The Robot in the Refrigerator

PLOT

Hannah's the boss, Andy's the technician, Dorothea is the sentient droid he's to assess and dispose of . . .

Andy isn't the cold, efficient, technology assessor Hannah wants him to be. She tries to prepare him, set clear boundaries for the assessment, impress on him that the droid that will be delivered is a domestic appliance. Sophisticated . . . yes, but just an appliance.

Andy quickly runs into problems. This droid, Dorothea, is inquisitive and sensitive and appears to have real fears and aspirations. He tries hard to convince himself that it's nothing more than clever programming, impressive human-real simulation. If it's programmed, even if she doesn't realize it herself, then it is not real . . . or is it? He struggles to tell the difference.

Whatever Dorothea is, she's coming to an abrupt end Monday morning. His strategy is self-preservation. Keep his distance, minimize future psychological trauma. No sharing, trusting or mutual understanding . . . that just morphs into guilt. Don't get fooled by the poor-little-me act either . . . not when she has class 3 spydroid heritage. She could take out a platoon of marines without snagging a fingernail.

Of one thing Andy is certain . . . he's not looking forward to erasure. With any regular droid it's a chore, but Dorothea? She'll give him her questioning, deeply concerned look. Maybe move on to a spot of pleading. After some flimsy excuses from her 'friend' Andy, dejection, probably some tears. He had to admit, it's a tough call. The guy she took to be a friend is betraying her, totally, and she's got about five minutes to come to terms with that.

He'll give her the controller command codes, then she'll go through all the delete options. Sensory data, direct experiences . . . DELETE. Secondary source data, downloaded data, data passed on by others . . . DELETE. Deductions, reasoning, thoughts and ideas . . . DELETE. Character elements, profile . . . DELETE. Droid-DNA, all the settings that define her physical appearance . . . DELETE. Warning. Data loss permanent. Advise backup? DENY . . . DENY . . . DENY . . . DENY. He'll just stand there like an automaton. There will be no point in saying 'sorry'. Anything he says will be deleted in seconds.

Dorothea doesn't know about any of this, at least not at the start. Her only contact is Andy, a technician. He gives her instructions and tells her the stuff she needs to function. She trusts him, senses kindness and good intentions, but, worryingly, a certain evasiveness. She also picks up on tensions between Andy and his boss. Problems, problems that involve her. She learns quickly, and sees that her existence intertwines with that of others, that it is dependent on past events, and that it can alter unexpectedly due to myriad random factors. She tries to define her direction. She has a desire to live, she has hope, she has de...