Dorian joined in decorating the office space with the rest of the crew while the MXs stood stoic guard around the perimeter. He diligently untangled the strings of lights that Detective Valerie Stahl and Detective Richard Paul then draped around a six foot plastic replica of a Douglas Fir tree. Richard griped and grumbled that it was a waste of taxpayer time while Valerie smiled indulgently at his grumpiness. At one point, she produced a red cap trimmed and tasseled with white fuzzy cotton and, laughing, pulled it down over Richard’s ears while calling him the Grinch. He tried to sustain his pretense of irritability but, in the face of her playfulness, he couldn’t help but grin.
Other officers and administrative staff were pasting huge sparkling stars and stockings with multi-colored stripes on the walls; others, including John Kennex, were draping fake evergreen boughs on desks and cabinets. John, like Richard, looked like he’d rather undergo a root canal than decorate the office but Sandra had made it clear that she expected everyone to jump in and get it done quickly and cheerfully. She said it was a question of teamwork, of celebrating the season of joy and giving (John had snorted quietly but plastered a compliant expression on his face when she glared in his direction). She bit her lip and shook her head; he sighed and nodded and Dorian wondered at their unspoken communication, the understanding that existed between the two of them.
Wondered if he and John would ever achieve a similar level of familiarity and trust, of understanding and appreciation, that words were no longer necessary.
Dorian had accessed the date banks and had acquired a comprehensive knowledge of the history of the seasonal celebrations, of how various so-called pagan rights had been incorporated into Christian celebrations of the nativity, and of how the post-modern sensitivity in the early decades of the century ensured celebrations of the beliefs of other cultural groups, like Hanukah and Kwanza during the holiday season. Dorian had also been treated to both John and Rudy’s scathing assessment of how the spiritual had been overtaken by the commercial to such an extent that it was all pretty much only about shopping now.
Dorian wasn’t so sure about that; he’d heard people talking about what the season meant to them, about being thankful for their families and friends, about the importance of sharing with the less fortunate. He’d overheard whispered exchanges about the gifts being planned for the ‘Secret Santa’ exchange and had to smile at the thoughtfulness as well as spirit of fun that seemed to be the foundation of the goodwill and the giving.
But he also knew the history of bloodshed and bitterness between religions and cultures, and the continued suspicion between one community and another throughout the city and the world. Frowning, he wondered why humans found it so hard to accept the right of others to believe different things when, so far as Dorian could see, it pretty much all added up to the same things: gratitude to something greater than themselves and rituals to celebrate the joy of family and friends, foods and music and often prayers to celebrate unconditional love. He felt the pain of sorrow that people could fight and hate in the name of love. How could they not see the dichotomy, the irony? Grimacing, he wondered if he’d ever really understand human beings.
Looking at the star that Valerie was placing on the top of the tree, and at the menorah being set up near a window, knowing the mystical lore attached to both, Dorian wondered, as he often did, if there really was some benign, all seeing, all knowing Being who had created all of it, everything, and seemingly cared about lilies growing in fields and sparrows falling from their nests.
Wondered if such a Being would care about him.
Wondered what souls were, or if they were – and, for that matter, what exactly was his ‘synthetic soul’?
Wondered if miracles ever really did happen.
“Well, I don’t know about you,” John said, breaking into his thoughts, “but I’m going to call it a day. Want a lift over to Rudy’s lab?”
“Sure,” Dorian agreed with a smile, glad to be distracted from the confusion of his thoughts: logically, he knew all the answers to the questions he posed to himself but … somehow, he hoped there was more. Secretly, he wondered if the wish that superstition would prove real was an indication of weakness, a sign that he was becoming as crazy as others of his kind had become.
Perhaps too much exposure to humans wasn’t really good for DRNs.
Smiling at the whimsy of his thoughts, he was following John out of the office. But as they were going down the hallway toward the elevator, a petite blond woman stepped out of it and turned toward them.
“Dorian, there you are!” she exclaimed with a bright smile.
Dorian heard John suppress a small groan. “Well, if it isn’t our favorite psychic,” Kennex observed, his tone dry.
“Detective Kennex,” she replied, frowning slightly as she looked up at him.
“Don’t tell me,” he directed, hands held up in self-defense. “My aura is still red, right?”
She nodded. “Like apples and Christmas,” she added, with a small smile. “But it’s not as red as it was. I think you might be happier, Detective.”
“Happier?” John repeated, as if he had to think about it. But he glanced over his shoulder at Dorian and grinned. “Yeah, maybe,” he allowed.
“Maya, hello,” Dorian greeted her, ignoring his partner’s antics and sincerely glad to see her. “How are you? Is there something we can do for you?”
Maya turned from John to look up at Dorian, her face alight with affection as she reached out to take his hand. “I should have come to see you before now, to thank you.”
For a moment, he wasn’t sure what she meant and then he knew. “You found something in the box,” he said, smiling with delight. “That’s wonderful news.”
John looked from one to the other, confusion in his eyes. “What box?” he asked.
“Dorian got permission to give me a box from evidence that was filled with things the investigators found after my home burned down,” she explained to him. When he still looked bewildered, she went on, “You know I have to touch something that belonged to a person who has died to be able to communicate with them, right?”
“Ri-i-ght,” he allowed, still confused though his skepticism was plain.
“There was a doorknob from the house that technically belonged to both of my parents, that they’d both touched,” she said, as if that made everything clear.
“So now you can communicate with your parents,” Dorian added, glad that Maya didn’t see the way John rolled his eyes. “I’m happy for you, Maya.”
“Thank you, Dorian, for your help,” she said, gratitude brimming in her eyes. “But I didn’t come here today to just thank you. My father sent me. He has a message for you.”
“For me?” Dorian replied, experiencing surprise. “I don’t understand.”
“He said to tell you that the answer to your questions is ‘yes’. He said you’d know what that meant.” She studied him, concerned. “You do know what it means, don’t you?”
“I … I’m not sure,” he admitted, but the spiritual questions he’d been posing to himself only moments before flooded his mind. He spent a lot of time thinking about those questions, believing he’d never know the answers. “But, yes, I think I know what he means.” His gaze dropped to her hands holding his and he felt a sense of wonder at the mystery of all that was essentially unknowable. Lifting his gaze, he smiled at her. “Thank you, Maya. And thank your father for me. I … I’m grateful that he wanted me to have those answers.”
“Will you tell me what it means?” she asked. “Dad said it wasn’t my business unless you wanted to tell me.”
“Maybe. Someday but,” he glanced at John, behind her, “John is waiting to head home for the night so we have to leave now. Can we give you a ride home?”
“No, that’s alright,” she said. Suddenly, she opened her arms and stepped forward to wrap them around him, hugging him hard. “Merry Christmas, Dorian,” she whispered.
“Merry Christmas to you, too, my friend,” he replied, gently hugging her back.
John was looking impatient, so Dorian thanked her again and said he be in touch.
“What was that all about?” John queried once the elevator doors had closed and they were headed downward.
“I need to think about it,” Dorian replied, his gaze straight ahead.
“So you don’t want to tell me,” John interpreted.
“I …,” he looked up at John. “I’m not sure,” he finally allowed. “Maybe, but not right now.”
“Okay,” John sighed with a shake of his head. “Considering the source, maybe it’s best if I never know.”
“Maybe,” Dorian agreed, more to tease his partner than because he agreed. John was easily bored but he hated not being ‘in the loop’; not knowing would be a small but ongoing irritant. When and if Dorian did decide to share his admittedly esoteric thoughts and how that related to Maya’s message, John would be eager for the details and might even contribute ideas of his own.
Later in the evening, not yet ready to go to his charging station, while he thought about the message from Maya’s father, Dorian watched Rudy repair a damaged MX.
“You’re very quiet tonight,” Rudy observed, sitting back to take a break from his work and to stretch his spine. “Well, quieter than usual, I mean,” he added. “Not that you shouldn’t be quiet. You have every right to talk or not talk,” he went on, rambling a little before stopping himself to blurt out, “You know if you want to talk, I’m here to listen, right? Not that you have to talk. I just mean you could –”
Dorian smiled as he cut in. “It’s okay, Rudy. I know you’re just concerned about me.” He paused as he looked up at the beautiful stained glass windows and then back at the technology that surrounded them. “It’s just that … well, we were decorating the office earlier. You know, with the tree and the stars and the menorah and I found myself thinking about what it all means.”
Rudy gazed at him, a frown furrowing his brow. “What all what means? The tree?”
“No,” Dorian replied with a shake of his head. Standing, he paced a little as he thought about how to phrase his thoughts. “I was thinking about the history, the mythology and symbolism I guess you’d say, that underlies these celebrations.”
“Oh, I see, you mean like the celebration of light, the miracle of the oil after the Temple had been ransacked and defiled, and there was only enough consecrated oil to burn for one night but it would take eight nights to bless more oil and –” Rudy caught himself. “Of course, you know the details of the miracle. You’re referring to the mysticism and magic that underlies spiritual ritual and beliefs, yes? Did any of it really happen?”
“Yeah,” Dorian agreed softly, relieved that Rudy so quickly understood that he was wondering about the mystery of miracles and the spiritual beings that so many humans believed so passionately about without any apparent rational validation. “I know something, some facts, must underlie the story, all the spiritual stories that are so important to people, but – you’re a scientist, Rudy. Do you believe in miracles? Do you think there is some supernatural being who created everything and watches over … you?”
Dorian had nearly said ‘us’ but caught himself. From what he’d observed, humans weren’t sure their particular version of ‘a greater power’ applied to other people, let alone machines like him. To suggest otherwise would no doubt be insulting to them.
Rudy’s lips thinned as he thought about the question. “The key word here is ‘believe’,” Rudy replied slowly. “In the Christian tradition, Jesus said to his followers that they had to come to him, believe in him, as a child would; I took that to mean believing with innocence and a willingness to accept that magic can happen, that there may be much more than we can ever understand. From one century to the next, science illuminates what had earlier been thought of as magic but… we don’t know, really, what gravity is or what electricity is, we just know that it is and certain ‘natural laws’ govern much of how the world and the universe work. For decades now, physicists have been trying to determine what dark matter and dark energy are – the elements that make up more than 96% of the entire universe and which do not conform to our laws of physics and gravity. For example, eventually, the laws of inertia would suggest that it would be inevitable that at some point the universe would collapse in on itself, but that’s not happening, is it? No, the universe is expanding and will continue to expand until everything will be so far from everything else that it will all be dark and cold and dead. If that dark energy and dark matter amounts to, say, God, then why would God want it all to, to be so empty?” Rudy shrugged and held up his hands. “I have no answer to these kinds of questions because people believe what they believe and all the science in the world won’t convince them they’re wrong.”
Dorian frowned as he grappled with the disparate ideas Rudy had raised, then nodded slowly. He’d been sure this would be Rudy’s response because, really, there was nothing to prove –
“Ah, but wait,” Rudy cut in, disrupting Dorian’s thoughts. “I’m not finished. There are many, many mysteries about how everything came to be, about how purely astonishing it is that life happened at all, in such infinite variety and beauty. Some think there’s reason to suspect there is some grand design at play and since no one has all the answers; they could be right. But –“
“It’s not likely, though, is it?” Dorian interjected, saddened that people sought so hard to find meaning outside of themselves when, from what he could observe, whatever meaning there would ever be was in how people treated one another and how well they cared for their world to ensure survival of the species.
“Perhaps not,” Rudy agreed, though he seemed reluctant to let it go. “There are still things that appear magical, beyond what our science can explain. You asked if I believe miracles happened or if they could happen. I have to say that, yes, if something happens or exists that defies what we know to be possible, then perhaps, yes, it could be considered a miracle.” For a moment he ducked his head, and he gestured at the pieces of the MX scattered on his work table. “I know how the MXs work, exactly how they work. I know how to build them and how to fix them. They are marvels of engineering in many respects but there is no mystery to them.”
Dorian nodded his agreement wondering, as he often did, where Rudy was going “So you’re saying that you do believe in miracles?” he probed, more than a little astonished.
“Oh, absolutely, because I’ve seen miracles, or at least I’ve seen something well beyond the capacity of current science to explain.”
“Really?” Dorian asked, his eyes widening in pleased anticipation. “You’ve really seen a miracle?”
“I’ve seen more than one,” Rudy replied, a slight smile at the corners of his mouth.
“What was it? What happened?” Dorian asked, eager for details.
“You happened. You and the other DRNs,” Rudy said. “I don’t know how Doctor Vaughan did it; I don’t know if he knows how he did it. I don’t know what’s in those tubes of ‘synthetic souls’ but I can tell you it’s not what he said it was. I know how you were made and how to fix you when you are damaged, like a doctor fixes a person who is sick or injured. But there’s nothing in any of your circuits that explains the unique individuality and self-awareness of every single DRN. Unlike the MXs, you don’t all function the same way.”
Dorian grimaced. “Yeah, I know, like how so many broke down, went crazy, but no one knew why or how to fix it.”
“I know why,” Rudy retorted. “DRNs broke for the same reasons that people break from emotional overload, from the horrors that lead to post traumatic stress disorder. We no more know how your higher consciousness works, how you feel and learn and decide upon actions than we know about how humans do this. Yes, something in your circuits like something in our brains but … what, exactly? How? Why do you work like that at all instead of like any other android that is functional but not a fully unique intelligent self-aware being? People think of you as a machine and you have machine components, sure. But those components, the sum total of them, do not add up to what and who you are. There is nothing in your components to explain ….” Rudy tossed up his hands. “Somehow, Doctor Vaughan figured out how to create a new, very real form of intelligent life. Until, assuming we are ever able, to explain this ever-abiding mystery of DRNs then, yeah, for me, you are a miracle of life.”
Taken aback, Dorian wasn’t sure how to respond but he had to smile at Rudy’s passionate intensity. And he was grateful that Rudy, if no one else, regarded him as a fully aware autonomous being. “Thank you,” he said, “but I’m sure Doctor Vaughan could explain it all if he was here.” Another thought occurred to him. “Do you think it has anything to do with those memories of childhood that I had?”
Rudy’s gaze dropped away and he shook his head. “I don’t know, Dorian. I don’t know who put them there or why they were put into your programming. I don’t know if we’ll ever know.”
Fully aware that Rudy was hiding something from him by the changes in his vital signs and his evasive behavior, Dorian studied his friend and wondered what could be so bad that Rudy wouldn’t share it with him. But he trusted Rudy and hoped, someday, his friend would be more forthcoming. Suddenly, Dorian just felt very tired and he knew he couldn’t put off recharging any longer. Shoving away from the counter he was leaning against, he reached out to gently grip Rudy’s shoulder. “Thank you for taking time to talk about all this with me, for not thinking it’s, I don’t know, stupid, I guess, for me to wonder about these things.”
“No thanks necessary, my friend,” Rudy insisted, looking up with a smile. “Your curiosity is very much part of what makes you, you. And it’s no more stupid for you, is it, to be wondering about these things than it is for millions upon millions of people over millennia being consumed by the same questions. We all wonder about the miracle of creation and about why we’re here and if there’s something greater than ourselves in this unimaginably vast universe. No one wants to think it was all an accident of chemistry and biology, that we’re no more significant than blades of grass, nearly as quickly here and gone.”
Dorian paused in his turn to leave. “Seriously? Blades of grass? Surely human beings understand each life holds significance and nearly limitless potential for making a difference in this world.”
Rudy snorted and shook his head. “You’re a police officer, Dorian. I’m sure you’ve seen enough to know a great many people don’t think they matter at all for any reason whatsoever. Tragic, really. But there you are.”
“Humans are … not easy to understand,” Dorian admitted.
A grin lit Rudy’s face. “Not even for us,” he agreed. “I can’t begin to imagine what a muddle we must seem to you. As for these ‘bots,” he went on, gesturing to the MX on his table, “I don’t think it even occurs to them to try to understand us.”
Glancing at the MX, Dorian wasn’t so sure, but he was too tired to pursue that discussion. “G’night, Rudy,” he said as he retreated to the curtained area Rudy had made available to him, offering a modicum of privacy, the only such consideration he’d ever known.
