Impure
by alterego_lab
2356. It had been 60 years of peace on Earth and the human kind was slowly recovering. 60 years since war over technology had broken out in what would be known over the years as the Great Big War, culling almost half of the world's population. It had been about 55 years since the first Replicant was created, for the sole purpose of replacing all the lost manpower, as the remaining Free Countries needed their factories full and their workers working, if they wanted to keep the peace and independence they had fought hard for. Built with a carbon fibre skeleton, a positronic brain and covered in realistic human tissue, the Replicants were initially intended only for labour. But as scientists perfected them, they became more of a leisure time attraction and soon they could be found everywhere, performing just like their fellow humans were, if not better.
But as Humanity recovered and the government spread hormones over entire regions to help raise fertility and reproduction worked their magic, real life people began demanding the jobs the Replicants have been performing. Corporations - subdued by governments that preferred people to artificial beings - had to give up their Replicants and replace them with inferior - work quality wise - humans.
It had been 20 years since the destruction of Replicants had begun, 20 years since the industrial beings have shown that - if exposed to human life for a long time - they would Awaken, developing the most primitive of consciences. And faced with such an unforeseen evolution, the hunt to gather and destroy them had been even more fierce.
It had been 10 years since the once flourishing Replicants, that could be found in the most unusual of jobs, had been reduced to a couple of hundred per independent State, only the most privileged of the upper echelons being allowed to keep one or two in their homes, as help or for therapeutic reasons.
It had been 7 years since Arbeloa had been acquired, straight from the factory, by the influential Alonso family. They were in grave need of a mature yet completely malleable friend for their estranged teenage son, who was having trouble recovering from the death of his best friend in a freak accident.
1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
2. A robot must obey any orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.
The sun was setting and darkness was slowly falling over the estate. He was, as usual, carrying the tray with the tea towards Xabier's chamber, but his step was slower than usual, as if he had a cord tied loosely around his legs that prevented him from walking too fast. The moment he stepped on the corridor where Xabier's room was located, he could hear screams, muffled screams.
Dropping the tray, he sprinted towards the door, or rather tried to, as his slow movements continued and the screaming increased in intensity. After what seemed like an eternity, he reached the door and pressed the palm of his hand on the designated surface. The door slid open with the familiar hiss and he could see Xabi on the bed, a black smoke hovering above him.
The second he stepped into the room, the smoke simply vanished. He rushed to his master's aid and hugging him from behind, he began rocking in a soothing fashion, his hands brushing his hair and massaging his scalp. Xabi was murmuring something that he couldn't understand so he just continued to run his palms up and down his torso.
His eyes flittered open, feeling every single one of his circuits overcharged and ready to burst. He stood up realising that he had experienced what humans called dreaming. If he were human, he'd be sweating. He felt strange, and even the thought of this 'feeling' bewildered him.
As far as he knew, Replicants did not sleep. They did perform a semi shutdown in order to recharge once every few weeks, but that was the closest to human sleep. And so, where could the dream have come from? Was any of his circuits weakened and he was replaying a memory?
But there was no such memory, there was nothing even remotely resembling the tenderness of the moment. So he came to the logical conclusion that he had imagined it, in his head, while he was out. The thought alarmed him, because he had heard many stories of Awakenings and this was how it usually started. With a dream.
He turned to ask Albiol, the other Replicant the Alonsos' had bought, the newest version - because laboratories had never stopped research and development in the branch, nor assembling new models - in hope that his more advanced peer would know more.
"Albiol, I have a question."
Albiol looked at him, expressionless. Then Arbeloa took the first of what would be the string of human decisions that would lead him to his full Awakening: he changed his mind. Albiol wouldn't have answers anyway, and would only become suspicious. There was no need to let anyone know he was having a personality crisis, not until he fully understood what was happening to him.
"Please, go on."
"Did you serve tea yet?" he asked, even though he was fully aware it was not time for tea.
"No. You're on tea duty, anyway."
With that, Albiol resumed reading Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? and Arbeloa left the room.
Later that night, as he was carrying the tea tray to Xabi's room, he couldn’t help but recall his "dream" and as he opened the door, he discovered with a wave of shock, that he was wishing he could find his master in a distressful situation, just so he could save him.
After all, this was why he had been acquired for, to save master Xabi from whatever harm may come to him, mostly his own inner demons. But the strong desire - desire? - to help his master out was like nothing he had experienced before.
But everything was fine, and Xabi was reading one of the newest books on his palmpad. He glanced once at Arbeloa, nodding curtly, before returning to his book.
"Xabi, is there anything you want to talk to me about today?" he asked, the usual question he had asked every single day of the 2555 days since he had come into the Alonsos' service, as he brought in the tea.
"Not today old chap!"
His daily task was to take away from some of the burden Xabi carried inside him with clever words and by listening. Replicant-friends was the latest trend in psychological relief. When this realization came to light 7 years ago, Alvaro was assembled for this exact purpose.
There were days when Xabi would want to speak with the apparently all knowing Replicant and there were days when he was feeling well enough, cheerful enough, hopeful enough to not require it. In the last 2 years, it had been mostly good days and Arbeloa had become more of a house servant than anything else, and he had gotten used to getting new daily tasks.
So why was he feeling so wretched that today of all days, when Xabi was not feeling despondent enough to need his assistance?
"All right, Xabi. I shall return for the leftovers in 30 minutes." he uttered the customary phrase and let himself out.
Pacing up and down in the garden and going over and over the issue at hand, feeling as scared as his kind could be, he became more and more aware that he was developing human qualities and tendencies.
His mere action of worrying about the whole situation, the sudden feelings towards Xabi, they were all indicators of Awakening. As a Replicant member of the Alonso household, he had the duty to inform his masters of this malfunction of his programs, because it had been discovered that a short circuit in the positronic brain was to blame for it, and ask them to take the necessary measures.
But as he returned to Xabi's room to take the empty cup and the half empty plate, he realised that once he told them he was no longer truly under their power, he would most likely end up being destroyed and he would have to leave Xabi. The thought of being sent away from his master, that he would no longer be able to save him from nightmares and sadness, poisoned his resolve.
So instead of marching into the older Alonso's study and letting him know of the changes in his persona, he went back into his room, determined to keep his Awakening a secret and explore the sensations the emotions towards Xabi gave him.
As he laid in the bed he had never seen much use of until today, he began to replay all the fond memories he had of Xabi that he had stocked inside his brain since he had first met him. Like reels of television programs, the images presented to him in chronological order, the first day first, when he had met the 17 year old Xabi, a sad looking teenager, his eyes so dark and so lifeless, as he sat in the corner of the bed and mumbled unintelligible words.
Then the memories grew lighter and happier, the progress quite obviously achieved with Arbeloa's help, as Xabi began to feel better. His nightmares became more seldom and finally, his life returned to some sort of normalcy.
Arbeloa recalled all the moments of closeness, when their hands had touched, when Xabi's smile towards him had been more luminous than usual, when they had hugged, for Xabi's sheer need of body to body comfort. Soon these images became distorted, the hugs lasting longer, the touches more intimate, the closeness less therapeutic and more purely physical.
With a start, as the door had closed suddenly with Albiol's return, Arbeloa realised that the images he had been playing in his head for the last few minutes were not real and had never happened. As Albiol looked at him searchingly - as if he knew something was going on - Arbeloa thought (another typically human reaction, he would realise later), he understood he had been imagining things.
He chose to be silent and simply nod to Albiol's presence as he took glimpses of the other man, attempting to hide from him. Noticing that the other Replicant seemed to be oblivious of the change within him, he tried to resume his daydreaming.
It seemed improbable that he would succeed though, not with the other's presence in his visual range, shaming him for going onto this path so unperturbed. So he got up and left the room and then the house.
The garden was peaceful and the wind blew softly. He sat on a bench and allowed his mind to form images of tenderness between him and Xabi, nothing too wild or too daring, just the yearnings of your average child falling in love for the first time.
As he lived the inner life he had been forbidden before, Arbeloa suddenly noticed the figure laying in the grass, just a few feet away from him. He got up at once and strode towards the spot of shadow in the middle of the garden.
Crouching, he noticed it was only Xabi.
"Master Xabi. Are you all right?"
"Arbeloa, you do not need to worry." he said with a small smile. "I have never felt better. I just felt a little cooped up in the house. The wind, I needed the wind."
Arbeloa did not comment on this, but simply took in Xabi's beautiful face, his eyes, so lively, so different from any other time he had ever seen him. Xabi looked different, more alert and more handsome than he had ever seen him, and it was not only because of the moon.
"Help me get up."
And Arbeloa obliged, pulling his master by the hands until he was standing right in front of him, and so close. They were the same height and so they were eye level too. Xabi put his hand on his shoulder and through the thin cloth of his uniform, Arbeloa could feel the pleasant burn, a sensation that he had never felt before and that was overwhelming him.
"Tell me, how well have you gotten to know me, over the years?" Xabi asked, sending his soft breath over Arbeloa's face.
He blinked, the question startling him.
"Master Xabi." he paused. "Xabi, I have gotten to know you as well as, if not better than yourself. I have been constructed with the sole purpose of observing you, knowing you, helping you."
Xabi let out a strangled laugh and stepped away, moving towards the bench.
"That is textbook answer. I want something a little more specific. Tell me, Arbeloa. If you were capable of it, and knowing me inside out, would you be able to love me?"
The question knocked the wind out of the Replicant, his circuits literally buzzing inside his brain, the warmth that preceded a meltdown spreading in his whole body. The word love stung him in a way he could not explain.
On one hand, the question made him suspicious, was master Xabi becoming aware of the change in him? If so...should he come clean, and expect Xabi to know what to do?
On the other hand, the question had opened his eyes onto something he was probably still too robotic to understand - love. All of his sensations of the past hours had been samples of the utterly human emotion humans themselves sometimes did not get and did not experience.
“Arbeloa, I asked you a question." Xabi's voice boomed in his ear, even if in reality it had been only a whisper.
Arbeloa shook himself from his self analytic state only to notice that Xabi was again very close to him, their shoulders practically touching. He had seen many romantic movies of the past, and he knew that in the human world, the best answer would be to turn towards Xabi and kiss him.
Shuddering, he banished the thought and the image that had happily popped into his mind and finally answered the question.
"Yes. I feel you are a person worthy of love, master Xabi."
Xabi nodded and moved away without saying anything. Arbeloa watched him walk back into the house, his shoulders straight and his posture correct. He closed his eyes and felt so lost.
***
The next few days brought Arbeloa much stress. There were strange things happening on the estate, and with the people. He had to avoid Albiol most of the time, as he was getting nosy and challenged his peace of mind.
He had to be increasingly careful to not give himself away to Xabi, who was beginning to seek his company more often and at odd times of the day, one time bursting into the Replicants' room to ask Arbeloa to join him on a scavenger hunt around the house, only to end up sitting on the porch, shoulder to shoulder, their thighs touching, and starring into the night sky as it descended into shades of blue and purple and pink.
He had to still perform all his other jobs around the house, including reading to Xabi's father every night, and since he had become impure (a term he preferred to the much dreaded Awakening, that equaled destruction) he had to check his reactions as he read series of scenes that had high emotional content.
But all of that, Albiol, the reading, being asked to do things he had never done before, was just nothing, a bagatelle, compared to the sheer sweet torture of being in the same room with Xabi for longer and longer periods of time.
Since the episode in the garden, it seemed Xabi had regressed and needed, demanded Alvaro to be around him all the time. As if the wind had shaken all his equilibrium away and he was back to the state of 7 years ago, a desperate and needy teen that clung to his best friend.
But unlike then, when Xabi was too fragile to be touched and hugged and needed his space, when there was physical distance between them and Arbeloa was just a soothing voice, now Xabi needed the warmth of skin, the caress of a palm on his chest, the physical contact replacing discussions.
The first day after the night of odd questions, Arbeloa had spent 45 minutes sitting at the foot of Xabi's bed, Xabi's foot pressed to his thigh, its touch engraving in the Replicant's skin like a footprint in fluffy snow.
He also had to make greater efforts to focus on what he was saying. A trivial discussion about holidays spent elsewhere, out of the stifling City, holidays the Alonso’s always planned but never went on, was tough to follow because Xabi's foot was right there, carving and claiming a piece of Arbeloa's leg as his own.
The sensation, a pleasant itch, inebriated him, making his circuits spin and almost lose his train of thought a couple of times.
Exiting the room was both heaven and hell, as he could finally allow himself to fall to pieces over what had happened. He could finally breathe and revel in the sheer emotion he felt, but it killed him because he was away from Xabi who did not need him anymore.
He was caught between these two opposite poles of want. On the one hand, he needed to stay away from his master, as he had become aware of the dangerous situation he found himself in and on the other, he could not bear the time he spent away from the object of his desire.
The second day, it was both worse and better. Minutes of holding Xabi close to his chest, as his master leaned onto him for support, heaving even in the air-conditioned room, his heart bouncing madly to the point that Arbeloa could feel it beating in his own, heartless chest, all because of a panic attack that had come so swiftly, Arbeloa had no time to lock his emotions away.
The setting reminded him of the dream that jumpstarted this madness, with the sole exception that the evil harming Xabi was not as visible, but rather bottled within. His hands didn't move either, just held him tightly, but they ached and itched to touch, to caress. And the exposed neck, so close to his lips that yearned to press themselves to it made his mind spin.
It was only almost an hour later that Xabi felt calm enough to dismiss his Replicant, and even then his clammy hands hung onto Arbeloa's arm as they untangled from the embrace. There were so many unspoken words between them as Arbeloa left the room that he felt, as soon as he was on the other side of the door, that his master was treading dangerous ground again and that it was his duty, engraved in his circuits as Law number 1, to help him, despite himself.
The third day brought more moments of tender, almost human contact between the two, this time outside in the sunny yet windy garden, where Xabi had decided to exercise a bit, needing Arbeloa's help. The couple of hours of playing football, a sport that had become more of a Sunday afternoon exercise than a leisurely pastime, were joyous, carefree and, to the keen psychologist that Arbeloa was, highlighted Xabi's mood-swings.
Now he cherished the moments even more, aware that the nature of the game allowed enough proximity and physical contact that would go undetected for anyone suspecting anything. It was less frightening and intense than the embrace of the day before, that even now, 24 hours later, made Arbeloa's brain wheeze internally.
And after that day in the sun, the last of the carefree days in Arbeloa's life, came only days of nightmares and intense work with Xabi who was falling again to the claws of a monster of a depression, needing constant attention, care and affection.
Xabi’s condition did not seem to improve. Not even as Arbeloa spent hours on end by his side, telling him stories, or just rubbing his temples, holding his hand and ruffling his hair. Nothing seemed to aid in his recovery.
Those were the worst and yet most wonderful days for Arbeloa, as he spent most of his time next to Xabi, becoming intoxicated with his smell, with his pain, with his actions. He felt feverish from the proximity, on the verge of true meltdown most of the time, but oddly satisfied as well. It was those days when Xabi was so out of himself and so clingy that Arbeloa dared to be a little bold, a little reckless and his touches would linger. He would brush the tip of his fingers against Xabi's naked skin that popped between his collar and his hairline, he would hold his hand longer into his, he would stare at him, sometimes to the point of no longer seeing him, his contour already imbibed in his retina.
And those were also the days when he felt Xabi was, while not really responding, at least accepting this, this new situation between them, highly emotionally charged and sometimes vibrant. And he asked himself, after it had been ten days since the Big Question and they had been closer, sharing intimacy more than in the 7 years they had been working together to remove the depression from Xabi's system, if this was maybe Xabi's way to get close, to build something - awkward - because Arbeloa was, merely a well trained psychological aid but emotionless Replicant, but something nonetheless.
Maybe the question's subtext was Xabi's way of expressing his own repressed and undoubtedly hard to explain feelings for his Replicant friend?
As he proceeded to recharge - needed almost every night now - Arberloa pondered the possibility that Xabi loved him, that Xabi loved him back. And that's when he shut his system down and dreamed.
He dreamed intensely, vivid dreams with bright colours and images he had never been subjected to, human dreams filled with human emotions and yearnings, with Xabi and him living somewhere, outside the City, in a magical place where it didn't matter he was a Replicant and his Awakening was not threatening.
The dreams always made Arbeloa see the magnitude of the change in his mind. He perceived every little detail of the construction of his soul, and he had begun to notice his so very human faux pas, his issue that he had to be on top of, unless he wanted to be taken away from Xabi before that moment when he felt he could tell him.
He was becoming exhausted with the duplicity, with the game he had started, with having to disguise his emotions, with the moments of intense fear. Whenever he got too personal or had stepped over the line (because he could feel when that was happening more often than before) and with the seconds of relief when Xabi would stop staring him down and resume what he was doing, as if Arbeloa's weird act had not occurred.
With a sense of irony, another human trait he had gained, he understood he was exhausted of being human, that being in such a limbo tired him beyond his power of regeneration.
And as Xabi began to touch him, to purposely keep his hand longer on Arbeloa's stomach or to just rub against him a little whenever they were hugging, in an unmistakeably seductive way, he began to understand something was indeed going on and that he was faced with the most impossible problem to solve.
Could this be it? Could instead of destruction his Awakening promised, could he be getting his fulfilling love story? He could not believe it, despite the lovestruck state he was in, he remained conscious enough.
And as Xabi began to slowly regain his balance and his fits of anxiety to come farther and farther apart, Arbeloa clung to each of the moments spent together, with the desperation of a soon to be rejected lover, feeling his chest swell painfully each time he found himself outside his master's room, with no excuse to go back in unless called.
It had been 23 nights of battling with Xabi's collapse and it had been terrifying in the way it exposed Arbeloa to Xabi's most inner persona and the other way around, in a way the Replicant could not picture, as he had always presented himself in the way the factory had set him.
It had been only a brief dialog, lasting no longer than about 10 minutes, but so intense that Arbeloa felt he was going to need a lengthy shut down to recover, his positronic synapses burning hot in his skull with the charade he was still forced to play.
He had returned to pick up the tea tray - back to their usual dealings, it seemed - but the pick up had turned into a conversation about relationships and so he had stayed a little longer, settling on the edge of the bed, leaning on one arm, the extended palm of his hand resting only an inch from Xabi's.
"I want you to stay overnight." Xabi's voice sounded soft, unlike the order he had just spelled out.
His hand moved over Arbeloa's. The Replicant stared at his master then at the hand over his and then back straight into Xabi's eyes. He could not tell what this was about. He had heard stories of people becoming sexually involved with their Replicants of either gender, as Replicants were faithfully built to resemble the human body to a tee and thus, it was not impossible, but that did not transcend into an emotional connection as well.
And that usually lead to Replicants, not purposely built for a sexual function, to a brutal Awakening that of course got them either on the run, or destroyed. He did not want to think of these gruesome things, to imagine Xabi wanted such things, so he closed his eyes and shook the thoughts away.
"Please,” came the plea from the man that would not have to plead at all.
"Of course. Anything you want."
Cuddling under the blankets, holding Xabi, his hands resting on his bare arm, feeling his skin heating up as so much of his body came in close contact with Xabi's, Arbeloa listened to his steady breathing, unable to move a muscle.
He was perfectly still, a container for his precious patient and seducer, condemned to repress himself forever. Madness roamed over Arbeloa as he silently battled his own survival instinct. It was obvious that there was no better moment to tell Xabi, to share his burdensome secret and be freed, face the consequences. On the other hand, Xabi may have become more familiar with him, but there was little indication that he would, in fact, respond to his feelings.
And even if he would, what would happen, really? Xabi was what society called a cripple, his depression bouts leaving him unable to perform any function in the world. The utopian haven Arbeloa had dreamed of could never become reality.
Xabi stirred in his sleep and then, Arbeloa could tell, awoke. After a minute or so, he turned in his arms, until he was facing him, eyes wide open, searching the Replicant's.
"You've Awaken."
It was an affirmation, not a question. To which Arbeloa closed his eyes guiltily, confirming it.
"You've gave yourself away when you came to my room with the tea the night we met in the garden. You looked at me differently, no longer like at a patient. The questions I asked you in the garden, the mere fact that you were out there at night was my confirmation. I wanted to talk to you about it long before now, but sickness came over me again."
Arbeloa caressed Xabi's arm, his slender fingers sliding between the fabric of his short sleeved shirt and the warm skin, just resting there. It was crossing the line, but he needed it, like long denied lovers needing an absolving kiss.
And Xabi's response was startling and yet entirely heartwarming, as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Arbeloa's, in a clumsy kiss that lasted no longer than a few seconds.
"I will miss you." Xabi said, pulling Arbeloa closer.
The Replicant had felt Xabi's tears on his skin before, but never had they burned him so much, never had they hurt him so deeply, as he understood the truth.
Xabi needed a functional, non-emotional Replicant to battle his chronic sickness, not a lovesick robot that no longer knew how to act right. His feelings for Xabi would prevent him from doing his designated job and thus, he would be breaching the First Law.
And he was still robot enough to understand he had to obey the First Law.
"Stay with me till morning?" Xabi sobbed, his voice strangled with hurt.
"As long as you need, Xabi."
***
Replicants that turned themselves in after Awakening were granted a permanent shut down instead of being physically destroyed. After their positronic brain was removed and the circuits repaired, they would get a new one and the same body would carry a whole new entity, with a different programming.
The permanent shut down had an intermediate phase that resembled the human coma. As Arbeloa was placed on the special surface, he clung desperately on the memory of his and Xabi's limbs intertwined and their kissing, hoping that he would take the images with him in his 'sleep'.
Xabi was looking at him, all smiles. He was cured, his face looking healthy, his eyes radiant with happiness and love. He was holding Arbeloa by the hands and they were twirling in the tall grass in the back garden.
It was so beautiful and Arbeloa felt his chest bubble up with pride and joy, the wind caressing his features as they spun and spun, endlessly carefree...
The tears streaming out of the Replicant's closed eyes burned small marks on his skin, rendering him unsuitable for re-validation. His body would be destroyed after all, the Inspector had said, deciding against investigating the weird phenomenon further.
Notes:
- The Banner for this work of fiction is taken from the Romanian Official Trademarks Gazette no. 3 of January 20, 2011 and it belongs to the Trademark Applicant. I'm only using it for non-profit purposes;
- The story was 87% inspired by the trademark application aka the Banner, and 13% by Blade Runner, after my bff pointed out my plot it shockingly similar to that of the movie, which i have seen about 10 years ago;
- this sci-fi story was a forced experiment, seeing that being late for signing up for Issue 7 meant I could no longer write the intended story, with my intended pairing; thus, I claim no knowledge of Xabi and Arbeloa's canon characters, they're an absolute figment of my imagination;
- Albiol is reading Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, by Philip K Dick, which Blade Runner is based on. I haven't actually read the book, but it's in my library and the title felt oddly ironic, so I used it, only later to discover the connection;
- The 3 Laws of Robotics were assembled by Science Fiction writers at the start of the XX century and spread chiefly by Isaac Asimov; you can read more on them here;
- indeed, the traumatic accident Xabi is not recovering from is the Steven Gerard episode;
- the terminology is borrowed both from Blade Runner and Terminator as well as other sci-fi storied I've read over the years;
- beta-ed by the awesome albion_lass and the fantastic calypso_63, thank you girls, I needed all the help in the world with this one!
2356. It had been 60 years of peace on Earth and the human kind was slowly recovering. 60 years since war over technology had broken out in what would be known over the years as the Great Big War, culling almost half of the world's population. It had been about 55 years since the first Replicant was created, for the sole purpose of replacing all the lost manpower, as the remaining Free Countries needed their factories full and their workers working, if they wanted to keep the peace and independence they had fought hard for. Built with a carbon fibre skeleton, a positronic brain and covered in realistic human tissue, the Replicants were initially intended only for labour. But as scientists perfected them, they became more of a leisure time attraction and soon they could be found everywhere, performing just like their fellow humans were, if not better.
But as Humanity recovered and the government spread hormones over entire regions to help raise fertility and reproduction worked their magic, real life people began demanding the jobs the Replicants have been performing. Corporations - subdued by governments that preferred people to artificial beings - had to give up their Replicants and replace them with inferior - work quality wise - humans.
It had been 20 years since the destruction of Replicants had begun, 20 years since the industrial beings have shown that - if exposed to human life for a long time - they would Awaken, developing the most primitive of consciences. And faced with such an unforeseen evolution, the hunt to gather and destroy them had been even more fierce.
It had been 10 years since the once flourishing Replicants, that could be found in the most unusual of jobs, had been reduced to a couple of hundred per independent State, only the most privileged of the upper echelons being allowed to keep one or two in their homes, as help or for therapeutic reasons.
It had been 7 years since Arbeloa had been acquired, straight from the factory, by the influential Alonso family. They were in grave need of a mature yet completely malleable friend for their estranged teenage son, who was having trouble recovering from the death of his best friend in a freak accident.
1. A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
2. A robot must obey any orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
3. A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Law.
The sun was setting and darkness was slowly falling over the estate. He was, as usual, carrying the tray with the tea towards Xabier's chamber, but his step was slower than usual, as if he had a cord tied loosely around his legs that prevented him from walking too fast. The moment he stepped on the corridor where Xabier's room was located, he could hear screams, muffled screams.
Dropping the tray, he sprinted towards the door, or rather tried to, as his slow movements continued and the screaming increased in intensity. After what seemed like an eternity, he reached the door and pressed the palm of his hand on the designated surface. The door slid open with the familiar hiss and he could see Xabi on the bed, a black smoke hovering above him.
The second he stepped into the room, the smoke simply vanished. He rushed to his master's aid and hugging him from behind, he began rocking in a soothing fashion, his hands brushing his hair and massaging his scalp. Xabi was murmuring something that he couldn't understand so he just continued to run his palms up and down his torso.
His eyes flittered open, feeling every single one of his circuits overcharged and ready to burst. He stood up realising that he had experienced what humans called dreaming. If he were human, he'd be sweating. He felt strange, and even the thought of this 'feeling' bewildered him.
As far as he knew, Replicants did not sleep. They did perform a semi shutdown in order to recharge once every few weeks, but that was the closest to human sleep. And so, where could the dream have come from? Was any of his circuits weakened and he was replaying a memory?
But there was no such memory, there was nothing even remotely resembling the tenderness of the moment. So he came to the logical conclusion that he had imagined it, in his head, while he was out. The thought alarmed him, because he had heard many stories of Awakenings and this was how it usually started. With a dream.
He turned to ask Albiol, the other Replicant the Alonsos' had bought, the newest version - because laboratories had never stopped research and development in the branch, nor assembling new models - in hope that his more advanced peer would know more.
"Albiol, I have a question."
Albiol looked at him, expressionless. Then Arbeloa took the first of what would be the string of human decisions that would lead him to his full Awakening: he changed his mind. Albiol wouldn't have answers anyway, and would only become suspicious. There was no need to let anyone know he was having a personality crisis, not until he fully understood what was happening to him.
"Please, go on."
"Did you serve tea yet?" he asked, even though he was fully aware it was not time for tea.
"No. You're on tea duty, anyway."
With that, Albiol resumed reading Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? and Arbeloa left the room.
Later that night, as he was carrying the tea tray to Xabi's room, he couldn’t help but recall his "dream" and as he opened the door, he discovered with a wave of shock, that he was wishing he could find his master in a distressful situation, just so he could save him.
After all, this was why he had been acquired for, to save master Xabi from whatever harm may come to him, mostly his own inner demons. But the strong desire - desire? - to help his master out was like nothing he had experienced before.
But everything was fine, and Xabi was reading one of the newest books on his palmpad. He glanced once at Arbeloa, nodding curtly, before returning to his book.
"Xabi, is there anything you want to talk to me about today?" he asked, the usual question he had asked every single day of the 2555 days since he had come into the Alonsos' service, as he brought in the tea.
"Not today old chap!"
His daily task was to take away from some of the burden Xabi carried inside him with clever words and by listening. Replicant-friends was the latest trend in psychological relief. When this realization came to light 7 years ago, Alvaro was assembled for this exact purpose.
There were days when Xabi would want to speak with the apparently all knowing Replicant and there were days when he was feeling well enough, cheerful enough, hopeful enough to not require it. In the last 2 years, it had been mostly good days and Arbeloa had become more of a house servant than anything else, and he had gotten used to getting new daily tasks.
So why was he feeling so wretched that today of all days, when Xabi was not feeling despondent enough to need his assistance?
"All right, Xabi. I shall return for the leftovers in 30 minutes." he uttered the customary phrase and let himself out.
Pacing up and down in the garden and going over and over the issue at hand, feeling as scared as his kind could be, he became more and more aware that he was developing human qualities and tendencies.
His mere action of worrying about the whole situation, the sudden feelings towards Xabi, they were all indicators of Awakening. As a Replicant member of the Alonso household, he had the duty to inform his masters of this malfunction of his programs, because it had been discovered that a short circuit in the positronic brain was to blame for it, and ask them to take the necessary measures.
But as he returned to Xabi's room to take the empty cup and the half empty plate, he realised that once he told them he was no longer truly under their power, he would most likely end up being destroyed and he would have to leave Xabi. The thought of being sent away from his master, that he would no longer be able to save him from nightmares and sadness, poisoned his resolve.
So instead of marching into the older Alonso's study and letting him know of the changes in his persona, he went back into his room, determined to keep his Awakening a secret and explore the sensations the emotions towards Xabi gave him.
As he laid in the bed he had never seen much use of until today, he began to replay all the fond memories he had of Xabi that he had stocked inside his brain since he had first met him. Like reels of television programs, the images presented to him in chronological order, the first day first, when he had met the 17 year old Xabi, a sad looking teenager, his eyes so dark and so lifeless, as he sat in the corner of the bed and mumbled unintelligible words.
Then the memories grew lighter and happier, the progress quite obviously achieved with Arbeloa's help, as Xabi began to feel better. His nightmares became more seldom and finally, his life returned to some sort of normalcy.
Arbeloa recalled all the moments of closeness, when their hands had touched, when Xabi's smile towards him had been more luminous than usual, when they had hugged, for Xabi's sheer need of body to body comfort. Soon these images became distorted, the hugs lasting longer, the touches more intimate, the closeness less therapeutic and more purely physical.
With a start, as the door had closed suddenly with Albiol's return, Arbeloa realised that the images he had been playing in his head for the last few minutes were not real and had never happened. As Albiol looked at him searchingly - as if he knew something was going on - Arbeloa thought (another typically human reaction, he would realise later), he understood he had been imagining things.
He chose to be silent and simply nod to Albiol's presence as he took glimpses of the other man, attempting to hide from him. Noticing that the other Replicant seemed to be oblivious of the change within him, he tried to resume his daydreaming.
It seemed improbable that he would succeed though, not with the other's presence in his visual range, shaming him for going onto this path so unperturbed. So he got up and left the room and then the house.
The garden was peaceful and the wind blew softly. He sat on a bench and allowed his mind to form images of tenderness between him and Xabi, nothing too wild or too daring, just the yearnings of your average child falling in love for the first time.
As he lived the inner life he had been forbidden before, Arbeloa suddenly noticed the figure laying in the grass, just a few feet away from him. He got up at once and strode towards the spot of shadow in the middle of the garden.
Crouching, he noticed it was only Xabi.
"Master Xabi. Are you all right?"
"Arbeloa, you do not need to worry." he said with a small smile. "I have never felt better. I just felt a little cooped up in the house. The wind, I needed the wind."
Arbeloa did not comment on this, but simply took in Xabi's beautiful face, his eyes, so lively, so different from any other time he had ever seen him. Xabi looked different, more alert and more handsome than he had ever seen him, and it was not only because of the moon.
"Help me get up."
And Arbeloa obliged, pulling his master by the hands until he was standing right in front of him, and so close. They were the same height and so they were eye level too. Xabi put his hand on his shoulder and through the thin cloth of his uniform, Arbeloa could feel the pleasant burn, a sensation that he had never felt before and that was overwhelming him.
"Tell me, how well have you gotten to know me, over the years?" Xabi asked, sending his soft breath over Arbeloa's face.
He blinked, the question startling him.
"Master Xabi." he paused. "Xabi, I have gotten to know you as well as, if not better than yourself. I have been constructed with the sole purpose of observing you, knowing you, helping you."
Xabi let out a strangled laugh and stepped away, moving towards the bench.
"That is textbook answer. I want something a little more specific. Tell me, Arbeloa. If you were capable of it, and knowing me inside out, would you be able to love me?"
The question knocked the wind out of the Replicant, his circuits literally buzzing inside his brain, the warmth that preceded a meltdown spreading in his whole body. The word love stung him in a way he could not explain.
On one hand, the question made him suspicious, was master Xabi becoming aware of the change in him? If so...should he come clean, and expect Xabi to know what to do?
On the other hand, the question had opened his eyes onto something he was probably still too robotic to understand - love. All of his sensations of the past hours had been samples of the utterly human emotion humans themselves sometimes did not get and did not experience.
“Arbeloa, I asked you a question." Xabi's voice boomed in his ear, even if in reality it had been only a whisper.
Arbeloa shook himself from his self analytic state only to notice that Xabi was again very close to him, their shoulders practically touching. He had seen many romantic movies of the past, and he knew that in the human world, the best answer would be to turn towards Xabi and kiss him.
Shuddering, he banished the thought and the image that had happily popped into his mind and finally answered the question.
"Yes. I feel you are a person worthy of love, master Xabi."
Xabi nodded and moved away without saying anything. Arbeloa watched him walk back into the house, his shoulders straight and his posture correct. He closed his eyes and felt so lost.
***
The next few days brought Arbeloa much stress. There were strange things happening on the estate, and with the people. He had to avoid Albiol most of the time, as he was getting nosy and challenged his peace of mind.
He had to be increasingly careful to not give himself away to Xabi, who was beginning to seek his company more often and at odd times of the day, one time bursting into the Replicants' room to ask Arbeloa to join him on a scavenger hunt around the house, only to end up sitting on the porch, shoulder to shoulder, their thighs touching, and starring into the night sky as it descended into shades of blue and purple and pink.
He had to still perform all his other jobs around the house, including reading to Xabi's father every night, and since he had become impure (a term he preferred to the much dreaded Awakening, that equaled destruction) he had to check his reactions as he read series of scenes that had high emotional content.
But all of that, Albiol, the reading, being asked to do things he had never done before, was just nothing, a bagatelle, compared to the sheer sweet torture of being in the same room with Xabi for longer and longer periods of time.
Since the episode in the garden, it seemed Xabi had regressed and needed, demanded Alvaro to be around him all the time. As if the wind had shaken all his equilibrium away and he was back to the state of 7 years ago, a desperate and needy teen that clung to his best friend.
But unlike then, when Xabi was too fragile to be touched and hugged and needed his space, when there was physical distance between them and Arbeloa was just a soothing voice, now Xabi needed the warmth of skin, the caress of a palm on his chest, the physical contact replacing discussions.
The first day after the night of odd questions, Arbeloa had spent 45 minutes sitting at the foot of Xabi's bed, Xabi's foot pressed to his thigh, its touch engraving in the Replicant's skin like a footprint in fluffy snow.
He also had to make greater efforts to focus on what he was saying. A trivial discussion about holidays spent elsewhere, out of the stifling City, holidays the Alonso’s always planned but never went on, was tough to follow because Xabi's foot was right there, carving and claiming a piece of Arbeloa's leg as his own.
The sensation, a pleasant itch, inebriated him, making his circuits spin and almost lose his train of thought a couple of times.
Exiting the room was both heaven and hell, as he could finally allow himself to fall to pieces over what had happened. He could finally breathe and revel in the sheer emotion he felt, but it killed him because he was away from Xabi who did not need him anymore.
He was caught between these two opposite poles of want. On the one hand, he needed to stay away from his master, as he had become aware of the dangerous situation he found himself in and on the other, he could not bear the time he spent away from the object of his desire.
The second day, it was both worse and better. Minutes of holding Xabi close to his chest, as his master leaned onto him for support, heaving even in the air-conditioned room, his heart bouncing madly to the point that Arbeloa could feel it beating in his own, heartless chest, all because of a panic attack that had come so swiftly, Arbeloa had no time to lock his emotions away.
The setting reminded him of the dream that jumpstarted this madness, with the sole exception that the evil harming Xabi was not as visible, but rather bottled within. His hands didn't move either, just held him tightly, but they ached and itched to touch, to caress. And the exposed neck, so close to his lips that yearned to press themselves to it made his mind spin.
It was only almost an hour later that Xabi felt calm enough to dismiss his Replicant, and even then his clammy hands hung onto Arbeloa's arm as they untangled from the embrace. There were so many unspoken words between them as Arbeloa left the room that he felt, as soon as he was on the other side of the door, that his master was treading dangerous ground again and that it was his duty, engraved in his circuits as Law number 1, to help him, despite himself.
The third day brought more moments of tender, almost human contact between the two, this time outside in the sunny yet windy garden, where Xabi had decided to exercise a bit, needing Arbeloa's help. The couple of hours of playing football, a sport that had become more of a Sunday afternoon exercise than a leisurely pastime, were joyous, carefree and, to the keen psychologist that Arbeloa was, highlighted Xabi's mood-swings.
Now he cherished the moments even more, aware that the nature of the game allowed enough proximity and physical contact that would go undetected for anyone suspecting anything. It was less frightening and intense than the embrace of the day before, that even now, 24 hours later, made Arbeloa's brain wheeze internally.
And after that day in the sun, the last of the carefree days in Arbeloa's life, came only days of nightmares and intense work with Xabi who was falling again to the claws of a monster of a depression, needing constant attention, care and affection.
Xabi’s condition did not seem to improve. Not even as Arbeloa spent hours on end by his side, telling him stories, or just rubbing his temples, holding his hand and ruffling his hair. Nothing seemed to aid in his recovery.
Those were the worst and yet most wonderful days for Arbeloa, as he spent most of his time next to Xabi, becoming intoxicated with his smell, with his pain, with his actions. He felt feverish from the proximity, on the verge of true meltdown most of the time, but oddly satisfied as well. It was those days when Xabi was so out of himself and so clingy that Arbeloa dared to be a little bold, a little reckless and his touches would linger. He would brush the tip of his fingers against Xabi's naked skin that popped between his collar and his hairline, he would hold his hand longer into his, he would stare at him, sometimes to the point of no longer seeing him, his contour already imbibed in his retina.
And those were also the days when he felt Xabi was, while not really responding, at least accepting this, this new situation between them, highly emotionally charged and sometimes vibrant. And he asked himself, after it had been ten days since the Big Question and they had been closer, sharing intimacy more than in the 7 years they had been working together to remove the depression from Xabi's system, if this was maybe Xabi's way to get close, to build something - awkward - because Arbeloa was, merely a well trained psychological aid but emotionless Replicant, but something nonetheless.
Maybe the question's subtext was Xabi's way of expressing his own repressed and undoubtedly hard to explain feelings for his Replicant friend?
As he proceeded to recharge - needed almost every night now - Arberloa pondered the possibility that Xabi loved him, that Xabi loved him back. And that's when he shut his system down and dreamed.
He dreamed intensely, vivid dreams with bright colours and images he had never been subjected to, human dreams filled with human emotions and yearnings, with Xabi and him living somewhere, outside the City, in a magical place where it didn't matter he was a Replicant and his Awakening was not threatening.
The dreams always made Arbeloa see the magnitude of the change in his mind. He perceived every little detail of the construction of his soul, and he had begun to notice his so very human faux pas, his issue that he had to be on top of, unless he wanted to be taken away from Xabi before that moment when he felt he could tell him.
He was becoming exhausted with the duplicity, with the game he had started, with having to disguise his emotions, with the moments of intense fear. Whenever he got too personal or had stepped over the line (because he could feel when that was happening more often than before) and with the seconds of relief when Xabi would stop staring him down and resume what he was doing, as if Arbeloa's weird act had not occurred.
With a sense of irony, another human trait he had gained, he understood he was exhausted of being human, that being in such a limbo tired him beyond his power of regeneration.
And as Xabi began to touch him, to purposely keep his hand longer on Arbeloa's stomach or to just rub against him a little whenever they were hugging, in an unmistakeably seductive way, he began to understand something was indeed going on and that he was faced with the most impossible problem to solve.
Could this be it? Could instead of destruction his Awakening promised, could he be getting his fulfilling love story? He could not believe it, despite the lovestruck state he was in, he remained conscious enough.
And as Xabi began to slowly regain his balance and his fits of anxiety to come farther and farther apart, Arbeloa clung to each of the moments spent together, with the desperation of a soon to be rejected lover, feeling his chest swell painfully each time he found himself outside his master's room, with no excuse to go back in unless called.
It had been 23 nights of battling with Xabi's collapse and it had been terrifying in the way it exposed Arbeloa to Xabi's most inner persona and the other way around, in a way the Replicant could not picture, as he had always presented himself in the way the factory had set him.
It had been only a brief dialog, lasting no longer than about 10 minutes, but so intense that Arbeloa felt he was going to need a lengthy shut down to recover, his positronic synapses burning hot in his skull with the charade he was still forced to play.
He had returned to pick up the tea tray - back to their usual dealings, it seemed - but the pick up had turned into a conversation about relationships and so he had stayed a little longer, settling on the edge of the bed, leaning on one arm, the extended palm of his hand resting only an inch from Xabi's.
"I want you to stay overnight." Xabi's voice sounded soft, unlike the order he had just spelled out.
His hand moved over Arbeloa's. The Replicant stared at his master then at the hand over his and then back straight into Xabi's eyes. He could not tell what this was about. He had heard stories of people becoming sexually involved with their Replicants of either gender, as Replicants were faithfully built to resemble the human body to a tee and thus, it was not impossible, but that did not transcend into an emotional connection as well.
And that usually lead to Replicants, not purposely built for a sexual function, to a brutal Awakening that of course got them either on the run, or destroyed. He did not want to think of these gruesome things, to imagine Xabi wanted such things, so he closed his eyes and shook the thoughts away.
"Please,” came the plea from the man that would not have to plead at all.
"Of course. Anything you want."
Cuddling under the blankets, holding Xabi, his hands resting on his bare arm, feeling his skin heating up as so much of his body came in close contact with Xabi's, Arbeloa listened to his steady breathing, unable to move a muscle.
He was perfectly still, a container for his precious patient and seducer, condemned to repress himself forever. Madness roamed over Arbeloa as he silently battled his own survival instinct. It was obvious that there was no better moment to tell Xabi, to share his burdensome secret and be freed, face the consequences. On the other hand, Xabi may have become more familiar with him, but there was little indication that he would, in fact, respond to his feelings.
And even if he would, what would happen, really? Xabi was what society called a cripple, his depression bouts leaving him unable to perform any function in the world. The utopian haven Arbeloa had dreamed of could never become reality.
Xabi stirred in his sleep and then, Arbeloa could tell, awoke. After a minute or so, he turned in his arms, until he was facing him, eyes wide open, searching the Replicant's.
"You've Awaken."
It was an affirmation, not a question. To which Arbeloa closed his eyes guiltily, confirming it.
"You've gave yourself away when you came to my room with the tea the night we met in the garden. You looked at me differently, no longer like at a patient. The questions I asked you in the garden, the mere fact that you were out there at night was my confirmation. I wanted to talk to you about it long before now, but sickness came over me again."
Arbeloa caressed Xabi's arm, his slender fingers sliding between the fabric of his short sleeved shirt and the warm skin, just resting there. It was crossing the line, but he needed it, like long denied lovers needing an absolving kiss.
And Xabi's response was startling and yet entirely heartwarming, as he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Arbeloa's, in a clumsy kiss that lasted no longer than a few seconds.
"I will miss you." Xabi said, pulling Arbeloa closer.
The Replicant had felt Xabi's tears on his skin before, but never had they burned him so much, never had they hurt him so deeply, as he understood the truth.
Xabi needed a functional, non-emotional Replicant to battle his chronic sickness, not a lovesick robot that no longer knew how to act right. His feelings for Xabi would prevent him from doing his designated job and thus, he would be breaching the First Law.
And he was still robot enough to understand he had to obey the First Law.
"Stay with me till morning?" Xabi sobbed, his voice strangled with hurt.
"As long as you need, Xabi."
***
Replicants that turned themselves in after Awakening were granted a permanent shut down instead of being physically destroyed. After their positronic brain was removed and the circuits repaired, they would get a new one and the same body would carry a whole new entity, with a different programming.
The permanent shut down had an intermediate phase that resembled the human coma. As Arbeloa was placed on the special surface, he clung desperately on the memory of his and Xabi's limbs intertwined and their kissing, hoping that he would take the images with him in his 'sleep'.
Xabi was looking at him, all smiles. He was cured, his face looking healthy, his eyes radiant with happiness and love. He was holding Arbeloa by the hands and they were twirling in the tall grass in the back garden.
It was so beautiful and Arbeloa felt his chest bubble up with pride and joy, the wind caressing his features as they spun and spun, endlessly carefree...
The tears streaming out of the Replicant's closed eyes burned small marks on his skin, rendering him unsuitable for re-validation. His body would be destroyed after all, the Inspector had said, deciding against investigating the weird phenomenon further.
Notes:
- The Banner for this work of fiction is taken from the Romanian Official Trademarks Gazette no. 3 of January 20, 2011 and it belongs to the Trademark Applicant. I'm only using it for non-profit purposes;
- The story was 87% inspired by the trademark application aka the Banner, and 13% by Blade Runner, after my bff pointed out my plot it shockingly similar to that of the movie, which i have seen about 10 years ago;
- this sci-fi story was a forced experiment, seeing that being late for signing up for Issue 7 meant I could no longer write the intended story, with my intended pairing; thus, I claim no knowledge of Xabi and Arbeloa's canon characters, they're an absolute figment of my imagination;
- Albiol is reading Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep, by Philip K Dick, which Blade Runner is based on. I haven't actually read the book, but it's in my library and the title felt oddly ironic, so I used it, only later to discover the connection;
- The 3 Laws of Robotics were assembled by Science Fiction writers at the start of the XX century and spread chiefly by Isaac Asimov; you can read more on them here;
- indeed, the traumatic accident Xabi is not recovering from is the Steven Gerard episode;
- the terminology is borrowed both from Blade Runner and Terminator as well as other sci-fi storied I've read over the years;
- beta-ed by the awesome albion_lass and the fantastic calypso_63, thank you girls, I needed all the help in the world with this one!