Photography by Pip Murphy-Hoyle
Content warning: allusions to car accidents, suicide and trauma.
And so she’s lying there, crumpled in the street. How could you let this happen? Soaked, circuit boards and all, there is no coming back. There is just the silence and the rain.
You can focus now; everything is more real from this perspective. Her eyes are empty stars, dark and glossy. The collision has cracked a seam down her hair. Her presence is washed clean, and all that remains is a metallic taste in your mouth and a tightness around your collarbones.
And what of you? What are you? A ghost? No. Nothing: a whisper, then nothing. In the morning, her body will be found, and the committee will agree to dissect her. The doctor’s own will be found shortly thereafter.
***
[TRANSCRIPT BEGINS]
First of September, 1992, this is Dr Rokugawa speaking.
Thus begin my notes on Project Utsuko. Now, I came into this project in August, when I received a call from RIKEN saying they needed someone to take over a study after the previous researcher had been deemed unfit to continue. For whatever reason, I had been a candidate and was soon assigned.
The project itself revolves around the study of a foreign subject held in a lab at Osaka University. The subject was found wandering near Tsuruhashi Station in January before it was relocated to the university. Neither where it was from, nor why it was in the condition it was in, are known. However, its behaviour was such that RIKEN could not rule out the possibility of sentience, so I am forbidden from disassembling the subject.
I will now describe the subject.
Subject is a 183 cm robot resembling a human woman. Though humanoid, the subject’s proportions deviate significantly around the waist and head. Its casing, constituting skin, hair and clothing, is hard plastic, with little attention paid to concealing screws or seam lines. The paint around its face and torso is chipped. There is little to no exposed wiring, except for at the right arm, which is missing.
I am yet to activate the subject, and have instead dedicated my first week to reviewing my predecessor’s notes. These have given me trouble; she refers to the subject as “Utsuko” and uses some specific terminology with which I am unfamiliar. I have difficulty interpreting some of her claims.
That said, I am very happy to have been chosen for this study. It has been some time since I have been in such a state where I can contribute professionally, and I am glad to return. Thus concludes my initial notes.
[TRANSCRIPT ENDS]
***
Oh darling. It is two weeks ago from when you came to be, and you would recognise that silhouette anywhere. She is acutely frozen by the light of the window, and yet it is like she is falling into the blackness behind her. In his stupor, the doctor left her on overnight, and now she stares through the shutters at the night sky. Moths dance around her incandescent eyes.
And then she registers your presence, and as a thousand cymbals fill the air, she turns to face you. Oh god, oh darling; this is what it is like to be real. There are electronic screams and indistinct childish voices. In six-foot strides, she approaches, too soon, too fast, and you are thrown into vertigo. You are with her in the dark, narrow tunnel, the ordeal, all too wrong and too horrible.
—A thought occurs. You wonder, perhaps, if there is a little buzzer in her chest, issuing a frequency which you can’t consciously perceive, but which nonetheless has stripped you of your balance and your sanity—
She suddenly changes directions and folds into her metal chair, raising her intact arm to cover her eyes. She holds very still for a while. Nothing, a whisper, then nothing.
And then she paces back to the window and it makes you sick all over again. This is hell. You died and are in hell. It is too familiar to be anything else and it does not get better. It is hell and you are stuck in it. You stare out the window. Moths dance around the stars in your eyes.
***
[TRANSCRIPT BEGINS]
Eighth of September, 1992, Dr Rokugawa speaking.
The subject has given me less satisfaction than I had hoped. It appears capable of replicating human speech, though its level of understanding is difficult to gauge. Its language is basic and formulaic, and beyond that, it gives significant pauses before attempting a response, speaking as though in a whisper. And its lips do not move properly.
I’ll play here a recording of our last conversation.
|
[TRANSCRIPT BEGINS]
Rokugawa: What are you doing over there?
Subject: I do not understand.
R: You’re staring at the wall. What are you thinking about?
[SUBJECT TURNS TO FACE ROKUGAWA]
Subject: I’m sorry. What is “thinking”?
R: It’s when you use your mind, and you... you think. You come up with ideas.
S: I am thinking inside my mind.
R: Yes, but what are you thinking about?
[SUBJECT APPROACHES ROKUGAWA]
S: I am thinking inside my mind.
R: Okay... How about this: do you remember where you came from?
S: I do not understand.
R: Do you know what you are?
[SUBJECT TILTS HEAD FORWARD]
R: You are a robot.
[SUBJECT DOES NOT RESPOND]
R: When you were found, you were missing an arm. Do you know how you lost it?
S: I am a robot. I am missing an arm.
R: Yes. Do you know how you-
S (immediately): I am missing an arm.
R: Yes, you’ve lost an arm. Can you remember losing it?
S (slowly): I am missing an arm.
[TRANSCRIPT ENDS]
|
I’m sure you can hear my frustration. Each day we run in circles and I leave the lab exhausted. I am tempted to conclude the subject represents only a flimsy attempt at replicating human conversation. I doubt it understands what it is saying.
And yet, the strange way she paces the lab, the innocent questions she asks and the odd things she sometimes says... I am drawn to imagine a ghost inside it attempting to make contact with me, with another intelligent being. Would I not also act strangely if I were her? Would I not have difficulty communicating? Perhaps I was never built to speak. Or perhaps whatever damage I had sustained had taken that capability away from me.
I digress. RIKEN would not approve of my personifying her as such. The subject remains difficult. Studying her is much less gratifying than I had hoped. Thus conclude my week’s notes.
[TRANSCRIPT ENDS]
***
And you fall back to when the walls were solid and the lights were very, very bright. She gazes at the desk where the doctor is sitting before turning her head down to the floor. You are remembering something:
|
You stood behind the entrance to his office, watching him through the gap between the door and the frame. He was leaning back in his chair, with his reading glasses on, holding some papers up to the light. He is whispering to himself.
You went to the kitchen to bring him a drink.
“Thanks,” he said as you placed it on his desk.
You said you were curious about what he was reading.
“It’s just some lab reports.”
You didn’t respond and eventually he continued.
“It’s about human-realistic torque measurements on limbs and... Well, you know how it is with the lab...” He gave up there.
You told him you wouldn’t understand. He returned to reading, until you took a deep sigh.
“What’s on your mind?” he said, looking up at you over his glasses.
You asked him when you’d get the chance to talk.
“You’re talking to me now!” He laughed.
That wasn’t the answer you wanted to hear and so you let him return to his reading and went outside. You sat on the lawn and looked up at the sky.
That night he was late to bed and you didn’t talk. You closed your eyes and thought about your hometown. You tried to remember people’s faces.
|
You realise with a sinking feeling that this isn’t your memory.
***
[TRANSCRIPT BEGINS]
Twenty-ninth of September, 1992, Dr Rokugawa speaking.
It’s been three weeks since I’ve had the chance to record. Things have been busy. Two weeks ago, I found out that Osaka University would no longer agree to house Utsuko on campus, and so I decided that, for the foreseeable future, I would keep her in the shed at my house.
I transported her while she was powered down. I did what I could to keep her in the loop regarding what was happening, and for what it’s worth, she didn’t seem alarmed when she woke up in the shed. I didn’t have time to clean the place up. All the... Well, everything is still there, as I left it.
In the meantime, I have continued to probe her for other capabilities, but it feels pointless. We spend evenings in the shed, talking past one another, and our conversations leave me nauseous. I am here to understand what she is and where she comes from, and what she was made for, and yet I am stuck. I cannot do anything. I feel so behind. I’m angry. And all the while, I am stuck with her. Those misproportioned limbs, that half-whisper voice...
Sorry. I am getting worked up. I simply don’t know how to explain my lack of findings to RIKEN. I think I shall take the weekend to think about it.
[TRANSCRIPT ENDS]
***
So what are you, really? Nothing: a whisper amongst the stars, then nothing. This is before. She’s powered off now, but she’s not; inside, you are awake still. The disconnect is all but gone now.
SYSTEM QUERY: WHY AM I ALIVE
RESPONSE: SEGMENTATION FAULT. QUERY FAILED
You hardly remember the process at this point. It’s not that you are less cognisant of it, but rather it would be pointless to say that it was you who died. You didn’t die, not really. You didn’t get that satisfaction. What ecstasy would it have been to bash the casing in and tear out the wires? But it’s calm now. Everything is okay and I love you. And everything is okay. But what now? What is there left to wait for? From that moment when time divided, there has been no future. You see only your past and, no matter what it is, it makes you sick and you don’t know why.
SYSTEM QUERY: WHY CAN’T I FIX IT?
RESPONSE: SEGMENTATION FAULT. QUERY FAILED
But you tried. You really did, and now you are in hell, stuck, in hell, stuck, in this place with the white walls, stuck, in this plastic casing, stuck, unable to change. When it comes down to it, there is a fault, and a strange loop, and a resonator, which sits inside you and prevents you from being anything else. And so you can say there was nothing you could do.
But look at yourself. Who do you think you are? A doctor? A robot? A Wife? It’s not RIKEN, not her, not anything. It’s you. You were rotten from the start. You envied everything and took it and now you have it and you hate it. You hate her. Why? What is wrong with you? What are you?
A whisper?
Give me a break.
QUERY: WHY DO I HAVE TO JUSTIFY MYSELF TO YOU
RESPONSE: BECAUSE I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN HERE
***
[TRANSCRIPT BEGINS]
I never got the chance to clear out the shed. We had been collecting things for the child. Dolls and toys. Books. An unused cot. Boxes of clothes. And now her, the biggest doll of all. She’s marvellous, I think sometimes, as she stares at the floor. I remember the little things I built during my university days and I am jealous of her, how beautiful she must have been when she was built. Perfect Utsuko.
She mocks me and I hate her. I hate her.
But she is broken and we are kin. She has lost an arm and can barely speak and she makes me sick and yet I pity her. She doesn’t deserve this. She doesn’t belong in the shed, with all that...
What am I even saying?
She said my name today. We had been sitting in silence and then I heard my name. I looked up and she was staring right at me. I felt my skin crawl and, in that instance, I decided I would not study her anymore. It is a burden too horrible to bear. I cannot tell RIKEN of this. I cannot tell anyone of this. I don’t know what I will do. I don’t know what I will do now.
[TRANSCRIPT ENDS]