The Android and the Feather
This was my second attempt on a flash fiction piece for SSFWORLD.COM flash fiction contest. I have sent a slightly modified version to Asimov’s for submission. We shall see if it is purchased.
The image projected on the screen.
“This is ten,” the technician said.
On the screen were two rows of black dots. The dots were circular, two hundred and twenty-five centimeters in diameter. There were five dots in each row. They filled the entire screen.
“Do you understand?” The technician’s voice was cold, clinical.
“Yes,” the android answered. Its vocal mechanics were smooth, fluid.
The android sat on an aluminum chair behind a small steel table. It’s eyes were fixed on the screen. To the android’s right, in his pressed, white lab coat, sat the technician. The android wore gray institutional scrubs. To the left of the android, reflecting the dim light of the display screen, was a mirror.
The next slide appeared on the screen. The dots were smaller now. Five rows of ten dots.
“This is one hundred. Do you understand?” The technician never looks up from his clipboard as he asks the questions.
“Yes.”
The next slide. One-thousand dots. Each dot was two point two five centimeters in diameter. The technician asked the same question.
“Yes,” answered the android, always in the same voice.
Then a hundred thousand dots.
“Yes.”
A million?
“Yes.”
A billion small dots appeared on the screen. Three microns in diameter. Five hundred thousand dots across. Two hundred thousand dots high.
“This is a billion. Do you understand?” The dots had gotten so small that if the technician were to ever take his eyes off his clipboard, he would only see a gray screen.
“Yes,” the android answered.
The next slide.
“This is a trillion. Do you understand?”
The robot paused for a moment. “No, I do not understand. It appears to be nine hundred and ninety-nine billion.”
The android was correct. The screen was one row short of a trillion dots—although the naked human eye could never discern that. It was a control question. The technician looked towards the mirror and nodded.
“We’ll move on to the next section of the test.” The android didn’t answer.
A single gray and white feather appeared on the screen.
“This is a feather. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
The next slide appeared. It was an enlargement of the feather. Different sections of the feather were marked and labeled: the shaft running down the center was the rachis; the fluff at the bottom was the afterfeather; and the bristles running off the shaft were the barbs.
“Do you see the feather’s barbs?”
“Yes.”
The next slide came on. It was the same as the earlier one: a full shot of a single gray feather.
“What is this?” This was another control question.
“It is the feather from a bird, most likely an Ocyphaps lophotes, although complete genetic testing would be required to make an empirical positive match.”
The technician nodded to the mirror again. “Can you visibly distinguish each of the barbs of this feather?”
“Yes.”
The technician actually looked at the android when as he asked the next question. “How many barbs are there?”
“Indeterminable.”
A slight grimace passed over the technician’s face. He shifted in his chair. The android didn’t notice his discomfort. They continued with the test. The feather was still on the screen.
“This feather has 876 barbs. Do you understand?”
“Yes”
“How many barbs does this feather have?”
“Indeterminable.”
The technician put down his clipboard. He removed his glasses and with thumb and forefinger rubbed his eyes. “I’ll be back shortly.”
The android didn’t answer.
The technician replaced his glasses, stood up and exited through the rooms only door. He entered in to another small room on the other side. Two men in gray suits watched him as he entered. One was slim, the other heavy—both looked perturbed. Through the non-reflective side of the two way mirror, the technician saw the android sitting – still, passive – it’s eyes still affixed to the screen and the feather it displayed. Although the physical characteristics of the android perfectly matched those of a man, it in no way looked human.
“Care to explain?” one of the men in the gray suits—the portlier one—asked.
“If I could, perhaps I’d win the Nobel Prize,” the technician said. His face looked worn. Dark circles drooped under his eyes. “Every time we get to this point it shuts down.”
“Well damn it. Don’t you understand? We have been hyping this new model for the last six months,” the slimmer man began. “This android is of yours was supposed to be the smartest yet. Able to think like a human. But instead it acts as smart as a house-bot.”
“Perhaps the tests are flawed?” the fatter man said. “Perhaps it simply can’t see well enough to distinguish the individual barbs?”
The technician shook his head. “No, it can’t be that. For one thing, it could count, in a fraction of a second, a trillion dots—and they’re a lot smaller then the barbs of that feather.” He walked over to the mirror and looked at the android. “We tried the experiment with four oranges on the screen. Four. But still couldn’t count them. Indeterminable. That’s all it would say. It’s like I told you: these tests are too soon. We still have a lot of bugs to work out.”
“Well, have you questioned it yet?” the slim man asked.
“We,” the technician paused, “well we have been drafting up a proposal to do just that.”
“A proposal? Our company has invested billions of dollars into your university—not to make an inane robot—but to make thinking androids. We don’t have time to sit around and wait for your scientific inquiry,” the slim man said.
The technician looked at the slim man. “We must follow a scientific approach or you’ll get no results. I can guarantee you that.”
“This is scientific bullocks. We want to know what’s wrong right now.” The fat man said.
“If your not willing to ask the damn thing, I’ll do it myself.” The slim man said, then barged into the room where the android sat. The technician and the fat man followed. The android didn’t even look up.
The slim man walked between the android and the screen.
“Excuse me,” he said to the the passive face of the android, “but if you could be so kind as to tell me why the number of barbs on that feather are ‘indeterminable?’” The venom in his voice was lost to the android.
“Because I am not one to speculate on his work.” The android said in his smooth voice.
The slim man looked at the technician crossly, then back to the android’s blank face. “And who’s work would that be?”
The android cocked his head to the side. “God’s,” he answered.
The slim mans jaw slightly dropped. The fat man turned to the technician. “You’ve already asked him this haven’t you.”
The technician slowly nodded his head. “I told you—there are still some bugs to work out.”
Tags: android, flash fiction, Sci-Fi