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“System Administrator. I have completely eradicated the dust population of Area 51, tag: ‘closet’. Please approach the neutralized space at your own discretion.”
“Th-Thanks, Ortho... I knew I could count on you to quickly clear this mission.”
Idia attempted at a smile to show his appreciation to his latest creation--no, to his little brother. Ortho stared back blankly, the bright amber irises peering into Idia’s soul. A second of time, a snap to his circuits, a beat to his artificial heart--and the sensory input was processed.
“Gratitude acknowledged.”
Gah... It’s no good. Idia’s shoulders slumped as a realization hit him. Ortho’s not acting like Ortho at all... Nothing like a real boy. Did I go wrong somewhere with developing his AI?
“System Administrator.”
“Y-Yes?!” Idia leapt at his title.
“According to the data collected from my eye camera lenses, your gaze has been lingering on my persons for 10.81 seconds. This is an abnormally large value when compared to data from previous trials.”
“I-It’s nothing, I’m just spacing out.”
“Understood. Administrator override; initiation of worry program cancelled. Ortho unit on standby, awaiting further orders.”
“O-Okay. You can rest for now. It’s my turn.” Idia heaved a sigh and crouched, his lanky form hunched over almost like a ball. Stowing away a mental note to tweak Ortho’s coding later, he delved his hands into a pile of items and set to focusing on his original objective: spring cleaning.
All sorts of things--trash and treasures alike--emerged from the darkest recesses of his closet. An old video game controller, half-eaten bags of candy (hastily discarded for their mediocre taste), opened card booster packs, a screwdriver, empty cans of Wonster energy drinks, a VHS tape with a peeling label...
O. Shroud - V Bday was scrawled in blue crayon.
This is... Idia froze, his throat as dry as the Scalding Sands. “... Ortho?”
“Yes. Ortho unit is ready to respond to any question or command.”
“Do you...” Idia hesitated. “Do you remember your 5th birthday?”
“Affirmative. Would you like for me to recall that experience?”
“I think I’ve got something ever better than just simple recall.” Idia glanced at his TV monitor, pressing the tape into a VHS player. It disappeared into the device like food vanishing past one’s lips. “With this, we can relive that time through a video recording.”
The screen flickered to life--and their eyes were drawn to the moving image upon it.
“Retrieving memories and emotions, tag: 5th birthday.” Ortho’s voice was robotic and monotone as he recited the actions he executed. By contrast, the young boy on the TV--his spitting image--was bright, exuberant.
Full of life.
That day...
“Mom and dad took time off of work to celebrate. They prepared a party for me in the garden,” Ortho recited, his face devoid of emotion.
Their parents glided across the screen, every bit as pale as their children were. Faces obscured by the angle of the camera, they lavished the young Ortho with beribboned boxes.
“That’s right.” A drop of hope seeped into Idia.
“There was a pomegranate cake, ambrosia juice to drink, decorations spun by a famous weaver, an orchestra with the finest lyre players, lots of presents... So much laughter. So many smiles.”
On the TV, young Ortho dashed through a garden in full bloom. Lights and shimmering banners were strung up from branches and tall bushes, giving the area an ethereal feel. Music flowed like fine wine. Then someone shouted his name, cutting through the song, and he darted back--back to a mountain of gifts and tables paved with delicacies.
“Wh-What else? What else do you remember?”
“Nii-san!” The Ortho on the screen called out. He waved over an awkward taller boy, who bore the same flickering blue flames for hair as him. “There you are!!”
“My big brother came, too. My big brother that I loved and admired so much. He came out of his room just to celebrate with me. I was...” Ortho paused, scanning his data banks for the right word.
Cheery? Content? Delighted? Gleeful? Glad? Jolly? Jovial? Joyful? Merry? Satisfied? No matter how many (alphabetical) alternatives he ran through, only the simplest answer seemed to fit the best.
“... happy,” Ortho said matter-of-factly. The left side of his chest plate grew warm as that word left him. His circuits shifted, realigned--and his volume softened. “I was so happy, because all of my loved ones were with me.”
An invisible hand closed around Idia’s heart and gave a harsh squeeze, his chest tightening. “Ortho...”
But the robot boy’s gaze was firmly fixated on the TV, on the curvature of the mouth.
This process would require lifting the cheeks and the commissure, his internal voice told him. Extracting relevant data... Running calculations for optimal ratio... Perfect smile package ready. Execute?
“My fifth birthday... it was the ‘happiest day’ for me, because I got to spend it with you.” Ortho turned to his brother. His eyes creased, matching that of the filmed Ortho. His smile, hidden behind a metallic visor--but it was every bit as warm as the breath of spring itself.
They spoke together. The old and the new, the past and the present, their words—their hearts—converging as one.
“I love you, Nii-san!”
Idia’s defenses shattered. All his fully upgraded ultra rare armor, stripped off and destroyed. He visibly recoiled, grasping at his face. Searing hot and wet, tears trickled down his pale cheeks
Ortho’s eyes widened.
“A-Ah, no... Th-This is...” Idia stammered as he attempted to wipe away at his eyes himself with his sleeves. Try as he might, he couldn’t fight off his status ailment, couldn’t shove away the sadness clouding his heart. “J-Just i-ignore me, okay?!”
“That is impossible. Your vital signs are abnormal—I sense that you are in great emotional pain. That is something that I cannot ignore. It must be tended to at once. Administering investigative protocol 311.”
Ortho floated closer, peeking at his bother’s face. A curious little boy staring at death itself. Was it fearless, or was if foolish?
“... Was my recall unsatisfactory? Is that what has brought about your sadness?”
“No. I-It... It was perfect. Too perfect.” Idia forced his eyes shut. His tears collected in crevices. “I started to think things I shouldn’t have. About old wishes upon a star.”
I wished that those happy days could have lasted forever.
He couldn’t being himself to finish his thought, couldn’t bear to speak it into existence. Idia’s fingers dug into the fabric of his hoodie, like claws of a beast seeking something to tear into.
His expression twisted with a flurry of complex emotions. Agony, regret, self-loathing.
“... In that case, may I input a request for a future update?”
“Wh-What? Where’s this coming from?”
“I apologize.” The robot’s voice was, once again, flat. Dead. “No explanation to answer your query could be found in my databases. I can only say that it was borne from a feeling, a desire to learn.”
Idia sniffled, wiping at what remained of his sorrow. “... What is it?”
“Please install a crying function into me.”
“What? A crying function... Why would you ask for something like that?!” Idia shook his head vehemently. “That’s... That’s totally out of the question! Your current gear isn’t liquid resistant at all!”
“I must cry. It is the only way I can understand.”
Idia’s laugh was bittersweet. A mad cackle, even to his own ears. “Hihihihii! Is that why you want to cry? To understand?”
“That is correct.” Ortho placed a hand over his heart--or rather, where his heart would be. Instead of a cardiac organ, there was a glowing blue flame peering through his fingers. “I want to feel the same sadness that you feel.”
“You don’t need such a useless function!” Idia snapped.
It came out harsher than he had intended it to, causing him to flinch at his own tone. He shrank back into himself, mouth twisting with disgust and shame. I raised my voice at my little brother.
His next words came out in a hoarse whisper. “I-I’m sorry. I... don’t want you to feel the same pain that I do.”
“I was happy because you were with me on my special day. We shared that happiness with one another.” The robot’s amber eyes burned with quiet resolve. “Therefore, it is highly probable that we can share other emotions as well. Anger, sadness... I want to experience all of them with you.”
“E-Even so... Happiness and hurt are two different things... I want you to always be smiling, Ortho. Like back then, on your birthday.”
“I want you to always be smiling...” The robot shook his head. “To err is to be human. No man can smile 100% of the time. No man can shoulder his burdens alone.”
“A-Ah... That’s... right, I guess...”
“If you are happy, I will be happy with you. If you are hurt, I will be hurt with you. Diffusing intense emotions is the most optimal solution according to my problem-solving matrix.”
Ortho was methodical in his explanation, his small form silhouetted by the video still playing on the television. Against that backdrop of moving color and sound, the blue fire of his hair—artificial as it was—seemed to glow brighter than ever before. The same face, the same smile.
The Ortho then, the Ortho now... Idia couldn’t tell where the lies ended and where the truth began anymore.
His eyes stung as they welled with tears once more.
He flung his arms around the robot, burying his head in the crook of the neck. Ortho’s core pulsated against him as Idia pressed himself into him. Hands clutching tightly onto the metal and magic—not skin and sinew—that made his little brother up.
“Please discharge all that you like from your lacrimal glands,” Ortho advised. “I will be here to comfort you.”
“I’d... like that. I’d like that a lot, Ortho.”
“I am glad, System Administrator.” He raised a hand—then stopped. “... Autocorrection: I am glad, Nii-san.”
Ortho’s palm came down on his older brother’s hair in practiced, stiff strokes. The closest to simulating comfort that he could manage.
Idia held fast and wailed louder.
All the joy, anger, and sorrow becoming one.