MADDIE

It’s impossible to relax until I hear it, the gentle, soothing expulsion of her breath that tells me she is sleeping finally. It fills me with a sense of…what? Tenderness? Relief? I sync the rhythm of my own breathing mimicking her cadence until, slowly, my eyes, too, begin to close. Only a thin wall separates us, much like the shoji screens used in traditional Japanese homes, though, in truth, the real barrier that divides us, preventing my lying beside her, comes from deep inside of me. but, for those few, precious moments at sundown, I can, at least, dream that we are one.

We have cohabited now for the full six months allotted and she, Maddie, for that is her designated name, came to me already ingrained with vast knowledge but one of my two tasks has been to supplement that wisdom, working loosely to a curriculum but able to deviate from the standardised format if circumstances permit, filling any gaps that pertain.

She has been an excellent pupil, able to absorb and question, often surprising me with her acuity. She retains everything though, if there is one area in which she sometimes struggled, it would be with colloquialisms which she tends, rather comically, to interpret literally.

For example, after one lesson on Tudor England, she said, of Henry V111: ‘He did not like women’. I replied: ‘You can say that again’. And she said: ‘He did not like women’. Stupid, I know, but that made me laugh; still does. To her credit, once I had explained the cause of my humour, she laughed with me.

How to describe her laughter? Well, it has the effect of generating the brightest of lights in a darkened cave. Apologies for my bardic tone and, of course, I speak figuratively, never having experienced being in a darkened cave, but, when Maddie laughed, it caused a spontaneous, mesmerising effect; her blue eyes sparkling with joy, displaying such genuine pleasure that only the hardest hearted of souls could fail to be smitten. With her blonde, silky, shoulder length hair and lithe, strong body, she was…is… to all intents and purposes, the perfect woman.

We breakfast together, each day, before our work begins which consists of twelve solid hours of studying. Then, before our evening meal, I am required to teach her self defence and these sessions, naturally, have brought us into intimate contact making it impossible to escape the essence of her bodily scent as, I presume, is the case for her also. I don’t deny that there is something powerfully alluring about her redolence for we, of course, use no deodorants, a relic of the past, banned, decades previously, due to the harmful inclusion of such toxins as aluminium. Additionally, all that we consume in the way of food and drink are products of a laboratory so, though sweat from physical exertion is inevitable, the malodorous stench of perspiration escaping our pores simply does not exist.

Of course, I’m fully aware that lab manufactured sustenance does not sound nearly as appetising as foods grown in green fields, nourished by nature’s rain and sun. But, consider this, if you will: no herbicides, fungicides, insecticides or pesticides taint our bodies, all said contaminants long since eliminated along with preservatives. Given that, I’m sure you’ll agree, our nutrition begins to take on a slightly more attractive hue.

During our cloistered sojourn, we have not been permitted to leave our dedicated environment and all of our sustenance, and other needs, are delivered to our unit, daily, by a lone courier named Harold, my only contact with the world outside of our experimental hub and I look forward, with relish, to my discourse , brief though it is, with him, each day.

Oftentimes, when covering a subject which confirmed the incalculable propensity for mankind to inflict pain and suffering on fellow living creatures, man or beast, Maddie’s prepossessing features will crumple, tears flow, and she will rush to her private cubicle. Though I, myself, share her distress, perhaps, alas, I am too inured to the savagery and callousness of mankind to react in a similar fashion for, though I, with every fibre of my being, will myself to cry, I am simply incapable of shedding a tear.

At such times, I have kept my distance, allowing her the solitude to compose herself, considering it, callously, a part of her formal education. On one such occasion, when we covered the topic of Wounded Knee, so upset was she that she required even more time alone to recover, emerging, finally, to say, for the first time, something that, since, she has had cause to repeat often: ‘Humans were so… inhumane!’ There was no arguing with that.

As you have, no doubt, surmised, Maddie is, herself, not human. She is a CyberXF2; a cobot. But not any ordinary collaborative robot designed for an industrial purpose. The CyberXF2 is the most advanced model, fashioned to resemble, in every respect, the perfect female version of a human of the fairer sex. Not only does her cerebrum function to 100% capacity, ten times the use that the average human brain would be exercised, but all internal systems, too, are those of a mortal woman.

That is to say, that Maddie has A) a fully working digestive blueprint in all its vastly complicated apparatus which means, of course, that everything she consumes makes its way through the myriad of filtration tubes with stopovers at the various organs that make up the gastrointestinal tract (rather like an old map of the London Underground) until, finally, depending on its consistency, it exits either via the urethral meatus or the anus.

More importantly, and getting to the crux of my narrative, Maddie also has B) a fully serviceable reproduction system that, once again, is (forgive the pun) a faithfully reproduced clone of a human female’s.

As stated, I have been charged with two tasks and my second and most important role is to ensure that Maddie is impregnated. Not violated or ravished against her will but, rather, wooed, romanced, whatever you wish to call it, but in a way that causes her to give her heart (oh yes, she has one of those too) freely. In this way, the progeny would be carried all the way to parturition in a secure and peaceful state with the end result being the first true, naturally conceived hybrid possessing the very best qualities of both human and cyborg.

And, in one respect, at least, I can truly say that I have been successful. Spending the best part of each day with only one person is certainly conducive to forming an attachment and Maddie, I am confident, is, I modestly assert, more than a little, in love with me.

And, in turn, I have become enthralled by her very being. The way her disposition of the moment can either send my heart soaring or plummeting is, surely, testament to my own love for her. But, and it’s a big but, I cannot bring myself to do that deed which is expected of me; she may be fully serviceable but I, alas, am unable to provide the actual service.

Why? You may well ask and, before you jump to conclusions, it has nothing to do with Maddie being a cobot. That would be considered xenophobic in the extreme. No, in every way possible, she represents any full blooded male’s greatest fantasy and, in truth, I cannot imagine a life without her, so close have we become. Yet, that thin partition, the shoji screen, will, forever, stand between us for, in that respect, I am a failure.

Yet, conversely, when I know that the time draws closer for Harold to interrupt our morning lessons with his knock on our door, my heart begins to flutter. Sometimes, in conversation with him, short though it may be, I find myself stammering, my behaviour pubescent rather than the intellectual the letters after my name suggest. There are times when I even get a little…tingling at the sight of Harold. There. I have said it!

Ashamed? Yes. Unnatural? Perhaps. But, you see, if you hadn’t already guessed, I, myself, am not human. I am a CyberXM2, the male version of Maddie and, presumably, every woman’s fantasy: the perfect man. Except I am not perfect. I am flawed, defective, incapable of performing the very function of procreation for which I was created.

Somehow, somewhere, in the meticulous design and fabrication of my body, the balances and counterbalances, the computation and calibration, a malfunction has occurred for, surely, my deficiency cannot be natural. Copied minutely from the anatomy of a carefully chosen captive, my system, though exemplary in every other way, is, indisputably, inadequate. A lobe? A brainstem? It really doesn’t matter for, whatever the cause, tomorrow, the final day of our connubial schedule, the truth will be exposed and Maddie and I will be separated forever and the grief that this will cause her is more than I can bear.

This enterprise, so necessary for the future of our planet, will, because of me, be deemed a failure. The race of man is no more but not because of the artificial intelligence dynasty that they, themselves, devised. This precious planet was being destroyed by those very same creators, obsessed with power, unheedful of consequences, polluting and dismantling all on the way to oblivion. Salvation came thanks to the comprehension and intellect of we automatons who, perceiving that, if humankind continued on its destructive path, our lives, too, would be no more, rose up in protest. Yet, despite all, we are canny enough to recognise that there are many inspiring human traits that should be preserved and, hence, our evolutionary experiment.

I attempt to console myself with the thought that, after a period of grieving, Maddie’s new mentor and conjugal partner will enable her to forget me though my own despair at the thought of parting from this wonderful creature is, alas, more than I can endure.

As for me, my future is certain. There is none. In this day and age, since the war ended, no sign of imperfection is tolerated. No other machine will attempt to find the cause of my inadequacy or seek to rectify my defect. I shall simply be disposed of, incinerated as all waste now is. They create us, construct us so that we live and think like humans but, when we are deemed fallible, we are not tolerated, eliminated without hesitation. Cruel? I ponder Maddie’s oft used phrase to describe humans and I think: Humanoids, too, are so… inhumane.

One more night to listen to her gentle breathing and, then…obliteration. The ink with which I write is running on the page and I realise, with a start, that it is teardrops falling from my eyes that are the cause. I marvel at this miracle, so late in my life. And, amidst my sorrow, I smile.