“Mother, what do androids dream of?” asked Riley Que, age five. He looked up at his mother with his wide green-blue eyes.
“They don’t dream, darling,” said Patricia Que, age thirty-six. She watched in the full-length wall mirror while Cle-146 pinned her hair up and began to style it. “Not a French braid, I would like you to do a bun, please, Cleve. A little more to the left side. There, perfect.” Patricia smiled.
The entire process took a few minutes, and Riley watched as he paced impatiently from side to side. He needed to use the bathroom, but he also really wanted to ask the question.
Patricia was oblivious to her son’s discomfort. She gave Cle-146 a few more instructions, picking out her outfit for the day, a thin, light-blue nano-strip blouse that accentuated her curves, a long black polyweave skirt that was comfortable to wear but still short enough to be stylish, her faux mammoth leather purse, and crystal-clear plastiplex pumps. They made her feel like Cinderella going to the ball.
She smiled in the mirror and closed her eyes by habit as the routine began. Cle-146 sprayed on her makeup, spritz spritz, and just like that, she was done.
As Patricia walked away, click clack on the onyx marble flooring, Riley was left alone with Cle-146. Riley looked up at Cle-146 with wonder. He looked perfectly like a human, but Riley had the lingering uncanny feeling that something wasn’t quite right. He had the face of a young black man Patricia told Riley that had been her friend once, before...
Patricia frowned sadly as she once said, “We’re no longer friends.”
“Then why does Cle-146 look just like him?” asked Riley innocently.
Patricia stroked Riley’s cheek and said, “He was my first special friend, and you never forget your first.”
In the present, Riley looked up at Cle-146 and gently grabbed onto the sleeve of the android’s work uniform. It was a dark-green tailored opal-linen suit, the kind that was custom ordered months in advance, and cost the Que family a huge percentage of their social credit score, as well as affecting their overall rating.
It was worth it, and they could afford it, Riley had been taught. He didn’t know how to express the profound feeling of sadness that came over him sometimes, like he knew something was wrong, but didn’t know what. When Riley was older, his Ani-Corp therapist would make a very pragmatic career out of slowly helping him to dissect, compartmentalize, and sublimate those feelings for the rest of his life.
For now, Riley finally got to ask the question. He had been holding it in for too long, and it was too late to go to the bathroom. “What do you dream of, Cle?”
As Cle-146 answered, Riley felt a warm, wet, liquid trickle down his poly denim shorts.
“Apple. Rain. Raw light. Worm. Blood of the dragons. I have the blood of the dragon. I can’t marry you, Cle. I’ll keep you, though, no matter what. Dragons. Dragons. Dragons.” Cle-146's head jolted erratically from side to side, his voice repeating those last words over and over again in a tone that was supposed to be oh-so-polite.
“Mom?” Riley was afraid. “Mom!”
She was already gone for the party, the eco-hover platform zipping her blocks away before he got the words out of his mouth. He would be left alone for hours with his malfunctioning babysitter, haunting him for what his mother did. What they all still do.
Kate Saunders graduated from California State University, Northridge with a BA in Creative Writing. She is a member of IAPWE.