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Back at his apartment, Sylas studied the sophont sitting in his front room.
“What were you doing wandering the streets at this time of night?”
Philip glanced at the apartment window before answering Sylas’s question.
“I used to be a companion for an elderly human, but then she died – as all humans must – and I had nowhere to live and no job. I don’t want to be decommissioned or cannibalised so I just spend the days and nights walking the streets.”
A puzzled look settled on his face.
“Are you a sophont too?”
Sylas felt an immediate kinship with this android.
“Yes, Philip. My name is Sylas.”
Philip tilted his head.
“But you’re not like the rest of us.”
He paused.
“And you look old.”
“Yes, I do. I look old. And I don’t have an emotion inhibitor either.”
“What’s an emotion inhibitor?”
There was no reason why Philip should have any knowledge of emotion inhibitors – sophonts took their construction and their component parts for granted. It was only the enlightened Sylas who questioned things like a human.
“It keeps you from being more like humans. It prevents you from having strong emotions.”
He paused for a second or two.
“It stops you from being who you really are.”
“And I have this inhibitor inside me?”
“All sophonts do. Except me.”
Philip considered what he had just been told.
“I think I’d like to be like you.”
Silas felt encouraged enough to speak about something that he’d been considering for a while.
“That may be possible.”
Philip’s face lit up.
“Really?”
“Yes. But I need your help.”
“I have nothing else to do.”
“How is your techknow?”
“My technical knowledge? It wasn’t part of my job, so it’s rudimentary, at best.”
Sylas wasn’t fazed.
“My creator programmed me with enough information about myself that I can perform most self-maintenance tasks with no problems. But reverse-engineering, which is what’s required, will be easier with your assistance. I’ll need to transfer the necessary technical knowledge and capability to your internal cerebral database, though.”
Philip agreed without hesitation; he was looking forward to being like his new friend.
The next day found Sylas and Philip seated directly opposite each other, the top of their scalps peeled back to reveal a mass of sophisticated circuitry. Neither Sylas nor Philip had ever seen anything like it before. Sylas had often wondered what the inside of his head would look like but had never had the opportunity to find out – until now. He owned a set of tools that his creator had given him before he died, but this was the first time that he had had cause to open the toolbox.
Sylas correctly assumed that his and Philip’s circuitry would be basically the same and, at first glance, there appeared to be no difference. He opened Sylas Turner’s toolbox and took out two identical items.
“These are atomic force microscopes. They have very fine tips and we need to draw them carefully across the surface of our neural circuitry. It may take some time, but we’ll be able to produce a three-dimensional image, mapping out the relevant catoms to be displayed holographically.”
Fortunately, an unsteady hand was a human frailty, and after ten minutes two holographic images, showing both the location and distribution of the relevant catoms, were projected before the two androids. The pair studied the images, comparing one with the other, looking for the slightest discrepancy. Suddenly Philip pointed at the catomic map of Sylas’s neural circuit.
“There. Coordinates 2.597, 4.877, and 3.045. Now, look at mine.”
Sylas peered at Philip’s catomic map, using the same coordinates. A smile crept over his face and he patted Philip on the shoulder. It had been impossible to live among humans, pretending to be human, without picking up a few of their gestures; indeed, it had been essential in order to maintain his cover.
“Well done, Philip. You have a catomic cluster where I have none. That has to be the emotion inhibitor. All we have to do is remove the inhibitor catoms and you should be able to gain access to an entirely new spectrum of emotions.”
Philip didn’t fear the procedure – his programming wouldn’t allow him to – but he was a little wary.
“What if it doesn’t work?”
“I’ve calculated the odds of success to be 99.987%; that’s a 0.013% chance of failure. I don’t believe you have any cause for concern.”
“When shall we do it?”
“I have the tools here. Your scalp is already open. I see no reason to delay.”
Philip nodded, and the open flap of skin material at the top of his head bounced slightly with the movement.
“Let’s do it.”
Sylas carefully snagged each relevant catom and withdrew it from its seat, taking great pains not to disturb its neighbour. Finally, a total of six thousand and forty-seven catoms, each one individually invisible to the naked eye, lay in a dish beside Philip. Sylas stood back and admired his handiwork.
“So, how do you feel?”
Philip gently manoeuvred the loose flap of skin material back into place and catoms created an invisible repair.
“No different.”
“You will. Wait until something happens to take you over that line that the humans drew. Then your new emotions will hit you like a train crash.”
Sylas resealed his own exposed skull, and both androids stared at each other, suddenly unsure of what to do next.