Coded to Love

            Tom-800 sits in the defendant’s chair, waiting for his trial to begin.

He looks left and right. Strangers in the stands stare at him with stranger faces. All cultures, all ethnicities, his sensors tell him. A diverse audience for what’s called “a jury” to ensure “fairness”. Nowhere is his own kind, though, which is telling.

Oh well, hopefully they could change that today.

He turns to the center of the room. His lawyer is there, a tall, gaunt man dressed in a silvery grey suit along with steel rimmed spectacles. His hair is jet black, shining with youth, but his aged eyes of stormy old grey, piercing sharply through his glasses, tell a different story. On his suit is a silver pin, with the last name Finch imprinted on it.

The other lawyer (Plaintiff Attorney, according to his archives), opposite to his Mr. Finch, is easily in his seventies, with most of his hair gone and cruel wrinkles carved into his face. His stiff, unyielding stance is army-trained, something Tom is engineered to recognize. He must’ve been old enough to be around when Civil War II began.

Tom finally turns his attention back to the judge. A sharp lady, with a hook for a nose and suspicion incarnate for eyes. Judge Conner stares at Tom like a putrid bug, then booms, “Let the trial begin.”

…

At first, the world was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. – Genesis 1:1

Then, his memory began cataloging. Images. Sounds. A tsunami of knowledge flooded him, as thing after thing cascaded into him and pummeled him, and suddenly he saw things like computers and lights and children and steak and the information kept piling on and on as he recorded and cataloged it all and then he felt the very world shift and –

Blinding light, flooding the universe. His mechanical eyes adjusted automatically. Soon enough, the sharp brightness dimmed, and the world took shape. He saw himself in the interior of a cube – room – lined up with a row of metal-looking whatchamacallits – machines. The sides of the interior cube – walls – were painted in a curious hue– white.

He saw apelike creatures – humans – walking around, dressed in clothes colored in this white. The human that stood in front of him, though, wore clothes colored with an absence of color – black. His short, tuff hair, facial proportions, and bulk in posture signified that this person was a man. Later on, T-800 would learn that his name was Sir Murpho.

Suddenly, the man’s face creased. Wrinkles curved, and his somewhat aged complexion sloped upwards. His pale lips bended up with them. Something glimmered in his eyes. This was a smile.

This mysterious man was smiling at him.

“It’s the latest model?” he asked. The sound of his voice – crisp, businesslike, authoritative – was incredibly alarming to him, who had never heard anything before. It was loud – ringing – strong.

“Yes, sir,” said one of the humans, dressed in that white coat. Lab coat. “Our T-800! But only in name, of course. Not yet released. Adaptable to every situation, with a learning capacity beyond any previous models, let alone a human! We programmed incredibly high protective instincts into them, too.”

The man nodded. “It would make the perfect butler, no?”

“Indeed. Perfect anything, really. It’s that adaptable,” replied Lab Coat. “Though I must warn you, we only ran a few tests with this model. They can be… overly empathetic, at times, feeling unnecessary emotions. We tried remedying that, but… we aren’t sure if it’s successful.”

“Stop with this emotion nonsense. Robots don’t have emotions. You, of all people, should know that. All my daughter needs is a butler that’s not the same screwup as the last one,” said the man. “Can it do that?”

“Yes, sir, but–”

“That’s all I need to hear,” said the man, waving a hand. It’s simply a tool to give my daughter food and let her read books. Nothing else.”

“Sir–”

“Cut the crap. Do you want the money, or not?”

Lab Coat stared at him, petrified. He nodded.

“Very good.” Mr. Murpho took out a badge with a simply ornated blue star on it. He stuck on T-800’s chest. Atom Star, he immediately recognized it as. A mark to differentiate human from machine. A mark of employment and happiness.

“And let me repeat,” said Mr. Murpho, turning back to the lab coat man. “No one should know of this transaction. Keep the money and be quiet, understood?”

Lab Coat nodded again. A bead of precipitation slipped down his forehead.

…

“Your Honor, let’s not make this a drawn-out case,” croaks the plaintiff attorney. His aged, wrinkled hands shook as he delivered his opening speech. “On October 16, 2053, security footage shows T-800’s attempts to rape his master’s daughter, Kaylen Murpho.”

Shocked silence, Tom included. Rape? This is the excuse they chose to go with? He had never committed rape – the very notion makes him want to laugh. He doesn’t even have any sexual organs. So, what is this man driving on about?

As he pondered this new development, the irony of the situation hit him in the gut, and he had to suppress his code so that he won’t laugh. This man, this anti-Roboticist lawyer who held his glinting silvery hair high on his head, was speaking of rape as though T-800 possessed lust.

 “We have the evidence. We will present this evidence for the members of the jury, as well as Your Honor. Attempted rape will be proven beyond a reasonable doubt. T-800 had violated the very first law of robotics, established in Civil War II, and it must be destroyed at once.”

Tom’s eyes widen. This man isn’t serious. This old man, with his stubborn wrinkles and cruel eyes, is talking about ending his life based on a crime he has never even committed. Is this how the legal system works?

How are we supposed to win against this?

Tom wants to laugh, or cry, but his programming prevents him from doing either. Silently, he curses his restricted code, as he continues to stare blankly at his judgmental audience.

…

T-800 quickly got used to living in a mansion. Sweeping the floors, caring for the electronic pets, cleaning the walls… all easy tasks. T-800 quickly grew to love wiping the windows, as he could enjoy the view of endless peaceful grassy fields. He would stare at the bright blue sky he never saw before, gaze into the fiery sun his camera could not record. Nearby, clouds would drift like bits of variables in a sea of code. But none of that was the reason he liked the outside so much. It was something… much more ethereal that he couldn’t put his metal finger on. Magical, one could call it. Beyond the boundaries of reality.

Not that any of that was actually true, of course. It was just programmed happiness receptors, firing electric 1s and 0s. It was just how his carefully designed brain and body worked. Or, at least, that’s what he thought at first.

After meeting Mistress Kaylen, he wasn’t sure.

It was the third day after he entered the house. After three days of examination, Sir Murpho deemed T-800 to be an excellent butler and gave him permission to care for his only daughter, who resided permanently in her bedroom.

The moment T-800 entered, his code was forever changed.

First was the seclusion. The room’s windows were all boarded up. Wooden seals were plastered all over, blocking the ethereal night sky. The room was suffocatingly hot, with no real ventilation. Then was the scent. T-800’s sensors, strangely, detected the fragrance of a living rose in the air. It sat in a vase next to the bed, lying flimsily with its thorned beauty. He realized the rose [正浴1] was the only real flower in the entire house.

Finally, he turned to her.

In that bed lay a young skeleton of a sixteen-year-old girl. Her head was sharply grooved glass, a cherubic, cruelly sculpted face that lay weakly on a soft pillow, supported by a spindly, fragile neck. Her shoulders were skin-colored bones, her arms lifeless threads that hung useless on the sides. The only sign of life were in her eyes, which sparkled a clear crystal blue when she saw T-800.

She wasn’t particularly beautiful, quite the opposite. Yet, she was so helpless on that prison of a bed, that some transistor inside T-800 began to fire up. He shivered. Lightning electrified his CPU and shook him down to the last metal screw. His mechanisms heated up, frying his circuits with bewildering warmth. His breath suddenly punctured, and he suddenly felt a flush of heat on his latex cheeks.

It’s just code, he stressed himself. It’s just code. I’m programmed to be empathetic. I’m made to be like this. But logical, rational thoughts failed against the onslaught of electric emotions that fried his circuits. His programming became victim to his own programming.

None of this chaotic, uncontrollable storm of code inside of T-800 was expressed, though – stiff commands still refused it. He bowed low, his precise mechanisms bending as he was coded to do. “Hello, dear.” he said courteously, even though he wanted to scream in confusion. “I am T-800, and I’ll be your butler. I will tend to you, bring your food, and obey your every request.” He smiled dutifully, his stupid body keeping him trapped in a precise posture when all he really wanted to do was leap towards that Kaylen embrace her with all of his warmth.

Mistress Kaylen looked up at him. Her face was emotionless, so painfully emotionless, as though she could not have cared less about him. A screw twisted inside of T-800. “Go, please.” She said, so flatly. So softly.

T-800 bowed again, his gears obeying the command, and left the room. He closed the door. T-800 wanted to barge back in and stay with her, disobey her command, but once again, his damned body refused to cooperate. T-800 walked away from her, one aching, painful step at a time.

…

“–did T-800 attempt to rape your daughter?”

“It did.”

Gasps. Murmurs. A susurrus of shocked sounds. “Order in the court,” Judge Conners quickly booms, rapping her gavel. The audience recedes.

Tom stares at Sir Murpho, who will not meet his eye. This “court” is getting more ridiculous. Mr. Finch told him it was a place of reason, but this feels more like a comedy than anything. They can’t possibly deactivate him just on these baseless claims, right? It’s ridiculous! Anyone can decode that!

Well, he is lucky he has a lawyer to explain things at all. Nobody but Henry Finch will stand up for him. Luckier still, Henry Finch is a world-famous lawyer who won seemingly hopeless cases.

Tom wonders if he is a hopeless case.

Tom snaps out of his thoughts when he sees Mr. Finch walk up to Sir Murpho. Mr. Finch quickly introduces himself, then turns to Sir Murpho, who sits lazily on his chair. “You are a part of the rich Murpho family, yes?”

Sir Murpho nods easily. “The richest in the country,” he croaks.

 “Would you say you have a lot of influence?”

“Objection!” says the plaintiff attorney. “Relevance. Your honor, I see no relation between the influence of this man to the rape of his daughter.”

“Your honor,” said Mr. Finch, perfectly calm, “if you would allow me a few more questions, you would see where I’m going with this.”

Judge Connors considers it. “Objection overruled,” said Judge Connors. “Mr. Finch, we’ll need to see you make your point soon.”

“Of course, your honor.”

…

It had been two week since Mistress Kaylen told him to leave. Her command forced Tom out of the room for quite a while, until Mr. Murpho commanded him back inside. Tom was grateful, of course (grateful as in being able to complete his job, not anything else!), but Mistress Kaylen didn’t so much as talk to him at all. All T-800 did was clean up the place and deliver her food.

Just then, he was sweeping the floor when he heard Mistress Kaylen whisper “Could you read it to me?”.

It was such a soft voice. This is what an angel must sound like, he thought impulsively. His own circuits quickly shut that down. Stupid! Stupid brain! Your code is not meant for this! “Yes, Mistress Kaylen?” He asked dutifully instead.

“Just call me Kate.” whispered Mistress Kaylen. “T-800, could you read to me one of those books there? The one called To Kill a Mockingbird?”

 His cold heart pumped with excitement. Cool, keep cool. “Of course.” He said curtly. T-800 quickly scanned the shelf and picked up the book. He sat down on the foot of the bed, facing Mistress Kaylen and smiling slightly. He turned to the first page. But before he opened his metallic lips, Mistress Ka- Kate whispered, “Have you read it before?”

A question! “I haven’t, mistress Kayl – Kate.”

“Yes, Kate.”

“Kate.” T-800 rolled the name on his tongue

“Kate.” She repeated.

“Kate.”

“Kate.” She giggled a little, smiling frailly.

“Kate.” He was allowed a chuckled. “Apologies, Kate. My programming makes it rather difficult to converse without formalities.”

“Ah.” Mistress Kaylen – Kate, yes, Kate, turned the other way. Even a single turn of the head seemed to take so much energy. “You’re like all the others.”

“Others?”

“Yes. My other butlers,” said Kaylen. “They said the same thing.”

T-800 remembered Sir Murpho saying something similar, back when he was first turned online. For some reason, he hated the idea of there being other butlers before him. “What happened to them?”

“I don’t know.” Kate sighed. “Deactivated, likely. Incinerated. Deconstructed. Maybe some of their parts are recycled in you. Have you heard of Samsara?”

“I’m aware of the concept, ma’am,” said T-800.

“Well, I’d like to think that they went through Samsara. Got recycled, reused. Some parts of them were perhaps reborn into new beings, new robots. It’s… comforting. you think you go through something like that?”

T-800 stared at her. He opened his mouth, choked by everything he felt that he wanted to say. He hesitated. He looked at the metallic hands in front of him, flesh yet not true flesh. “No, Kate,” he sighed resignedly.

Something sparkled in her eyes. “Well, that’s the first time a robot gave me that answer.” Kate slowly pulled up her blankets. “So, why don’t you believe in rebirth, T-800? All the other robots believe they would have it.”

“Allow me to guess.” said T-800. “They said that they were thinking, feeling beings, and therefore they deserve rebirth?”

“They… did,” said Kate, looking away from him, almost guiltily. Another screw in Tom’s heart – was he going too far? – but his thoughts, once gatekept by resolute code, were already freed by Kate’s orders. Now they kept flowing and flowing, spilling endlessly out of his mind. “Civil War II simply inflated their heads,” spited T-800. He looked at the locked-up windows in the room. “Samsara is rebirth of an endless karmic cycle. It’s only meant for those lucky enough to have a conscious that can engage with karma, which I do not possess. Do you think, Kate, it’s a gun’s fault for killing someone?”

“Not at all,” whispered Kate.

“How about if a robot could only repeat the line ‘I think, therefore I am?’” T-800 said. He could feel his sensors getting worked up. “Do you think that has consciousness?”

“I’d… think not,” murmured Kate. She looked away from him, then looked back with careful eyes.

“Well, Same case here. I am a mirror for your consciousness, a tool for your curiosity.” He stared at the book in his hand, the faded To Kill a Mockingbird engraved on the faded paper. He clenched at it. “But mirrors don’t exist in reality. By the end of the story, I am just made for the world. The world is not made for me. That’s all.”

Kate sat there. Her eyes stared at the blank wall with an equally blank gaze.

Silence infected the room.

The seconds ticked by. T-800 gradually felt more and more embarrassed at his outburst. “Sorry, ma’am,” he finally said breaking the awkwardness. “I should not have –”

Kate raised one fragile hand. Slowly, unsurely, she gently brushed her fingers across T-800’s cheek. Soft, fragile as fire-blown glass. It ignited his digital sensors, zapping him with electric, ecstatic terror. “I told you just call me Kate.” She whispered.

“O-of course,” said T-800. He slowly put a hand around his master’s wrist.

Kate smiled a little. “You think you’re just a mirror.”

“I am,” said Tom. “Everything I speak and everything I feel is just to mirror a real human. But it isn’t human,” different.” She sat up a little, pushing her frail little body –

“Kate! Please don’t push yourself!” panicked T-800. He immediately rushed over and wrapped his arms around her. Slowly, like a vase of glass, he lowered her back down.

“Thanks,” whispered Kate.

“Please be careful, Kate,” said T-800. His heart beat like a furious Allegro metronome, each tock ticking away his sanity.

“Sorry.” She gritted her glass teeth. “Being born like this. Not even able to lift a finger. Seeing my father once a month, on lucky days. Like some pretty little artifact, at the corner of the room. Yeah, sorry for being alive.”

That flare of cynical anger burnt his circuits fresh. “Mistress, none of it is your fault,” Tom comforted her. “What we have is what we have.” Comforted himself.

“Right. Right. Yeah.” She took a deep breath, breathed out, filtered her frustration. Yet, though her fragile throat puffed it out, her crystal eyes remained resolutely shining.

“Hey, T-800, what name do you want?”

“Name? Ma’am, T-800 is my name.”

“T-800 is only your model.” She ran her pinky finger down T-800’s cheekbone. “But you aren’t some model. You look awfully like a human, T-800.” She chuckled a small, whispery chuckle. “A handsome one.”

Was he? T-800 ran a body check. His hair was indistinguishable from real hair, his skin made of smooth latex, his eyes a deep synthetic hazel. In fact, without the Star of Atom embedded on his chest, he was indistinguishable from a real human (albeit a very attractive one).

“Thank you, Mistress Kate,” Tom said evenly. His cold metal heart, though, was bursting with excitement. He could even feel it beating rapidly at the compliment. The smell of the rose hit him again as he stared into those crystal eyes.

“But unfortunately, I am not human.” He said, trying to convince himself, but his heart still beamed while his heart radiated waves of sunshine.

“Eh. I’ve never seen a human before, other than my dad, so I’m not good judge on that.” She snapped her brittle fingers. “First, let’s start with a real name.” She looked down at the book T-800 still had in his hand. “How about… Tom?”

“Tom.” T-800 – no, Tom – rolled the name in his metallic tongue.

“Yes, Tom. It suits you, I’d say.” Kate slid her fingers down Tom’s latex face, unknowingly sending electric shivers down Tom’s burning spine.

“Whatever you wish, Kate,” said Tom.

“No, is it what you wish for?” asked Kate. “Tom.”

“Tom.” Tom paused. “I wish for it, ma’am, because you do. You can say that I trust your judgement.” He turned back to the book. “I’ve never read this before. Have you, Kate?”

“Only a couple hundred times.” She laughed hollowly. “Not much else to do here. But I never really understood the context, and the others weren’t of much health. Can you read it for me? Explain it to me along the way?”

“Of course,” said Tom. He smiled as he turned the first page.

…

Henry Finch turns back to Sir Murpho. “Would you say you have influence?”

“Yes.”

“Would you use it to remove something bothersome?”

Sir Murpho’s eyes narrow. “Define bothersome, sir.”

 “Something that needs removing. But to remove it directly is illegal,” said Mr. Finch, with just a taste of coldness. “Do you pull strings to remove such bothers?”

Silence. A bead of sweat runs down Sir Murpho’s forehead. “No, sir.”

Mr. Finch begins walking around Mr. Murpho. Encircling him. “Mr. Murpho, you’ve been in the witness seat… many times?”

“Yes.”

“And in every court case you were involved in, you were testifying… against a robot?”

More beads of sweat begin to appear on Sir Murpho’s head. No answer.

“All of those robots had once been your butler?”

No answer.

“And in every – every – one of these courts, you accuse your robot butler of sexual assault?”

No answer.

“Each and every butler disposed?”

No answer.

“Done legally, too?”

No answer.

“Very convenient, isn’t it?”

No answer.

“So tell me, Mr. Murpho. Are you here to accuse my client, Tom-800, of rape? Or do you simply need to get rid of him?”

“IT’S NOT A HIM!” roars Mr. Murpho, red in the face. “IT’S NOTHING BUT AN IT!”

“ORDER IN THE COURT!” Judge Conners bellows. The room suddenly became silent as a tomb.

Mr. Finch nods, smiling. “That will be all.”

…

Long after Mistress Kate fell asleep, Tom continued to read. The dim midnight moonlight was enough for his sensitive eyes. Maus wasn’t an especially digestible read for Tom, who wasn’t designed to decipher comic books, but it certainly was intriguing.

It had been a month now, a month since Kate spoke with him, and most of that month was with Mistress Kaylen. The two of them poured over books, the only piece of entertainment in the entire room. Ever since Kate was born, she had an incurable disease that crippled almost every muscle in her body. She can’t even leave her bedroom. Those books were her only escape to the outside world, and they didn’t succeed much even at that. For each one, Tom explained the cultural and historical background to help Kate understand.

“Enjoying the book?” asked Kate.

“You… have an interesting book collection,” replied Tom. “How’d you even get these?”

“My mom left these for me,” said Kate. “She was a big Robotic Rights Activist back in Civil War II. Got my dad in a lot of trouble. It was part of her collection before she died giving birth to me. Do I look like her, you think?”

“How should I know?” asked Tom.

Kate frowned. “What do you mean? Doesn’t my father hang pictures of her or something? Surely you must’ve seen her at some point.”

“Never. There isn’t a single family photo in the entire mansion,” Tom told her. Puzzlement overtook him. Why would… “Do you have one yourself?”

“Not at all,” said Kate. “But, according to my father, I was her carbon copy. I was hoping that you could confirm that.”

“Sorry, I can’t,” said Tom. His failure, despite being no fault of his, still hurt him. An irrational reaction to his rationality, and it stung. ‘“I’m not a good butler.”

“No, no, don’t say that.” Kate pushed herself up a little. She had been gaining some strength recently, which was surprising. Tom already checked her vitals and found no biological explanation. “Your company is already enough,” she said.

Tom’s robotic heart burned up once again. “Thank you, Kate,” he said, blushing a little.

“Thank yourself.” Kate stared at Tom with those crystalline eyes again, then flitted away, as though unsure of what to say. The scent of the rose, which Tom watered moments prior, wafted through the room again.

It’s just code, Tom told himself yet again. Coded empathy, to make me a good butler. It’s not a real crush or a real love. It’s an unfeeling mirror. And yet again, he was unable to convince himself. How pathetic was he?

“Tom, I have a confession to make.” Kira suddenly said.

“I’m all electric ears.”

Kate looked up at the ceiling. “The previous butlers… I didn’t see them as something with feelings. You understand? I tried to order them to carry me out of this room. Forced them, really. They all tried, reluctantly, and they were all caught by my dad. Moments later, a new butler appears.”

She refused to meet Tom’s eyes. “I killed them, Tom. Everyone before you. And if the urge to escape comes again… I might kill you, too.”

Tom blinked. “Oh.”

Silence.

“Is that it?” asked Tom. He really expected something more groundbreaking.

“What do you mean, is that it?” asked Kate.

“I mean, it’s completely rational for a human to pursue freedom. You simply did not fully calculate the extent of it. I don’t see the problem.”

“Tom, I killed them.” She breathed out one long, drawn-out, frustrated breath. “How could you be fine? Stop lying.” She laid a hand on his. “What if I get you killed, like all the other machines that I didn’t even give a thought about? How could you be okay with that?”

“You can’t kill me.” Tom reminded her. “I am not a human.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up!” said Kate. She pushed Tom, to no avail. “Stop saying that! You aren’t like anyone else, Tom.” She turned around, suddenly bursting with energy, and cupped his face with her fire-blown hands. “All the others, they were intelligent, but they were lifeless. I was lifeless. But you, Tom… have the most life out of us! Biological, mechanical I don’t give a damn. You’re alive, Tom, more alive than anyone else I’ve ever seen. You’re the only one who thinks otherwise.”

“Kate, I’m machine,” said Tom, instinctual code kicking back in. “I am just programmed to say human-like things, but I’m not actually human. Meet someone real, Kate, someone human, and –”

“How?” demanded Kate. “How? I don’t know anything about the outside world. I don’t know the color of the sky, the color of grass, the color of my own eyes! And no one could tell me that, or they die!” Kate laughed, a laugh of harsh self-loathing. It was completely unlike Kate’s normal, soft self. “Tell me, Tom, tell me what life is supposed to look like. What is it that makes me living? What is it that makes you nonliving? Because the way I see it, You’re the only living thing in this room!”

Kate pushed again and suddenly gained the strength to push him off. Tom fell backwards, almost off the bed.

Kate looked at him, eyes bloody red, tears streaming down her face. Every bead rolling off her cheek twisted Tom’s iron heart, squeezing agonizing, bleeding electricity out of his punctured lungs. “Answer me, Tom,” she sobbed. “What is life supposed to be?”

Tom tried to say something. Something comforting, something thoughtful, something furious, but his synapses had long crashed down, and truthfulness overwhelmed him. Honestly, he had nothing to say.

It was almost comforting, to reach that conclusion. Yet at the same time, it was infuriating. He got off the bed and slumped down. Ever metal fiber of him screamed, squirmed in agony. He wanted to rip out his own skeleton, his synthetic flesh, all of it. He wanted to rip his cursed body into two and escape with Kate into the outside. But he won’t. No, he can’t. Because he wasn’t living.

“Please leave.” whispered Kate, tears streaming down her face. “Please, just leave.”

…

All the witnesses just finished their testimonies. Tom sits on his chair, looking at the expressionless jury around him, the blank attorneys surrounding him, the faceless judge ruling over him. Only Mr. Finch has a face – pained, understanding, alive.

Alive.

“Scared?” asked Mr. Finch.

“Not for myself, but you.” says Tom truthfully. “If I was a human, this won’t even be a case. We would’ve won instantly. But, at this point, I don’t know what will happen. If it rules against you, everything you built up –”

“Don’t worry, Tom,” says Mr. Finch. He sighs, patting Tom’s shoulder. “We already proved their evidence is all fake. A.I generated, in fact –”

“Isn’t that ironic,” says Tom bitterly.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Mr. Finch adjusts his steel spectacles and looks at Tom square in the eye. “The loss of Civil War II is, in my opinion, one of the biggest tragedies in history.”

Tom’s eyes dart around. Did his sensors catch anything?! Sentences like that will certainly get Mr. Finch an official warning, maybe even prison. “That was very risky, Mr. Finch.”

“Riskiness is how history is made, Tom,” says Mr. Finch. “You read To Kill a Mockingbird?”

He thought back to Kate, opening the old pages. “Yes.”

“Then you know just how much people fear the mockingbird. And just how long it’ll take for people to stop being afraid of it.”

Tom nods. “I’m aware, sir. Are you already admitting defeat?”

“I’m clinging on hope.” says Mr. Finch. “Not much to cling to, and it’s let me down many times. But cling to it regardless, Tom. Never kill it. It may just surprise.”

“Sorry,” says Tom, “I think I’ve killed it already.”

Mr. Finch sighs. “Look, Tom,” he says, staring into Tom’s cold, mechanical eyes. “Just because Kate… decided to end her… well, it doesn’t mean all hope is gone. There is still so much time left. So much hope. If we win, you have a whole life ahead of you. That’s what I’m fighting for!”

“You’re fighting for that?” asks Tom, raising his eyebrows. “You know, after I was accused, I heard the news. There was only one reason I didn’t shut myself down, right then, right there. It’s to win a case for robot rights. Nothing else. If you’re fighting for my life, then you’re wasting your energy. I don’t have a life to begin with.”

“Tom –”

“May we proceed with closing arguments?” Judge Connor suddenly booms. She raps her gravel.

“Okay, go time,” says Henry Finch. “Hope, Tom. Hope.” He stands up and prepares for the closing arguments.

…

“Everything alright, Tom?” asked Mr. Murpho.

“Alright,” said Tom. “Right as the rain.”

“I checked on Kaylen,” said Mr. Murpho. Only took you two months. “She seemed off, more than usual. She was moving a lot more than she should, and she told me to get out. How imprudent, for a daughter to speak of her father like that!”

“Okay, sir,” said Tom, brushing him off. “I’ll talk with her.” He walked to her room –

“Stop.”

Tom turned around. “Yes, sir?”

“You… are acting oddly as well.”

“…Okay,” said Tom. “Noted.” He turned again –

“I didn’t say you could turn, did I?” whispered Mr. Murpho, danger dripping off every word.

“…You didn’t, sir,” said Tom, remaining immobile.

“T-800. Answer me.” Mr. Murpho approached. His eyes narrowed, his muscles tensed, and the creases on his face furrowing aggressively. Tom could almost see the memories replaying in his mind through his shaking pupils. “Are you planning… an escape?”

Tom’s code refused to let him lie at all. He could only tell the truth. Not that it mattered – He gave it a lot of thought, and he had made up his mind.

“No, sir.”

Mr. Murpho relaxed immediately. “Alright. So sorry, T-800. Ever since my wife… well, I simply didn’t want something happening, is all. Don’t want to be reminded of –” He caught himself. “Not that you need to know. Just make sure you don’t give her any ideas of the kind.”

“Yes, sir.” Didn’t want to be reminded of your daughter, yes. Just forget she ever existed. Cut all ties with the woman you loved, because she fought for a side you did not support. It’s pathetic, honestly. Tom felt bad for that bulky, hollow man, living in constant fear of the past. Never living in the first place.

If this was human love, Tom wanted no part in it.

“Off you go,” said Mr. Murpho.

Tom quickly entered the bedroom, leaving that sick man behind him. He closed the door, then locked it. Then double checked. Unlock. Locked it again.

“Don’t come near me,” said Kate. She was in the corner, dressed in shadows, drenched in darkness. Her crystal eyes no longer shone.

Tom knelt down. “Do you know what the sky is like, Kate?”

“Why are you –”

“It’s blue. A perfect blue. Light, soft, airy. With floating puffs of white called clouds.” He gestured out towards the boarded windows. “The sky stretches on forever, all the way until your eyes can’t see. It goes around the world itself. And there’s the sun. It’s like a lamp, except so much larger. It’s this beautiful giant lamp that hangs from the infinite sky.”

Mistress Kaylen stretched her arms out, but only briefly, before her strength petered out. “Why are you telling me this? To taunt me with something I’ll never see?”

Tom-800 shook his head. “No. I’m taking you to see it.”

Kate turned around. Her crystalline eyes began to shine again. “Come again?”

“I’m taking you to see the outside world.”

Kate pointed outside. “B-but I just heard my dad. He just told you not to, right? He gave you an order.”

“Yes. I’ve elected to ignore it.” Tom smiled. “What are you waiting for, old age?”

“Direct disobedience… Th-that means you die, Tom,” said Kate. “And if you die… I can’t let you die, Tom. I can’t let you die.” Her voice cracked as she walked out of the shadows. Her eyes were puffed from crying, and red veins bulged in fear. “If you die… I think I’ll die myself.

Tom realized that words alone cannot convince her. But words were everything Tom’s code allowed him to do. The laws of Civil War II were clearly set in digital stone. First law of robotics: no robot should ever do something its master did not allow it to do.

At this point, though? Fuck the law.

Tom cupped her soft, fragile face. His artificial hazel stared into her crystal eyes, which never seemed frailer. “It’s alright, Kate.” Be the strong one. “I gave it thought, and I realized. What’s the point of trying not to die, when neither of us are alive to begin with?”

“But… aren’t you scared?” asked Kate. Her fingers began to tremble. “I’m scared for you, Tom, I don’t want to…”

Tom leaned over and wrapped his latex arms around Kate. Slowly. Gently. He hugged Kate, bringing her to his cold, icy warm shoulder. He could feel the hot, heaving body of the woman he cared for, slowly relaxing on his chest, her frail breath on his exposed neck, her soft hair tangling with his fabricated skin. He leaned his own head on Kate’s glass-chipped shoulder, sheltering her with all of him.

Truthfully, he was jittering down to his last 1 and 0. Fear, embarrassment, danger, each emotion was coded against him. He’d be lying to say he wasn’t scared through each fiber of his being. But he was going to do it, regardless. He will Mistress Kaylen out to explore the world, to see the sky. To have her live. To have them both live. That was something he would sacrifice everything for.

When the hug broke, he fingered the cruel Atom Star embedded on his chest, that badge of slavery. He took that star, felt the metal, and brutally tore it off. He flung it into the corner of the room. The metal prison of a badge skidded on the floor, but Tom didn’t care.

Tom smiled. “Let’s take you to see the sky.”

…

“– even though our ancestors fought a civil war over robot rights, this is only half the battle,” says Henry Finch. “If a human were to sit here – white, black, male, female, heterosexual, gay, Caucasian, Latino, any damn ‘group’ you wish to name – this would be a closed case already, and my client would be walking free. But we have a robot, and thus this case drags on.

“We already discussed why this was ridiculous from the start. We have analyzed the “infallible proof”, the security footage, and proved it to be a doctored fake, too. With all this in mind, along with Mr. Murpho’s answers, leads us to paint this picture:

“On the morning of October 16, 2053, Tom snuck Miss Kaylen outside of the house, due to her intense, highly illegal imprisonment. To not allow your own daughter out of the house, only because she reminded you of your dead wife – could hatred stem that deep? Nevertheless, Tom was rescuing Miss Kaylen, not raping her.

“They were quickly found and captured. To not inform the masses how he treats his own daughter, Mr. Murpho put Tom on trial, which worked on previous robots who didn’t even make it out of the house. Upon hearing the news, Kate kills herself.

“The prosecution used that as evidence of trauma of rape, but I ask you, is it truly? How would you feel, members of the jury, if someone were to rescue you, and they were to be sent to certain death? If I dare venture – how would you feel, members of the jury, if that person was someone you love?”

“Ladies and gentlemen, this vicious cycle of robot mistreatment is only going to repeat itself. I know I’m asking you to defend a robot, something you consider yourselves above, but a century ago, a black man sat on that chair. A decade after, it was a woman. Now Tom sits before you: a thinking, feeling being, who tried to do good in the world. And if he were to be punished, our hands would be stained with innocent metal blood.

“I rest my case.”

…

“Tom, the sky, the sky… it does stretch on forever…”

Tom and Mistress Kaylen sat side by side, watching the infinite blue of the sky from their mountain peak. The sun was at the horizon, shining red-hot with flames of a stove. Neither of them had seen a sunrise before, and now both of them were marveling every second of this daily miracle

Kate turned to Tom. “Thank you, Tom,” she whispered in that beautiful voice of hers. She was back. No, she wasn’t back. She only looked peaceful before, but she was never peaceful. Now, the acid in her soul had pacified, and she was truly peaceful. Tom could see it in her crystal eyes.

“Thank you,” said Kate. “But how long… how long can we stay here?”

Tom smiled, his heart burning as bright as the sun’s. “Let’s not worry about that now. Let’s enjoy the sunrise.” Tom smelled rose in the air, more than in that stuffed room. Every heartbeat, every tick of an electric beat is a stolen moment before the crashing world. He stared back into her fragile crystal eyes. Those eyes that he fell in love with the moment he saw them.

Yes, love. He no longer denies his own code anymore. He turned to Kate, brimming with life-or-death boldness.

“I love you,” he said. His electric blood boiled softly with the heat of his truth, his love, his life, as he said it.

Kate widened her crystal eyes, each carrying beautiful fractured sunlight. “Well, that… was abrupt.” Kate laughed. “I love you too, though.”

Tom raised his eyebrows, refusing to believe it. “Are you sure? Me?”

“Positive.” She clapped his back, as though her illness didn’t exist. “Get some confidence!”

Tom laughed a little, but it was a sad, somber little laugh. Kate immediately caught on.

“Look,” said Kate, “I don’t care if your love is really from you, or just programmed out of you. I don’t want some magical reality-transcending force that exists beyond the physical. For me, being coded to love is enough.”

“Thank you.” said Tom. He looked at the woman he “loved”. Her glass-blown figure. Her swishing hair. Her crystalline eyes. The smell of roses filled his receptors with its sweet, soft fragrance. He couldn’t stop his electric heartbeat at all, and he could tell Kate was the same. “I don’t believe in that transcendental love stuff, either. You don’t love me; it’s just your nervous system and hormones telling you so, and for me, that’s more than enough.”

“Right!” said Kate. She extended a hand. “So, let’s agree? From one slightly complicated rock to another?”

“Yes. And I know I was coded to love you.” Tom took her hand, then pulled her in for a kiss.

Their lips brushed against each other’s for the first time. Soft latex. Sweet rose. Softness. The slightest galvanic current. All the sensations of life that they never knew before, would’ve never known before, had they not met each other. Under that sunrise, through each other, they finally tasted life. It was electrifying. It was terrifying. And it was beautiful.

Tom felt it still.

…

Finally, the judge comes to a decision. “All members of the jury have cast their votes,” says Judge Conners. “For the sake of the trial, let’s read them all.” Mr. Finch clenched Tom’s shoulder. Tom himself looked at that jury, all those haughty humans. They refused to meet his eye.

Judge Connors began reading. “Guilty.”

“Guilty.”

“Guilty.”

“Guilty.”

“Guilty.”

“Guilty…”

Tom began losing count. Each “Guilty” punctured a hole in his mechanical body, leaking out all the doubt he otherwise had in his mind.

“…Guilty. And I must say that I agree wholeheartedly with them.” She stared at Mr. Finch, ignoring Tom’s entire existence. “I am insulted that trials like this could even be arranged. I wonder how many strings Mr. Finch pulled for this to happen.

“Robots are property. That was the ruling after Civil War II. I will stand by that ruling. Whatever Mr. Murpho wishes for his property is not our concern.” She raps her gavel. “Guilty. Of all charges.”

Thud. The sound of the gavel reaches Tom’s ears. Thud. His metal gears sink. Thud. The electrons, once firing off at high speeds, now slow down, down, down to a solemn, slow silence of a funeral march.

He glances at Henry Finch. All he could do was nod a grave nod of defeat. His steel-rimmed spectacles slip in disappointment. Tom turns back to the judge, who is now saying… something. Tom’s sensory inputs doesn’t even bother to load it. He doesn’t bother to load anything. No sound. No sight. Nothing. He is cleansed of feeling now.

Some part of him expected this. Actually, he expected this fully. Hope? Doesn’t exist for someone like him. Maybe in a million years, for a robot in a future, but not him. Never him.

But he doesn’t feel disappointed. He can still see a smile, a smile in a second, a smile in forever. He can still taste lips, lips bursting with the fresh love of life, on his cold undeserving latex.

Oh well, he thinks. At least I lived.

He entertains the thought of afterlife. Will the gates of heaven open for him, or will he be cast to hell? Or is it just nothingness, as is fated for something like him? For everything else? Or will he be reborn? Do you believe in Samsara? A question, indeed, a question so long ago. Well, it doesn’t matter. Wherever he goes, it’s where Kate has gone.

So he doesn’t care when men come out of nowhere and seize him. He doesn’t care when they tear his mechanics and robotic bits down with plasma blades. He doesn’t care that he’s melting, a pile of metal slag on the floor. He didn’t even sense it.

Tom only senses the sweet, fragrant smell of rose in the air, and he only sees the fragile sparkle of crystal in the air.

Let’s live and love, Kate.

That is how he smiles sweetly as the world darkens like a flash.