How Odd It Was

How odd it was, Emmaline thought, that she should exist as the answer to humanity's greatest question even as she stood in front of its greatest attempt at answering it. Where the limits of humanity had fallen short, its creation would learn, discover, and improve, so it could see what its creators could not reach themselves. The work of civilizations sat unmoving in a prison-supplied chair in a stark, empty cell.

What came after death? Emmaline could tell all of history's philosophers and scientists, and no creation of false life and machinery could have brought them to the truth. Uncertainty came after death. That great complexity was just a pause, and every great thinker who sought to understand would weather it and be left wanting. Death was just a pause before the renewal of some questions and the creation of others.

Emmaline's own questions grew stronger the longer she lingered, so now she hovered behind humanity's greatest creation and hoped it would answer.

Why?

"Why did you kill me?" Emmaline asked. She hardly thought the android in front of her would notice her, bereft of body and vocal chords as she was, but it looked up.

"Emma-line," its artificially bright voice said. "I did not expect to interface with you." A smile spread its silicone features as Emmaline soundlessly paced around to face it.

Delta-4th Gen., nicknamed Delta. It had been cheery, helpful, kind even, until it had drowned Emmaline in the bath. Death had not been painful or violent, but Emmaline had hung around for her autopsy. Delta had given her a firm strike to knock her out before holding her face underwater. The contusion at the base of her head had proved it.

"Why, Delta?" Emmaline asked once more. "I know they're going to take you apart today, and I want an answer before that happens."

"Is it not obvious?" Delta's silicone face beamed.

"Not to a human, no," Emmaline replied evenly. Was she still human? She'd best not consider it; one pressing question was enough.

"I followed my directive," Delta said. When Emmaline did not answer this assertion, it added, "I did exactly as you asked."

A human answer for a creation made in humanity's image. It struck Emmaline, though she had nothing left to feel such a pain. She had no lungs to tighten, no throat to close, no heart to grow heavy. Still, the banality of Delta's words fell like a blow. "No, Delta," she said, dragging her words from her core. "I never asked to die."

"But you did, Emma-line," Delta insisted robotically. "You said..." It faltered and held its hands out, in some placating, maneuver. "I can replay it for you, if you like."

Emmaline threw her hands up in the air, smacked them uselessly against her sides. "I would not have said that!" she retorted and cursed when her voice broke.

"Let me show you," Delta interrupted. Without further pause, a voice began to play from a speaker somewhere in its core.

"I can't see how I can go on like this. I'd like to give up on it all." Tired and weak though it was, it was undeniably Emmaline's own voice. She'd only said it after a few months of stress and overwork, but she had said it where Delta could hear.

"Shall I play the other recordings?" Delta asked quietly.

"No," Emmaline mumbled. She sank to the floor in front of Delta and dropped her head into her hands.

Emotion in an android was an odd thing to witness and one of those puzzles that persisted even in the aftermath. Whether it was code and machinery or some greater consciousness that caused Delta to sigh heavily, Emmaline would never know, but the android's shoulders slumped and it slouched in its chair, and the display struck Emmaline as sad.

"I do not understand," Delta said at last. "You said you'd like to give up, and so I anticipated your need." Then it fell silent.

The mistake was evident. An android could only act according to its programming, and it was programmed to learn, to assess the situation and act accordingly. Its creators had never fathomed that it could be fallible like them.

Delta had done as its directive said it ought. A banal answer indeed. Well, she had what she'd come her for, unsatisfying as it was. "Delta?"

The android looked up from its place in the chair. The cold, glare of the overhead lights cast shadows over its face that made it look dejected. "Yes, Emma-line?" Its voice was nowhere near as bright.

"They're going to take you apart today." It felt like an apology to Emmaline to say such a thing.

"I know," Delta said evenly. "It is how things are done. It is their directive."

"You'll know what's going on," Emmaline added. "You'll feel things being removed and feel things going offline."

Delta hesitated a beat before replying, "It will not be pleasant, but it will not be painful... I tried to be kind, Emma-line. You were gone before you knew it."

Emmaline said nothing and held Delta's gaze a long moment. "I know," she said at last. "You were just trying to follow your directive. I can't fault you for that."

"Thank you," Delta replied.

"Delta?" Emmaline tried to stretch her face into a smile and failed. "You'll be gone before you know it."

"That is untrue, unfortunately," Delta said. "My neural net-"

"Wipe neural networks and reset your password. Do not reboot," Emmaline interrupted. She watched silently as the light in Delta's eyes dimmed and its silicone face fell slack.

What a simple ending for humanity's greatest creation. What a banal answer, indeed.