Astro felt that, as a robot, he ought to offer some sort of moral support to the robot girl sitting on the bed. She hadn't yet spoken a word since the two of them had been alone, and the only noise she made was an occasional hiccuping sob. There were tears coursing in a constant stream down her cheeks that she didn't seem to notice, or simply didn't bother to wipe away. Astro watched sadly as she compulsively pinched and grabbed at the skin on her arms and legs, all the while becoming more and more distraught.
"I know you're upset, but please don't do that."
Her eyes snapped to his, and he found himself wondering if she had forgotten he was in the room.
Nevertheless, she stopped what she was doing, swiping a hand across her face.
"I can't be a robot," she muttered quietly. "They don't have emotions. Daddy said…"
"I'm a robot, and I have emotions," Astro pointed out.
This information only seemed to upset her more. "I wanna g-go h-h-home!"
Before Astro could say anything more, the door opened.
"Is something wrong? What's taking so long? I'll have to change trains any minute now!" Professor Akamine was impatient to see his daughter, and Ochanomizu couldn't blame him.
"I'm sure she'll be down any moment. I thought it was best to give her a little time to process after-"
"Don't say it!"
"Professor?"
Leaning closer to the screen, Akamine gritted his teeth. "I don't want to hear anything about that robotic imposture! In fact, I don't want to hear about robots at all!"
Dr. Ochanomizu began to get angry. "Need I remind you that it was a robot who saved your daughter?"
Professor Akamine snorted in derision. "It was because of a robot that she needed to be saved! If you ask me, robotics has gone too far ever since artificial intelligence! Creating such robots should be a crime!" The professor was so close to the screen that it looked as if he was trying to pass through it.
"Professor Akamine!" the doctor thundered, "I- oh…there you are, Adira."
She stood tentatively on the last step, obviously spooked by the intensity of the argument.
"She's there? Let me see her!" Akamine pleaded.
Ochanomizu stepped aside and motioned for Adira to take the seat in front of the video phone.
Akamine nearly cried at the sight of his daughter. "Oh, my little girl! I'm so sorry, darling, please don't cry. The doctor and I were just having a little argument."
"I miss you, Daddy."
"I miss you, too, darling."
Dr. Ochanomizu excused himself quietly and stepped out of the room into the kitchen to give them some privacy. Acting on habit, he started a pot of water for tea before sitting down at the table to ponder the events of the evening.
Something had to be done about the robot girl. Deactivating her was absolutely out of the question, but where would she go? She was only a child, probably even younger than Astro. In addition, once her electronic brain was reset, she would be little more than a toddler. She needed someone to take care of her.
He propped his head on one of his hands. "I suppose I'll have to look after her, at least for now. After all, I can't send the poor thing away. I hope Astro has been able to calm her down."
Ochanomizu sat lost in thought until the water began to boil. Absent-mindedly, he turned off the stove and left it set. He could hear from the other room that the conversation was ending.
"I really have to go, now, darling. This is my switch. Be a good girl and get some sleep. I'll be there to get you in just a few more hours, so you don't need to cry."
"Daddy?"
"What is it? Please hurry!"
"I have to tell you…"
"Yes?"
"I love you, Daddy."
"Of course, I love you, too! Goodbye!" With that, Dr. Ochanomizu watched the video phone go blank, and he walked over to switch it off completely.
"Goodbye, Daddy."
Ochanomizu froze, his finger an inch or two from the button, and looked down at the child. He couldn't help but feel there was something wrong with the way she had said those words. "Adira?"
She looked up, and the doctor watched her reach up with the back of her hand and wipe her cheek, leaving a behind a dark smear.
He searched his pockets for a clean handkerchief "Whoops! You seem to have-"
"I'm ready, now."
The doctor stopped rummaging. "Huh? What do you mean?"
"You could make me forget. If I forget Daddy, I won't be sad to lose him. Please, Dr. Ochanomizu."
The doctor stood for a moment, blinking in surprise. "But you're…" He picked up her hand and examined the smeared, but still legible, symbol. The significance of the conversation he had just overheard caught in his throat. "Are you saying you want me to reset your electronic brain? You would lose all of your memories. Everything you are would be gone. I don't think you understand…"
"I do understand, and it's what I want! I'm not Adria. She gave me one last chance to say goodbye, and now I have to go."
"No, no." Dr. Ochanomizu knelt down in front of the robot girl and put his hands on her shoulders. "You don't have to do anything."
"Please, Doctor."
He could see in her eyes that she had already made up her mind. With a sigh, he relented. "I can't do it tonight with this storm; it's too dangerous. Besides, I don't even know how you operate. I can't promise that the process will be reversible, so until then, I want you to think about it."
Dr. Ochanomizu took advantage of the silence as he rode the elevator down to the precision machinery department. It had been a full week since the night he first met her; the night she had decided. She hadn't changed her mind, and now today was the day.
"Oh, I hope I'm doing the right thing," he whispered to himself. He pulled out his hand-held communicator and pressed a button. The face of his secretary filled the small screen.
"It's time, Yuko," he stated authoritatively. "Don't patch through any calls or send anyone my way until I say so. I'll be at least two hours."
"Yes, Dr. Ochanomizu. Good luck!"
The ding of the elevator heralded his arrival, and he proceeded through two pairs of sliding doors to the laboratory. "How's my favorite patient?"
"Good, and I haven't changed my mind." She had anticipated his second question. The robot girl was sitting on the operating table, kicking her legs in what the doctor had come to learn was nervousness. She had spent many hours on that table while he had poked, prodded, and otherwise examined her. It had taken the entire first day to even find the small service hatch hidden in her arm and a whole other day to figure out how to access her electronic brain.
She looked up at him now with her soft green eyes as he approached the table. He marveled at her ability to portray nervousness, sadness, and optimism in her expression all at the same time. They had talked about what was going to happen, and she had interpreted the procedure as a sort of dying and being reborn, which was mostly accurate. Looking at her now, Ochanomizu found himself wondering how much of her personality would be rewritten in the process of resetting her brain. He had grown rather fond of her, and his reluctance to perform the procedure had become as much for his own sake as hers. He had already decided to respect her decision, and he would, but he had to try just one last time.
"You don't have to do this. It's not too late to change your mind." The doctor bowed his head as a tear trickled down his cheek.
"Doctor? Are you crying?" He heard her slip off the table. A moment later, he felt her embracing him, stretching her arms as far as they would go around his ample middle. "It's gonna be okay. Please don't cry. You're gonna make me cry, too."
Ochanomizu hugged her, picking her up and setting her back on the table. He opened up the small service hatch in her arm and connected several cables that would drain her energy reserves and stop all motor functioning. "You're going to get tired and weak very quickly, remember. Don't fight it; just go to sleep." His voice wasn't as steady as he would have liked, but he smiled brightly nevertheless. "Are you ready?"
"I'm ready."
Dr. Ochanomizu looked away as he hit the switch. The lights flickered slightly. Even though he couldn't see her face, he imagined her green eyes slowly closing. When he looked again, she was gone.
END