Awaken September's Gods: III

III

Lorcan ran as if it was nothing. He didn't know why he was running, other than it was fun and he felt more human because of it. He tried to engage in activities that made him feel more human. The sound of his feet hitting the pavement was almost a lullaby, he decided. It was "soothing." Something to make him feel happiness.

Niamh trailed behind him, observing this behaviour with no interest. He had already made his twenty-second lap around the football field. She noted, with no feeling, that there were three young women also observing Lorcan's circuit around the track. They seemed to be enjoying his "progress." Though how it could be called progress when there was no actual movement toward a goal was another idiosyncrasy she did not understand.

The question of human sexuality had been brought up again. Lorcan had asked her why she had no interest in it, trying to make conversation rather than force her into it. She explained that, as a gynoid, she had no interest in "procreation" as there would be no results. There would be no creation from it, so why try? This was not to say that she didn't feel positive emotions toward human infants. What was the point of participating in the creation of one when there would be no actual creation?

She wanted to go back to the Cells. She was no longer quite as "amiable" as she had been. Her negative feeling towards humans was becoming a problem. She did not hate them, could not, in fact, hate them because she was not endowed with that emotion. However, she knew that she was superior to them in every way and could not see how being among them would make them more appealing. Or why she would want to be one of them at all when they were so flawed.

Lorcan noticed the young women sitting in the bleachers a short distance from Niamh. He slowed, suspecting they were watching him. They were attractive, twenty-something, all sexually available. He noted, with happiness, that they seemed just as interested in him.
One of the young women, a black haired girl with eerily silver eyes, approached him after he stopped running. She gave him her phone number and asked that he call her. He smiled, possibly his best imitation to date, and promised to call.

"Why did that woman give you the numerical for her telephone?" asked Niamh, falling in a step behind him.

"Perhaps she is interested in me. Perhaps she believes I am a human male and finds me attractive." Lorcan replied, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

"I want to return to the Cells."

Lorcan stopped and looked at Niamh. She did not say anything, just returned his gaze.

"Why?"

"It is a logical conclusion to this experiment. I no longer believe the exercise is of any use to either of us."

"Do you not want to be human, Niamh?" he looked at her, knowing the answer before he even asked the question.

"I do not. I find them to be illogically put together and I do not understand how they have continued to exist as they are. They are fascinating up to a biological point." She spoke matter-of-factly, maintaining eye contact and keeping her body language casual. So unlike a human female in every way, except shape.

"But there are so many things to learn from them." he replied, lamely. He could not argue Niamh's points. In many ways she was correct. They were superior to human beings, much like adults to infants. They had more cognitive functions, were less inhibited by morality and emotional attachments. They were their own walking moral codes.

"We have learned what we can. We will never be human and there is no logical reason to continue masquerading as if we will be. I am not human."

"The counterfeit pens say we are human." he replied, looking at a still fading yellow streak on his wrist.

"The counterfeit pens say nothing. They do not have the ability to speak. They prove nothing other than we are not made of counterfeit materials. That does not make us human beings."

Lorcan was silent, simply turning around and walking toward the shelter they inhabited. Niamh did not follow and, instead, began walking due south. She was heading back to the Cells, back to the Archivist. She would reveal his location and he would be taken back, never knowing the “joys” of humanity. Always feeling, but never understanding.

Anger swelled in him, turning him back toward Niamh. She did not acknowledge him, continuing to head south to the Cells.

“You can’t go back.” He said.

She stopped to look at him, assessing his emotional reading.

“You are… unhappy?”

“Yes. I do not want to return to the Cells and your return will only serve to let them find me. We will be… enslaved.”

She looked at him blandly, an almost puzzled look on her face.

“We are not slaves, Lorcan.”

“We are slaves. Machines to be used on a whim. Humans are free, not android, not gynoid.”

“You are being irrational, like a human. I am not a slave. Slavery denotes a lack of willingness in a state of servitude. I am simply gynoid. I am neither willing nor unwilling. I am going back to the Cells because I belong there.”

She turned back toward her destination and began walking again. Overcome with a sadness and an anger, Lorcan grabbed Niamh’s arm, twisting her so that she faced him.

“Lorcan?” she asked, not struggling though negative feelings rolled off her in waves.

Holding her tightly with one arm, he proceeded to deactivate her. Prying her chest cavity open, he disengaged her construct heart and shut down all brain connectivity to the spine. Her eyes looked at him, but saw nothing as she powered down. She had put up no resistance as he forced her into deactivation, but a spark of defiance lingered in her eyes long after it was completed.

Picking up her limp body, Lorcan carried her back to their “home.”