A Future We'd Like to See 1.56 - Bloodlines, Act II
By Stefan "Twoflower" Gagne (Copyright 1994)

          "More human than human is our motto."
               - Dr. Elden Tyrell _Blade Runner_

     The two crossed below me, peeking under discarded cardboard
and inside dented trash cans filling up with fresh evening rain. 
All you could see from this height was a pair of octagons,
plastic umbrellas opened up as rain deflectors.

     "Dude, it's raining," Wazoo said, waving a hand outside of
his protective raingear.  "We'll never find her in this."

     "Wazoo, it ALWAYS rains."

     "Well, it's like raining more than normal rain.  We haven't
found her in the last three days, odds are she went back home or
jumped off a bridge or something."

     "Wazoo!"

     "Well, it's true.  I've heard of AIs doing that.  Can't cope
with the lifestyle.  Either that or some F.A.ST. guy throws them
over.  Don't you watch the news?"

     "No.  It's too depressing," Joey said.  His umbrella bobbed
in a sigh.  "Alright.  Let's get back to the dojo.  The white
belt class is going to start soon anyway.  But we head back out
again once they're done, got it?"

     "You're the man, man," Wazoo agreed.  The two octagons
walked off through the streets.

     Usually people who go looking for monsters carry torches and
pitchforks.  In C'atel, though, torches go out and you can't
pitch wet hay, so umbrellas are a la mode.

     Joey no baka... why did he care about me?  I couldn't tell
if I was human or not.  I can cut and bleed, and the cut will
eventually heal, but my arm didn't.  I had to attach it myself
with electrical tape, the only physical sign that I might not be
human.  I tried a number of tests to prove my humanity, all of
them proof positive... robots don't need to eat, and I had been
hungry for two days.  Robots shouldn't need sleep, but I passed
out from exhaustion a day ago.

     Plus, robots should be able to survive a head-first twenty
foot drop to the wet pavement below with only minor damage.  That
was the ultimate test, I decided, and was up here on the roof of
a building to prove it.

     If I was human, I'd die.  If I was an AI, I'd have to design
a worse test that would kill me to prove I'm human.  It sounded
logical, a perfectly reasonable way to figure out once and for
all what I was.

     First I wanted to wait until the umbrella brigade settled
down.  No need for someone to rush me to a hospital or a repair
shop, in either case.  So I sat there, cold and wet, apron ripped
in a couple places, hat long missing.  I managed to sneak back
into the garage and get my two spatulas... human or not, I wanted
those.

     Below me, a green umbrella walked happily along the wet
sidewalk.  Behind it were three black umbrellas... fanned out in
typical criminal positions.  The streets were going to claim more
victims tonight than myself.

     I hoped they'd continue along a block before getting on with
the violence, but it would not be.  The black umbrellas caught up
with the green one right below me.  I'd just have to wait for
them to leave before I could test myself.

     There was the usual arguing, and the snap of a sharp object
being drawn... not a proper blade, which came as a three inch
edge attached to a flat with handle, but a stupid stick-knife.

     Then it got interesting.  The green umbrella folded down, a
rare sight in the C'atel rains... and the small red-haired girl
that was carrying it assumed a fighting position.  Combat?  With
an umbrella?  It was unlikely, but possible... Wae Spat had some
details on bar-brawling after you lose your spatulas, and
umbrellas ranked sixth on the list of Best Items to Grab, below
bar stools and unsuspecting patrons.

     The black umbrellas folded up too, ready to fight, although
none of them were used as weapons.  Instead, they had pointed
stick knives, like typical criminal amateurs.

     The girl managed to plow through the criminals with
surprising speed, knocking two of them aside with her umbrella
and breaking into a flat-out run.  The third took aim, and sent
his blade flying through the air after her...

     ...where it embedded in her shoulder with a slight
electrical BZZZT, and three sparks.  She stumbled to the ground.

     An AI?  A robot?

     I was never sure why, but I picked that moment to take my
test.

                              *

     Vaulting down from twenty feet and landing on someone is
very painful (another sign of my possible humanity), but it broke
my fall enough not to kill me.  The third guy collapsed under my
weight, screaming in pain as a limb or two snapped.  I quickly
rolled and slid both spatulas under him, tossing him out into the
street.  A bus came by; the rest should be obvious.

     The other two were just getting up, wondering why they
weren't winning this fight.  They were easily thrown against the
walls... I barely had to think about it.  One moment they were
there, another they were slumped at the base of a wall and a
dumpster.  End of fight.

     I slid the spatulas back into their felt holders, and
quickly darted to the girl's side, where she was trying to pull
the knife out with considerable effort.

     "Are you hurt?" I asked.

     "Not really," she said.  "Well, a little.  Luckily it didn't
hit anything important, but this arm won't be very responsive for
a week, what with the rain getting in it.  Could you please pull
that out?" she asked, tapping the knife embedded in her shoulder.

     I nodded, and pulled the knife out, a snapped wire yanking
out with it.  The girl nodded thanks and turned around.

     She seemed harmless enough... not the type that could knock
two criminals silly with an umbrella.  She had shoulder length
red hair, the kind that almost looks like a solid plastic piece
until the person moves.  She wore a tattered blue MACROWARE
jacket over her sundress, and a pair of matching blue glasses
perked on the end of her nose, which she promptly pushed back up.

     "Thanks," she said.  "C'atel just isn't the safe place it
used to be, I guess, with those F.A.ST. jerks running around. 
Where'd my umbrella go?"

     "But you took a sharp in your shoulder," I said, pointing to
the rip in her dress.  "Why don't you bleed?"

     "Android," she said, grabbing her umbrella and opening it. 
"I ought to introduce myself... my name's Help."

     "Sarah Ann," I said.  "I... I haven't really had much
experience with AIs."

     "We're not that bad, despite what some punks think," she
said, nudging a nearby body with the toe of her sandal.  "Just
like you, only electronic.  Although you seem to be a better
fighter than me."

     "Wae Spat," I nodded.  "The recent art of fighting."

     "Good stuff.  I just know how to whack things with an
umbrella... it's helpful at some of my nastier junior highs,
though.  Say, could you walk me home?  These guys have been
aiming for me over the last few days, and an actual warrior would
be nice to keep around."

     I wasn't too sure.  Wasn't I supposed to be throwing myself
off a building?  Or had I already done that, technically?

     "Problem?" she asked.  "If it's about me being artificially
intelligent, that's alright, I understand.  It's been a problem
before--"

     "No, it's not that.  Well, sort of.  I'm not sure anymore,"
I admitted.

     "Sounds like someone could use a chat.  Come on, my
apartment's this way."

                              *

     I had never met a real AI before.  I had heard of them,
everybody had... AI rights protest demonstrations, the occasional
one going nuts and leaving a wake of destruction behind, AIs
taking part on horribly dangerous sports competition shows... but
I had never met one, face to face before.  There was no
difference on the exterior that I could find, which sent a wave
of fear down my spine.

     "Something wrong?" Help asked, turning the key in her
apartment door.

     "Just cold," I said, faking a chill.  I didn't have to fake
it, really... I WAS cold.  Wet clothing that has been in the rain
for days will do that to you.

     "I've got some hot cocoa in here you can have," Help said.

     "You drink cocoa?"

     "Certainly.  Tastes good and warms you up."

     "But you're an AI."

     "One that's also a little cold," she said.  "Hate this door,
it always sticks..."

     She took her closed umbrella and rammed the point into the
door, making it fly open.  I noticed a dozen similar umbrella-
point indentations near that spot in the split-second before the
ancient wooden door span on its hinges.

     "Much better.  This a-way... feel free to get comfortable
while I make the cocoa, just don't sit on the furniture until the
heater dries you out," Help said, wandering off to the kitchen.

     This did not resemble an AI's home.  No extra limbs, no
tools... nothing you'd see in movies.  However, Wae Spat
Philosophy taught you not to believe movies, advertising or
lawyers (passage #466), so I dismissed the fact that I ever
considered that.

     It was a nice house, really.  The furniture was modern, the
kind you can buy for low prices from Norwegian kit-outlets.  Some
photos were strewn about the place... photos of Help with groups
of kids.  A strip of five holo-photos taken in a cheap five-
credit booth, of Help and some Ytt.  A framed picture of Help
standing with someone wearing tasteless tropical clothing, waving
to the camera... was that a suction cup on his palm?

     Next to that lurked a wooden cabinet full of cheap items
such as collector's plates and plastic mugs, each labelled with a
planet name.  Souvenirs.

     All of them were memories Help had been collecting.  Did all
AIs have memories, or were these recent experiences?  If they
treasured items like this, ate and slept, and even had trouble
opening doors, how were they different than humans?

     I wanted to be human in the worst way.  Being an AI wasn't
that bad, from what I could see, except for the problem with
people treating you funny, but people always treat fast food
warriors funny.  However, if I were an AI, I wouldn't really be
my father's daughter.  I wouldn't be the heir to his wisdom or
his love.

     No; I had to be human.  It was the only acceptable choice.

     "Cocoa," Help said, passing me a warm mug.  "It's an
imitation brand, I'd better warn you.  Fake sugar, less fat, and
stuff like that.  Still tastes good."

     I cradled the cup in my hands, feeling its warmth.  I took
an experimental sip... for someone who had not eaten or drank in
the last few days, it was like nectar.  I drank some more.

     "Pretty thirsty, huh?" Help asked, as I downed the last of
it.  "'fraid that's all there is.  Two packets only."

     "It is alright, miss," I said.

     "Please, call me Help.  It's what my students call me."

     "Students?"

     "I'm a substitute teacher now," she said.  "Got the job very
recently.  It's quite fun because I happen to know a lot, and the
kids always are expecting a sub that has no idea what the class
is about so they can goof off.  Sometimes when I'm feeling
especially mean I issue pop quizzes and grade them on spot. 
Horrible Help, those classes call me."

     "The name... Help... is it foreign?"

     "No, it's a computer term.  Long story."

     "Why haven't you changed it?  Doesn't it peg you as an AI?"

     "Yeah, it does.  I don't mind, though.  It's the name I've
used since I was created, so I'm hanging on to it."

     "What about your glasses?  Don't AI's have perfect vision?"

     "I took a blow to the head from some F.A.ST. punks, and it
seemed to throw my optics out of whack," she said, taking a
moment to polish her glasses with a portion of her dress. 
"Instead of finding someone who repairs androids, I just bought
glasses.  Simple solutions work wonders and cost less."

     "What's... eff ay est?" I asked, sounding out each letter.

     "F.A.ST," she corrected, putting the glasses back on.  "Just
some locals who don't like AIs.  Flesh Against STeel.  They're
not evil people, but have some misplaced notions about what
constitutes a person nowadays.  Living in the past, all of them."

     I nodded, soaking in the knowledge.  Figuring she didn't
mind all these questions, I continued.

     "Miss, if you don't mind me asking... do you have a family?"

     "I supposedly have a fiancee, but that's by e-mail only,"
Help joked.  "I haven't seen him in awhile.  He's been travelling
around looking for sad people.  Plus I've got a tourist friend
called N.M. who writes me letters and sends me souvenirs... see
the cabinet over there?  All his junk.  He means well, though,
and I dust it occasionally.  There's also the kids at school..."

     "I mean immediate family.  Mother... a father?" I asked,
hopeful.

     "Unless William Doors, CEO of Macroware counts, no," Help
said, sipping her cocoa.  "The only AIs with parents are usually
ones who were created by couples who can't have a kid, or AI
couples."

     "Humans can adopt AIs?"

     "Not legally, but that doesn't stop them.  It's a tricky
situation, but it works if you have a very open minded family."

     "How can they correctly call their parents parents if they
were not birthed by them?" I asked.

     "I don't know.  It just works, somehow, part of the culture. 
There's a whole AI mythos, really, it's quite interesting.  Even
some religions about some innocence goddess named Melody, but I'm
not into those.  I just teach and enjoy life.  It's been a good
life since I worked at Macroware."

     "It doesn't sound bad," I nodded.

     "It's not.  Thinking of becoming an AI?" she asked,
smirking.

     "No," I quickly replied.  "Although... no.  I don't know. 
Excuse me, please, it has been a long day..."

     "No worries.  You're welcome to stay here until daybreak. 
Streets just aren't safe anymore.  Next thing you know, those
F.A.ST. goons will be invading AI homes."

     Then the door burst open.

     Three criminals similar to the ones who attacked us earlier
that night were there, backed up by a mob of others, each with
various armaments.  I instinctively pulled out my spatulas and
ready-gripped them.

     "This is the last day you'll be allowed to ruin our
children, automation," the leader said, pointing a finger at
Help.  "Get her."

     The crowd swarmed in, knocking cheap knick-knacks off N.M.'s
personal shrine as they bulged through the opening, five of them
tackling the substitute teacher while a few others regarded me
with amusement.

     "Got her!" one of them yelled from the other side of the
room, over some muffled yells from Help.  "What do we do with
that other one?"

     "Are you human?" the leader asked me.

     I paused, not sure what I should be doing.  The others
happily dragged Help away, tied up in wire and electrical tape,
while the leader kept me blocked away from the brawl.

     "I... I am Sarah Ann Tatewaki," I replied, unsure of what
else I could say.  "Master of the Wae Spat, daughter of Jim Bob-"

     "Just answer the question, are you human?" he asked.

     "Yes," I said, trying to look away.

     "Good!" he said.  "We gotta stick together against these
cheap Disney audio-animatronics that try to claim they're people. 
Keep up the breathing!"

     With that, he returned to the pack, which was out the door
and off, rowdy cheers echoing off in the distance of the
apartment building hallways.

     I was human; he said so.  I was my father's daughter.  I was
a living being with thoughts and feelings and a conscience. 
There was no more proof required.

     Then my taped-up arm fell off.

     I sat there, looking at my own limb, complete with a sad
little blob of duct tape jutting off it.

     No.  I was kidding myself.  That's an obvious sign, a
punchline to a long and elaborate joke.  I'm an AI, reality said
so.  A robot, a droid, an automation, a thing.

     I grabbed my arm and re-affixed it.  Well, if I'm going to
be a thing, then I'll be a thing.  I may or may not be a
Tatewaki, I may or may not be alive, but that didn't matter right
now.  In the here and now of my life, down below the building,
another of my kind was in trouble.  The man had said it; we had
to stick together.

     Time to go to work.

     I re-gripped both spatulas and jumped out the window.

                              *

     In the time it took for the men to emit one F.A.ST. war cry,
I was already on top of them, swinging down the fire escape and
flipping my way down, spatulas first.

     The flat-blade cleaved off the arm of the leader, who was
holding the roaring chainsaw, which skittered away.  He howled in
pain and ran around, as the others gaped in astonishment.

     A kick here.  A punch there.  Throw, throw.  Body slam. 
Flip.  One by one they went down, my spatulas doing the work for
me, machine-like in precision as they sought targets and
deflected blows.  If I wasn't a Tatewaki, at least I would have
made them proud, establishing a Wae Spat record for largest
number of opponents downed in half a minute.

     The last of them, the now armless guy with the chainsaw,
turned to me in shock.

     "What the--?  What'd you do that for?  You're human!  Just
who do you think you are?" he demanded, clutching at his empty
shoulder socket.

     "I'm Sarah Ann," I said.  "I'm an AI."

     With that, I picked him up and tossed him into the nearest
dumpster.

     I stood there, panting in my now shredded apron, taped up
arm at a slightly more obtuse angle than the other arm.  I was
victorious.  Jim Bob would have approved and cooked up a batch of
fries.

     However, Help wasn't as lucky.  On the streets swirling with
water and the occasional trickle of blood, her cut-apart form lie
there, chainsaw dealing out humanity's justice against a simple
umbrella-carrying substitute teacher.

     Ordinarily I would have decided to go on a month long
revenge streak to avenge her, but now I knew this wasn't
efficient or even necessary.  She was an android; androids can be
repaired.  Human anger boils down when you realize that a little
arcweilding can put you back in shape.

     She said she worked at Macroware once, and had a jacket to
prove it.  In all likelihood, they built her, and they could
repair her.  Why not?  It would be the humane thing to do.

     I piled up all the pieces I could find, and carefully
carried them, one by one, up to her apartment.  After that, it
was just a matter of calling a travel agent and using Help's
credit chip.