"Artificial Intelligence" by Amber Silver

His partner glanced up from the computer monitor. “Is something wrong?” He asked. The light cast eerie shadows over the his pale face, making it appear strangely alien.

Jones answered his question with another. “Are you certain the video feed is prepared?”

His colleague nodded, almost imperceptibly. It was not uncommon for Jones to assign him a task, only to later check and re-check to ensure that it was completed.

Was that irritation I just saw? Jones wondered, amused. But his partner had already returned to the computer screen, fingers flying over the keyboard, drawing out an electronic melody.

Clack-clack-clack. Enter. Clackity-clackity. Enter. It ground on Jones’ last nerve.

Suddenly, the door to the assessment room swung open and a nurse in a crisp white uniform entered, followed shortly by a young girl. Jones felt his breath catch in his throat. It was time.

His partner turned and rose from the computer, retrieving a clipboard and a pencil from the desk before joining Jones in front of the two-way mirror. The nurse directed the child to sit in a squat metal chair while she took a seat on a three-legged stool. The nurse and the child faced each other, both profiled for the viewers in the observation room.

Jones marveled in silence at the little girl. She had long, straight blonde hair and pale skin. She wore a flimsy hospital gown and smock, with institution-issued cotton slippers. The girl was barely eleven years old but she was already a wonder of science.

The nurse placed a thick dossier on the metal table in front of her and began to organize the papers in preparation for the exam. The child watched, unblinking. Finally, the nurse lifted a single flashcard for the child to examine. Though Jones and his partner could not see the face of the thick 8x5 card, they both knew the sequence of images that would appear.

“Amanda?” The nurse asked although the child was already staring at her dully, “What is this?”

“That is a tree. It appears to be of the deciduous broadleaf category. A beech, perhaps.”

“’Tree’ is a sufficient answer, Amanda.” The nurse responded dryly as she placed the flashcard facedown on the table and retrieved another. “And this?”

“People. Specifically, an adult male, an adult female and two children – one girl, one boy.”

“But what do they represent, Amanda?”

A brief pause. “A family.”

Jones felt his excitement grow exponentially with each answer, though his expression did not waver from clinical detachment. Beside him, his colleague’s pencil scratched over the paper, hurriedly writing.

“And this, Amanda?”

“A black cat.”

“What do black cats represent in popular superstition?”

“’To cross a black cat is bad luck. Bad luck is defined as ‘an unfortunate state resulting from an unfavorable outcome’. See also: walking beneath a ladder, smashing a mirror, spilling salt-“

“Bad luck is sufficient, Amanda.” The nurse interrupted, reproachful.

“Very well.”

The nurse retrieved the fourth flashcard in the series. “What is this picture, Amanda?”

“A human female, approximately ten years old. A smiling little girl.” She amended after a pause.

“How do you feel about this picture, Amanda?”

The girl’s eyebrows briefly furrowed together but the confusion was soon replaced by her usual unblinking stare. “I enjoy the picture. It is good that the girl is happy.”

Jones exhaled sharply before he realized that he had been holding his breath. He felt the tension from all the years of stress and uncertainty drain out of his body, washing down his limbs in torrents. Relief!

No. He corrected himself, Success.

He turned to his colleague and exchanged an enthusiastic handshake. When Jones glanced back at the room, he caught the nurse staring at the glass as though observing their brief moment of excitement. Surely, even she could gather the monumental implications of such an answer!

“Well done, Jones.” His partner said dryly. “It seems she is a success.”

Jones nodded and began to adjust his tie. “Indeed.” He replied, “All the others were utter disappointments, but I feel that she could be different.”

Without waiting for a response, Jones strode towards the exit several feet away, pulled open the door and stepped into the assessment room. Left behind in the darkness, his colleague’s lips curled in genuine amusement.

The nurse looked up as Dr. Jones entered.

“That will be enough for now.” Jones dismissed. Without a word, the nurse gathered the flashcards and left through the door in which doctor had just entered.

“Hello Amanda.” He greeted the child warmly. “Do you know who I am?”

“You are Dr. Jones.” She identified.

“Yes. But do you know who I am?” Jones knelt in front of the girl. When she did not respond he said, “I’m your father. I made you.”

“My father.” The girl repeated slowly.

“Yes, Amanda. I am very pleased with what you have accomplished here today.” Jones rose to his feet and patted the girl on the shoulder. She looked up at him as though she were about to ask a question, but he stopped her with a proud smile. Without warning, Jones grabbed the back of the girl’s neck between his thumb and forefinger and applied quick, sharp pressure. There was an audible click and the girl’s eyelids slowly lowered with a hiss. Jones leaned over and pressed the black button situated beneath the wall intercom.

There was a brief garble of static and then, “Yes, Doctor?”

“Please send the dolly to retrieve BETA-034.” He ordered.

“Of course, Doc-.” Jones released the button without waiting for the orderly to finish speaking. Then, as an afterthought occurred to him, he leaned back to the wall and paged the orderly again.

“Please notify tech to dispose of all of the prototypes. They are no longer required.”

Jones released the intercom button, and placed a hand on the soft, yellow hair. You almost could not tell it was synthetic. He looked down at the girl’s carefully constructed body and then he considered his own. Where his weak human flesh protected muscle and bones, hers housed an intricate arrangement of circuits and a sturdy metal frame. If Jones had been a more sensitive man, he would have had to blink away his emotions at that moment. Instead he stared silently at the child while his mind wandered towards the inevitable acceptance speeches he would give, and to the total strangers who would applaud his success.

The nurse and the scientist stood in the observation room, watching the doctor and the girl.

“Congratulations, Giles. It seems that she is a success.” The nurse commented.

“Indeed.” Giles concurred. “I had feared that this experiment would be a complete failure, but it appears that some good may come of it after all.”

The nurse detected the self-deprecation in his tone. “You can hardly be blamed for the failure of species 10-73. They were just an experiment, after all.”

Giles considered her words without comment. As he did so, his transparent ocular membranes slid across each eye in succession. It was too dry here.

“Giles.” The nurse cautioned, but the lids were already retracting.

“Yes, this species was a complete failure.” He agreed with a tight smile before he returned his attention to the assessment room. “But now there is a BETA version, and soon the original will be obsolete.”