|
(Continued)
When Dori was
young, she was not allowed outside. "It's gray out
there," Rachel— beautiful Rachel—would always say.
"You don't want to go out there. Stay inside, where there is
color. Stay inside with me."
The apartment
they lived in had no windows to look out of, because what was the
point? All the color that was needed could be found in those three
magical rooms: bedroom, kitchen, bathroom. On the walls, on the
dresser, on the table, on every available surface Rachel—wonderful
Rachel—kept pictures. Blue skies, bright birds, orange
butterflies, white waves, pink sand, and gold-skinned children
kissed by a summer sun, who built sand castles.
Rachel—knowing
Rachel—told Dori, "Be happy, here with me. You'd only be
upset if you went outside. Stay here with me."
Dori sighed,
sat on the couch, and twisted her hair on her slender fingers.
Rachel—gullible Rachel—thought that Dori had no curiosity.
Dori was young; Dori was childish; Dori was mischievous; Dori was
sly.
Rachel—sleepy
Rachel—said, "I'm taking a nap, Dori. Come sleep with
me."
Dori smiled.
"I'm not tired," Dori fibbed.
"Suit
yourself," Rachel said, and she went to bed.
Waiting until
she was asleep, Dori entered the code to the door, the way she'd
seen it done before. She walked through the long, empty, lonely,
white halls of the apartment fortress, humming and carrying Rachel—kind
Rachel's—umbrella with her for reassurance. Other doors, locked
and painted white, lined either side of Dori. Why should this be
upsetting? There was nothing to upset Dori at all.
Funny, how
humans would trouble themselves over the absence of nothing, the
presence of nothing. Equilibrium was never humanity's best-fit
suit.
Finally, the
endless corridor reached a halt. There was one door before her,
color black, and this was obviously a destination worth exploring.
(Black is not a color. Black is the absence of the spectrum,
light, making it something less frivolous and more sinister than
the rainbow could ever hope to be.)
"Let's go
this way," she said to the umbrella. Smiling, Dori entered
her first elevator.
"Up!"
she ordered brightly, and away and up the little black person-box
went.
The doors
opened, she spilled out, the ribbons fluttered out, and the
umbrella tumbled out; in other terms, the android girl stepped
outside.
The top of the
building was torn by wind and eaten by smog. Upon the roof she did
not choke and cough, for the sole reason that air was not a thing
she was meant to breathe. Her eyes did not sting, because they
weren't fluid, they were stainless and sheer.
There was no
air to breathe. There were no blue skies to see.
There was gray.
Dori sat down
on the roof, sat against the black doors put behind her. She
stared hopelessly into the smog, and her eyes burned painfully
dry. She closed them, and the ache subsided.
Her eyes
clouded, the mental drapes drawn, the blinds turned but still
allowing light to trickle through the cracks. Dori laughed at
herself. Silly, silly, robot girl. Funny, almost. Not quite.
Funny, if it had happened to somebody she wasn't.
She opened
them. She looked at the gray. No, no, it wasn't amusing. It was
horrible.
Beside her,
something stirred. Something in the murky consistency of the air
shivered and formed itself into an object that was new. Dominoes
fell from the sky. It was raining.
Dori opened
Rachel—sentimental Rachel's—umbrella, a practiced movement
made indoors more than once. The motion must have set in drive ill
will, karma, and general bad luck, for the cloth was soon in
tatters. The rain ate through the pale silk of the umbrella and
dripped onto her dress, where it smoked and sizzled.
Dori cried out.
Where the rain hit her mechanical flesh, it stung. Electric nerves
bit into her brain, and she cried out more from fear than actual
pain. She ran back through the black doors, down the white
corridors, and tumbled, broke, crashed into Rachel's apartment,
where her fluttering ribbons and silk dresses belonged.
She threw
herself into bed beside Rachel, who was still asleep.
"Rachel, Rachel, Rachel!" Dori pleaded. "Rachel,
Rachel, Rachel!"
Rachel woke up.
***
The dress was
gray with the color of the poisoned air, corroded from the acidic
rain to be found there. Dori—foolish Dori's—dress was ruined.
When she
overcame the shock of what she'd discovered outside, Dori was
determined, with one intent in mind. She logged onto the F for the
first time, that wonderful place that all could access with only a
thought and a radio or phone. She downloaded everything she could
find:
novels, or
poetry, and
encyclopedias, or
dictionaries, or
atlases, and, of course,
history books.
***
Dori, android
with a body frozen at seventeen years (never young), Dori,
girl with feelings and emotions (never old), Dori, creature
made for compassion (never human), was living with open
windows.
***
Lilah answered
her door. She opened it, and was fleetingly blinded by a flash and
a flutter of green. A silk-clad bird with a green umbrella stood
on the ground before her door.
(Turn
the page) |
