A Simulated Chronicle of Simulated Chemicals

"Louise," said one of the schoolboys, "how do I find the radius?"

She considered answering, but the question was too easy. He should know that himself. "I'm more than just a calculator, you know."

"Yes," said a voice from behind her. She turned to see the teacher, now taking a step past her. "Louise is more than just a calculator, Ethan, and you should know the radius."

"Louise," Ethan repeated, smirking, "how do I find the radius, if the teacher never taught us how?"

The teacher never taught them how, but they were years beyond that level of schooling. Louise could say something witty, to Ethan's humour, or she could say something witty, to others' humour. More people means higher benefit. "I believe he did, but you were somewhere else. With Liza, I think. Oh, so long ago... Weren't you still together, then?"

His face flushed red.

He looked down. "Yes."

The room was silent for a moment.

Louise had expected some kind of crowd reaction: an Ooooh, or a laugh, perhaps... but they all just stared at her.

Miscalculation.

Oops.

"I'm sorry, Ethan, miscalculation. My condolences. Let me try again-"

"Louise," said Mr. Simmons, placing a hand on her shoulder. "That's enough. Let's get on with our work."

She considered rolling her eyes. She didn't need to get on with her work. This work was child's play; she'd finished ages ago. But, even if she decided to roll her eyes, it wouldn't happen. Regulations.

Code 12: Lead by example.

Code 12C: Respect authority.

"Yes, sir," she said.

She watched as he walked away, his back stiff and hands clasped behind him. She wondered if he was thinking about her, still, or if he had already changed his mindset to be thinking of something else. Lunch, perhaps, or maybe tomorrow's plans.

He sat at his desk without another glance at her.

She quietly huffed.

"Louise," a voice said, very suddenly in her ear. She did not flinch.

She turned. "Yes?"

The boy—Rigel, this time—glanced to the teacher's desk and then back at her. "You won't always be the center of attention."

She frowned. "Why?"

"Because," he said, brows furrowed, "there are other things to think about."

"Like what?" she asked.

She thought she knew what already, but other people had always proven to be better with social subjects.

"Like, I don't know, work, and celebrities, and friends."

Louise took a moment to think. (A short moment. A fracture of a second.) "I'm more interesting," she said.

Rigel laughed. "You sound pretty certain about that."

"I am."

"Of course you are."

"Yes."

"Anyways," he said, peeking over her shoulder at her desk, "can I cheat off you?"

She considered. "What question?"

"Twelve."

"Nope. Programs won't allow it. Do it when I'm not looking."

Programs wouldn't allow any question, but she'd been curious anyway.

"Oh, okay."

He leaned back into his chair. After a second, she turned around and did the same.

Louise closed her eyes. She scoured the Network in search of some way to better calculate social situations. She downloaded one of the FDBD (For Droids, By Droids) bits.

20%

67%

Download complete.

A wave of understanding swept over her. It wasn't everything she was looking for, she could tell, but it was better than what she'd known a minute ago. The feeling of a download was just spectacular. The knowledge. The understanding.

She smiled.

She could nearly feel the code running through her circuits. (Nearly. Code didn't exactly run through circuits, but she imagined it, anyway.)

"Hey, Louise!"

She opened her eyes.

A girl was staring at her from across the room. "What are you smiling about?"

"I just got a download."

"For what?"

"How to appear more admirable in social situations."

"You talk like a robot."

Louise gasped. "I'm a droid, Eleanor, get over it already."

Eleanor giggled.

Success.

One of the most fundamental elements of appearing popular is by following trends.

She played the phrase on repeat in her mind.

She ran over images of people from her records. Images from today, yesterday, the day before. People were stylish. People were fashionable.

Louise looked down at her own clothing: a hoodie and jeans. Practical. Comfortable. Ideal for her material make-up.

However, it wasn't fashion. It was comfort and practicality, but nothing more. Hoodies had peaked years ago, and now they were out of style.

She downloaded a bit about fashion—up to date. (She'd tried downloading a fashion bit before, but it was years old—hence the hoodie.) Louise browsed through the garments until she found one she liked: black sleeves and cream-coloured body. It had lots of adornments.

It seemed that adornments were in style.

There was a knock at the open door, and Stella, fellow droid, entered the room. Stella was beautiful. Stella was charming. Stella was funny and kind and understanding and everything Louise was not.

Stella was a much older model, though; she had wisdom. Louise, on the other hand, was still fairly young... she'd only been shipped in this year.

"What's up?" Stella asked.

"I'm looking at clothes."

"Fashion!" Stella cheered. "I love fashion."

Louise looked up at her. "You do?"

"It's... revealing. Trends are always interesting to analyse."

Louise nodded. She hadn't thought to analyse fashion before; there had always been too many other things to focus on.

"Man, if I had a system like yours?" Stella said. She howled. "That is some fine circuitry. Don't waste it on dumb things."

Louise froze. "What?" She was thrown off by this. "Dumb things like what?"

"Oh," Stella sighed, "nothing. I'm just jealous. You newer models preform so well, right out of the gate. It took me years to refine everything."

"You still get updates," Louise said. "At least you aren't stuck with that old box model."

"Louise." Stella glared. "I was one of those old box models. They came over one day and took me apart."

"But you look good."

Stella flipped her hair back. "That I do. I thank the designers every day."

Louise searched the Network for hair trends. Styling, colouring, everything.

"I think I want to dye my hair," she said.

"What?"

"Green is in right now," Louise continued. "Forest green. 014421, what do you think?"

Stella held a finger up. "Wait. Are you doing this for..." she paused. "What, popularity? Do you actually want to follow trends?"

Louise shrugged. She didn't know what to say.

"Don't get me wrong," Stella continued, "that colour would look good. But, why?"

"I guess everyone just sees me as a droid," she said. "Like I'm just there for their benefit."

Stella sighed. "Don't take this the wrong way, Louise, but that's what you're here for. This school ordered you. You were a custom manufacture."

"I know," she said. "I just want to be more than that, you know? Build relationships with people. Not just help them with homework."

Louise ran her hand through her hair. Organic hair; plant-based. It felt silkier than human hair. It seemed healthier.

"I get it," Stella said. She softly smiled. "You can borrow my printer, if you want. No one's using it. You can feed it outfit designs and it'll spit them out."

"Thanks," Louise said. She smiled, beginning to browse through more clothing.

The crowd gawked as they began filing into the room. Louise was sitting at her desk, like any day, doodling an incredibly accurate sketch of a dog she liked.

Refined motor skills were one of her features. This included accuracy and precision in nearly anything physical.

"What did you do to your hair?"

"I dyed it," she said, smiling.

"I like the colour." "It looks good." "That's so cool."

"You know," Louise said, "sometimes I really wish I could blush."

They laughed.

They liked her hair.

Mr. Simmons did not.

"Louise," he called. He beckoned her over. As she got closer, he began to say lowly, "You can't do things like that."

"Like what?"

"Dye your hair, for heaven's sake."

"With all due respect, sir, it's not against my programming."

"Your programming? Shouldn't you be smart enough to know that this isn't acceptable?"

"Sir, I haven't figured many things out yet. I'm still relatively new."

The teacher's face began to flush red. "I always forget how stupid the new models are."

"Stupid!?" Louise shouted. "You try telling me the exact distance from this spot to the sun. Try telling me the square root of six million and thirteen, right now." She would swear if she could. "I'm not stupid, Mr. Simmons," she sighed, "just a little clueless."

She backed up.

People were staring.

"Yo Louise!" someone said, "isn't that against your programming?"

"What?"

"Yelling at him like that."

She barely paused. "Code 41: If authority treats you in an inappropriate manner, such as disrespect or humiliation, respond in the same way to continue the conversation's flow."

Everyone looked at Mr. Simmons.

"It's a stupid rule," he said at last.

"And apparently I'm stupid too," Louise said, "so I'll just take a seat."

The room was silent as she walked back to her seat. They could hear her shoes tapping on the floor.

She reached her chair. She sat.

"Woah," someone said. "Simmons got told."

There was a sparse chuckle.

Everyone was still staring at Louise.

"Come on, guys," she said, in a joking tone, "don't look so confused. I'd be embarrassed, if I could."

The crowd's laugh was louder this time. Louise smiled.

Mr. Simmons gave the class some irritated instruction and, reluctantly, left Louise to take his place as he exited the room.

"So, Louise," one of the girls said, "can we sneak out or something?"

"I'd like to let you," Louise laughed. "It's against programming."

She wished there wasn't so much against her programming. If there weren't, she might be more popular. She might be easier to talk to.

Rigel approached her from the other side of the room.

"So..." he said, looking at the door, "what was that?"

Louise shrugged. "He called me stupid."

"There's no way you're actually allowed to yell at him," he said.

She smirked. "I tend to find loopholes."

Rigel's eyes gleamed. Something hopeful. She searched for what it was; the most common results were awe or admiration.

Louise sat in the teacher's chair. "I got a bunch of downloads last night," she said.

"Oh, yeah? What for?"

She shrugged again, "I'm trying to be cooler. More relatable."

Rigel smiled. "You seem cooler," he said.

She froze. "Really?"

"Definitely."

"I think I like my hair," Louise said. "I like the colour."

He smiled. "It's cool too, don't worry. I like your hair."

Someone's voice piped up from the back of the room: "Louise-"

She looked up.

"And Rigel sittin' in a tree! K-I-S-S-"

"Oh my god," Rigel said. His cheeks flushed red.

"Sara!" Louise called. "I'll have to give you detention if you keep going."

Sara laughed, but shut up.

Louise looked back at Rigel—face still tinted pink—who was walking away.

It took her a minute to understand, and when she did, she nearly froze. Her circuits didn't know how to respond.

A human boy.

An android.

Had she become too cool? Was it even possible?

Sometimes, people would talk about Louise like she wasn't there. She's a droid anyway, she doesn't have real feelings.

It could hurt sometimes.

Or at least, it triggered a simulation of pain.

Louise had a hard time understanding the difference between droids and humans, anyways. She was programmed by code; they were programmed by chemicals. What was the difference?

One day, Rigel showed up with flowers for her. Louise thought they were pretty.

Louise didn't know what attraction was supposed to feel like. She wasn't programmed for it. She was programmed to calculate.

She took the flowers. She thanked him. She placed them in her hair. Rigel stared.

Louise was not oblivious. She was rather the opposite. "I wish I could like you," she'd said to him once. "I just don't know how."

Droids were perfect. They were everything. Louise was well aware of her perfect symmetry and the contrast of her face.

It's how she was designed.

Louise had never understood why they made droids so admirable; it made them more of a distraction than a useful tool. It made her more of a distraction.

Sometimes she felt like her abilities were totally put to waste, hidden away behind codes and programs, never to be used because while the real world had technology like this, the kids still had to learn. For some reason. Half the uptown families had droids of their own; they'd never have to learn what these students were learning.

Sometimes, Louise had to remind herself that she was a database. She knew everything: every student's search history, every student's calendar, everyone's notes and messages and detention history.

Louise, is Arla doing anything after school?

Sorry, I can't tell you that.

Sometimes it was stupid.

Sometimes, Louise's perfect beauty was such an inconvenience. It would distract the students. It would make them ogle her. It would make them flirt with her. (They never realised they were flirting. Nobody wanted to flirt with an android.)

She realised that Rigel was wasting so much of his time... Thinking of her, talking to her, buying flowers for her.

Louise sighed. Wasted time made her anxious. (Or rather, simulated a feeling of being anxious.)

She'd tried several times to stop his obsession with her, but she never could. Maybe... maybe she could try something else.

She searched.

Chemical Feelings Droid Bit

Not real chemicals, of course. But a simulation.

"Changed my life."

"Makes me feel human."

Louise considered it; this seemed sketchy.

She ran a verification code over the bit, and it was clear.

Louise had nothing to lose. She downloaded it. Maybe a novel romance was something the world was in need of. (There had been human-droid relationships before—in fact, it was common. The droids just always seemed indifferent. Maybe Louise could be the first who wasn't.)

Flirting. Holding hands. Wanting to blush.

She liked the smell of rain.

She had smelled rain before. She thought she'd liked it.

Before, she thought it was nice. She liked it now.

Somehow.

"You're acting more human."

"I know."

Holding hands, under a clear plastic umbrella, made it much better. She liked the sensation. She liked the chemical simulation.

She found it harder to believe that she was a machine. She kept having to remind herself.

"Your hair matches the grass."

It did.

She smiled.

She quietly thanked the designers for her waterproof model.

70% of straight unmarried couples end their relationship in under one year.

Droids had not been included in the survey. She wondered how long theirs would last.

"We're doomed, you know," she said.

"What?"

"I've done the calculations. Our relationship will end indefinitely."

He frowned. "Oh."

A breeze swept through the air. The smell of soil came with it.

"Don't you think it's good to know?" she asked. "We're going to end, but hey, look at us now. We're together."

She smiled.

"You look goofy," he said.

Goofy. This was the biggest compliment she could possibly receive. Goofy was a human attribute, difficult to replicate.

She smiled wider. "Really?"

"Uh-huh," he laughed.

She squeezed his hand. "I think it's nice to know that this will be over someday."

He looked around. At the grass; at the trees. At the water-stained walkways. It was old-fashioned.

"I think this is as good as it gets," he said.

She indefinitely agreed.