The Thoughts Of A Wandering Mind

"This Is Goodbye"

If Androids can fall in love...

There is something different in the Icons store. And have been for days. More than the newly assembled bots ready for purchase. Beyond the computers registered for human contact.

In the store's corner, just beside the register they programmed me to work, is you. A fresh-of-the-belt Model 5, you are supposed to be like the others designed before you and after. But there is something in your frame, a ringing in your data-share. I was drawn to it the second you were unloaded off the hardware trucks and placed within Icons' inventory. It is special.

You are special.

And I long to talk to you. But we Androids aren't allowed to mingle, to live. Simple human behaviors aren't given to us, are they? What could machines ever get out of that?

"Gray."

I have to pull my eyes off you to look at the man who controls every inch of us. He's portly and short, and our height difference lets me see the bald spot on the top of his head. But these things, these unsavory human details, weren't facts I could discuss out loud. So, I play my good attendant bot role and smile at him. "Morning, Mr. Thorton. How may I be of assistance?"

Mr. Thorton adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his nose before he leans against the computer in front of me. The register function pulls up on the digital screen with just a tap of his finger. And he sighs when he points at the time. "It's nearly noon," he says. "They're late."

"Who is?" I follow his finger as he taps the glass again. "Is there an appointment set up for purchase today?"

The tiny, balding man looks up at me as though I'd said the dumbest thing ever and gasps. His short legs hurry around the counter that separates me from the rest of the store. And he waddles... until he reaches you.

"Yes for purchase," he nearly shouts as he stands at your side, staring up at your slender physique and perfect, synthetic skin. "A Mr. George called in yesterday about picking up this Model 5. Said he saw her through our front window and needed to have her."

Oh, does he now?

I tap the register's power function and shut down the screen. My steps over to you and Mr. Thorton aren't as fast as his. I take my time as I cross the front area, listening to my black shoes connect with clean tile. And as I look at you, I wonder, can you feel my presence as I approach? Do you think I'm special, too? Our data-shares sync so perfectly.

"I keyed him in for pickup today, but he was supposed to be in an hour ago. I even called him!" Mr. Thorton moves over towards the large front windows and stares outside. Three cars pass, the sound of their engines blocking out the tiny grumbles he releases with each breath. And such perfect timing, too, because I rather feel the static from your battery.

With a shaky hand, I reach out. I touch your arm.

Can I name you?

"Don't touch the merchandise!" Mr. Thorton shouts as my fingertips grace your skin. I don't look at him as he rushes over towards us. I focus on your eyes instead. In their steel-blue light, I see me. My hair falls in between my eyes as Mr. Thorton gives me a small push. "Come on, hunk-a-metal!"

"I'm made of alloy, sir," I say without looking at him. I'm still focused on you. "Please refrain from name-calling."

"Name-calling, whatever," he huffs as he pushes back what little hair he has left. He fixes his glasses again. "It's not like it really hurts you. You don't feel, you know."

I look down at him as he looks at you. My lips press into a thin line.

"She is a beauty, though," he says, touching your arm. "I can see why he's eager to grab her for himself."