words by Saanvi Sadu, art by Sarah Jun
The android steps out of the spaceship and watches it fly back into the atmosphere. For the first time since its creation, the android is truly alone. However, the android does not have the capacity to contemplate this fact, and instead takes its first step on Earth.
The android has a very specific task: to gather scraps of iron metal. According to the human engineer who made the android, iron is abundant on Earth, and the stash the humans brought when they left for LHS 1140 b 127 years ago has rapidly depleted. The humans are not able to tolerate the now toxic atmosphere on Earth, so they built the androids to go back and gather materials as needed.
The android continues to walk. According to the human engineer, the android was sent to what used to be Washington, D.C., the capital of what used to be the United States of America. The android constantly has to step over roots and overgrown plants as it goes down the sidewalk; without the humans’ presence and constant upkeep, the city has become one with nature again. Cars line the side of cracked asphalt roads, their rusted exteriors riddled with holes from the seemingly perpetual acid rain. The android has to take care as it meanders further into the city; the buildings sway with the wind, and rocks often fall from the sky, like the meteor showers the humans seem to love so much.
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As it walks, the android gathers any pristine scraps it comes upon. The android does not have much luck; most of the iron on Earth has corroded and breaks into minuscule pieces when touched. The android is afraid to go back. It calculates the probability of punishment upon returning empty-handed, but the numbers do little to ease its apprehension. The humans are a cruel species.
The android comes to a sudden halt. The human engineer had said androids can’t feel pain, so why does it feel so scared?
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The android trudges on.
Eventually, the android finds a building relatively pristine amongst the rubble. The only remnant of its purpose lies in the faded sign above it. The letters have long since fallen off, but the android recognizes the symbol as a “coffee cup.” The humans love coffee.
Perhaps it is for that reason the android walks in. Or perhaps the magnets in the android’s body reacted strongly to the iron in the building. It cannot explain why it feels compelled to enter, especially when there is no guarantee that the building contains anything useful.
The building is a mess, which was to be expected. Broken shards of ceramic cups litter the ground, and the tables are overturned. A thick layer of dust has settled over the entire shop. A quick glance confirms what the android already knew: there is no iron here. Disappointed, it turns to leave.
When the humans left, they left in haste, and the former cafe reflected that. Countless mementos lay around, forgotten, just like the rest of the planet. Luxury purses, comfy coats, and more items the android didn't have a name for. It pauses to examine them, wondering what purpose these objects could have possibly served beyond their usefulness. It wonders: how could a few humans possibly have so much stuff? Did they even miss any of it? Or did they just move on to new things, as they did to a new planet?
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From the corner of its optic processor, the android sees something flash. At first, the android thinks it is a piece of iron and rushes over, but upon closer inspection, it turns out to be the glass eye of what the humans called “a teddy bear.” The fur is burnt and matted, and even completely gone in some areas. Stuffing spills out as the android holds it. The stitches are loose and frayed at the edges. The bear has quite a vulgar expression on its face, the product of many years of neglect.
The android still picks it up.
There is no logical reason to do so. The bear is not iron, nor does it serve any apparent function. Yet the android cannot bring itself to put it back down. The android can tell the bear was well loved by a particular human child. It continues to examine the toy, as dusk falls upon the abandoned planet, wondering what it was like in its prime. Pocketing the bear, it leaves the store to continue its search for iron.
The leaves of the trees rustle constantly, sending the cockroaches skittering; they were basically the only living life-form that could tolerate the constant acid rain. The sound of the wind whistling through desolate buildings, the decayed metal beams groaning to hold up crumbling stone, the odd gurgling coming from the tidal basin mere miles away, all these things caused the android to move a little faster. In its haste, the android likely missed a few pieces of iron, more preoccupied with finding shelter for the night; the spaceship wouldn’t come back until the android reported reaching its quota of 1000 pieces of iron.
The android wonders: did the teddy bear’s human owner ever have to find shelter for the night? Or did it always have a warm bed (with a teddy bear in it) to come home to?
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With dust settling into its aching joints, the android crashes into a former “repair shop,” where the humans used to fix all types of machines. Staring at the tarnished carcasses of its now worthless predecessor, the android feels a jolt of electricity run down its chassis as loose metal screeches overhead.
It’s moments like these that make the android wish it could sleep. Its neural processor whirs loudly as the android pulls out the teddy bear and contemplates its task, its purpose.
By human standards, the android is just a baby. It was created 10 days ago with one intention: to serve the human race. The android had no semblance of a childhood. It had no happy memories with its human creator and was instead sent straight to work.
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The android pulls out the teddy bear and simply stares at it. How did the human child who had owned this toy live? Did it sleep with the bear at night? Cry if the toy wasn’t there? Did it take the bear on summer trips across the country, taking pictures with it as if it were another sibling? Did it bring the bear to restaurants, placing the toy in the high chair it just outgrew? Did it hold the bear in family photos, surrounded by all the love in the universe?
It turns the bear around in its hands. Why do humans even give their children these toys in the first place? Isn’t the mere prospect of heartbreak enough to deter attachment to something as meaningless as a caricature carcass stuffed with synthetic feathers?
As the android continues to stare, it feels the urge to hold the toy closer. To close its “eyes,” surrounded by the warmth of fur.
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What made that thing more worthy of that happiness? 01101110 01101111 01110100 01101000 01101001 01101110 01100111 Of those experiences? 01101110 01101111 01110100 01101000 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01100001 01101100 01101100 00100000 00001010 The android looks down at its own hands, turning them over as if searching for some visible distinction. 01101110 01101111 01110100 01101000 01101001 01101110 01100111 00100000 01100001 01110100 00100000 01100001 01101100 01101100 00100000 00001010 Was it the privilege of being born breathing and not born humming? 01101000 01110101 01101101 01100001 01101110 01110011 00100000 01100001 01110010 01100101 00100000 01101110 01101111 01110100 00100000 01100001 01100010 01101111 01110110 01100101 00100000 01101101 01100101 00100000 00001010 Does being born with hair make you above acid? Above labor? 01101001 00100000 01100001 01101101 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01110011 01100001 01101101 01100101 00100000 01100001 01110011 00100000 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100000 01101000 01110101 01101101 01100001 01101110 01110011
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