He shouldn't have used the cat AI as its starting point, Kenma thinks, as KR-00 drapes itself across his keyboard for the third time in the past three hours.
"You're in the way," Kenma murmurs, eyes flicking above the console to the wall of screens before him.
"You've been working for hours, master," KR-00 says, its voice a low, smooth drawl. "Take a break."
"I can't. The company's pushed the deadline 24 hours earlier than expected, there's too much to do."
"You won't even grab a bite to eat with me? Master, I'm hurt." Its eyelids droop with amusement. The eyes Kenma installed behind that thin synthetic skin and those thick lashes are the cutting edge in visual technology. They have HD recording capability and zoom capacity of up to 400 times that of a normal human's. Internally, the cameras are surrounded by delicately crafted metal to hold them in place, filament-thin wires that connect the ocular system to the main processing shaft, levers and pulleys that allow quick, easy movement.
KR-00 is Kenma's masterwork, the culmination of a decade of effort and experimentation, and the android is using all of that to—what, exactly?
"You are not injured," Kenma tells it. "You haven't even been deployed in the field yet."
KR-00 rolls its eyes, its mouth twisting in a phenomenal mimicry of human exasperation. "Not physically," it says, placing a hand over its chest, which houses a central processing core surrounded by heat sinks and a nearly-indestructible protective layer of graphene. "I meant here. You're acting so cold, it's breaking my heart."
"KR-00, stand up," Kenma snaps. The android immediately moves to obey, its golden eyes never leaving Kenma's face.
He resumes typing as soon as the android moves clear, eyes flicking over the rows of code before him. "You don't have a heart," Kenma says. "You're not a biological creature. Your programming allows you to perfectly mimic human emotion in order to facilitate interaction, but you do not feel emotions. Robots are incapable of such things."
KR-00 says nothing for some time, and Kenma uses the silence to finangle a few more bugs out of the program his team is working on. He jumps when it finally speaks again; it was so still and silent that Kenma had almost forgotten it was there.
"I do feel things," it says. "I care about you. I'm worried that you'll overwork yourself. I feel lonely when you stay holed up in this room for too long."
"Programming," Kenma says, "should not be confused for emotion. You should know better than that, KR-00."
The android sighs and murmurs, "As you wish, master."
--
KR-00 is finally cleared by the board to begin taking missions after six more months of rigorous testing. Its physical and mental limitations are scrutinized and recorded so that
"What about emotional?" KR-00 asks after the last test is done. It's just lifted 250 kilograms and held it aloft for the last half-hour, but it shows no signs of exertion. It does not pant or sweat; its skin does not flush red. It is, after all, a perfectly designed machine.
Kenma leaves the test area and KR-00 trots after him as if pulled by an imaginary tether. "Your social engineering capabilities were tested last month," he reminds it. "The board is confident with your ability to infiltrate any organization."
"Sure, I can make people feel things," KR-00 says. When Kenma glances to the side he sees that its lips have parted in a smug grin. "I know I'm hot, and I know how to figure out what people want to hear."
Kenma shrugs, acknowledging the fact, and KR-00's smile fades a bit at the lack of response.
"But what about what I feel?" the android continues. "Aren't you worried that I might become emotionally compromised?"
Kenma swipes his keycard through the door lock, leans forward to allow the retina scan to verify his identity. Kozume Kenma, Head Engineer, Nekoma Robotics Corporation, the screen flashes, and the door slides open.
"I don't know why you keep insisting that you have emotions," Kenma says as he enters his small apartment. With a sigh he shucks off his coat and drapes it over the couch. "You're an android. You can't develop attachments that you're not programmed with."
Kenma stiffens at the feel of cool, soft skin connecting with his jaw. KR-00 turns his face until they're looking at each other. In that moment Kenma is suddenly aware of the intense strength and capability this android has, how it could literally tear a man apart if it felt it necessary.
"But I'm attached to you, master," KR-00 points out, its voice pitched towards petulance. Kenma's fear blinks out.
He brushes its hand away, moving towards the kitchen. "I'm your creator. Of course you're attached to me."
"If they ordered me to kill you, I wouldn't," KR-00 says, following him.
"You would," Kenma says, pouring himself a glass of water. "They'd just rewrite that section of the code."
"No," KR-00 says, and Kenma pauses at the note of frustration in its voice. "I wouldn't."
Kenma looks over and is startled to see that the android actually has tears standing in its eyes. They're synthetic of course, sterile water, but—
"Why are you crying?" Kenma asks, fascinated. He reaches up and brushes gently at one damp eyelid.
"Because I care about you," KR-00 bursts out. "Master. Kenma. Why won't you believe that you were capable of creating something that can feel?"
"Because it's impossible."
"They said ten years ago that I was impossible. But look." KR-00 reaches out to push its fingers between Kenma's own, interlocking them. "Master, you're the smartest scientist on the planet. If anyone could build me, it was you."
Kenma looks down at their interlocked hands, blinking thoughtfully. KR-00 doesn't need to breathe—but in that moment it feels as if it is holding its breath.
"I'll accept it as a working hypothesis," Kenma says, "but if you were ordered to kill me, you should. It's not a betrayal."
KR-00 shakes his head but Kenma tugs on his hand, catching his attention again. "It would be the right thing to do," Kenma says, eyes unblinking, "because if you don't follow your orders then they'll decommission you, and nothing would make me sadder than that."
KR-00's face goes utterly blank as it processes Kenma's words. "You care about me?" it asks eventually.
Kenma sighs. "It would be impossible not to. After all," he looks up with a slight smile, "I am only human."
FILL: TEAM SAWAMURA DAICHI/SUGAWARA KOUSHI, G
1091 words
--------------------------------------
He shouldn't have used the cat AI as its starting point, Kenma thinks, as KR-00 drapes itself across his keyboard for the third time in the past three hours.
"You're in the way," Kenma murmurs, eyes flicking above the console to the wall of screens before him.
"You've been working for hours, master," KR-00 says, its voice a low, smooth drawl. "Take a break."
"I can't. The company's pushed the deadline 24 hours earlier than expected, there's too much to do."
"You won't even grab a bite to eat with me? Master, I'm hurt." Its eyelids droop with amusement. The eyes Kenma installed behind that thin synthetic skin and those thick lashes are the cutting edge in visual technology. They have HD recording capability and zoom capacity of up to 400 times that of a normal human's. Internally, the cameras are surrounded by delicately crafted metal to hold them in place, filament-thin wires that connect the ocular system to the main processing shaft, levers and pulleys that allow quick, easy movement.
KR-00 is Kenma's masterwork, the culmination of a decade of effort and experimentation, and the android is using all of that to—what, exactly?
"You are not injured," Kenma tells it. "You haven't even been deployed in the field yet."
KR-00 rolls its eyes, its mouth twisting in a phenomenal mimicry of human exasperation. "Not physically," it says, placing a hand over its chest, which houses a central processing core surrounded by heat sinks and a nearly-indestructible protective layer of graphene. "I meant here. You're acting so cold, it's breaking my heart."
"KR-00, stand up," Kenma snaps. The android immediately moves to obey, its golden eyes never leaving Kenma's face.
He resumes typing as soon as the android moves clear, eyes flicking over the rows of code before him. "You don't have a heart," Kenma says. "You're not a biological creature. Your programming allows you to perfectly mimic human emotion in order to facilitate interaction, but you do not feel emotions. Robots are incapable of such things."
KR-00 says nothing for some time, and Kenma uses the silence to finangle a few more bugs out of the program his team is working on. He jumps when it finally speaks again; it was so still and silent that Kenma had almost forgotten it was there.
"I do feel things," it says. "I care about you. I'm worried that you'll overwork yourself. I feel lonely when you stay holed up in this room for too long."
"Programming," Kenma says, "should not be confused for emotion. You should know better than that, KR-00."
The android sighs and murmurs, "As you wish, master."
--
KR-00 is finally cleared by the board to begin taking missions after six more months of rigorous testing. Its physical and mental limitations are scrutinized and recorded so that
"What about emotional?" KR-00 asks after the last test is done. It's just lifted 250 kilograms and held it aloft for the last half-hour, but it shows no signs of exertion. It does not pant or sweat; its skin does not flush red. It is, after all, a perfectly designed machine.
Kenma leaves the test area and KR-00 trots after him as if pulled by an imaginary tether. "Your social engineering capabilities were tested last month," he reminds it. "The board is confident with your ability to infiltrate any organization."
"Sure, I can make people feel things," KR-00 says. When Kenma glances to the side he sees that its lips have parted in a smug grin. "I know I'm hot, and I know how to figure out what people want to hear."
Kenma shrugs, acknowledging the fact, and KR-00's smile fades a bit at the lack of response.
"But what about what I feel?" the android continues. "Aren't you worried that I might become emotionally compromised?"
Kenma swipes his keycard through the door lock, leans forward to allow the retina scan to verify his identity. Kozume Kenma, Head Engineer, Nekoma Robotics Corporation, the screen flashes, and the door slides open.
"I don't know why you keep insisting that you have emotions," Kenma says as he enters his small apartment. With a sigh he shucks off his coat and drapes it over the couch. "You're an android. You can't develop attachments that you're not programmed with."
Kenma stiffens at the feel of cool, soft skin connecting with his jaw. KR-00 turns his face until they're looking at each other. In that moment Kenma is suddenly aware of the intense strength and capability this android has, how it could literally tear a man apart if it felt it necessary.
"But I'm attached to you, master," KR-00 points out, its voice pitched towards petulance. Kenma's fear blinks out.
He brushes its hand away, moving towards the kitchen. "I'm your creator. Of course you're attached to me."
"If they ordered me to kill you, I wouldn't," KR-00 says, following him.
"You would," Kenma says, pouring himself a glass of water. "They'd just rewrite that section of the code."
"No," KR-00 says, and Kenma pauses at the note of frustration in its voice. "I wouldn't."
Kenma looks over and is startled to see that the android actually has tears standing in its eyes. They're synthetic of course, sterile water, but—
"Why are you crying?" Kenma asks, fascinated. He reaches up and brushes gently at one damp eyelid.
"Because I care about you," KR-00 bursts out. "Master. Kenma. Why won't you believe that you were capable of creating something that can feel?"
"Because it's impossible."
"They said ten years ago that I was impossible. But look." KR-00 reaches out to push its fingers between Kenma's own, interlocking them. "Master, you're the smartest scientist on the planet. If anyone could build me, it was you."
Kenma looks down at their interlocked hands, blinking thoughtfully. KR-00 doesn't need to breathe—but in that moment it feels as if it is holding its breath.
"I'll accept it as a working hypothesis," Kenma says, "but if you were ordered to kill me, you should. It's not a betrayal."
KR-00 shakes his head but Kenma tugs on his hand, catching his attention again. "It would be the right thing to do," Kenma says, eyes unblinking, "because if you don't follow your orders then they'll decommission you, and nothing would make me sadder than that."
KR-00's face goes utterly blank as it processes Kenma's words. "You care about me?" it asks eventually.
Kenma sighs. "It would be impossible not to. After all," he looks up with a slight smile, "I am only human."