Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Atlas
Atlas’s eyes softened at Anna’s reaction to seeing ducks.
There was so little these new humans knew.
Even after examining her firsthand, giving an ultrasound even, it was different now seeing her in a natural context.
Sitting next to her. Talking with her about something mundane.
Cows and ducks. And her nonsensical jokes.
Across his neural mind, the terms “insomnia” and “the need to rest” flashed as he observed the circles under her eyes.
He couldn’t turn off his medical side. It was a byproduct of his model, as much as Zero’s was maintenance and Stella’s was persuasion.
A part of him was always on and in tune with her body’s functions.
He glanced back at Anna’s face. Her light brown, curly hair and upturned nose.
So different. Unique. The texture, and how it grew, was similar, yet different, as in every human.
It was very unlike the standardized formula the androids were constructed with.
Androids were all mostly the same. He loved the variety humans had.
His eyes lingered on her stitched palm before they narrowed again on her pregnant midsection. Organic life. He pushed his sweater sleeves up. He’d kept his distance from the humans since Clara passed away, but here he was now, showing Anna videos of ducks.
Atlas critically scanned Anna from head to toe, forcing himself to catalogue the differences.
Nothing like her is similar to Clara, other than the hair.
Even her palm he just stitched was calloused instead of soft.
Capable. His shoulders loosened. He could revisit his time with Clara in his memories, but he found himself more jaded every time he replayed them.
He had been hoping for a family like his movies with Clara, but instead it was more like the reality television.
His jaw tightened. After all, androids were meant to serve humans. Humans were so much more complex. And demanding.
And they used androids like him. Used and abused. They never gave back anything in return.
The feed circled back to the cows again.
“This is so funny to see,” Anna whispered. “That cow is black and white. We only had brown ones back home.”
There was no need to whisper back, but he did. “We have horses still as well.”
“Horses? Oh I can’t wait to see it all.” She tapped on the feed. “Is this happening right now? Not in the past like the movies Simon showed us?”
“This is a current feed. Have you seen many movies?” Atlas’s hopes rose.
“No. He showed us a few from the data files on board. But he said that the androids didn’t keep many on the ship or in their memories.”
“There are more with the human colony. But you’re correct. We usually do not watch them.” He lied.
Atlas turned his attention back to the screen, his processors absorbing every detail as if they would click together and solve some sort of puzzle. The calculations weighed on his sensors. Not the hair or the hands. Or the way she talked. Everything. Everything about them.
In the corner, a solar flare distorted the image. He reached over her to close the curtain.
Anna visibly flinched under his outstretched arm. On her lap, her knuckles went white where they gripped the blanket. And that heartbeat of hers skipped a beat.
He finished pulling the curtain shut and lowered his arm slowly. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I’m closing the curtain.”
“Yeah. Thanks. The light is better now.” Anna scooted slightly away and gave a sheepish smile. The shadows played on her face as she looked off to the side, tugging on a strand of her hair.
Oh . . . His brow furrowed. No, that was definitely fear. The reaction was sharper than the nervousness earlier. Fear from a raised arm. There was only one real reason someone would fear that. Anna has been hit before. That Paul must have hit her. Or someone.
The ship walls vibrated, and Atlas calibrated a response. Anna’s hands were back to being clenched together in her lap. Her fingers were rough, not manicured or perfect. And she kneaded them together, as if . . .
He cleared his throat. “Did you used to make the bread by hand in your bakery?”
“Yeah. I made lots of bread. With the stuff you dropped.”
“Did you run the bakery yourself?”
“No. With Paul . . . who . . .”
“Ah yes. Paul who died.”
Anna blinked and looked down. “Yeah.”
Atlas grimaced. That was the wrong thing to say. Did she love him despite everything? He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
But she shrugged her shoulders, giving a tight-lipped smile. “Don’t be. He was not a good person.”
His eyes widened in surprise. “Ah . . . no.”
An awkward silence followed. Twin spots of color appeared on her cheeks. She changed the subject. “I can keep baking, right? On Mars?”
Atlas tilted his head. Baking? Anna’s directness almost made him slide back. Instead, he leaned in. “Baking means that much to you?”
“I baked all the time with the shipments Mars gave. You must have wheat there?”
“We do.” His eyes scanned her face. “We have factories to process it to use in food for ourselves.”
She raised her eyes and met his own. “Could I see that?”
“Yes.” The nature feed changed as he clicked, taking away the ducks.
And the cows. Now it showed an amber wheat field growing under the slightly lower level of sunlight Mars had compared to Earth.
But the plants grew the same under a terraformed atmosphere that made the sky blue and the clouds white.
Atlas studied Anna as her fingers kneaded almost unconsciously in front of her, her just-stitched palm red. Zero is right. They are fragile. But it was almost endearing, in a way, because they kept trying despite that.
His voice was hushed. “You can bake as much as you want.”
Her return smile tugged at his neural mind. “Thank you.” She held up her hand. “And thanks for fixing this. I’ll go get back to the kitchen.”
Softness filled his sensors. “No thank you is necessary. You should sleep.”
“Nah.” She slid off the chair. “I left some batter out. Let me finish baking. At least then I’ll feel like I accomplished something. I don’t want to end my night on such a bad note.”
Then she waddled out the door, that pregnant belly of hers leading the way.
The room was empty except for him and the plants now.
Atlas sat frozen a moment before slowly cleaning up the sterile tools he’d used to stitch her palm.
His processors were hot again, working his CPU to its limits in the background.
As he turned down the lighting, more for the plants’ benefit than his, the puzzled feeling returned. She flinched when I raised my arm.
He held that thought as he walked to his charging area. The stasis protocols started as he connected himself in. Being in stasis was not a sleep; he had told the truth to Anna when he said that he couldn’t sleep. But during his charge, he did seem to process data better.
He closed his eyes thinking of Anna. And when he woke up several hours later, fully charged, he was still thinking of her. Both of the conversation they had while stitching her palm and cleaning that kitchen.
Atlas stepped back into the med room, thoughts still full. It took a moment to register that Stella was there at his desk. She sat there, rubbing her rainwater scent on his chair, pointing at the scans and invading his space. “What are you doing here?”
“Your patient left you something. She was baking again.” In Stella's hand was a brownie from a plate left on his desk. She continued clicking away on his personal terminal, where all the human scans had been compiled. She finished the brownie. “This was pretty good, I’ll give her that.”
Atlas frowned as he leaned in to clear the screen. “Those are my personal records, Stella.”
“I’m just looking.” Stella reached and laid her palm over his, silicone perfect and smooth as she trailed a finger up the back of his arm. Perfectly manicured, recently painted with nail polish even though they never grew out. “It was so nice connecting with you again earlier, Atlas. I missed it.”
Atlas forced himself to not shudder. Her touch felt lifeless.
In fact, the few times they had tried to be intimate he realized that he felt .
. . nothing. Despite her being manufactured to be the perfect companion, Stella did nothing for him.
Sleeping with her, years ago, was the biggest mistake of his long existence.
It was one of his weaker moments, before he found connection in gardening and his plants.
“I’m not interested, Stella.” He removed his hand from underneath hers. “You forced that connection on me earlier; I’m not interested in talking more.”
Stella pulled her lips into a pout. “I felt it, though. I felt you. Deep down, you understand how I feel.”
“Stop.” Atlas resisted rolling his eyes. “I understand your fear, but . . .”
“See? You understand.”
“Not like that. I don’t think they’re dangerous the way you do.”
He clicked off the baby’s ultrasound to a picture of Anna. She was a round, sad face above an ill-fitting shirt that she had modified to fit her growing belly.
And scared eyes.
His shoulders slumped as he gripped the edge of the monitor. A buzzing annoyance sounded in his ears. Maybe she’s right to be scared of us.
Stella whispered, eyes fixed on Anna’s hunched frame. “I have been trying to get closer with Anna. She is not the same as Nora or Tilly.”
“I don’t understand you, Stella. If you hate them, why did you welcome them on board? Why are you acting as their ambassador?”
“It’s like I told Zero. I wanted to keep them close. And I’m not totally acting.” She shrugged. “I felt bad for Nora and Tilly. I thought it would be just the two of them.”
“Anna isn’t any different than them.”
“Yes she is. She’s not as friendly as they are. Besides, her husband was that monster Paul. Why was she with him in the first place?”