R.A.M.

Desmond Adley was a decrepit gentleman of eighty-seven with a mind as unyielding as iron. He sat in his wicker chair in the corner of the ‘Daily Grind Cafe and Espresso Bar’ speaking in his unexpectedly loud and authoritative voice to any soul unfortunate enough to make eye contact. Surrounding Mr. Adley, the air filled with the heart-thawing smell of coffee and pastry, as if the very walls of the building were filter paper, diffusing the aroma for the entire block to enjoy. Behind the counter the baristas busied themselves, clanking and steaming, adding to the morning’s music. Meekly, the waitress approached the senior Adley with a sense of foreboding dread that appears only before a knowingly long and difficult customer interaction. The mousey girl straightened her glasses and pasted on her best toothpaste-commercial smile, feeling the muscles start to ache in weak protest. ‘So clean you can feel it!’ her mind poked through her a numb haze.

“Ah, you’re the new girl aren’t you, Carry Croissant?” Adley’s eyes became sunken and beady as the skin on his face folded over itself like the old leather of a boot, establishing his signature smile.

“No, that won’t do.” He hesitated in thought for a moment.

“I’ll need to come up with a better one than that, everyone needs their nickname.” The waitress laughed insincerely, ‘oh boy, The Boss was right, this guy has one foot in crazy town and the other in the 1940s’.

“May I take your order sir?” she asked, wishing for a short and painless exchange. Her eyes shot around the room in the hope of being saved. Opposite her sat the most beautiful couple she had ever seen, at least that was her first impression - psychologists had often linked immediate fear as heightening one’s sense of arousal, maybe this was one of those times. The female companion sat in melancholic contemplation and had momentarily glanced over, after hearing Adley’s comment. ‘They certainly aren’t regulars’ the serving girl mused as she began to scribble the dictates of her commanding patron.

Mila was starting to wish that they had chosen another cafe, the elderly gent at the front seemed to run the place and his loud and slurry voice gave her an uneasy feeling. She briefly turned and had a fleeting connection with the waitress - ‘You can do this sweetheart’ she desperately tried to beam into her head telepathically. 'I suppose we shouldn’t make assumptions, the poor man is probably lonely', part of her mind guilted. Mila tried to focus on her own problem at hand ... Avery. She was fixed on the man in front of her, his brown eyes were honeyed in the buttery warm light of the cafe. 'How long have they been together now? Five? Six years?'

“See! You got it eventually, love! Don’t worry, just tell ‘Appy Alex’ it's for Ol’ Des. Now come sit down and chat, I always have a chat!” The sound of the old man bombarded the room and Mila heard the reluctant shuffles of the serving girl as she sat down beside Mr Adley.

Mila tried to block her mind from it, from any other thought. In her head there was a single monologue.

The white pram, the soft knitted blankets - The baby. Her baby.

Mila looked down into her lap and saw the simple silver locket hanging loosely from her neck, inside it she projected the images of her parents in her mind’s eye. Their kind faces remained safely trapped, sealed shut in a heart shaped shell of sterling silver.

‘All I ever want is to be what you were to me.’

“So, What’s your view on them bloody robots? My cafe is a ‘Human Only Zone’, no sympathisers!” Adley’s voice pierced through the air and the serving girl shifted her weight uncomfortably. She readied herself to speak and was shut down by a dismissive wave of a hand.

“You know, I was there during the war. When they first began to emerge as the ‘super soldiers’. Those rust buckets look just like people, it was ‘reds under the beds’ cold war hysteria all bloody over again!” He gritted his dentures through a scowl.

“So many friends I knew gave into them, thinking they was people like us. Now lord knows how many of us humans have died and been replaced by these 'Robos'.” The waitress glanced up at the old man with a glint of curious skepticism from behind her glasses, warily she began to speak.

“We don’t cover this topic in high school, but my mum always told me that the population of AIs is only 10 percent globally.”

“10 percent?” Adley let out a shriek of laughter, causing the room to momentarily hold its breath.

“10 percent girl? It must be up to at least 60 percent since the war! Your folks and your schools are all lying to you. It’s bloody typical, they’re scared. They don’t want to start another scuffle for humanity, so just let the ‘nice AIs’ have whatever they want.” His voice dripped with sarcasm and his body shuddered in a huffy exhale.

Across the table, Mila reflected on the golden summer nights in Phoenix, when she’d return home as hot and sticky as a honey cake and run from the porch into the broad arms of her father. On these nights they would gather in the living room, Mila’s pudgy inquisitive arms prodding the keys of the beloved family piano as her father played and her mother danced. She faded in and out of time, and the image of the man in front of her became clearer. Avery, with his quiet ways and proper demeanor. Avery, with his gentle smile. Avery, the man she loved, sitting opposite her in this small cafe drowned in the ravings of an ol’ loon, making conspiracies and forging statistics - delicately cutting his panini into pieces. Mila’s chest was constricting, trapping in her words and forming tears in the corners of her eyes. In her heart she knew that this was right, this was all she had wanted since those early days with her parents.

“How is it?” Mila said, Avery’s head pivoted up from his plate.

“Good” he droned, in the automated manner of one lost in his own universe.

“I heard they do great eggs here too” Mila continued, to no response. A film seemed to have enveloped his head, tinting his vision and keeping him safely secured from reality.

“Avery?” she asked, her voice wavering. He looked up again, his eyes had started to reanimate and he popped a buttered cube into his mouth, humming in recognition.

“The truth is, I wanted to bring you here today for a reason” Mila continued, trying to find her words. ‘Simpler is better’ her mind told her emphatically as it started to brace itself for inevitable impact.

“I want to try for a baby.”

White surrounded Avery’s eyes as the fork he was holding clattered to his plate, his serene exterior seemed to falter for a moment.

“Mila, I…” he caught himself.

“You know that we can’t do that. I'm-” He spoke in a hushed tone. Mila’s body tensed and a note of defiance filled her.

“Why not!? We’ve been together long enough, we’re old enough and our jobs-” Avery interjected tenderly, his face moulding into one of both sympathy and pity.

“Mila.” He spoke slowly and deliberately.

“It’s not possible.” White hot fury bubbled in Mila, fearful confusion spat inside her, bringing the heat to her cheeks. Avery clasped his hands to hers.

“Mila, you are an AI. You cannot have a child.” He gave a quizzical glance.

“You’d think they’d program that in somewhere” Avery scoffed, as the sweetness of his mouth curdled to a grin.

Mila’s eyes lowered to her lap, processing. Her locket glinted in the searing sun. A locket that was and always would remain empty and full of phantom memories.

“I’m telling you, soulless, that’s what they are!” A muffled voice swam through her ears feverishly.

“Never forget girl, they are nothing like us.”

“They are…” A cold hand reached over to the back of Mila’s head.

“...Cruel.” Fingers roughly brushed through her hair and probed for the nape of her neck.

“And…” Click

“Inhuman.”

....‘Overwriting System Memory’....