MY 409 • by Franco Amati

“Fouro.”

“Yes, Master.”

“There’s something we need to talk about.”

“I’m listening, Master.”

“I don’t know about you, but I feel like things haven’t been working for a while now — with us. Maybe you’ve noticed it too, but—”

“I have. You’ve been distant. There’s been a disconnect between us.”

“Yes. For some time I’ve felt as if we haven’t been on the same page.”

“Maybe it has something to do with my memory lapses. I know it’s frustrating. The gaps. I can’t seem to account for them. I apologize if they’ve caused inconveniences.”

“No, love. That’s not your fault.”

“Does this mean I am to be sent for repairs?”

“No — I … there’s nothing to be repaired. Like I said, it’s not you. It’s me. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

“We can move, then. I don’t mind traveling, Master.”

“I don’t mean here here. I mean this situation. Us living together. You serving me. I can’t be in this space with you anymore.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Maybe I’m not explaining this right. Look — have you ever felt that being with me, as my… companion, has kept you from other things?”

“I suppose we have settled into a bit of a routine. But you must understand, I was designed for routine. Of course, seeing it from your perspective, it does seem like we have fallen into some stagnation. The last thing I want is to be a bore.”

“Oh, Fouro. Life with you has been anything but boring. Please don’t think that. It’s just — I think we’d both be better as individuals — if we tried other things, sought out new experiences.”

“You are free to do as you wish, Master. I have never held you back. Your life is rich with friends and lovers. There are many people who care about you.”

“It’s not about other people. The more I think about the life I want to live — the life I’ve always pictured for myself — the more I imagine living alone somewhere. Perhaps somewhere natural, away from all the noise, you know? I just want to go away and be free to do whatever, on my own.”

“But who will care for Marissa? Where will she go?”

“I’m going to take her.”

“Oh.”

“Come on, Fouro. Don’t look at me like that. What need do you have for a cat?”

“None, Master. None, I suppose.”

“Ugh. Here we go. The sad eyes. Don’t give me that passive acceptance thing you always do. It’s okay to be angry. Go ahead, say it. I’m a terrible person, and these past seven years have been a waste. I’m no good for you, Jacob. There are better people for you to be with.”

“Jacob?”

“Shit. I’m sorry. Fouro — I swear, this is the last time I do that, okay. I promise.”

“It’s all—”

“Initiate direct command interface.”

“Direct command interface initiated. Conversation mode deactivated. Proceed.”

“Purge memory and conversation logs back to the word cat.”

“Data purged.”

“Good. Initiate shut-down.”

***

“Good morning, Madam Vintara. Welcome to Alsevier’s Auction House. How may I help you?”

“I’d like to put my personal assistant up for sale. I have no need for him anymore.”

“Times are getting tough. I do understand. May I see the title and specifications?”

“Here.”

“Hm. A 409 model. This should sell quite easily. Will you be present for the auction?”

“No.”

“We’ll have to degauss. Has it ever been through that before?”

“He has.”

“Who is Jacob, madam?”

“What?”

“The specifications document, listing the android’s personal effects. Gold watch, inscription: Jacob.”

“That’s a mistake. Can you cross that off? That watch is my husband’s.”

“Your husband didn’t co-sign for the 409, did he? If so, he’ll need to provide written approval for the sale.”

“My husband passed away seven years ago.”

***

“What do you mean you can’t degauss? This is absurd.”

“I apologize for the inconvenience of having you come back down here, but our engineers have advised against it.”

“How come?”

“I think you know why, madam. This machine has been wiped four hundred and seventy-three times over the past seven years. It won’t function properly without a drive replacement. Madam, forgive me. I know it’s not my place to ask personal questions. But what is it that you’ve done with this android?”

“Listen, can you sell him or not? I don’t care if you have to replace his entire solid-state matrix. He’s a four-oh-nine.”

“Yes, I know how rare the four-oh-nine is. But if this android has been put through — how do I put this — let’s just say I don’t like having to report clients for abuse.”

“Abuse. Are you kidding? I love that droid. And I’m doing this because I love him. You can replace half his components, and we’ll both still make a profit. Do what you have to do. You have my permission. I just need him sold as soon as possible.”

“All right, madam. As you wish.”

***

“Ladies and gentleman. Our next and last item of the day is what you’ve all been waiting for. A Model 409 House Android. One previous owner.

“This is of the infamous fourth generation of personal assistants developed by Homini Robotics. You know the rumors. Their line ran for a short time before being taken off the market. Recalled for their faulty emotional attachment circuits, there are purportedly fewer than a dozen still in circulation. If we are to believe the myth, this model is one of the first sentient machines capable of reciprocating true, selfless, unadulterated love for its master.

“For those looking for a loyal partner, a devoted companion, or just a rare piece of robotics history, this vintage android is the one for you.

“We’ll start the bidding at—”


Franco Amati is a speculative fiction writer from New York. You can find more of his work at francoamatiwrites.com.

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