How We Died

Time: 9:30 A.M

Half an hour later, Akos and I stood outside the tiny entrance to a dilapidated basement. This was what we called the Workshop; it was where Art had been housed ever since we decided to build him seven orbits ago.

Akos and I took care not to step on the creaky steps, or else the ganas, tiny creatures that desired nothing more than to bite your toes off, would wake up and start nibbling.

I leapt down on the dusty floor. The ganas stayed in the stairs; we were quite safe here.

Boxes lined the walls, just like we had left it. In the right corner of the room was my desk, with just my computer on it. In the center of the dusty floor, lay the silvery-white body of Art the mechanical shapeshifter in panther form, inanimate until I inserted his chip just behind his right ear. My left eye saw that his belly was full of fuel. That was good news for us, as it meant we didn't have to fill him up.

"Can I play my flute?" Akos asked.

"Not for about an hour," I replied. "There's only a little left of Art's code left to write, and this is a manual computer."

I switched on my computer and opened the writing software, which appeared as a hologram. I pulled the keyboard closer to me and began to write what was left of Art's code; memories. Terrified and alone AI was bad AI. I wanted Art to think of us as friends, a safe place to come. So I wrote about us; me, Akos, Toni, Arlequah, the memories we had shared, the good we had tried to do, the fact that we loved Art, that we had built him from hand for seven years, every day. All this and more I wrote into Art's chip.

"Are you done?" Akos asked. "Can I play my flute now?"

I gave him a dirty look. "I need to reread it. Wait. Fifteen more minutes."

Miracle of miracles, Akos stayed quiet. Fifteen minutes later, I pressed the button to print the chip and turned to Akos.

"Are you sure Art is done?" he asked, his warm grey eyes worried. "I mean - " he laughed nervously, " - we've been working on him for seven years. Him being, well, finished seems strange to me."

"It seems strange to me as well," I said softly as I turned the computer off and picked up the chip. "But if we keep waiting, will we ever know if he works?"

"I suppose not," Akos whispered. "Insert the chip."

"Wait."

I walked over to one of the boxes and pulled out two bottles of gasoline and oil mixture.

"We should have full stomachs if Art works," I murmured, my face pale. "Knowing him - which I do, seeing as I wrote his code, he will want to go around the City. And we should have full stomachs to show him around."

Akos nodded and accepted a bottle. We were both glad of an excuse to stall; a finished Art seemed worlds away.

I sank down next to Akos, sitting cross-legged.

"Drink," he ordered.

I lifted the bottle to my lips and drank. I felt the gasoline warm my partly mechanical heart, energizing me. The oil felt good, lubricating my steel stomach and limbs, rushing through my body.

I practically inhaled the rest. Akos was long finished with his and stared at me, a grin on his face.

"Ah, Shissa," he said, laughing. "She needs pushing to eat, but when she does, she becomes as voracious as a wild beast."

I elbowed him in the stomach. "Shut up."

Akos began his dramatics. He doubled over, coughing like an old man.

"Oh, she's killed me! Shissa is too strong! Run for your lives!"

Akos was stalling; yet the time for stalling was long gone.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm inserting the chip now, if you're interested."

Akos stopped his dramatics at once. He placed his hand on my shoulder, his eyes wide.

"Will Art love the flute?"

I sighed. "If that's all you're concerned about, I've added a certain response to music in his code. But if you abuse your flute, I can easily change that to make him tone-deaf."

Akos gasped. "You wouldn't."

"I would," I replied, jutting my chin out. "Now be quiet. I'm inserting the chip."

Akos went silent. My hand shook terribly. I missed the hole where it was supposed to go.

"We'll do it together," Akos said softly, taking my hand and guiding it up. "As sister and brother who have worked on Art for seven years."

Our combined hands found the hole and my fingers inserted the chip. I placed my mechanical hand on Art and felt the thrum of machinery bringing something to life.

Art was drowsing and needed to be woken up.

"Art, buddy," I whispered. "Time to wake up."