“Henry’s a ‘buddy’ robot,” the former professor replied. “You’ve encountered them, my dear, and know it’s insensitive to use the term ‘it’. Henry helps around the house, but I acquired him for company. Not in that way, of course, although other robots exist to serve all types of human urges. Henry is simply a friend, a source of conversation in my voluntary exile.”
“I should have come to see you earlier,” Amira began uncomfortably.
“Nonsense! I know how busy they keep you at the Academy. And especially you – I heard from Perkins about your assignment to Pandora.”
Though Dr. Mercer had raised the very topic she made this trip for, Amira felt a compassionate curiosity about her former mentor, a man she hadn’t spoken to in over a year. He took his time showing her around the house and discussing his remodeled deck, displaying the enthusiasm of the committed suburbanites he used to ridicule. Clearly, he appreciated Amira’s company more than he would admit.
“Have you heard from others at the Academy, Dr. Mercer? Do you keep in touch with them much?”
“Not really,” he said. “I rarely talk to anyone back in Westport these days. Perkins told me that he approved your assignment there, through old-fashioned email, of all things. I threw away my Third Eye, nightmarish devices if you ask me. Who decided that we need computerized contact lenses that actually block your vision? Anyway, your assignment – I have my issues with the Academy getting into bed with Aldwych, but I will say that they could not have gained a more deserving pupil. Frankly, you have more talent than most of those lab-coated clowns over there.”
“Paul always speaks highly of you, Amira Valdez,” Henry said. He was short, about Amira’s height, with features typical of companionate robots – large, almost childlike eyes, a soothing voice and a soft exterior comprised of smooth, silvery fabric.
Amira smiled stiffly at Henry. Robots did not exist in the compound, but she had grown comfortable in her limited interactions with functional models in Westport, such as the police units that issued loitering tickets to curfew-defying bar patrons. Friendship robots, however, were another story.
“Dr. Mercer, you should come down to Westport more,” she said, turning back to the professor. “It must get a little lonely up here. Everyone at the Academy would love to see you again.”
Dr. Mercer waved his hand in a dismissive gesture.
“Westport has nothing else to offer me. Henry and I are perfectly happy up here. We go down to the little town once a week for lunch at the café and take a walk on the trails afterward. These new buddy bots are incredible, you know. My brother passed away a few years ago and it was hard. We were close, even as adults. When I purchased Henry, I set up a voice for him that sounded just like my brother’s – his inflections, his speech patterns. Quite remarkable! You can program past recollections, so Henry can bring them up in conversation. We used to surf on this beach in San Diego, and Henry reminds me of our adventures by the water. Did I mention to you that my final retirement home will be in Baja? I have some beachfront property there, a parting gift from the Academy if you’ll believe that, but the construction isn’t done yet. Anyway, the old stories…it’s impressive, almost like hearing voices from beyond the grave. A new era indeed.”
Amira nodded, but the notion of reviving the dead’s voices left a hollow sensation in her chest. Did Dr. Mercer really feel that this shivering set of silver limbs could replicate his memories of his brother? Amira hoped that her mentor’s lonely life in Clementine had not dulled his judgment. She needed his advice.
When it started to rain, they retreated into his study, a warmly lit room flanked with bookshelves and various gadgets. A traditional holomentic machine stood in the corner, not remotely as sophisticated as the models available at the Academy. She wandered around the room, examining the motion-based photographs hanging from the walls – the professor waving with colleagues at the Academy, collecting awards at various ceremonies, passing plates at Thanksgiving dinners.
“So, my dear,” he said. “The Pandora project…the creation of the first human clone! Quite a starting assignment. And quite a name, by the way. Pandora. Valerie Singh almost begs for the negative press.”
He smiled encouragingly but Amira’s eyes were distant, her thin brows fixed in somber lines across her forehead.
“Do you think they’re just bringing me on as a prop?” she asked, finally articulating the question that plagued her all afternoon. “Using me to deter accusations that they’re exploiting girls from the compounds?”
Dr. Mercer considered the question, leaning back in thoughtful repose in his oversized rocking chair. Amira always admired that about him, that he never treated any question of hers as insignificant.
“No, I don’t think so,” he responded. “That would be a foolish move, and the Pandora team are not fools. They’ve made mistakes, no doubt about it, but doing something that transparent would be laughed off by the people of Westport and they know it. No, Amira, I’m sure you have been given this assignment because you possess skills and talents they need. Don’t doubt yourself.”
“Should I be nervous at all then about this assignment?”
“Ah.” Dr. Mercer smiled. “A lot to unravel with that question. I would say ‘extremely cautious’ would be a more appropriate response. This is a high-profile project full of high-profile characters, with considerable stakes. And the cloning effort is the most ambitious project that the Pandora group is attempting – that I know of, anyway. If it succeeds, it will be a watershed moment for humanity, one that will change how we have families and more deeply, how we perceive ourselves as navigators of our own evolutionary story. If it fails, however, as I’m sure your former home desperately hopes it will, the ramifications will be felt in Aldwych for years to come, and likely become a black eye on your resume.”
“And I would take a good share of the blame if the subject dies,” Amira said.
Dr. Mercer nodded thoughtfully. “You need to have your own interests at heart, my dear. No one else will protect you on Pandora, you can be certain of that. It just baffles me that the Academy is so eager to put young people in such a precarious position.”
“Is that why you left?”
Dr. Mercer sighed and gestured toward one of the photographs, in which he stood smiling in front of the Avicenna building.
“I never approved of the Academy’s pact with Aldwych,” he said. “The district is too powerful and its reach extends into space, where the laws become murky and enforcement nearly impossible. Look at the Carthage, exploiting prisoners for test subjects. To offer our students to them was dangerous; I said it then and I see how true it is now. But the alliance with Aldwych had deeper problems.”
“Science for profit.”