"Millie -- Part 1" by Megaera Callisto Lorenz

Dr. Jonathan Dupris gave a delighted chuckle, rubbing his palms together. “Ah, you will not have to wait for long,” he replied. “And I doubt that your curiosity will be disappointed.” He grinned, showing the chipped front tooth that added a charmingly crooked appearance to his smile. “Millie, dear! Come and take Mr. Kaufmann’s coat!” he cried.

“Millie!” I exclaimed. “Have you dismissed your Elsie?”

“No indeed, my dear Henry,” said Dupris, shaking his head. His jowls quivered with sheer excitement, and even the remnants of bushy white mane that still adorned his balding head seemed to stand up with anticipation. “But I doubt that anyone will have much need of a parlor maid in a few years, once she has become known to the world. I am still perfecting the whole device, of course, but . . .”

“My good man, I haven’t a clue what you’re going on about,” I laughed. But Jonathan had turned his attention elsewhere. I followed my friend’s entranced gaze until I saw the object of his fascination, and then I too had to stare.

A young woman had entered the hallway. She was about five feet tall, with a doll-like, youthful face. Her skin was almost as pale as china, with delightful, apple-red dimpled cheeks. Her hair hung about her face in raven-black ringlets, and her large, clear brown eyes sparkled. But there was something decidedly odd in the way she walked. Her gait was stiff, perhaps even mechanical.

The girl curtseyed awkwardly, and extended her arms. “May I take your coat, Mr. Kaufmann?” she intoned. What an odd inflection she had! And her face . . . doll-like was certainly the most apt description.

“Isn’t she a wonder?” whispered Jonathan.

“Good lord, man! What on earth is she?” I exclaimed, forgetting entirely about removing my coat.

“She’s an automaton,” said Jonathan, fixing me with an almost desperately pleased blue-eyed stare. “An android, you might say. Give her your coat!”

I dutifully removed my coat and handed it to the girl, who nodded, blinked, and took it with another curtsey. Jonathan and I watched in silence as she hung it in the hall closet.

“And her speaking . . . Does she do it by means of a recording cylinder? I have heard of some interesting experiments with talking clocks . . . back in the ‘70s, was it?” I asked at length.

Jonathan chuckled again, bouncing on his heels like a schoolboy in his delight. “No, no, no, my good man. She speaks by means of a mechanism rather like the Euphonia. It’s all valves and pumped air and artificial anatomy. She has lips and a tongue and vocal chords that work much like ours.”

“And I suppose you have her set to speak a few lines, like that chess-playing Turk . . .”

To my astonishment, the girl looked over her shoulder at me, winked, and said, “Échec!”

Jonathan patted her on the shoulder. “Very good, my dear! She knows her fellow automata. Ah, but the Turk was a hoax, with a human operator. Millie is entirely mechanical, but she speaks whatever phrases she wishes. I believe the definition for her type is the ‘simple’ automaton, although that is hardly the word I would choose to describe her.”

“I don’t believe it,” I said, shaking my head incredulously. “How can an automaton show human intelligence? Perhaps you’ve only put a mask on Elsie.”

“Ah!” exclaimed Jonathan, raising one finger. His grin widened still further. “Follow me into the parlor, if you please, both of you.”

Millie curtseyed deeply, and followed her master out of the hallway. Consumed with curiosity, I went after them. We entered the parlor.

“Now, then,” said Jonathan, looking supremely pleased with himself. “Observe, Harry, and I am quite sure that all of your doubts will be put to rest.” He approached Millie. “At the risk of compromising your modesty, my dear, I am going to show your inner workings to Mr. Kaufmann,” he told her. “Turn around.”

The girl dutifully shuffled around so that her back was to Jonathan, and he carefully undid the buttons at the back of her frock. He laid open the dress and undergarments to reveal such a lovely white back, such girlish curves, that I found myself actually blushing. Jonathan now lifted away the soft ringlets to reveal a latch, which he unfastened. The whole of her back swung open to reveal a coldly beautiful array of brass gears, rods, and pulleys, along with various other clockwork accoutrements.

“My God!” I ejaculated. I approached to get a closer look.

“A pretty thing inside as well as out, isn’t she?” said Jonathan, beaming with paternal pride.

“Indeed. So she really is an automaton!”

“Did you really doubt me, old friend?”

I could only shake my head in wonder. Millie turned her head, and I watched the turning of gears within her torso. Now I was aware of the soft whirring and clicking that emanated from her person with every movement.

“Will you close me now, Dr. Dupris?” she said suddenly. “I shall get dust in my clockwork.”

“She is terribly amusing, I must say,” I said, now beginning to grin myself.

She turned her entire torso in my direction, fixing me with her great glass eyes. “It was not my intention to amuse,” she said in her odd, monotonous way. She did not smile or blink. The whole effect was disconcerting, and I quickly looked away.

Jonathan laughed, although even he seemed somewhat uncomfortable. “She never likes to have her clockwork exposed,” he said. “She is quite modest.” He quickly concealed the delicate machinery once again behind the lovely shoulder-blades and began refastening her garments. “She is very sensitive to what goes on in her inner workings,” he continued.

I sat down and stroked my chin thoughtfully, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. While a great number of advances had been made both in the construction of automata and in the replication of human speech, I could think of no recent development in technology that would even remotely approach the ability to imbue a machine with human intelligence. It must be some sort of clever illusion, I decided. I knew of automata that could answer a few questions posed to them, but there was always a human operator present somewhere upon the scene to manipulate the device to deliver the appropriate response.

“How does she work?” I asked, leaning forward in my chair and clasping my hands.

“What’s that?” asked Jonathan, looking at me over his shoulder as he finished buttoning up her collar. He had that impossible impish smile on his face that told me I would get nothing out of him. I still persisted.

“I say, how does she work? I can’t believe it’s really possible for this machine to think and converse like a human being.”

“Careful, old boy. She hears and understands everything that you say. Don’t belittle her,” he replied.

“You’re beating about the bush, Jonathan.”

“Never fear,” he said. “You will know everything that I do about the mechanism all in good time. I plan to present her to the world at a special exhibition. I have only to schedule it with the members of the board of The Association of Modern Scientific Advancement, which I will do in a few weeks time. Meanwhile, I have much perfecting to do.”

At this juncture, he bade Millie sit down, and departed to order tea. The mechanical girl sat upon the divan, perfectly still and without showing the slightest sign of life. Her eyes stared straight ahead, taking no notice of me. I got up from the chair in which I had been lounging by the fire and moved to sit beside her.

When I sat, Millie’s head turned to look at me so suddenly that I started. The motion produced a soft “whirr.” She returned to stillness, but her eyes were fixed directly upon me.

“So tell me, my dear,” I began, feeling strangely awkward under her intent gaze, “how do you work?”

Millie’s dark eyelashes lowered and lifted again as if she were appraising me, and then I heard the soft hiss of the bellows within her filling with air as she prepared to speak. I thrilled at the eerie tone of her voice. “How do you work, Mr. Kaufmann?”

I gave a startled laugh. “Why, I am a living man!” I replied.

“And how does a living man work?” she pressed.

“Well, I really couldn’t begin to answer that,” I said frankly.

“I know how a living man works,” she said, blinking once.

“Oh?”

She nodded stiffly. “A living man does not work at all,” she said. “He allows woman to do his work for him.”

I stared at her in astonishment, and then laughed heartily. “Well I see that aside from your other attributes, you also boast a sense of humor!” I chuckled.

“Do I?” she replied, showing no change of expression.

Before I could reply, Jonathan returned. “I see you are becoming familiar with her,” he said, beaming. “Tea is on its way.”

“If she is a deception, I must say she is a clever one,” I told him. By now I was just as elated as he was. “I do hope that you will be finished with your adjustments soon. I am dying with eagerness to see your presentation.”

Jonathan seated himself, once again rubbing his hands together with glee. “I can’t wait to see the look on Prof. Hutchison’s face,” he said. “I imagine it will be priceless.”

“So I would imagine!” I agreed. “Does she remember everything that she hears?”

“I remember everything,” said Millie. Her voice so close to my ear made me jump again. I turned to look at her, and all at once felt her hand upon my own. Her fingers were undeniably mechanical and jointed beneath the dainty gloves that adorned them, and yet I felt my heart give a jump in my chest at her touch.

“You are certainly a charming creature,” I said with a laugh, feeling myself blush again. “Quite lovely!”

“Thank you, Mr. Kaufmann,” she intoned flatly. She had lifted my hand and was examining it with what seemed to be nothing more than cool curiosity. And yet, she was so oddly enchanting . . . How silly of me, I thought, to be feeling such things about an automaton!