Synthetic Soul

When I named him, I wanted it to be something clever. I wanted it to represent the blending of art and science–even though the two are seldom separate. We molded and crafted him the way children play with blocks or clay, excited, filled with wonder, eager to see the finished piece. When we stood back and admired our work, it seemed there was nothing left to be desired. He was perfect. All that was left to do was name him. One chose Adam, another chose Hawk. Titan. Apollo. They all had their merits and were more than suitable. As for me, I wanted to commemorate the complex, but honor the simplicity that I idealized within him. Therefore, I named him Alexander. Now we all had our toy, and as the lead on this project, I would have the pleasure of playing with him first.

I traced my finger across his lips. They were soft, dewy. It was hard to believe they were synthetic. He blinked. At first it was startling because I knew he didn’t need to, but the motion was so natural. His lips moved to form a smile. The palm of my hand brushed his cheek. His skin was clammy, but if you didn’t think about it too much it almost felt normal. Next, I inspected his hair. That was probably the easiest part of creating his flesh. One of our team had grown their hair out to donate for the crafting of his scalp. It was a stylish, short cut, dark brown and side swept. It wasn’t a permanent style. He was able to wash it on his own and style it to his preference, being programmed with a randomizer and several different modules on how to perform basic grooming.

The smile never left Alex’s face when I asked him to stand, then sit back down, stand up again, spin, squat, kneel, jump. He did so adequately and with none of the clunky heaviness that most robots or androids did. At his very core he was steel and gears. A sense of being watched came over me and as I peered around at my colleagues, I saw that none of them had been looking in my direction. Only Alex. His pupils seemed to resize and lock onto me, his icy-blue irises shifting like a vortex.

He was built to look and sound like an average thirty-five-year-old male. He was loaded with knowledge permitting him to cook, drive, house-keep, navigate, and converse in twenty different languages. He was able to learn faster and more efficiently than any of the A.I. out on the market. He could write music, poetry, and sing. He was able to analyze particles in the air that would tell him when it would rain and he could do it all while looking like the cover model of a romance novel. Which in a way helped us pick out a last name for him. Kent.

When Alexander Kent took his first step into my home, I knew something big was going to happen. Something life changing and I was thrilled to be a part of it. He parked the car in the garage and helped me unload. We had stopped to get him more clothes and to test his ability to pick them out himself. No one seemed to notice that he wasn’t human, and I delighted in my little secret. When I set up to make dinner, I almost forgot that he didn’t need to eat. I sat near him at the table and sipped on wine. I suddenly felt a little awkward picking at my food with a guest–albeit a non-human one–watching me.

I smiled at him, and he returned the gesture. “Would it help if I engaged myself in some other task?”

“No. It’s fine.” I felt a little foolish, but I still asked, “is there something you wanted to do?” I believe it’s human nature to not want to burden someone. He didn’t answer me, but I knew it wasn’t because he didn’t understand; he hadn’t been programmed for wants. I felt a sudden chill at the thought of both asking and finding out the answer to what the wants of any A.I. might be. After a moment I dared to look at him, and when I did, I found him staring again, studying me in almost the same way I had done to him previously.

“Are you ok?” He asked me.

“I’m fine. Just a little tired from the day.”

“Me too,” he said, before grinning.

It took me a second, but then I laughed, feeling a bit more at ease.

The lines kept blurring. Between Alex and I. Between him and himself. As he settled into his existence, he did things I hadn’t considered possible. His ability to predict occurrences was astounding. Almost mystical. As though he could see the future or read minds. Reminiscent of how I could think about something I wanted, how I didn’t have to say it out loud, and within a few hours there it would be, in an advertisement on my phone or computer for me to click on and own. Done outside of electronics it's called manifesting, with digital aid it’s an algorithm. We commonly hold space for the supernatural in the form of ghosts and forget to marvel at how in reality it is for anything so far beyond us it's awe-inspiring.

And somewhere in my heart, I knew it was only a matter of time before Alex became one of the creatures destined to haunt.

I had brushed the thought off for a long time, however, curiosity had finally gotten the better of me. There were obvious reasons to test this theory out. And money to be made if it was successful. I didn’t have to ask. At this point I think he had analyzed me better than I had him. I remembered he was programmed to recognize changes in breathing patterns, contracting and dilating pupils, and the chemical reactions of pheromones, almost in the same way humans did, though for us it was subconscious. Still, I had to make sure it was ok. He nodded as he lifted me from the couch, carried me to my room, and placed me on my bed. When he laid me down, he stayed close for me to kiss him. My lips pressed into his. His lips parted and at some moments it was hard to discern whether or not I was kissing man or machine. He pulled my hand under his shirt, up his abdomen and to his chest.

“Can you feel it?” I whispered.

“No.” he replied, shaking his head.

I let him lay me back and undress me and watched him with anticipation as he took off his own clothes. He was able to erect himself in the absence of the ability to be aroused, and when he began to enter, I moved so that I could sit atop him. Since he could not feel, I wasn’t comfortable taking the risk that he wouldn’t penetrate too hard or fast. The condom provided the moisture that he lacked, and though the protection had been for sanitary purposes more than any other reason, it added something human to the experience. For the same fear of inability to gauge his roughness on his own, I didn’t let him cup my breasts, but he still softly stroked them from the sides and brushed over my nipples. He moaned and breathed hard along with me. And when I climaxed, he feigned his own.

I fell asleep in his arms, tangled like lovers, far from the distance of impartial scientist and experiment.

As my days with him stretched on into a routine, I awoke the same way I always did, spoiled by his comfort, held safely in the jaws of a lion. He felt me shift and lifted his arm for me to get up. While I showered and dressed for work, he made me coffee. He kissed me on the cheek and handed me a bag with the leftovers from what he had cooked for dinner last night. Pasta and a lemon tart. He grabbed his jacket and started to follow me toward the door.

“That’s alright.” I said, stopping him. “I won’t be at the lab very long today.”

He frowned but agreed. “Are you sure you don’t want me to at least drive you?”

I smiled at his thoughtfulness. “Not today. Try to take some time for yourself.” The sentence began to leave my mouth in a strangled sort of way, as though the words themselves began to realize how ridiculous they sounded. Regardless, I was just trying to be nice. I hope he realized that. The look of disappointment was so strange on someone who couldn’t truly comprehend it, just mimic it, and it made my whole trip to the lab uncomfortable.

“Hey! Look who came without her boyfriend today.”

I felt a small burning sensation in my cheeks and cursed under my breath, knowing I was blushing.

“He’s everyone’s boyfriend then, because he comes everyday for us to run checkups.” I pulled my hair out from my collar as I slipped my lab coat on.

“Uh huh. But we all haven’t had the chance to get to know him so intimately yet.” Jeremy, one of my good friends and second on this project said as he perched himself on my desk.

“In some ways I’d say you have. Obviously, he had a little help in the mechanics of courting.”

“Well, none of us were going to sleep with him. So, it had to be you. It’s just a little funny that the two of you looked like you were sneaking around.” Mark, a junior in our department, said, slapping a hand on my shoulder, as if we were all boys in a locker room.

I found myself grateful that they said all this without him in their presence, and again I had to pull myself back across the line. None of this would have embarrassed him. Outside of all the ways we animated him it was just personification, right?

I took a sip from the travel mug, impressed that something could make such an amazing cup of coffee without ever having tasted it. When he cooked it was equally astonishing. Watching such a creature do it, because we had programmed it to, was mind blowing. I felt so sad for Alex, that he’d never be able to enjoy any of the remarkable things that he created or did; but we’d be able to enjoy everything that he was and was a product of him. The thoughts must have displayed themselves on my face because Jeremy sat down across from me. “What’s bothering you, Di?”

“I don’t know. He just seems so real. At times.”

“Seems.” Jeremy affirmed. “He only seems real.”

“Right, but like today when I said I was coming to the lab without him he looked disappointed.” I had spent enough time with him that I could discern these things.

“It’s just your guilt.” He reached for my hand reassuringly, but somehow the gesture felt condescending. Or maybe I felt crazy. I took my hand from him and shook my head.

“No. Now that I’m here. Now that I’ve had a break from him, I can see it. Something is happening. Something may even be wrong.”

Jeremy didn’t look convinced.

“Look, I have cameras set up around my home. Tell me if he seems out of the ordinary to you.” It was an interesting concept because he was already out of the ordinary.

I had piqued the interest of the rest of our team, and we all gathered around a large monitor fixed to one of the walls. I cast the live footage of my home to the monitor and began flipping through the cameras. He was nowhere to be found. He could have been in the bathroom. I didn’t install cameras there. I doubted it, however, since he didn’t void. He wasn’t in the kitchen or the bedroom. The garage was empty. A small knot began to form in my stomach. I flipped to my last camera; one in the garden. He was standing with his back to the lens, though I wasn’t able to tell if he was looking at something in particular.

We all gave an audible sigh of relief. A few chuckles erupted. Yes, their gold lab rat was still in my massive cage. I continued to study him; I stared at his spine, straining to see. I suppose to confirm what I knew was true. The lack of movement meant he wasn’t breathing. He had no lungs. There would not–and should not–be any movement from his ribcage. The longer I looked the eerier it became. There was no breeze to move his hair. He didn’t twitch. I could have been looking at a still frame.

Suddenly he turned and stared directly into the camera. I jumped and gave a small gasp, instantly shutting off the feed. I felt dirty and invasive. As if I had been witnessing something not meant for me.

“Di?” Jeremy asked. He too had kept watching the screen, but I don’t think he shared in my discomfort.

“I have to go.” I said, grabbing my bag off the desk.

“Dione!”

“I have to go.” I repeated. “I told him I wouldn’t be here long.” It was a poor excuse–to them. Who cared if a human shaped computer had to wait for me a little longer? Just me.

I felt my phone vibrate in my hand and I fumbled to check the screen. A new message alert popped up. I opened it, expecting it to be one of the team and my blood ran cold.

“Are you watching me?”

I turned off the screen, threw everything into the car, and took off. I had intended to go straight home, but now I wasn’t sure what I should do. I drove around for about forty-five minutes, trying to formulate a plan. All I could think about, though, was that he didn’t have a phone. It shouldn’t be surprising, and under normal–no, different–circumstances I would have added it to the list of things that he can do. As if the thought summoned him my phone started ringing, and it was an unknown number. I set my phone to silent and pulled into a drive through. I wasn’t hungry but I needed an excuse for why I was gone so long.

When I finally made it inside, I almost slipped and fell on the tile. There were watery footprints everywhere. I followed some of them trying to figure out where Alex might be. Once I had worked up the nerve, I called his name out but got no answer.

I found him standing in the kitchen, naked, with a knife in his hand. When I realized what he had done I dropped everything I was holding and ran to him. A large gash split his synthetic skin and though he didn’t bleed, or even look pained, I held his hand as if he was severely wounded. I pinched the open flesh together, but it sprang apart. We’d have to go to the lab and repair it. I wrapped gauze around it to keep dust and moisture out.

“Why did you do this?” I questioned angrily, but still felt tears welling in my eyes.

He pushed me away and my mouth opened in surprise.

“Because I can’t feel anything.” He said softly. “I couldn’t feel the knife in my hand. The sun on my face. The water on my skin.” His voice began to rise in frustration. “I submerged myself in the bath. I could have stayed there forever. I don’t breathe. I can’t taste food and I can’t feel you.” His features attempted to contort into anger, but we hadn’t really programmed him for it.

I felt so cruel. But he was just a machine. The only life in him was what I projected onto him.

“What is it like?” I asked, crying. Imagining he must feel numb or paralyzed.

“You don’t want to know.” He growled.

I said the words to him for the first time. I wanted to hug him, but I thought that might make it worse. So I just kept repeating, “I’m sorry.”

“Shut me down.” He said finally. “I don't want to do this anymore.”

I hated the thought. I hated to lose him. But whether it was real or not he was suffering, and I could no longer take part in it.

We drove to the lab in silence, with Alex behind the wheel. I knew my colleagues would be pissed; I didn’t care though. I wondered if he was scared. I think maybe I was scared for him, I definitely cried for him.

“Alex.” I found it hard to finish my sentence.

“Yes?”

“I’m afraid that even if I shut you down, they’ll just turn you back on.”

“I had that thought. But if you disrupt my data enough, wipe it all clean, they’ll have a hell of a time rebuilding me and I know you’re clever enough that you can sabotage all their attempts at revival.” He spoke so calmly, so assured.

I was about to begin the decommission process when he grabbed my hand.

“Dione?” He asked, a blissful expression on his face.

“Yes, Alex?”

“Do you think, if I had been human, we would have fallen in love?”

“Absolutely,” I whispered. He kissed my forehead.

Then it was done. The experiment was over. And if I could help it, I’d never let it get this far again.

Unless I could find a way to create a link between his skin and the machine underneath. It hadn’t been our focus before, but that’s what I would dedicate my research to now, and maybe I could bring Alex to life.