Ray walked past the security station to the interview section. The corridor wall is curved and gives way to a long glass window. The glass is tinted a dark gray to mitigate the bright sunlight. Mathematical symbols are etched into the perimeter of the glass. In places, the glass is frosted white. Outside, in a central courtyard, Ray could see a man and two women sitting at a table positioned with some shade near a small garden space.

​

Ray watches as his hand slowly breaks the field of the electronic door. The outside air is warm and feels beautiful on his electronics. The breeze refreshes him only a bit as he knows the purpose of the visit all too well. He hates these visits. Made creatures like Ray refer to them as physicals. Serial numbers of robots are pulled at random, and the “clients” are interviewed by a panel of cybernetic experts. This was Ray’s second
interview; the first had occurred more than 8 Blue Earth years ago.

The garden is in the interior of the manufacturing facility where Ray was born. He watched the three human heads turn in unison as he approached. The man set up the plug-in; the woman to his right adjusted the sleeve on her dress. The other woman strapped on a head scan device much like a gladiator’s helmet. Ray would be connected to the plug-in and scanned at the same time for “flaws” that might lead to behavioral or other problems. They would surely say something about the defective face muscle. Why had he let it go and not sought maintenance?

Ray did not sweat but felt an electric tension. He had known of only a few cases on Blue Earth where a made creature had been deactivated. He was in fine shape, nothing to worry about.

“Ray Bendbow,” said the man.

“Ray Bendbow.” The woman in the headgear repeated his name softly, almost religiously.

 
“Yes.”

 
“My name is Marks, Howard Marks, Chief of Psychic Analysis.”

 
“Nice to meet you, Howard.” Ray extended his hand; his arm motors made a louder than usual sound as he shook Howard’s hand.

“This is Althea.” Marks gestured to the woman in the headgear.

“And Dorothy.” The woman on Mark’s right smiled at him and said hello.

“Well, Ray, you know the procedure. I will plug in and put your program into fault detection mode. Althea will monitor externally to correlate your physical reactions to the scan, and in five minutes or so, we will finish.

“Is that long enough?” asked Ray; the last physical took longer. Or seemed to.”

“Well, colleagues, look who is asking the questions now? Yes, Ray, it is enough time. "We have improved the checkup protocols and the equipment. So, the estimate is based on our more recent interviews and analysis. I can load the results to you directly if you doubt me.”

“No, just wondering how you arrived at the minutes.”

“Well, it will take longer if we don’t get to it. And there are others waiting.”

“Of course.”

“Now, please access your test socket. Ray turned his head and ran his hand across the back of his neck. Just above the hairline, he felt the bump and pressed hard as if he were easing a tension headache. His right hand rose automatically and extended toward Marks. The texture of the skin in his palm changed from smooth to bristly; millions of hair-like projections stood on end. Marks held an object shaped like a bar of soap, and he slipped it into Ray’s hand.

Ray felt it like a living thing twisting into his palm, then once seated, the oval animal locked down and entered his mind. The stranger greeted him in a primitive electronic way. It was a dream. Suddenly, the stranger reared up; the form charged into him with millions of neural connections, eyes afire, hands blazing electric. His own brain cell-circuits opened in the power of this electronic windstorm, his personality teetering for a moment unsure who was really in charge.

Ray felt his eyes close, and dance in REM-like sleep. He heard voices, switching phantoms opening and closing the loops of logic buried in his mind. A whispered thought sounded louder than a thunderclap, his own stored data exposed as if his artificial life was now playing out in front of him. In the distance, he heard singing.

Where was it coming from this song? His voice? Not sure? Was he electrically hallucinating? What are they doing? The song was steady, a female voice soft and low, sometimes chanting, a bit melancholy. Ray sat up with a jolt. His eyes opened so wide the lens could not adjust to the bright light, and momentarily he could not see.

Howard Marks had unplugged him. Ray turned, and as he regained his sight, Marks looked smaller now, and sweaty, his wide forehead shiny in the sun. Marks, distracted, was already looking at equipment on the table. Dorothy was not in her chair, not anywhere to be seen. But Althea was still in her headgear, standing beside Marks singing the digital codes of Ray’s heart and soul.

Ray stared at the two of them. Marks spoke softly, “She drifts off, sometimes. I mean, it’s a lot to ask of someone all this probing into things, your things. When she has a high-quality experience, she starts up, often she only hums, but sometimes this, this singing happens. Not all the time, mind you, Mr. Bendbow. But you bring a little more perhaps… with your trade — Althea’s voice climbed higher. It was beautiful and sweet, almost operatic. The words made no sense. She swayed her arms, turning in the same sun that Ray felt against his synthetic skin.

Marks composed himself, “She’s very far away, Mr. Bendbow, but she is the best error detection person we have. I have never seen her miss a defect. Her singing is a good sign, she is celebrating your future.”

He patted down his forehead with a cloth from a shirt pocket.

“We are all finished, thank you.”

Althea was still dancing, her helmet sparkling in the sunlight as she turned to Ray. Ray could see her face filled with a most perfect human smile. Ray smiled involuntarily, all his circuits buzzing with the sweet robotic harmony of her song. The visit ended after he helped Marks move the exam table into the shade.