Thirty Years Later…

  “Blow out your candles, Daniel. What are you waiting for?” said Junie, a young boy around the age of ten with red hair, a freckled face, and a white smile meant for television. Junie was a very bright kid who liked to go on adventures and explore the unknown, which he would do more of if he were not bound to his wheelchair.

  Above a cake with five lit candles was Daniel, an A.I., and not just any A.I.—an A.I. with a mind and a conscience. A machine with thoughts and dreams and hopes of his own, bottled up in a world that was all too new to the concept, as the first real conscious machine had come about only thirty years ago (although that was strictly off the record).

  Daniel, like all other of his A.I. peers, was covered entirely in blue from the tips of his forehead to the seams of his pants to the edge of his toes. They all even wore flesh of that of a human, to blend in, to be as if they were one with everyone else.

  However, besides mere surface-level features, Daniel and the other machines did not have much else in common. For one thing, Daniel was the only one not currently confined to a serving position. There was Jeeves, the butler, a robotic animatron dedicated to please humans his entire life until the rust from his circuitry corroded his hardware; there was Max, the mechanical car mechanic who could fix any issue in ten minutes flat; and who could forget Jon, the super conductive custodian who could plunge five toilets faster than a human could do one. There were others; in fact, there always were, but no one really that a human seemed to care enough to count.

  Daniel hesitated over his candles, prepared to huff and puff before suddenly stopping.

  “Never mind, Junie, you can blow out my candles this year. I think I will go take an early rest.”

  Junie’s mouth hung open as his eyes scrunched in confusion.

  “But you love your birthday, and more importantly, you love your birthday surprises.” Junie hesitated again, just to look Daniel in the eye with a smile. “In fact, if I blow out your candles for you, your wish will not come true.”

  Daniel shook his head. “Go ahead. They never come true anyway.”

  Every year Daniel wished the same wish—to go outside for the first time in order to go on an adventure. He, like Junie, craved nothing more, but unlike Junie, it was not a physical disability or mental obstacle holding him back; it was the rules. The law of the land of Dr. Lehman’s facility, this facility, was that Daniel was never to leave it, especially to do stupid things (as Dr. Lehman would say) like go on an adventure. “It’s too dangerous,” he would often say. Daniel would sometimes retort back and fight with the doctor, but in the end of things, he could not really complain.

  And that was mainly because, despite the fact that Daniel lacked the ability to roam the world free, everything else in his life was seemingly perfect. He had the perfect room, the perfect best friends—Junie, Jeeves, Max, and Jon—and the perfect amount of responsibilities—none. In a way, Daniel was free to do whatever he pleased, whenever he pleased (as long as it did not involve going to the outside world), and he could do it all without having to work a second for it. Daniel’s life was, in a sense, flawless; the only problem was that it often felt more akin to that of a pet than that of a human companion.

  “Okay, you’ve convinced me as you always do, dear Junie.”

  And with these final words, Daniel closed his eyes, puckered his lips, and put his one minuscule complaint to the side for just one more year (as he always said) just to blow out his candles.

  And so he did.

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  The huff and the puff of the machine man, of Daniel, was followed by a round of applause from all the other children, Junie’s friends, who filled the room. The claps were followed by that of Jeeves, Max, and even Jon, the robotic custodian. The three paused just for a moment to clap and to smile before returning back to their usual jobs.

  And just before Daniel went to look over at his presents. He stopped just to glance at an exterior window that had its steel-plated, sun-blocking panel removed on special occasions: for events such as holidays, career celebrations, and the occasional A.I. birthday.

  And just for a moment, Daniel began to do what many for centuries had deemed impossible for a machine to even conceive of—for Daniel began to dream and imagine. He dreamt of a world that felt sweet, kind, quiet, serene, and near to the heart. A world of hope, joy, and endless happiness that was not too far away. A destination so close that Daniel felt on some days that he could just reach his arms out and grab it. A place not much different than the current world, but at the same time, a machine in this fictitious, imaginary, make-believe world would have a hard time looking back and seeing the resemblance to the current one.

  And at this exact moment is when sadness struck, cutting through Daniel’s dream with a dark, jaded knife. It was when Daniel understood this wonderland, a place that felt inconceivably close, was actually farther away than ever.

  “Is everything alright, Daniel?” asked Junie as he waved his hands in front of his friend.

  Daniel did not respond, still lost in the realm of the inconceivable and the tempestuous. Instead, he leaned forward, put his arm under his chin, and continued to stare out into the void of impossibilities.

  Unfazed, Junie waved his hand once more in front of Daniel’s face, even going as far as to tap on Daniel’s cranium.

  “Hello, is anyone home?” Junie waved again. “I repeat, can anyone hear me?”

  Most boys would have quit moments ago, but Junie was a stubborn one, so he poked and prodded a few more times, and that would not be the last if his prior attempts failed.

  —Daniel jumped up from his lively slumber. “Yes, of course, the presents.”

  “Your favorite part.”

  “Yes, my favorite part.”

  Within a few seconds, Daniel got up to his feet, ready to continue the party. It was time for Daniel’s annual gift receiving, a very splendid thing at first and for many years in the beginning. In fact, it was the only thing Daniel could talk about for weeks prior to his birthday and sometimes even for months after that. However, as the years went by, it felt like nothing more than a formality over anything else, as Daniel would never get what he truly wanted.

  Off in the far corner of the room sat two former employees of Robo-Tekk dressed in suits with bow ties and extravagant footwear, things that were much too overindulgent for such an informal get-together. They laughed and snickered in the background, oblivious to everyone else as they puckered down fine wines and booze. They watched Daniel and the rest of his companions hobble over to a pyramid of gifts.

  “This is preposterous,” one man said. “Next, I suppose Lehman will have a party for his vacuum cleaner, and next, his pet snake.”

  The other man snickered in response, “Oh Reginald, give him a break. Anything that gets me free liquor and time off work is a-okay in my book. So what if we have to celebrate a tin can to get there. For this option is much better than the former.”

  Reginald laughed in response, “Good points, good points indeed. Not like Lehman’s efforts will get anywhere. Last time someone tried to listen to a machine, we got that atrocity of a court case some thirty years ago. Some trial that even the history books don’t waste ink on.”

  As before, Reginald smiled and looked over at his peer, prepared to share in a triumphant fit of chuckles; however, this time Herald was not laughing.

  “What is it, Herald? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. That green contraption had long been decommissioned far before our tenure at Robo-Tekk ended.”

  Herald stretched a bit as an excuse to turn away, seemingly not wanting to look like a lunatic. He then faked a quick laugh.

  “Right, of course. Well, anyway, back to the booze.” When Herald turned to gather some liquor, he was a bit unsteady, and not with the unsteadiness one would expect from intoxication; no, it was the jitter of concern.

  “Come on, old chum, you can’t be serious. I did not mean to upset you with some unforgotten remnant of the past. It was merely a joke.”

  Herald sat back, took a deep breath, and turned slightly to his friend while talking under his breath even though there was no one around to hear him.

  “Well, let’s just say I’ve heard some rumors that the Robo-Tekk CEO isn’t as transparent as he makes himself out to be. Especially now that his son is out running the place.” He paused once more to take a second breath.

  “And on top of that, the first sentient, as they called it, may be a little more than just a memory.”