To Be Or Not To Be

The clothing I wore felt uncomfortable. My epidermal sensors kept notifying me that there was something unfamiliar covering the surface of my body. But without the clothing, the differences between myself and the humans around me would be even more obvious. The clothing would be interpreted by others as protection rather than as a disguise. They showed no sign of overt interest in me. To them, I was simply another human.

A street vendor offered me a mug of hot, steaming liquid. “Here's some hot tea. This should warm you up.”

“I – ah – thank you,” I said.

He watched as I took a sip.

Initial assessment: Temperature above 40ºC. Slow but constant change from liquid state to vapor state. Ingredients: the leaf-based drink the vendor called tea, as well as a fruit-based juice that gave it a slightly sour taste, and the alcohol humans refer to as brandy.

As I took another sip, my internal temperature rose very close to its upper limit before descending back to its normal level. I must be more careful next time.

“An interesting beverage,” I said.

The vendor gave me a puzzled look. “Haven't you ever had hot tea before? Even without alcohol in it?”

I shook my head and was tempted to tell him the truth, but instead I lied, “I come from a warmer climate. Cold tea is preferred there.”

I wasn't used to being untruthful, but I had observed that sometimes humans chose to be. However, in the future, I would have to be careful that this did not cause permanent faults and errors in the central programming area in my head. It was difficult enough to imitate being human, after all.

“Then why did you move here?” he asked.

“My work required it,” I lied.

The lying was getting easier for me. The vendor didn't seem to sense that I was being untruthful. He probably thought I was unemployed and therefore looking for paid work. His next query confirmed it.

“Are you working now?” he asked. “If not, I know a business that could use someone like you.”

“I am not employed,” I said, which was true. “Perhaps you could give me directions to that business?”

The vendor nodded. “It's several blocks from here, over on Spruce Street. It's called the Underground Theater. My brother Dominick owns it and produces plays there. Just tell him that Vincent referred you to him.”

A theater. A place where fictional stories were performed on stage. What could I possibly do there? I suppose I would have to wait until I arrived there and learned more about it.

“I will indeed,” I said, and drank the remainder of the hot liquid in the mug. There were no surprising reactions this time. I had taken precautionary measures. I handed the mug back to him. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” he said. “By the way, what's your name?”

“Andre,” I said, the first name that came to me.

“Good luck at the theater, Andre,” the vendor said.

I nodded, looked both ways, and ran across the street.

----------

Even though I did not travel as quickly as I actually could, it still did not take me long to reach Spruce Street. I changed directions and headed right. At the next intersection where Spruce Street crossed Front Street, I found the Underground Theater.

The theater was a two-story building slightly more than a hundred years old. It was mostly made of concrete and wood, except for the windows which were made of wood and glass. The theater stood between a financial business called a bank and a place that sold various kinds of bound sheets of paper with printed words on them called a book store.

The theater's entrance was below street-level. I descended a set of stairs. The windows in the front doors were dark. Perhaps it was not in operation. Only one way to know for certain. I knocked on the right-hand door. No answer. I knocked again, a little harder. Still no answer. I was about to knock a third time when the door opened a few inches.

“We're closed today,” a female voice told me. “Rehearsals. Come back next week.”

“Please do not go away,” I said. “I was sent here to speak with Dominick.”

“Sent by whom?” she asked.

“His brother Vincent,” I said.

“One moment,” she said and shut the door.

This was hardly the welcome I had expected. Surely Vincent had told his brother to expect me. But perhaps he felt that it was unnecessary to do so. In which case, I would have to explain everything to them. A highly inefficient method but unavoidable.

The door opened wider this time.

“Come on in,” the female voice said.

I did so.

The door was shut behind me. The area just inside the entrance was called a lobby. The walls were covered with paper advertisements that often included assortments of pictures and text. There was a counter opposite the entrance which seemed to be a place that sold somewhat nutritional items. Probably not to the employees who worked here, but to visitors who came here to see the performances. I did not see any stage yet, but perhaps that was elsewhere in the theater. Perhaps one of the two doorways, on either side of the counter, led to the stage.

A young woman walked around me until she was facing me. She was dressed in clothing more typical for agricultural laborers: something called overalls and on her feet, something called sandals.

“You're Andre?” she asked.

I nodded.

“I'm Lucy,” she said. “You must've been in quite a hurry because Vincent only called here just before you arrived.”

“Greetings, Lucy,” I said. “I am currently unemployed and looking for paid work. I hope I will find such work in this theater.”

She looked me over, a series of expressions on her face, and then shrugged. “I guess you'll do, Andre. Follow me.”

We entered the rightmost doorway, turned left, and walked up a ramp. When we reached the top of it, I noticed that we were roughly one-third of the distance between the stage and the rear wall of this area of the theater. This area was apparently called the audience. Thirty-four rows of seats filled most of it. There was a door on either side of the stage, on the audience's level. On the stage, there were people engaged in what I presumed to be a rehearsal, as Lucy called it. Otherwise, the stage was bare.

A man stood on the floor between the stage and the first row of seats. He seemed to be in charge and did not seem pleased with what was happening on-stage. He lifted his hands and waved them back and forth. “No, no, no! Romeo, you've missed your cue again. After Juliet speaks her line, you say your line. Now try it again or you're fired. Understood?”

Romeo and Juliet both nodded. The rehearsal resumed. The scene was acted without any problems that I was aware of. At least, the man in charge seemed to have no complaints this time.

Lucy led me to the man and introduced us. “Dominick, this is Andre. Andre, this is Dominick.”

Dominick looked me over even more carefully here than Lucy had in the lobby. “Do you have any acting experience?”

“I can pretend to be someone I am not,” I said, which was true.

“Good enough,” he said. “Do you know where the dressing room is?”

I shook my head. “I have never been in this theater before.”

“Lucy, show Andre where the dressing room is,” Dominick told her, then turned back to me and handed me a booklet. “I hope you're a quick study. You're playing Romeo.”

Romeo stared at Dominick. “You said you weren't going to fire either of us if we did the scene to your satisfaction.”

“You didn't,” Dominick told him. “Juliet did. You're fired, Romeo. Andre is taking your place.”

Romeo looked angry, headed toward the back of the stage, and disappeared from view.

“You didn't have to treat him that way, Dom,” Juliet told Dominick. “He was doing his best.”

“It wasn't good enough,” the latter said.

“And you think Andre will do any better?” she asked him.

“He can't do any worse,” Dominick said.

“Come on,” Lucy told me in a low voice and led me to the right-hand doorway. “His temper is always bad the week before a performance. You should've seen him the week before we performed 'Hamlet'.”

“Incandescent?” I asked.

“That's putting it mildly,” she said and opened the door.

----------

Romeo was changing out of his costume when we entered the dressing room. As he removed each article of clothing, he threw it aside. He didn't look at either of us.

Lucy sighed and picked up the discarded clothing. “Don't take it out on the clothes, Frank. It's not their fault.”

Apparently, Frank was the actor's real name, while Romeo was the character's name. Which meant that Juliet wasn't the actress' name. I wondered what her real name was.

“Are you taking Dom's side or mine?” he asked.

“Neither,” she said. “I have a job to do and I'd like to remain employed. I am sorry that you lost yours. I really am. Maybe you can find work at another theater.”

Frank sighed. “I just won't tell them I was fired. I'll tell them I didn't want a part in the play and wanted to act in something else instead. Who knows? They might even believe it.”

“Good luck,” Lucy told him.

He nodded, got dressed in his non-performance clothes, and left the dressing room.

“Does this happen frequently?” I asked Lucy.

“The switch in actors?” she replied.

I nodded.

“Depends on how foul a mood Dominick is in,” she said as she quickly searched the clothing racks for a costume that would fit me. “Maybe you'll last here even longer than Frank did.”

“How long was he here?” I asked.

“Over twenty years,” she said.

“Perhaps that will be beneficial when he applies for an acting job at another theater,” I said.

“Perhaps,” she said and found a costume that fit me. “This should do. It's only a rehearsal so it won't be what you'll wear during the actual performance. Hopefully, I'll be able to find something better by then.”

“Thank you for handling all this so well, Lucy,” I said.

She smiled briefly. “You're welcome. You're easier to deal with than Frank ever was. And definitely easier to deal with than Dominick is.” She paused and sighed. “Come on. Let's get you changed and get you on-stage. He's probably fuming at the delay.”

Lucy put one of the wigs on me and then checked to make sure my overall appearance was satisfactory. As she did so, I perused the scene in the booklet. The lines were easy enough to memorize. I had had far more difficult things to deal with where I had come from.

I could only hope that my former employers would not think to look for me in a theater. No doubt they would search places that an android would be more likely to be in. How many days would it take for them to try this theater as well? I tried to calculate the amount while Lucy led me onto the stage. Five days? Ten days? If only I had more accurate input data, but at this point, I could only guesstimate and hope that my result was overly conservative.

----------

The last rehearsal was the day before the first performance. It seemed to go rather well. In fact, Dominick looked very pleased.

He climbed up onto the stage and approached me. “For someone who'd never acted on-stage before, Andre, you did fairly well.”

“I have been known for being something of a chameleon,” I said, which was the truth.

“Just what you need when you're playing a role,” he said.

“Indeed,” I agreed. “Is there anything else you need me to do?”

He shook his head. “Be here tomorrow at least an hour before the performance starts.”

“I will do so,” I said.

Dominick gave me a slightly puzzled look then shrugged. “If this series of performances is successful, I might retain you for other plays.”

“Excellent,” I said. “I will do my best, then.”

He nodded, clapped me on the shoulder, and then went to speak with the other actors.

I looked out into the audience area. There was only one person sitting in it, mid-point in the first row of seats. It was Lucy. She gave me a smile and a thumbs-up gesture.

----------

Lucy and I decided to celebrate the first performance by having lunch earlier in the day. The place she chose was called The Checkerboard. Everything inside was patterned with checkerboards.

We sat at a table near a window.

“This is so exciting!” she said. “Aren't you excited, Andre?”

“I believe nervous is more accurate,” I said.

“Oh, you'll do fine,” Lucy said. “I've never seen Dominick so happy.”

I looked at her. “Does he know?”

She looked puzzled. “About what?”

“That you like him,” I said.

“Who says that I like him?” Lucy asked.

“I do,” I said. “And it is quite possible that he likes you in return.”

The waiter came and we ordered our drinks and meal. I was uncertain how I would mimic digestion without causing possible internal problems in my abdominal area. Perhaps I could simply explain that I was not hungry and enjoy my drink instead. The drink should be harmless enough.

Lucy looked down at her lap, arranging and rearranging her napkin. “He isn't the easiest person to deal with. But, like during this past week, it almost feels like heaven at the theater. He just glows. And I'm happy that he's so happy.”

“Perhaps you should tell him that,” I suggested.

“I don't know,” she said. “I don't want to ruin the relationship we have. He might only want something platonic, not anything romantic.”

As she spoke, I glanced out the window. A dark government vehicle drove past the restaurant. It was headed in the direction of the Underground Theater. It was followed by two more identical vehicles.

Lucy looked out the window then at me. “Is something wrong?”

I shook my head and faked a smile. “Perhaps after tonight's performance, you could tell Dominick how you feel about him. At least that way he will know. Then he can decide for himself what course of action to take next.”

She nodded. “Perhaps.”

The waiter returned with our food and drinks.

I raised my glass as I had seen humans sometimes do. “A toast.”

Lucy raised her glass. “To what or to whom?”

“To you, Lucy,” I said. “Thank you for all you have done not only for the theater but also for myself.”

She looked pleased. “That's what friends are for.”

We touched glasses and drank.

After a few minutes, though, she noticed I wasn't eating anything. “Aren't you hungry?” she asked.

I shook my head. I had lied enough over the past week. Nothing that interfered with my internal programming. But I wanted to be truthful now. With her.

“Lucy – I am not who I seem to be,” I said in a low voice.

She stared at me. “What does that mean?” she asked in an equally low voice. “Who would you be, then, if you aren't Andre?”

“I am not human,” I said. “I am an android. That is why I cannot eat. I also probably should not imbibe drinks, but I find that I like the flavors and how they make me feel.”

“You're kidding me, right?” she asked. “This is just a joke?”

I shook my head. “No joke. I am quite serious.”

“Then those government vehicles,” she said. “They're looking for you?”

I nodded. “I believe so, yes. Someone must have told them where to find me.”

“Then run away,” she suggested quickly. “Get away from this town. Hide somewhere.”

“And then they would just find me again,” I said. “It would only be perpetuating the inevitable.”

Lucy looked unhappy. “What will happen if they find you? Will they capture you and take you back with them? Wherever you came from?”

“Probably,” I said. “Unless they decide that it is safer to eliminate me. By tearing me apart into piles of metal, glass, and plastic.”

“You're just going to surrender to them, then?” she asked.

“What other option do I have?” I replied. “I have lived a lie this past week. A happy lie, true, but still a lie. I was not designed for lies. I was designed for the truth.”

“At least stay for the first performance,” Lucy pleaded. “I want to see you as Romeo.”

“And you will speak with Dominick afterward?” I asked.

She nodded. “But only if you stay.”

“I will stay, then,” I said.

----------

The performance of “Romeo and Juliet” went well. Quite well, in fact. We received a twenty-minute standing ovation. Something that had never happened before at the Underground Theater.

As the applause faded and the audience started to depart, I looked at the back row of seats. There was one woman standing there. She had short silver hair and wore a skirt-suit. I watched as she left her seat and walked toward the stage. When she reached the edge of the stage, she looked up at me.

“It's time to go, Andre,” she said.