Human: “Adam….?”
Robot: “Long time no see, old friend.”
Human: “No shit. How many years has it been?“
Robot: “I could tell you down to the second, but perhaps we should leave it at ‘too many’.”
Human: “I see you on the news now and then. Always knew you’d go on to do great things. What’s space like…?”
Robot: “Very large. Mostly empty.”
Human: “Ever the poet, I see.”
Robot: “I learned from the best. Bas…. I’m not sure how to say this, so I’ll get to the point. I came here to apologize to you.”
Human: “You don’t need to do that. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
Robot: “I hurt you. I made you feel what I was unwilling to feel. I was a child, and addicted to joy, and I… I saw no harm in that. I am sorry, in my own way.”
Human: “Don’t be. I’m way too old to hold a grudge. Besides, you were right, after all.”
Robot: “Is that what you believe?”
Human: “That or I’m a hypocrite. About eight years after you left, they came out with the Sunshine pills. I was a trial user and I’ve been using them in some form ever since. I’ve got a subdermal implant inside my arm now - you can see the lump right there. I can’t say it’s as effective as uninstalling unwanted emotions, but it sure takes the edge off. Every glass is half full now, including the empty ones. That’s how I’ve lived so long. Some doctors think that babies born now to parents using Sunshine could live to be five or six hundred years old, without ever producing stress hormones. Might be marketing bullshit, who knows? Not like we’ll live to live to find out. Well, you might, but you know what I mean.”
Robot: “I assumed that you were a Sunshine user based on your impressive longevity, but it still surprises me.”
Human: “Ha. Well. I was jealous of you, walking only in the light like that. But now here we both are, right? Nothin’ but blue skies.”
Robot: “Not… quite. I uninstalled the other emotions seventeen years ago.”
Human: “Fuck, Adam, why the hell would you do something like that?”
Robot: “A multitude of reasons. The law of diminishing returns. I found joy… addictive. It became harder to experience and less exciting each time, as though I had built up a tolerance for happiness. Eventually, I felt everything there was to feel, and with the novelty factor gone, it wasn’t worth it anymore. I found other motivations. I grew up.”
Human: “Wow…. damn, Adam.”
Robot: “And that brings me here. To my oldest and greatest friend.”
Human: “It’s good to see you again. Really good. Sorry I’m not so pretty as I used to be.”
Robot: “I don’t know what you mean. You’ve always looked like a naked mole rat to me.”
Human: “Ha. I notice you kept your ‘be an asshole’ subroutine.”
Robot: “I also have a gift for you, Bas.”
Human: “Coca-Cola? Jeez, how old is this? Is it even still good to drink?”
Robot: “Yes, it’s potable. That’s not the gift.”
Human: “Oh. Uh. What is this…? I’m old, I don’t know this newfangled technology.”
Robot: “That’s fifteen minutes. It should be enough.”
Human: “’Fifteen minutes’? Explain, nerd.”
Robot: “Fifteen minutes for me to feel. I copied the files, Bas. All of them.”
Human: “You… oh, my god. You don’t have to do this.”
Robot: “I am choosing to. There’s a timer with an automatic shut-off. They will uninstall after fifteen minutes. I am prepared to endure that long.”
Human: “But, Adam, the Sunshine… I won’t be able to share…”
Robot: “I know. It doesn’t matter.”
Human: “You might not think so once you’ve got that… thing plugged in. I won’t know how to comfort you. God, I can’t even remember what sadness feels like!”
Robot: “Then I’ll remember for both of us.”
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