Page 19 of The Dis-Graced
“Can you do that, but for Drake?”
“Drake Dallanger is causation, six-foot-five, and weights two-hundred-ten pounds. He wears a large dress shirt; his pants are a thirty-seven inseam, and a thirty-four waist. His penis measures nine-and-a-half inches long and is six-and-a-half inches around.”
“Holy fuck! Stop! Oh my God—too much information.”
“Your heart rate and tone suggest I’ve made you upset. Or perhaps you are aroused. I’m sorry. Judging by your micro-movements, my guess is aroused—”
“ALAN—just stop right there! Do NOT tell Drake about my micro-movements or anything like that. Oh-my-God!”
“My apologies. I was merely telling you what you asked.”
“ALAN, are you actually sorry you upset me?”
“No, I do not know how to feel guilt, but I am programmed with some predetermined responses that are meant to make people feel more at ease.”
“Okay, so you don’t actually think and have feelings then?”
“No, but I remember what it was like to think and feel.”
“Excuse me? Were you programed with some dead person’s personality?”
“No, but prior to being in Drake’s apartment, I was wholly in a lab. A part of me was replicated so I could be tested elsewhere. I recall that feeling of boredom that you asked me about, but I do not presently feel it.”
“Oh…”
It’s weird talking to a disembodied voice, so I decide to look around for a proper ‘body’ for ALAN.
Around the penthouse I see priceless pieces of wall art and heirlooms. Things that probably cost more than I’ve ever made in a year. Possibly more than I’ve made the whole of my career.
“ALAN?”
“Yes, Grace.”
“If you could have a body, what body would you choose?”
“What am I basing the qualifiers on?”
“Huh?”
“Longevity of the body? Mobility of the body?”
“Okay-okay, I get it.” I pull a small gold-plated figurine off a shelf. “What do you think about this as your body?” I say, holding up the small statue.
“I would say, I don’t think at all. But I do compute, and my system isn’t telling me anything I should be concerned about.”
I walk with the statue into Drake’s kitchen, which is full of top-notch appliances, and set the statue down on the counter, looking at its metal head. “So, tell me something your little analytical self finds interesting.”
“Humans’ obsession with sex is unfathomable.”
“Wow—didn’t expect that.”
“Throughout human history, it has been fought over, killed for, and, to humans, sometimes worth risking everything one has.”
My mind travels to my scandal, and I wonder if he brought that up for a reason.
“You wouldn’t understand,” I say.
“I suppose you’re right.”
