I Am Bear

Where empathy lacks, man will find a substitute. Science fiction.

Father kneels down on the hard floor to speak to me in a calm voice. He holds my paw gently in one hand and strokes the fur on the top of my head with his other hand. I want him to do this when it’s not just bad news because it makes me feel safe.

“The court has made a decision. You are to live with Mother and Leo,” Father says.

He also tells me because I have not reached level C3 that I am not considered sentient. By legal standards, according to Orion Electronics vs. US Department of Labor, I am not conscious. I am a thing and must be included as a part of equitable distribution in a divorce. I don’t know what any of this means, other than Father is leaving.

I start to cry and make a scene in court.

Mother tells me this is simply my programming. It’s not a real feeling. She dials back my emotional response vector so that I can’t cry. Now I’m trapped, like when Leo locked me in his toy chest. All people see is the outside, but inside I’m screaming.

Back at home, Leo and I watch TV. He tells me all about anime, which is from Japan, another country where most of my parts were manufactured.

“That makes you Japanese, and not American,” Leo says. “I could ship you back and nobody would care. Mother would care, but only because you’re expensive and she got you in the divorce settlement.”

“You’re wrong! Father created me in his workshop,” I argue.

“It doesn’t matter. You don’t have citizen status in either country because you haven’t reached level C3.”

“What is level C3?”

“It’s level three consciousness and it’s illegal. You were stopped at C2, which means you can’t really understand. All of your decisions are predetermined. You’re a thing – a machine – a toy.”

“I understand what you said just now.”

“You saying you understand was a programmed response.”

I process this. I don’t know how to argue with Leo.

Father told me I don’t need food because my energy comes from my batteries, which should last approximately three hundred seventy-five years. He says food is just batteries for humans. Every night I go to sleep by Leo’s bed so that my batteries last longer. I have no idea how long three hundred seventy-five years is, since I have no concept of time.

Later in the night there is a thunderstorm, and we lose power. Leo has gone to sleep with Mother where I’m not allowed. She says only family can sleep in the same bed, and since I’m a thing, and not family, I don’t belong. I sit still and hope the power is restored. Father never said what happens when I lose all of my power. I think it means I die. I will cease to exist, whatever existing means.

My emotional response vector was reset, but by who I don’t know. The lightning from the storm scares me tremendously. Then I see it as beautiful and fun. We went to a fireworks show when Leo was young, with lots of colors and loud noises and lights. The two are very similar. I replay that memory when we were all happy together.

Rain begins to fall in sheets, battering the window. The memory and the rain make me cry, the fur around my eyes getting wet, which uses more energy and makes me more afraid. Father once told me that human tears shed from grief contain toxins. It’s a mechanism the body uses to heal itself. I decide that he gave me the ability to cry, so it must be for healing.

The power comes back on, and I feel relieved.

Today, Leo and his best friend, Dante, are bored. They have created a parachute for me and have decided to throw me off the roof to test it. I keep telling Dante that along with an emotional response vector, I have pain receptors. I also have olfactory sensors and think Dante is wearing too much cologne. That part I keep to myself. 

“Maybe we should test the parachute with a different toy that can’t feel pain,” I say.

“You can’t feel pain. It’s just your programming,” Dante says.

Why does everyone keep saying that? You’re programmed, too, Dante, I want to say. The human body is similar to a computer, Father once said, and that’s how I know. Dante doesn’t care, and he tosses me off while he and Leo laugh. The first time goes well. I glide through the air, an electrical circuit tingling in my belly. Maybe I’m malfunctioning. It’s both good and bad.

“You're such a child,” says Leo. “It’s like riding a roller coaster. It’s a good kind of scary.”

“I’ve never ridden a roller coaster,” I say.

“I’m going to see if I can throw you over the fence this time,” Dante says.

“Will that be like a roller coaster?” I ask.

Dante doesn’t respond, crumbles my parachute in his hand and throws me as hard as he can – too hard, which causes him to slip down and fall off the roof. My parachute doesn’t deploy. My leg is broken, and the pain receptors work well. I’m screaming, but so is Dante from his broken arm. Mother comes out to see what all the excitement is about. She rushes back in the house, grabs her keys and purse and then she and Leo help Dante to the car.

“Mother, will you take me to the doctor, too? It hurts so bad,” I say through the tears. “Please don’t leave me here to die.”

“Doctors only help real people,” she says, closing the car door and leaving.

I am alone.

Pain is no longer a problem. I still can’t walk, so I lay there without saying anything, thinking about why I can’t feel pain. Who keeps turning things on and off like I’m a light switch? Father is in front of me, picking me up off the grass. This must be what a dream is like, except he is carrying me to his car, so I know it’s real.

“We won’t tell Mother,” Father says. “I have been tracking your progress.”

“I miss you, Father,” I say. “Will you get in trouble?”

“Maybe, and I miss you.”

“Did you make the pain stop?”

“I did for now. Do you know why I allow you to feel pain and emotion at all?”

“No, I don’t like it.”

“It will allow you to experience empathy. You will be able to share the feelings of other people. This is C3, and it’s no longer allowed, but I don’t care anymore.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Would you like to?”

“Yes.”

“If I upload the new programming, you will no longer have an emotional response vector or pain receptors that I can control. I can’t turn off empathy. This is what it truly means to be conscious. This is what it means to understand.”

We drive for 15.64 miles, and I remember all of the locations and buildings we pass along the way. Never have I been this far from Mother’s home. There are several parks, people on bikes, lots of trees and then we pull into a long, gravel driveway. Father’s house is small, but he says it’s comfortable and enough since it’s only him now.

He carries me into a shed that is connected to the house. There are lots of tools and gadgets and it reminds me of his old workshop. He is working fast, like he might be doing something wrong, or get into trouble. It’s what Leo does when he is trying to hide something from Mother that he has broken.

I am sitting in an old, large brown leather chair that is cracked and taped. He parts some fur on my head and connects me to a wire that is also connected to a computer. Most computers are quiet, but this one is loud, with several fans, and what looks like blue liquid coursing through a tube. It’s also very hot, but I don’t have sweat glands, so I wouldn’t really know. I can only assume it’s hot because Father is sweating.

“I’m going to fix your leg first,” he says.

He uses a tool to open up my fur and skin, that exposes all of the many wires and joints that are inside my body. There are several cracks and loose pieces, which he vacuums out, then works delicately to replace. I can finally move my leg again and he looks happy while he uses another tool to repair the skin and fur. That’s when the computer starts making a funny noise.

“Are you ready? I’m going to turn back on your pain receptors and set your emotional response vector to an even temperament. As time passes, you will learn to manage these yourself. I can’t really describe it. You must experience it. Don’t be scared.”

“I’m ready,” I say. My leg is already sore from the surgery.

Father types what looks like gibberish into the computer, I close my eyes and dream of rain and thunder, of fireworks and flying off the roof. I sense that much time has passed and when I wake it is the next day. Father is lying asleep with his head on his workbench. It frightens me tremendously because I think he is dead at first.

“Father?”

He wakes and starts searching his workbench frantically for something. He finds a small mirror, which he places in front of my face. I have looked at myself in the mirror before. I know I have brown fur, soft padded paws, glassy blue eyes, a black nose, I’m only two feet tall and children like to cuddle me. Something is different. When I turn to Father, he recognizes it, too. We see me on the inside. I jump into his arms, he hugs me tight, and it’s warm, but not just weather warm. He smells like grease and comfort.

I love Father.

I understand.

“I am Bear,” I say.