Second Place: Fiction
Automaton
Evan Alley, Boonville Something was missing. Claire could tell. There was a hole inside of her, but she couldn’t find it. She started an internal diagnostic, running through her various systems, one after another, methodically checking her software’s integrity. She was all there. Her emotional core was acting abnormally, but she didn’t need any diagnostic firmware to tell her that. She looked towards the sky. A familiar void starred back down at her, information occasionally scrolling over her eyes. Advertisements and alerts passed between artificial heartbeats. The lights of the city could sometimes be seen reflected in wisps of gas flitting morosely over the ominous skyscrapers around her. They grinned down at her with their victorian architecture, the skins of steel and glass worn by those buildings didn’t have the usual welcoming chill. Organics gave her strange looks as they passed in the street, perhaps wondering why Claire’s mechanical eyes were so fixated on the sky above. Claire knew that on any other day she would be wondering the same thing, her RAM cycling information through her circuits, working on a logical explanation for the behaviour. But at that moment, her RAM was focused on a much more pressing problem, one that assaulted her logical and emotional cores with equal intensity: What was she missing? She should be content. She had been made to be content. She had a comfortable job, working as a secretary for the HFDC, a coveted position among her fellow Automatons. Aside from the occasional drunken approaches, she was was mostly avoided by the organics in the office. They gave her a wide berth for they called the “uncanny valley.” Maybe she was lonely? Claire sat on the thought as she lowered her eyes from the empty sky, passing it through the web of connections that formed her electronic mind. Crowds of organics pushed past her, some slipping into harshly-lit shops, some rushing into decrepit subway stations. There weren’t any other Automatons in sight. More than likely, they were working late, stuck trying to figure solutions to the problems that inevitably arose within organic businesses. Maybe she missed the company of those like her, maybe she needed someone to talk to. Her logic processors agreed that this was the most likely reason for the hole she felt. But her rebellious emotional processors refused to accept the solution. Claire started another diagnostic, this time specifically targeting the four processors that should be have decoded the emotions she felt. All was working properly, according to the subroutines she had run. Her focus turned wholly inward, the trip home was both short and uneventful. The subway was packed and dirty as usual, and Claire was tempted to shut down her odor sensors for a portion of the ride. Before the temptation became a need, the ride was over, and Claire was back to her own neighborhood. The buildings were shorter than they were in the business district, but Claire still felt crushed by their imposing stature. Looking at the sky again, Claire thought, just for a 138 Inscape 2019
