Those dry eyes will not do. The look is too blank. No one wants to buy a doll these days. However, circumstances being what they are, I suppose some people are willing to take what they can get; and seeing as the visage will take too long and too great an expense to correct -- put the thing out on the floor and do better next time. We’ll sell the little bugger at half price and hope to make up the loss in maintenance.
But don’t get me wrong.
Ten years back, maybe less, this would have been hailed as a work of art. The perfect expression of man’s own greatness: the marrying of genetics with circuits: the synthetic human. Yeah, we took our celestial crown the day the first one breathed. Sure, it only passed for human at a glance -- skin all the wrong shade and that twitching, thank Christ someone figured out how to stop that. However, it was a sight to behold. The wonders of this new era; the human race is bi-polar, mark my words, and it takes certain accomplishments to haul ourselves out of the depressive down swing. The way things had been, lets just say, we needed to feel special.
And of course, once the market got a hold of Synthetics it was only a matter of time before we started tinkering them closer to perfection. The First series had a way of getting under your skin. Like the twitching, and the way the voice sort of crackled, though I’m willing to bet marketability had more to do with the onset of improvements than a desire to make them seem more human. After all, no housewife is going to want a servant she’s afraid to look at.
Which isn’t to say we, as a race, like to think we sought more lifelike Synthetics as a challenge, our own personal quest. There’s no truth to that, believe you me. If the first series had sold we’d’ve focused on perfecting their efficiency, better power management, and the ease of fixing the damn things. But instead we opted to make them prettier, more pleasing company. I’m not saying I mind, but there’s something more unsettling about the ones that pass for human. You can walk the street and never know the people you’re passing aren’t people.
Like the other day, waiting for the subway, I saw a drunk college kid stumble into this woman knocking her onto the tracks. Everyone panics, what with the train barreling down the tunnel. She tried to climb out just a split second too late; and it’s a mess, make no mistake about it. Train caught her right along the side, whips her over onto the platform, juices of all kinds spraying out of her. Judging by the sudden smell, the college kid shit his pants. But a funny thing happened then. Here’s this woman, her situation eliciting all the pity the assembled gawkers have to offer… until someone notices she’s got a bit of wire where the rest of us have intestines. Sure enough, she’s a Synth out doing god only knows what, though this fact isn’t obvious till her insides are all over the platform. So the crowd departs, never minding the twitching, shuddering wreck smeared across the platform. Some passengers even begin complaining the train might be delayed.
Such is life.
But don’t get me wrong.
Ten years back, maybe less, this would have been hailed as a work of art. The perfect expression of man’s own greatness: the marrying of genetics with circuits: the synthetic human. Yeah, we took our celestial crown the day the first one breathed. Sure, it only passed for human at a glance -- skin all the wrong shade and that twitching, thank Christ someone figured out how to stop that. However, it was a sight to behold. The wonders of this new era; the human race is bi-polar, mark my words, and it takes certain accomplishments to haul ourselves out of the depressive down swing. The way things had been, lets just say, we needed to feel special.
And of course, once the market got a hold of Synthetics it was only a matter of time before we started tinkering them closer to perfection. The First series had a way of getting under your skin. Like the twitching, and the way the voice sort of crackled, though I’m willing to bet marketability had more to do with the onset of improvements than a desire to make them seem more human. After all, no housewife is going to want a servant she’s afraid to look at.
Which isn’t to say we, as a race, like to think we sought more lifelike Synthetics as a challenge, our own personal quest. There’s no truth to that, believe you me. If the first series had sold we’d’ve focused on perfecting their efficiency, better power management, and the ease of fixing the damn things. But instead we opted to make them prettier, more pleasing company. I’m not saying I mind, but there’s something more unsettling about the ones that pass for human. You can walk the street and never know the people you’re passing aren’t people.
Like the other day, waiting for the subway, I saw a drunk college kid stumble into this woman knocking her onto the tracks. Everyone panics, what with the train barreling down the tunnel. She tried to climb out just a split second too late; and it’s a mess, make no mistake about it. Train caught her right along the side, whips her over onto the platform, juices of all kinds spraying out of her. Judging by the sudden smell, the college kid shit his pants. But a funny thing happened then. Here’s this woman, her situation eliciting all the pity the assembled gawkers have to offer… until someone notices she’s got a bit of wire where the rest of us have intestines. Sure enough, she’s a Synth out doing god only knows what, though this fact isn’t obvious till her insides are all over the platform. So the crowd departs, never minding the twitching, shuddering wreck smeared across the platform. Some passengers even begin complaining the train might be delayed.
Such is life.
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