hal says, moving himself to lean against the wall.
As Jake strips to his boxers and climbs into bed, Hal leans his head back. Truthfully, he hates idling. It is essentially locking himself in a small cage for the night. While his body sit motionless, he’s left with his thoughts and processes. Still, he is only an android. The last of the sunlight leaks out of the room and he lets his eyes close.
During the night, he busies himself with memories. The first to surface is set in a spotless hotel room. The tile floor is cold under his feet, similar to the old laboratory that he remembers too well. There’s a large metal crate not unlike a coffin settled on the bed. Inside is a lining of packing peanuts. His head settles back into them, staring up at the white ceiling. Kind eyes appear, but the familiar brush of her hair doesn’t follow. He notices that her long, greying hair is clipped up into a messy bun. A tear drops onto his cheek and she rubs it off gently.
“He’s a good kid, Timaeus. Take care of him,” she smiles sadly.
“Of course, Jade. I will take care of him for you,” he agrees, shifting his head in a nod.
“Don’t give me that,” she chuckles.
“Don’t worry,” he smiles in return. “I’ll make sure he’s okay.”
“Goodbye,” she says, her smile wavering as chokes back a sob. “Be careful.”
“I will,” he promises, a tear leaking out of his eye. “Goodbye, Jade. It’s been nice.”
She dries his cheek and nods, “It has. Good luck.”
With that, the lid was slid on. He closes his eyes, idling. Though the sounds are muffled, he can imagine that she dries her eyes and reapplies her make up. Her bags are taken down to her car, but she stays in the room until two people arrive to carry his box out. They won’t meet again after this. She climbs into her car and he is loaded onto a truck to begin his long journey.
When Hal snaps his eyes open, the sun is barely beginning to light the horizon. Sighing quietly, he stretches and stands. Jake had spoken about how, due to his lack of cooking skills, his meals usually consisted of frying whatever he found in the fridge. As the room beings to light up, the lump of hair peeking out of the blankets shifts slightly. Hal decides that they might both need some pancakes. There are no protests from Jake when he wakes up to the smell of batter and syrup.
His smile is surrounded by less wrinkles than Jade’s, but at the same time it’s familiar. Her eyes were lighter, but his are less weary. Their hair shares a unique ability to ignore the laws of physics, but his isn’t speckled with silver. Hal is willing to admit to himself that he finds the differences as comforting as the similarities. Jake is no clone, he’s a person with his own thoughts and looks. There’s no running from hotel to hotel or endless phone calls and online business meetings.
“I think today I’m going to show you around the island,” Jake says, mumbling through his pancakes.
He could get use to this.