The Man Who Will Never Die
“Do you know what you will be doing in the next 30 years?”
She looked at him searching for an answer, but his lifeless gray eyes didn’t tell her anything.
“I can’t predict that far into the future. You know that.”
He looked out of the window at the people below bustling too and fro on the streets. A subtle blue light lit the city and housed the noises of honking cars and accelerator pedals.
“No one can know for sure, Tessa. But do you know where you’re going enough to say where you’ll be in 2165?”
“I can’t predict that far into the future. I wasn’t made for that.”
He sighed and waved his hand. She stood up, her chrome making a hideous scrape against the metal chair and left, the wheels on her feet whirring as she passed. He pressed a button on his phone before shoving it to another corner of his desk. He leaned over to get another clean form from his filing cabinet and smoothed it on the surface before grabbing for a pen. The door opened and closed with a click and shoe soles squeaked on the spotless tile floor.
A man about six feet sat down in the chair opposite the desk. His hair was so black it was blue and his eyes had an unusual shade of gold. His long hands folded in his lap and he leaned back his lanky frame.
“I’m sorry, sir. I’ve been interviewing robots all day and you’ll have to make an appointment to see me another day.”
The man nodded. “I am a robot. But I understand your misconception.”
He looked at him again, shaking his head. “What model?”
“The newest; BX 2137. Two years ahead of its time. By the way,” he said leaning forward. “Dr. Henson says hello.”
The older man nodded his head and leaned back in his chair. “Did she give you a common name?”
“Adonis.”
“Well, I’m Dr. Johnson. I suppose you’re here to go through with the interview, so at your word we shall continue.”
“As you will.”
“What color is the sky?”
“Now? I suppose black with all of the pollution. Two hundred years ago it was azure in summer, white in winter, and gray in spring.”
“Do you know what you will be doing in the next 30 years?”
Adonis stopped and looked out the window. “I don’t suppose I’ll be here in the next 30 years. It’s sad isn’t it; I’ll be obsolete, where as now I’m ahead of my time. I won’t die, will I? Just keep going until something inside me stops working, placed in a museum until another century passes and someone may fix me and I’ll live again. All these fake emotions and memories to just make me more of an outcast. They used to have freak shows for people like me—look at the man who will never die! He never knew love or sadness, he never saw the sky or felt the fur of an animal companion. He can’t taste, can’t feel, he’s only known the run of machines and corruption. Look at him and laugh.”
Then he made a strange noise and his shoulders bobbed up and down like a supposed buoy. Dr Johnson leaned forward over the desk and saw tears run through Adonis’ parted fingers. He sat back down and closed his eyes. Silence is best. Looking out the windows again he saw the neon lights turn on as the artificial sky turn off into total dark. He never once did see the moon or the stars and, now that he thought about it, didn’t really know what a tree was. He admired felines, but never saw a real one. And although he was a doctor, he had no idea of disease. The world of discovery and mystery were gone and replaced with a molded artificial… hell.
“I’m—I’m so sorry,” Dr. Johnson said, tears welling up in his eyes. “But I don’t know either. And the worst part is, there’s nowhere to go. The whole world is covered in this…plastic.”
“I had planned,” Adonis said rubbing his tears away with his sleeve, “to run away in a space ship, but I can’t get a license for it if I want to fly non-commercial. Please don’t tell Dr. Henson I ran away. I just needed to get all of this out of my head. It’s odd.”
“No,” Dr. Johnson said with a smile, “it’s normal.” He pulled out a pink sheet from his filing cabinet and smoothed it out on the desk. “Don’t loose this, because if anyone superfluous sees that it has my signature on it, I can lose my license.”
Carefully and neatly, he filled it out, ignoring the tension of the other being until it was unbearable. “Just sign here,” he said pointing his finger at a line at the bottom. The scrawny young man reach for the pen and wrote his name as perfect computer font in a few seconds. He grabbed the paper and bowed deeply before leaving the room. Dr. Johnson looked out the window for the last time and shook his head. Poor kid, he thought before picking up his log sheet for Adonis and ripping it up into lop-sided strips. Clapping his hands twice, he left the office. The lights dimmed to black behind him.
