His owner was upset, that much he could tell. Unfortunately, none of his programming seemed to be capable of coming up with a solution to remedy the problem. He was failing at his primary objective.
It left a strange feeling in his biocomponents that he couldn't quite place.
They arrived at the house after a twenty-six minute and thirty-four second drive. Evidently he was supposed to exit the vehicle without being prompted, having to direct him seemed to worsen his owner's mood. The strange feeling in his abdominal region intensified. Perhaps it was another error.
Connor followed the man into the house, attempting to take it all in. It was… Overwhelming. He had been cautioned against attempting to use his scanners, that it would result in critical glitches, but that limited the sensors he was capable of using to assess his environment. He wasn't sure how to best deduce his owner's preferences like this.
No wonder Hank was upset.
He had been told about the locked files. If he could just access them, everything would be alright. He wouldn't need to re-learn how to perform his duties. His owner would be happy. But he couldn't even manage to find the file, much less unlock it.
"Well, welcome home, kid," Hank said as soon as they entered. "Make yourself comfortable."
Connor's system froze momentarily. He understood the meaning of the words, but was at a loss as to how he was supposed to accomplish the command. Comfort meant nothing to an android. He couldn't feel comfortable or uncomfortable, so the order lacked a directive. "Request unclear," he said. "Please restate."
"Shit, right." His owner looked over at him. "Ok, uh… why don't you just… sit down. Over on the couch." He waved his hand gesturing to the item of furniture.
Sit. That he could do. That was a clear directive with an understandable method of execution. Connor nodded once in acknowledgment and sat where he was directed. Back straight, eyes forward, posture perfect.
He heard Hank sigh and deduced that he had still managed to mess up even that simple task. The twisting sensation in his biocomponents acted up again.
The large dog that had been napping in the corner of the room chose that moment to wander over to him. Its wet tongue hung out of its mouth, and a soft whine emanated from it. Connor knew it was a distinctive breed of dog, but his database couldn't recall it. With his inability to scan, it would remain a mystery.
The dog sniffed his hand, then licked at it, but Connor didn't respond. He had not been instructed to interact with the animal, so he would refrain. It whimpered in protest.
"You can pet him, you know," Hank told him.
Connor looked over at his owner. "Is caring for the animal part of my designated tasks?" he asked. He wasn't sure what it was inside of him, but there was something that indicated that it should be. Or wanted it to be? Maybe that was part of the emotions he had heard the other android talking about.
"No, Connor," Hank said sadly. "You don't have 'designated tasks', ok?" He patted his leg signaling the dog to go over to him and he ran his hand through its fur. "This is Sumo. You pet him because you like too. You like dogs…" he looked up at him. "Don't you?"
The question felt like some sort of test, and he had no idea what the right answer should be. He was an android. He didn't 'like' anything. "Do you want me to have a preference in the matter?" He asked.
"Fuck," Hank breathed, looking away from him and taking a shaky breath.
Connor reasoned that he had not answered correctly. "Apologies," he said, trying to amend the situation. "I can like dogs if that is what you wish."
"It's not what I want, Connor," his owner said. There was still sadness in his voice. "Look it's… it's fine, ok? I know you need time. It's fine."
It didn't seem to be fine, but Connor had no intention of arguing with him.
"Come on Sumo," Hank addressed the dog. "You probably need to go out." Connor watched passively as the man opened the door for the dog who ran out into the yard excitedly. He stood in the doorway for a moment, leaning heavily against the frame. A frigid breeze prickled Connor's artificial skin. "Just do shit like normal," Hank said to himself. "Pretend everything is normal."
Hank took a deep breath and turned back to Connor, letting the door fall closed with a soft click. He made his way over and sat in the arm chair facing him. "Alright, why don't we start with crap you used to like," he said.
He reached over to the coffee table and picked up a spiral bound book of sorts. He handed it to Connor, and he took it without question. "That's your sketchbook," his owner explained when he made no move to investigate it further. "Why don't you take a look. You've painted a few things. Maybe it'll trigger something."
The concept of owning something was foreign to Connor, but he trusted Hank's word. He opened the sketchbook and flipped through the various pages. There were a handful of images done in basic watercolor. They seemed to be intended to invoke some kind of emotion, but he couldn't decipher them. To Connor, they were just as captivating as a blank page.
He looked up at his owner after he flipped through the final painting, awaiting further instruction. Hank pursed his lips in frustration. "I guess that was a long shot anyway," he said. He reached for the small palette of paints and handed that to him as well. "Why don't you try painting something?" He offered.
It felt like a jolt ran through his system. Connor didn't think he had a painting program, and if he did, it was certainly not active. But he had no intention of denying his owner anything. "What image would you like me to depict?"
"Just, whatever you feel like," Hank answered, unhelpfully.
Connor wanted to ask him to restate his request, but that only seemed to agitate his owner. He took the paints and considered them briefly. Some unknown program or half-remembered subroutine activated and prompted him to run a sample. The consequence was near immediate.
Bright red lettering filled his vision.
Sample detected
Running sample
Error
Program not found
Reinitializing
Error
Program not found
Reinitializing
Error
Program not found
Reinitializing
Error
Program not found
Reinitializing
Error
Connor lost control of his body, his system spasming as the errors cycled. It was just like the last time, he realized. He felt his chest clench. He wondered if this was what fear felt like.
"Shit!" He heard Hank shout through the metallic ringing in his ears. "Hang on, son. Hang on, I've got you." Connor felt hands on him, trying to steady him, but he couldn't see anything beyond the wall of errors. "Crap, I think he said… Ok, I think I've got this." He felt a pressure on his right temple, then everything went black.
-o-
It felt as though no time had passed when Connor opened his eyes, but his time and date setting indicated that it was thirty two minutes and fifty eight seconds later than it had been. The lost time was concerning.
"Hey, kid," he felt a hand settle on his head and ruffle his hair. Connor looked over the back of the sofa. His owner was there, smiling down at him sadly. "Glad you're awake. You alright?"
"The errors have cleared," he told him honestly. "I can resume previous functions."
Hank ruffled his hair again. "Right, yeah," he rounded the couch, settling down next to Connor. "Gotta be more careful about that, I guess. You scared the shit outta me."
"I apologize," Connor said. "The errors were unanticipated."
The dog, Sumo, wandered over to the two of them and settled his head on Connor's lap. He was still uncertain what was expected of him when it came to the animal, so he refrained from doing anything.
Hank sighed and reached over to rub the dog's head. "You don't need to apologize, Connor. It's not your fault. We'll figure this out."
That strange twisting, sinking feeling in his biocomponents was back. His owner shouldn't need to figure anything out. Connor was supposed to be improving his life, not making it harder. He said nothing. There was nothing he could say.
Hank patted his shoulder, seeming to understand he wasn't going to get a response. "Let's just relax, alright?" he said. "God knows we both need it." He turned on the TV and let them both fall into a comfortable silence.
Connor stared at the television, not sure what he was supposed to get from it. It wasn't like he could scan it for information anyhow. He let his optical units settle on the screen and started, once again, to search his program for the trigger that would solve his problem.
-o-
The errors happened twice more before the night was out. Once when Connor attempted to access the internet to look up something to make Hank for dinner, and again when he tried to utilize his cleaning program. Both resulted in losing approximately half an hour of time and adding to his owner's stress.
Connor sat on the couch quietly as Hank prepared for bed. He had spent a good portion of the day with his thoughts at this point. His owner seemed to be at a loss as to what to say to him. He had managed to even fail at keeping the man company. It was one of the many things that led to Connor's decision.
Hank exited the bathroom and Connor stood. "Hank," he called softly. The twisting in his biocomponents was nearly unbearable at this point.
"Yeah, kid?" Hank responded. He walked into the living room to join him. "What's up?"
Connor shifted on his feet, which was odd. Androids weren't supposed to fidget. Perhaps it was yet another fragment of code from somewhere in his system. "I believe I have arrived at the most beneficial solution to our problem," he announced.
"Yeah?" Hank asked, sounding curious. "Alright, what'd you have in mind?"
He hesitated for a moment, though he couldn't find a logical reason why. "Due to my inability to perform even the most necessary of tasks, I believe it would be in your best interest to replace me."
His owner seemed to freeze, a look of horror crossing his face. "Fuck no!" He blurted out. "You're not replaceable, Connor. It's not happening."
Connor blinked in surprise, not sure why his owner was reacting so negatively. "It would, perhaps, be difficult to replace my exact model," he conceded. "But there are many others that would make ideal companions."
"I don't give a shit!" He rubbed at his face in exasperation. "Fuck, Connor. I don't care if there were millions of models just like you. You aren't replaceable. You're a person. You're Connor."
"I-I don't understand," Connor said. His processor felt like it was stuttering. He thought this would be an acceptable solution. Somehow, he had only managed to upset his owner yet again. "I have done nothing to improve your life. I have only added to your stress. Why would you not want to get rid of me?"
Hank reached for him, putting a hand on each of his shoulders. "Connor," he said. His voice sounded thick and watery, as though he were holding back tears. "Kid, I… Fuck, kid. No. I will never want to get rid of you." He paused to swallow, and Connor could see his eyes beginning to water. "You're my kid. I… shit."
He removed one of his hands to rub at his eyes. With a sinking feeling, Connor realized he had made his owner cry.
Hank looked up at him again, a serious expression in his damp eyes. "Yeah, I'm stressed, Connor. I'm not gonna deny that. This whole thing is fucked up. But there's no way in hell I'm just going to ditch you."
His owner reached up and wiped at Connor's face. It was only then that he realized he was leaking optical fluid. He wasn't sure what this new error was, but Hank didn't seem too concerned.
"I'm upset because I care about you, Connor," Hank went on. "I don't give a shit that you can't do the stuff you could before, none of that matters. I care that you're hurting. I care that something is wrong and I can't do a damn thing to fix it." Hank brushed another drop of saline from Connor's face, letting his own tears fall freely. "Don't you ever think I don't want you, ok?"
Connor just nodded mutely. Logically, his owner's response made no sense. But he was… glad. That was the term that he felt best fit. He couldn't comprehend the concept of wanting something, but there was a part of him that knew he didn't want to be replaced.
Hank gave him a warm smile, eyes crinkling a bit at the corners. "I love you, son," he said to him. "There's no fuckin' way I'm giving up on you."
Connor didn't know how to respond to that, but evidently, he wasn't meant to. Instead, he felt himself pulled forward. Strong, warm arms wrapped around him and held him close. The knot in his biocomponents loosened until it faded away completely.
He raised his arms to reciprocate the hug, head resting on Hank's shoulder. Connor figured this must be what it meant to feel comfortable. Like this, he could bring himself to believe that everything would be alright. That nothing would ever go wrong again.
Lines of code filled his vision.
His world went black.