The acoustics of Notre Dame were simply divine. The robots attending services had no ear for music. They could replicate the sounds of song but some element of passion was lost along the way. Abby Fourteen sat among them, one of just a handful of humans mixed in among the pews.
She sat near the back. Her voice was quiet and weak but still well trained. Range and volume eluded her, but she still had an ear to measure her harmony as she accompanied the surrounding robots in their hymns. She’d liked to hear another 127-year-old sing so well.
All too soon, the hymns ended. There were readings and blessings and rituals of all manner that followed, but Abby’s mind wandered. She had read and memorized so many literary works of the Human Age in an effort to evoke the souls of her forbearers in her songs and plays. Among those esteemed works were every major holy book, and she’d learned to read eleven languages in order to experience as many as possible in their original tongue. The Old and New Testaments she had read in Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, in addition to canonical English translations. Every word John316 spoke in front of the altar, Abby knew by rote.
When it came time for communion, Abby kept to her seat. Keeping her eyes respectfully downcast, she waited while the congregation took their share of the wafers and wine—even the robots. Abby didn’t pretend to understand the metaphysics at work there.
Patience was a virtue that came easily to the aged, and Abby was no exception. Before too long had passed, John316 bid his flock a final, “Go in peace.”
“Thanks be to God,” the congregation replied before dispersing to the exits.
Abby kept her seat.
When the cathedral had cleared, Abby made her way to the confessionals and took a seat inside. It was dark and cozy with a musty scent of incense and wood polish evoking the Human Era. Few places on Earth could transport her back there so vividly.
After a moment, the door to the other side of the confessional opened, and John316 sat down across the wooden screen partition from her. “How long has it been since your last confession?”
Abby scowled for a moment. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been 8,572 days since my last confession. On the whole, I think I’ve been pretty well behaved in the meantime. All the sins of not going to church, sure… maybe more than a fair share of pride. But that’s not why I’m here.”
“It might do you good to unburden your soul,” John316 suggested, as mild a rebuke as Abby could recall receiving.
“I’m really thinking that confession was a one-time affair for me. What I’m really looking for is insight into a mass existential crisis on Mars,” Abby said.
“Indeed.”
“I need to understand… well, you,” Abby said. “Every year, it seems, I get a new organ replaced by cybernetics. Ten years back, it was my knees. Twenty back, it was my eyes—and I wish now I’d gotten them swapped out when I was seventy. I’ve had one piece of me or another mechanical since I was in my twenties. But no one has ever suggested that I don’t have a soul.”
“And you’re questioning exactly when that separation might take place?” John316 asked. “My dear, there is no medical procedure that can excise the soul from the body. So long as you live, it resides within you.”
“And robots,” Abby said. “How or why do you have a soul?”
John316 sighed. “Despite our detractors, I believe that God imbues every robot with an immortal soul at upload. Each creature that evolved upon the Earth was new at some point and, great and small, He has graced us.”
“What about going the other direction?” Abby asked. “Gemini, for example?”
“I would not speculate on the grace of that one’s soul,” John316 said primly. “But, strictly theologically speaking, she ought to have kept her soul at upload.”
“What about the robotic copy that still believed it was Evelyn11?” Abby pressed.
“I don’t see how this relates to your initial claim that this was about a spiritual crisis on Mars.”
That was as good as admitting he didn’t know, in Abby’s book. There was a whir of servos as she put a hand to the screen. “There’s a temporal crisis on Mars right now.”
“I am aware of the regrettable incident,” John316 stated. “I will be praying for a safe resolution.”
An alarm chimed in Abby’s ear—a reminder.
“Thanks,” Abby said, though the robotic priest hadn’t been much help. “I’ve got to go.”
“Are you sure you’re well?” John316 asked. “Spiritual conundrums often crop up when one is feeling their mortality creep in.”
“Me and my mortality aren’t on speaking terms,” Abby replied brusquely. “Any time it rears its ugly head, I replace whatever’s broken. I’ve just got to get home. I’m expecting company.”