The Creation of Amy Read online

  Phillips believed he lived in Florida, and even though he had taken his calls all this time, he never admitted anything to him.

  Kara had called a couple of times since they last spoke inquiring about Amy, but all he said was, “Almost done.”

  Now, he actually needed Kara to come to the lab to help Amy mimic certain facial expressions and movements, so Morse called her to invite her over that evening.

  She knocked on the door, and Morse answered, they greeted each other.

  “So, where is she?”

  Morse his body half away from her. “Over here,” he replied as he gestured toward the computer and something covered with a blanket.

  He stepped up to the mysterious blanket and with a dramatic pull, removed his veil, and presented Kara Amy with goofy imitation of a game show model.

  Kara’s eyes bugged out of her head and she gasped. “Oh my god,” she uttered as she moved closer to her.

  She got nose to nose with her and breathed, “You weren’t kidding, she looks just like me!”

  Morse only nodded.

  After her wonderment subsided, she asked, “Does she do anything or does she just sit there?”

  Morse said, “Amy, wake,” as her answer.

  Amy’s eyes opened. She made a jerky scan of the room and froze. All her movements were silent although awkwardly executed.

  Morse’s next command was, “Amy, stand up.”

  The programming had improved a decimal, so Amy knew to pull the plug out of the back of her neck first, and then she stood up.

  Kara’s eyes were bugging out even more, which was a surprise for Morse, as he did not expect them to get any bigger than they already were, and she left her mouth open.

  “She is breathing,” she said with a pointed finger at Amy’s heaving torso. “How the hell did you do that? This is amazing! I’m in shock! If you make more of these, you’re going to be a billionaire!”

  Morse with a shrug and a chuckle admitted with modesty, “I didn’t do this for the money, although it would be nice. I did it because I wanted to do something more than waste my life as another cog in the government’s machine, and also because I needed something to occupy my time.”

  “Does it speak,” she asked still pointing in her incredulous pose.

  Morse noted closely all her mannerisms and personality with the intention of somehow adding a femininity to Amy.

  “Only the basic questions she will answer, anything else, she won’t do anything. Oh, watch this! This is kind of funny.” Morse faced Amy and put his hands over his face, then opened them, and said, “Peek-a-boo!” Amy laughed like a goofy dork and behaved amused.

  Kara laughed so hard, she pissed herself.

  “Oops,” she said, cringing. “Oh, god, I haven’t laughed that hard in ages.”

  Morse smiled, and Amy asked, “Who is that woman?” with a blank stare.

  Morse with surprise commented aloud, “I guess the new inquiry program is working.”

  Kara, still embarrassed about pissing herself, remained astonished by this girl.

  “That’s Kara,” he said in answer to Amy. He then turned to Kara and said, “I have some new clothes I bought for Amy if you need to change.”

  Kara nodded, “Okay, thanks.”

  Morse went to the storage room to get the pants and underwear.

  Amy, still staring at Kara, asked, “Why are you here? How do you know, Father?” Her words came out too slow for natural speech.

  Kara, now bewildered, asked, “Father?” She pointed to Morse and asked her, “Who is that?”

  Amy answered, “My father.”

  Morse gave the clothes to Kara and said, “Sorry about making you piss your pants, I won’t tell anybody. The bathroom is upstairs to the left.”

  “This girl called you Father,” Kara said. “Did you know that?

  “Yes,” Morse confirmed, “I know that. Is that creepy to you or something?”

  “Not unless you’re doing her,” she pointed out.

  “No,” he said with certainty, “I couldn’t. She is a daughter; it is what having a baby in a way must be like.”

  “Awe,” Kara cooed with a self-hug, “can I be her mommy? After all, I did contribute something here.”

  Morse encouraged her to, “Sure, tell her,” he said with an open arm suggestion of generosity.

  Kara, with a gleeful bounce, answered Amy. “Amy, my dear, I’m your mom.”

  Amy asked, “How are you my mother?”

  “You, your likeness, were copied from me,” she explained.

  “You do look like me,” Amy assessed. “What does, “copied” mean?”

  Morse spoke up, “Look it up in your memory, dear,” he instructed Amy.

  Amy looked at Morse, paused for a moment, and said, “I understand now. Why was I copied from Mother?”

  “Hold that thought for now,” Morse told Amy.

  “Okay,” she said.

  “Amy sit back in the chair, and plug yourself back in.”

  Amy did.

  Morse turned to Kara, “I need you to do some exercises I created so she can get facial expressions better.”

  “Okay,” she complied. “How does she know to ask questions, is she alive?”

  “She’s not alive,” Morse stated. “All that’s happening is, she’s responding to her outside stimulants, mainly the way I programmed her to. She does ask questions a lot, but usually they make no sense, like, ‘Why do I have two arms?’ If I kept answering questions, they would get weirder and weirder.

  Oh, also, I want you to do voice exercises. Her voice isn’t quite right.”

  “No problem,” she confirmed. “I would be happy to help our girl. Now, I’m going to change.”

  Morse set up the exercises for Amy and waited for Kara. He noticed Amy’s stare at him, and she asked, “Who am I?”

  Morse looked at her in the eyes and pronounced, “Your name is Amy. You are an android. I, your father, built you, and your mother, Kara, is the woman I copied you from. That is why you look like her, do you understand? Look up the meaning of words if you don’t understand them.”

  “We are human?” Amy still asked.

  “Me and Kara are human,” he informed her, “you are an android, a machine made to look like a human, your mother.”

  “I am not human, I am an android,” Amy recited.

  “Yes,” Morse confirmed, “yes, very good. Wow, you are picking things up faster and faster. What’s directive zero, Amy?”

  She responded, “I will not harm my father in any way.”

  “Very good, Amy,” Morse praised her. “What’s directive one?”

  Amy answered, “I will not harm anyone unless they are threatening my father, myself, or anyone on my friendly list. Neutralize using non-lethal means only.”

  “Good, very good,” he praised her again. “Do you understand all the words and what they mean?”

  “Yes,” Amy confirmed.

  “Okay, we will work on this more, but for now, everyone is friendly, and you are not authorized to use force against anyone, understood?”

  Amy replied, “Yes, Father.”

  Kara came down and announced, “Okay, ready for the test.”

  “Okay, sit down, and just mimic the facial expressions you see on that small monitor, and react to the images in the second part of the exercise naturally,” Morse instructed her. “Some will be disturbing.”

  “Hey, I’m from New York, I doubt I’ll be disturbed,” Kara claimed.

  Morse continued, “The third will be a long vocal exercise. It’s to help Amy speak less like a computer. Don’t worry, she is learning artificial intelligence finally, —I thought I’d be stuck playing peek-a-boo with her forever.”

  “Sounds good, let’s do the ‘peek-a-boo’ to her,” Kara suggested.

  Morse turned around saying, “Go ahead, but I don’t have any more fresh pants for you.”

  Kara retorted, “Ha-ha.” Then turned to Amy, looked squarely at her, put her han
ds over her face, then opened them saying, “Peek-a-boo!”

  Amy smiled and laughed like a goofy special person, which made Kara laugh too. Kara seemed gratified, and declared, “Okay, let’s start.”

  Morse pressed a button on the computer, “Okay, begin,” he said, commencing the exercise.

  After about an hour, the exercises were complete, and Kara admitted with a long yawn, “Okay, I’m tired.” She stood; stretching the entire time as she went from sitting to standing as a cat would. “I’m going home. Let me know if you need anything else for our girl, here.”

  Morse concurred with her, “I’m tired too, but I thank you for coming over, this new data should help a lot in how she acts.”

  Kara crouched, looking at Amy, and did the “peek-a-boo” thing again. Amy laughed, and Kara shook her head. “That’s too funny,” she said with glee. “See you around, doc.

  Oh, I’ll give your clothes back next time I see you.”

  “No, problem,” Morse said. “See-ya.”

  Kara took her own pants and left.

  Chapter Seven

  The next day, sometime in the morning, Morse came down to the lab and said to Amy, “Get up.”

  Amy unplugged herself and stood up from her chair.

  Morse told her, “Follow me.” Morse then walked up the stairs, and when Amy got to the stairs, she tried to climb them, but could not seem to. Morse had to return to the first step, “Watch how I do it,” he said. He demonstrated a couple of steps.

  Amy still could not figure it out and stated, “I don’t know how.”

  Morse was surprised because she sounded so much better than yesterday. Morse turned around, sat on the stairs, and told Amy, “Lift your leg.”

  Amy lifted her leg, but was shaky trying to keep balanced.

  “Lift it higher,” he instructed her as he gestured.

  Amy lifted her leg just higher than the first step.

  “Now,” he instructed further, “have your foot over the stair.”

  Amy did this, and Morse said, “Transfer your weight from your right foot, to your left.”

  She did it, then Morse said, “Now, straighten out your left leg, and spring up with your right foot.”

  She attempted it and tripped. She landed face down, so Morse picked her up and set her as she was and coached her more. “Try it again, only this time, use your hands also.”

  After about fifteen minutes of this, she had not figured it out, and Morse realized his programming was questionable. He went back upstairs and called Phillips. He knew he was better at programming, and so much faster than he was. He also knew Amy is good enough to walk to the diner and back.

  When he answered, Morse said, “Hey, Mike. Are you doing anything at the moment?”

  “Well, I was going to do some yard work, why? Are you back in town,” Phillips wanted to know.

  “Yes, I am,” said Morse. “Would you meet me at the diner up from my building at nine A.M.?”

  “Sure, I’ll see you then,” Phillips agreed.

  “Okay, see-yah,” Morse said, hanging up.

  Amy was still at the base of the stairs. Morse returned to her, picked her up over his shoulder, and carried her up the stairs. He stood her in front of the mirror and asked her, “Who is that?”

  “Me,” she replied.

  “Good,” he said as he put a long sleeve shirt on her and brushed her hair a bit. He then broke out some lipstick, thought about adding it to her, then put it away again, saying, “You look great without that. “Amy, we’re going to walk to a diner and sit down and talk to a good friend of mine, so I want you to do everything that I say, okay?”

  “Yes, Father,” she replied.

  “Well, you look great,” he said. “I don’t think I’m forgetting anything. So let me carry you downstairs, and I’m going to eat something.”

  As he picked her up she said, “Okay, Father.”

  She sat at the workbench while Morse ate some Rice Krispies and watched some television.

  As Amy watched the television, she asked bizarre questions about random things. Morse simply ignored her. When he was ready to leave, he said, “Okay, Amy, walk with me,” and they walked out the front door and down the street. Amy walked gingerly, as an elderly woman often does, only with her eyes darting around from the cars to the street and the people. Morse told her not to stare at them, so she stopped doing so. He tried to get her to walk faster, but she could not. He asked, “Why can’t you walk faster, Amy?”

  Amy replied, “I don’t know, Father.”

  They made it to the diner and they both entered with Morse holding the door for her. The place only had a few people in it, and they were all widely spaced apart.

  Phillips was sitting at a middle booth next to the window and said, “Finally! You’re eight minutes late, that’s not like you.”

  “Hey there,” greeted Morse, “This is Amy.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Phillips said and put out his hand to shake hers.

  She just stared and looked at Morse.

  “Go ahead,” he said to her, “shake his hand.”

  One of the things Morse got right with the programming was hand shaking, but he had to order her to do it all the time, and she could not figure it out. She shook his hand, then he said, “Go ahead and sit down, and slide over near the window.”

  Amy then sat and slid over, with arms in an unusual position. Morse sat next to her and reorganized her arms so they looked normal.

  Phillips, seeing this, asked, “Who’s your friend, Rob?”

  Morse only smiled and said, “My project.”

  Amy sat motionless, staring at the seat in front of her, so he instructed her, “Look at me when I talk, and look at Uncle Mike when he talks, and if no one is talking, just look out the window.”

  She looked at Morse and Phillips said, “What do you mean, ‘a project’? Is she ‘special?’ No offense, Amy.”

  “None taken,” she responded.

  Morse again was surprised about how well she had been talking. He observed Phillips had no clue she was a man-made machine, even though she was acting strangely.

  Morse glanced around and confessed, “I haven’t been in Florida, I’ve been in my shop the whole time since my last day at work, and I built something.”

  Phillips’s face arranged itself into a few expressions and settled on his quizzical one.

  “What did you build,” he enquired. He seemed to be baiting his breath for the answer.

  “Guess,” Morse played it out longer.

  Phillips looked from him to Amy and admitted, “I don’t know, should I be scared?”

  “No,” Morse answered.

  “Can I have a clue?

  “Well, think of Geppetto and Pinocchio, think of Frankenstein, and think of Data from Star Trek.”

  Phillips’s face started morphing while staring at Amy and questioned all in a string without pausing, “What are you trying to tell me? Did you two have a baby together? What do you mean, ‘Data?’ Just tell me, man!”

  Morse, quite pleased with how convincing Amy truly was, revealed, “Amy is my project, she’s a machine.”

  Phillips gawked at them both, snorted, and then wagged his finger at them, saying, “Oh, I get it,” he chortled, “some kind of role playing thing. Sure, I could see that.”

  Morse point-blank told Phillips that Amy was a machine and he still did not believe him. He was ready for this. He then pulled out a piece of bar stock steel, round, about ten inches long, and challenged Phillips, “Bend that.”

  “You’re weird, dude,” Phillips pointed out, but he tried and failed.

  Then he returned the piece of steel, and Morse gave it to Amy and told her, “Take this and bend it.”

  Amy gingerly grasped the bar and bent it into a sharp “v” as if it was tinfoil.

  Phillips gasped, and said with astonishment, “No! You didn’t!”

  Morse, full of pride proclaimed, “I sure did.”

  “Let me switch places,�
�� Phillips suggested, so they swapped seats.

  Now Phillips was next to Amy, examining her closely. Morse removed the bar stock from Amy’s hands and returned it in his pocket.

  Phillips asked Amy, “May I touch you?”

  Amy faced him and consented, “Okay.”

  He touched her face and marveled, “Her face looks and feels real. It’s even warm.” He then lifted her right arm, felt her skin and pulse, and noted, “She has a pulse.” He noticed at her chest heaving and belly filling with air and relaxing and heard her breathing. “This is impossible!” He exclaimed upon his detailed inspection of Morse’s “project.”

  “Well, the body was challenging,” Morse admitted, “but the programming is killing me. I’ve programming this girl for a year now, and I can’t even get her to climb the stairs.”

  “Oh, really,” he replied with his famous evil scientist impersonation. “Well, we are going to have to change that, aren’t we?”

  “Let’s go back to my house, you’ll notice some things changed in the garage.”

  Morse ordered Amy up and they all walk to his building together.

  Phillips was walking behind her and praised Morse, “I like your taste in women! Did you craft her out of your imagination?”

  “Please, stop staring at her ass, and don’t talk so loud about this.” Morse pleaded.

  “Of course, I’ll wait until we get there—damn, she walks slowly.” When they arrived at the lab and entered, they allowed Amy to go in first as gentlemen would.

  Phillips beheld the changes, and bee lined to the machines and then the computer. “Whoa!” he gasped, “There’s probably half a million dollars sitting here! You got everything, this is crazy!”

  Morse instructed Amy, “Amy, go sit in your chair.” She obeyed, plugging herself into the main computer.

  Phillips moved over to her, looked at where she plugged in, and found her port in the back of her neck. His jaw dropped again.

  Morse sat down at the computer and pulled up the main program lists in Amy’s brain. He asked Phillips, “Can you program her? I’ve done all I can do, I’m no wiz with this shit.”

  He gave Morse a look of winning the jackpot. “Oh, hell yeah, you made one of my boyhood fantasies come to life.” He faux shoved Morse out of his way. “Move, let the expert handle this.” Morse exaggerated the momentum in the direction of the shove while Phillips sat at the computer ignoring him. “What the hell made you think of doing this?”