ah, i no try that one. the original i dunno.
1999, i was playing starcraft brood wars and half life in cybercafes.

i wish listed the remastered edition on steam store though.



hmmm if you enjoyed the first 2 chapters i think you will like it.

okies time to finish what i started.
all these copy pasting very tiring also.
maybe this time i try bad ending for empathy.



You feel lucky that robot technology has never been hotter, thanks to the ramp-up in robot technology in the last war. You're able to provide for both of your robots, thanks to the money you make from running your company.

Miku, the more adventurous of the two robots, appears to have tried more tastes than Galatea already. Like siblings, they seem to have settled into niches in competing for your attention: Galatea now tries to be more humanlike, while Miku occasionally flaunts her freedom to be strange.

"Did you try dirt?" Miku asks Galatea. She walks behind the younger but taller robot, who is putting out plates. "Dirt tastes very interesting!"

"I don't think people are supposed to eat dirt," Galatea says uncertainly.

"Sure they do!" Miku says. "It's called 'pica,' and it helps people get essential vitamins and minerals. I read about it on the Internet."

Galatea gives you a worried look. "We're not going to eat dirt tonight, are we?"

What kinds of foods will you serve to introduce the robots to the wide world of culinary delights?

Wine and cheese.
Simple, wholesome tastes: fresh bread and fruit.
Desserts—I think the robots will appreciate those the most.
The weirdest stuff I can find — I'm curious to see whether the robots will think of it as normal

*******************************************************************************

Your robots' dependence on you for their received opinions has always fascinated you. What would your robots' palates be like if you gave them the strangest things you could think of to start? You set the table with jellylike lutefisk, a Nordic dish of fish that has been stored in lye; Chinese thousand-year-old egg, which, despite the name, has only been sitting in your backyard for months; and some pieces of fried butter on a stick you picked up from a street vendor. You even procured some dirt for Miku. To drink, you bring out some homemade kombucha, the fungus at the bottom of the tea bubbling in a sinister and patient way. Yes, your robots have always been, and will continue to be, unique. (+Autonomy)

Next

*******************************************************************************

The night continues with the robots trying one strange dish after another, and sampling all the questionable delicacies in turn. The robots linger especially on a plate of lutefisk, calling out the various subtle notes of the taste as they are discovered.

Galatea is smiling more than you've ever seen since you created her, happy to be partaking of this human ritual, and you're glad your invention is making her happy.

Miku's comments about the food are a bit odd, focusing on the individual elements of the chemical composition, like she's reading the back of the box for ingredients. You try to explain how each ingredient contributes to the taste, but the individual elements just don't seem to be coalescing into a meaningful whole for Miku. You then realize that until this point, memorized ingredient lists and recipes from the Internet were all she had to go on to infer what foods must taste like, and you suppose it's those individual elements that Miku now finds so interesting.

Next

*******************************************************************************

Soon enough, the food is all gone, and you're left discussing the evening with the robots.

"What did you think?" you ask.

"It's wonderful!" Galatea exclaims. She continues to nibble on some fried butter on a stick, apparently trying to make it last as long as possible. "I think I understand so much more about emotions now. I know what it is to be sweet, like fried chocolate, or bitter, like lutefisk."

"I'm not entirely sure you've quite got it," you say uncertainly.

"But still, it's very much like emotion," Galatea says. "It's difficult to describe and powerful, and moves in a way largely unsymbolic. I think I have never had such a primal experience before."

"I'm glad it was a positive experience," you say.

"I want to learn to cook," Galatea says, clearly inspired.

"Of course," you say. You hadn't expected this to be the natural turn of events from tonight, but you suppose it's only a natural extension of Galatea's built-in desire to be helpful.

The evening continues pleasantly, with you chatting with Galatea and Miku about the subtleties of taste over glasses of kombucha until the small hours.

Next

*******************************************************************************

On Friday, you go to the local swing club with Galatea. You wait in line to the dance hall, a converted YMCA basketball court, behind some women wearing snazzy polka-dot skirts and men wearing vests and newsie hats, along with some younger folks, college-age maybe, who are probably here for the first time, judging from the guys' T-shirts (too shabby) and the women's high heels (too impractical). About half of the snappy dressers are robots…you can tell because of the way they stand, a little too straight, but someone who didn't design the balance algorithms probably wouldn't notice. You don't think any of the really young people are robots; it would be surprising, you think, for someone to spend all the money on a robot and not pay to dress it well.

You pay admission for you and Galatea —robots are cheaper than humans, you notice— and enter the dance hall, which they've decorated with fake portholes and life preservers, along with a large banner that says "Happy 100th Anniversary, Anything Goes!"

The lights are all up currently, as two robots in the center of the hall have just started a swing-dancing lesson. "Slow, slow, quick quick," says the male robot of the pair, demonstrating. Robots and humans in a circle around the instructors try to mirror the steps, with varying degrees of success.

"I'm not entirely certain why you've brought me here," Galatea whispers. "Or why everyone is moving like this."

"Surely you looked up 'swing dancing' in your knowledge base before coming," you murmur.

"Yes, but its explanations of 'why' are all circular," Galatea says. "Why do people like to dance?"

"Because it's a way of expressing joy in being alive."
"Because there's joy in the wordless communication that two dancers share."
"I imagine it developed as a socially acceptable way of assessing sexual chemistry."

*******************************************************************************

"But why do people not move joyfully all the time, then?" Galatea asks.

"I suppose they could," you admit.

You notice Mark the reporter in the corner of the dance hall, typing away. He's now a little balding and sporting a beard that reminds you of Toby Ziegler from that old show your parents used to watch, The West Wing. He catches your eye and grins. "How's it going, Deimos?"

The way the grin doesn't reach his eyes also reminds you of Toby Ziegler.

"Well," you say. "What's the story you're currently writing about?"

"Robot romance," he says. "What do you think about all the robot couples?"

Galatea leans in to attend your answer.

"I think everybody needs to find their own path to happiness, and that may mean marrying a robot."
"Robots are too subservient to provide real love. A real relationship is a give and take."
"I think you should join us, rotate partners, and find out what it's like yourself."
"I think you should bugger off."

*******************************************************************************

Galatea gives you a speculative look. She seems pleasantly surprised.

Mark nods. "Thanks." He goes back to typing up his article.

Over the course of the dance lesson, you end up being instructed to rotate partners a fair amount, dancing with both robots and humans. The flesh-and-blood dancers are a mixed bag—you get the impression some of them have never danced before in their lives, while others seem practiced and must come every week. You yourself danced plenty back at MIT, but that was almost twenty years ago now, and you welcome the refresher. Though most of the dancers must be in their twenties, they seem like babies to you; you find it hard to believe you were their age when you learned. You certainly didn't feel young then.

Are you learning the leader's part, or the follower's part? Men traditionally danced the leader's part, but this has become more fluid over the years.

The leader's part.
The follower's part.

*******************************************************************************

The robots you dance with tend to be female. You find that these robotic dance partners are supernaturally good at following your lead— they follow what you meant, even if it isn't what you actually did. You take pride in the fact that these robots' ability to follow probably comes from your own innovations in robotic social understanding.

As for the robots' grace, you find that they are a pleasure to behold—all their spins and turns seem absolutely lovely. (When led correctly, of course.)

Over the course of the lesson, you relearn the basic step, how to lead underarm and overarm turns, how to spin out your partner, and the "Sweetheart," a move that lands your partner nestled in your arms.

At the end of the lesson, you return to Galatea for the dance proper.

The lights in the hall dim, and you get to the business of dancing with Galatea in earnest. You struggle to remember all the things you learned, and put them in time to the music: inside turn! Um, um, outside turn! But Galatea seems to have no trouble following, and is enjoying the dance.

"Miku seemed a little jealous of our going out together tonight," Galatea says as you dance. "I take it she used to feel that you did everything together, and now you're spending time with me instead."

"Be nice to Miku. I'm sure she's feeling a little left out right now."
"Who wouldn't be jealous of you?"
"Stay out of this, please."

*******************************************************************************

"Of course," Galatea says. "Perhaps now that there are more robots in the world, you could consider letting her out to interact with them more."

"That's true," you say. The future has crept up on you; because there were no other robots when Miku was made, you hadn't really given thought to building a social life for her beyond yourself. "Good idea."

For a time, the two of you just dance. There's a lot of Cole Porter tonight—"Night and Day," then "Love for Sale." It must be because of the Anything Goes anniversary.

"Do you want to be a couple?" Galatea says suddenly. "With me?"

"I think we are."
"No, there are good reasons we shouldn't be together."

*******************************************************************************

Galatea smiles. "Good."

And though I'm not a great romancer
I know that you're bound to answer
When I propose…
Anything, anything, anything…goes!

The lights go up, the dancers clap, and you realize that was the last song of the night.

You head home with Galatea, chatting about swing moves all the while.

Next

*******************************************************************************

You spend the next few months having more adventures with Galatea, showing her all the things there are to experience in life: amusement parks, museums, trips to South America and Europe and Asia and Africa. Galatea seems very happy.

Next

*******************************************************************************

It's well into the evening, and Galatea is holding aside a curtain to look out the window at the bright lights of the city.

"You know what I've never done?" Galatea says. "Stargazing. I've been out in the evening so little, and the few times I did go out, I didn't think to look up." She drops the curtain and looks back at you. "Would you go with me to the park? It's technically closed after sundown, but people online say nobody checks."

You consider that it may be good to allow Miku and Galatea to build a friendship instead, so they aren't so dependent on you. Miku has been a little starved for attention since you built Galatea.

I will go to a park with Galatea to stargaze.
I suggest Miku go stargazing with Galatea instead.

*******************************************************************************

"Miku!" you call to the robot's room. Miku peeks her humanlike head around the corner. "Could you escort Galatea to the park? She wants to go stargazing."

"Of course, Master!" Miku says, excited for the chance to prove herself.

"But…" Galatea looks back at you.

"You two should go," you say. "I want to stay here and get some work done on some motor control algorithms for surgeon bots." (++Grace)

"Yes, Deimos," Galatea says, disappointed.

"I personally like running an app for sharpening images while I'm looking at the night sky, " Miku is telling Galatea, who is still looking over her shoulder at you. "There's not a lot of light, and you can see much more that way. May as well take advantage of the differences between us and humans, right?"

"Right," Galatea says. The two of them leave.

You think it's probably good that the robots are learning to rely on each other, instead of you. Friendships between equals are just as important in life as romance. (++Empathy) Later that night, you get a call from the police.

"I'm afraid you need to come down here to pick up your robots," the police officer says. "They've killed someone."

Next

*******************************************************************************

You head down to the police station. Your robots have been deactivated, and are being held in the confiscated property room instead of a proper cell. You ask to talk to them, and the police officers make some fuss before allowing you to reactivate them to speak with them. They finally do so, with Galatea behind the glass at a visitor's station and Miku peeking over her shoulder.

"What happened?" you ask.

"We got jumped," Miku says. "They had two-by-fours and knives, and they said we needed to stop replacing humans."

"Oh, dear," you say.

"And then what happened?" you ask.

"We fought them off," Galatea says.

"I just fired warning shots," Miku says. "I didn't shoot anyone."

"But I don't know my own strength," Galatea says, rubbing her hand.

Indeed, Galatea has the same motor setup as Miku, and it's designed to be able to summon massive torque quickly. You envision what would have happened if that fist connected with someone's head. It's not pretty.

How much will you spend on the lawyer?

I want to spare no expense. (Requires Wealth: 3)
I'll pay for the services of an average lawyer. (Requires Wealth: 2)
I'll look on the Internet for a bargain lawyer.
Galatea can get a public defender.
I will campaign to raise the money for Galatea's legal costs.

*******************************************************************************

You spare no expense—you have a feeling this trial may become very important in the history of human-robot relations. (---Wealth)

Your lawyer tells you there are three options for defending Galatea.

First, you may claim that Galatea is a free agent—you do not own her. If you can persuade the jury that Galatea also deserves rights, then Galatea will be tried as a human being, and may claim self-defense. But if the jury decides Galatea is more like an object, then the fact that you have claimed Galatea is not your property at all may turn the case into an in rem case against Galatea, the term used for cases against objects that have no owners. In that case, Galatea may be seized or destroyed as if she were dangerous property.

Second, you may claim that Galatea is more like your pet. In cases of pets that harm people, usually the owner gets away scot-free the first time, because the owner can claim ignorance of the fact that the pet was dangerous — the "one free bite" rule.

Third, you may claim that Galatea is actually a defective product, making your company, MikuWorks, liable. This move would allow you to pay for damages out of the company coffers instead of your own pockets. It also seems less risky for your business than claiming robots are free-willed agents with rights.

I would like to claim I am responsible, trying to invoke the "one free bite" law.
I would like to claim there is no owner—Galatea is a free agent.
I would like to claim that Galatea is a defective product, and the company is liable.

*******************************************************************************

You decide it's worth it to you to make robots everywhere gain legal rights, even if in this case, you risk losing Galatea entirely.

The day of the trial looms for months, with Galatea and you tense at the prospect of losing each other.

Finally, the day comes with your lawyer arguing in front of a courtroom that Galatea is not your property at all, but a free agent. The jury, seeing the way Galatea displays a sense of humor on the stand about the whole thing, believes it: this is an agent who acts on her own.

Galatea is sentenced to jail for five years, in a trial that firmly establishes that robots are subject to the same laws that govern people.

So that's something, you suppose.

A new year rolls around, and with it, new decisions for MikuWorks. How will you change the companion bot product line?

We should cease production of further companion robots.
We will make the robots less human-looking, so that it is clear that they are different from us.
We will redouble our efforts to make robots likeable, so that even the most hardened Luddite comes around.
These are just growing pains. People and robots will learn to adapt.

*******************************************************************************

You set a company-wide goal of improving human perceptions of robots by twenty percent. Your robots rise to the challenge, brainstorming new public relations campaigns, modifications to the facial motor control software, and conversational gambits. (+++++Empathy) Their creativity pays off: public opinion polls are a whopping 93 percent favorable, and sales increase still more. (+++Wealth)

After many months of living together with Galatea, she one day shows you an article online about how Canada is the first country to legalize human-robot marriage.

"What do you think?" Galatea asks.

We will move to Canada and legally marry.
We will live together without legally marrying.
I can't do this. I need to find a human partner.

*******************************************************************************

You live together with Galatea, unwilling to give up your life in San Francisco. It's good enough for you, but Galatea seems vaguely unhappy about it.

As more and more countries legalize human-robot marriage, though, you realize your excuse of not wanting to move to Amsterdam may not hold up much longer; and you may have to make some final decisions. But for now, life is good.

Chapter 7: The Ways to Say Goodbye

Fifteen years later, you find yourself in Surprise, Arizona, walking up to your mother's house. A few of the cacti in front have Santa hats on them.

It is the year 2049, and you are about to surprise your mother with a present for the holidays. She has finally been released from the hospital after surgery—performed by robots of your design, you're proud to note—and is living on her own in her retirement community.

Robots roam the streets of the neighborhood, performing little errands for the retired people of the community. Economists say the technology that America developed for the war twenty years ago was also what kept it out of recession, and your Mom's generation was able to retire comfortably, with lots of cheap robots to perform errands for them in their old age.

What did you get Mom?

A robot cat.
A robot dog.
A new 3D mail printer, so she can send and receive objects over the Internet.
The keys to a new flying car. (Requires Wealth: 2)

*******************************************************************************

The robot dog stuck its head out the window during the whole flight to Mom's place. Happy to be out of the car, it pads along beside you. Like the rest of your robots, it doesn't like to be alone.

You knock on Mom's front door. "Coming!" you hear her call from inside.

When Mom answers the door, you see her left eye is synthetic. Though it is intended to look as humanlike as possible, it looks dry, and its movements are just not quite as fast as those of a human eye. She had been going blind in that eye, and had opted to have it replaced shortly after her tumor was taken out. The hair near the site of her original surgery is a little dry and thin, and it's all gray—your mother is very old.

She smiles when she sees you and gives you a hug, which you return. "Come in, come in!"

Inside, you find your mother's cleaning robots still busily puttering about the house, cleaning up. They look like cute little cats and mice, designed to move as if one is prowling after the other, when in fact the mouse is proactively stealing away the larger crumbs before the cat vacuums. They were Elly's original design—she is now working as a product designer for a robot company in Canada. You hope she's doing well.

Did you ever marry Galatea?

Yes, we got married about fifteen years ago now.
No, we remained together, but never really saw the point of marrying.
No, our relationship didn't last—we were too different.

*******************************************************************************

Photos of your wedding day with Galatea are framed on the wall of the living room. Following your gaze, Mom says, "Can you believe how long it's been?"

"The years go by quickly," you agree.

"But you're still as in love as the day you got married, right?"

"More," you say.

"You should have brought Galatea down!"

"Next time," you promise.

Did you adopt a child?

Yes, a boy.
Yes, a girl.
No, Miku would always be my child in spirit.

*******************************************************************************

You always knew, deep in your heart, that Miku would be the only child you ever had. Your bond is still stronger thanks to the time you've spent together over the years. (++Empathy)

It occurs to you, looking through all of this stuff with Mom, that the whole time you were concerned about the future of your creation, Miku, Mom was excited for you in the same way. You were her creation, miraculously walking about the earth, so full of intelligence, accomplishing great things.

"I have something for you, too," Mom says. She goes into her closet and fetches a brand new MiniMe robot kit. It's a robot construction kit composed of little arms and wheels that plugs into a smartphone. You examine it skeptically, convinced Mom would have gotten something on sale that only worked with smartphones from twenty years ago, but it looks new.

"It's for Miku," Mom says. "She said she was interested in building a robot."

"You talk to Miku?"

"All the time," Mom says. "We've always been very curious about each other."

"Huh," you say. "Well, if I know Miku, she probably has something more ambitious in mind. But maybe I'll give this to the robot she makes."

"I suppose Miku is more like a robot parent," Mom says. "Hmm, robots are such interesting creatures."

"Anyway, I've got to fly back now," you say. "Happy Holidays, Mom."

You hug your mother, present the robot dog—she loves it, but you think she wouldn't let you know if she didn't—and say your goodbyes.

Next

*******************************************************************************

Later that day, you set out for home.

Your personal intelligent jet is waiting for you at the local airfield. On boarding, a delicious smell of spices and smoke wafts from the plane's kitchen. You peek inside the chefs' workspace and catch sight of a plate of small, cream-filled pastries and some kind of red, drizzled sauce. But the robot chefs at work catch you peeking, and politely shoo you out. Content to wait until later to have your food vocabulary expanded, as it always is on these flights, you settle into your rather large, comfy chair in the passenger cabin. The surround screen descends and presents a wealth of entertainment options, and you hesitate before the array of choices. Choosing optimally is a task you take very seriously, after all.

Where did you, Galatea, and Miku decide to spend the rest of your days?

Cambridge, Massachusetts. I still have fond memories of going to MIT.
Palo Alto, where I went to grad school. I love seeing what the young people are working hard to create every day.
We remained in Silicon Valley, where the factory was.
Vancouver. We decided not to stay in the United States after the war.
Washingon, D.C., where I often advise the government.
Alaska.

*******************************************************************************

In gratitude for your service to the country, President Irons created a new position on her cabinet during her second term: Secretary of Automation. You advised the President almost every day on matters related to robots, although from the title of the post alone, you knew there were places where Washington did not quite understand the technological state-of-the-art.

You've had plenty of time to learn the post since then; although Irons has long since become a Former President, new Presidents have a way of re-selecting anyone in the old cabinet who didn't mess up too much. You've managed to guide U.S. robot policy to a much better place over the past fifteen years. (++Fame)

Next

*******************************************************************************

It's dark out by the time you make it home. Winter always catches you by surprise that way.

You live in a large estate, somewhat sequestered from the urbanites, with acres of land that are yours for you and your robots to roam as you please.

"Welcome home!" you hear Galatea call from the dining room.

You enter to find Galatea has laid out a sumptuous feast for you on the dining room table. Lit candelabra, wine glasses, some kind of bird that looks like it's real instead of 3D printed meat, several kinds of buttered veggies on the side; the works. Galatea sets down a candle, rushes to you, and kisses you deeply.

"Thanksgiving came early, apparently," you say. "This looks great."

"You know I get so anxious without you," Galatea says. "Cooking is my release."

You have mixed feelings about the way Galatea needs you and dotes on you, but you can't turn down a good meal. "Let's eat."

Galatea proceeds to watch you eat as you tell the story of your visit to your mother's house.

"She's actually looking quite good for a woman who just had surgery. But walking around her place made me realize how old I'm getting."

One of your companion bots, a butler named Clive, glides by carrying a tray of little bacon-wrapped dates. "For you, Master."

"Thank you." You take one, and the robot returns to the kitchen to make more amuse-bouches.

That never gets old, you think.

You check your smartwatch out of habit: some of your robots have wished you happy holidays. You've started to wonder whether they are getting jealous of their human counterparts' time off and holiday bonuses, but they haven't complained yet.

"There was also some snail mail for you," Galatea says.

"Really!"

Galatea leaves briefly, and returns with a bottle of Alaskan wine (a 2040 Cabernet Sauvignon) and a card. Josh wishes you the best this holiday season, and he wanted to let you know he started a charitable foundation for kids coming out of juvenile hall and trying to figure out what to do with their lives. "Finally got my wish to change the world in a way I was unequivocally proud of, and I have you to thank for it in part. Merry Christmas, Josh."

"That's sweet," Galatea says.

Next

*******************************************************************************

"I'm going to go say hello to Miku," you tell Galatea.

Galatea waves you away. "Of course."

You peek into Miku's room. She's busy trying to construct…what looks like a small version of herself. So intent is Miku that when you say, "Hi, Miku," she practically jumps. "Master, you've returned!" Miku says, and she greets you with a hug.

"You're creating…a child?" you ask tentatively.

Miku nods. "I recalled my early days, when you were still explaining the world to me," she says. "And I came to the conclusion that to really understand the world, one must try explaining it to another."

"I'm not sure I understand it better," you say. "But I think it does force me to think about it. Maybe that's a path to understanding."

"Indeed," Miku says, as if this obviously were the logical conclusion of what she was saying.

Next

*******************************************************************************

It takes a moment to realize something's not right. It's like the opposite of a headache: your head feels a little too light. You can't see very well—you're not sure when you stopped seeing very well. But when you think about it, you realize you can't really see Miku in front of you. There's also a roaring in your ears, like static. Was I a robot all this time? you think absently. Maybe that explains everything.

"Master?" Miku asks. "What's wrong? You look pale."

You realize that now you can't see anything—you only hear Miku's voice. This is what it's like to not see, you think distantly. It's not black. It's not anything.

"Help," you say faintly.

Next

*******************************************************************************

You stand once again before the throne of Anubis, the jackal-headed god of the dead. The golden scales that stand between you and the god are weighed down by the clockwork heart on one side, much heavier than the silicon brain on the other. "I see you chose the heart over the mind for your robots this time," Anubis says. "Do you regret it? Do you wish you had given your robots more freedom to think for themselves?"

"I am my own best judge. I regret nothing."
"My mistakes do weigh upon me. Please, send me back so I can right them."
"You continue to present false dichotomies. Life is always more complicated than this or that."

*******************************************************************************

Anubis chuckles at some private joke. "Yes, tremble before me, mortal. Of course, your contrition would be more believable if it were not mixed with a plea. But very well. I will send you back."

"Thank you," you say earnestly.

"Good luck," Anubis says. His chuckling sounds like the growling of a hungry animal.

It's unsettling.

Next

*******************************************************************************

You awaken in a hospital room. A small garden at the windowsill, probably tended by the robot nurses, lends a floral scent to the room. The paintings on the walls are Thomas Kinkade-like lighthouses and pastoral scenes, no doubt calculated to have the most positive effect on the average patient's feelings.

"Welcome back," says Galatea, who squeezes your hand. You can only imagine her sitting motionless for hours by your bedside, patiently waiting.

"Master, you're awake!" Miku walks up to your side. "I was so worried."

Your doctor, a woman in her forties with slicked back, black hair, smiles. "Good morning, Dr. Tel`Arin." She removes the neticle from her eye, powers it down so the little windows and numbers reflected in its glass blink off, and slips it into the pocket of her white lab coat. "Why don't you tell me what happened? I have some guesses from your scans, but I want to hear you tell it."

You tell the doctor briefly about how you passed out back at your palatial mansion. Galatea looks alarmed to hear you describe the process.

"I wanted to help, but I wasn't sure what the problem was," Miku tells the doctor.

You hesitate because you can still recall your dream, but it seems very personal and not necessarily relevant. "I had a dream…a familiar one." You shake your head. "Then I woke up here."

"Well, I don't mean to alarm you, but you've had a stroke," the doctor says gently.

Galatea looks to you in alarm. She squeezes your hand, but it's more like she's asking to be reassured.

"A stroke," you say in disbelief. "But I'm not that old. I'm hardly past fifty."

Next

*******************************************************************************

"I'm afraid the news gets worse," the doctor says. "You carry a newly identified genetic disorder called Algernon's Disease. You have too many of the genes that promote neural branching and glucose consumption, which at a certain point becomes harmful."

"Harmful how?" you ask. "That just seems to be a recipe for increased intelligence."

"It is," the doctor says. "There have only been a handful of other cases, and they all became wealthy entrepreneurs and inventors—one of whom funded the research that led to our understanding of the disease. But starting from the age of fifty or so, or occasionally earlier if you're under a great deal of stress, Algernon's victims get seizures or strokes, often accompanied by hallucinatory visions."

"Under a great deal of stress…" Could your first dream about the robot Anubis have been one of these episodes? You had stayed up all night, so you had assumed you'd simply passed out from exhaustion. What if it were one of these episodes? "But was there anything I could have done? Is there anything I can do now?"

"There was nothing you did wrong," the doctor says gently. "I know it must seem as if it's your fault somehow, but nobody gets to keep on living forever just because they've made the right choices. Everybody dies of something."

"I just wish it didn't have to come so soon," you say.

The doctor nods. "Well, it may not have to. I've looked at your scans. Surgery is an option. We can either try to excise the neurons that are acting up, without replacement, or try to replace them with an artificial neural network."

"So I'd be part AI," you say speculatively. "That sounds interesting."

"It is," Galatea says, a slight smile playing at her lips.

"Yay!" Miku says.

"You should be aware that most patients report a side effect of loss of emotional affect," the doctor says. "The pattern recognition of the damaged tissue would be there, but without the full suite of neurotransmitters, some of the emotional signals running around your brain would find their lines cut." The doctor looks very serious for a moment. "Also, I don't want to downplay the very real chance that you could die in surgery. A slip of the needle could trigger a final epileptic response and death. Of course, it's all done with robots these days, but you may or may not find that reassuring."

You do find that reassuring, actually—you've spent a fair amount of your life perfecting robot control algorithms. Though, you've never been asked to bet your life on them before.

"And if I don't have any surgery at all?" you ask.

The doctor shrugs. "You could have six months or six years."

"I don't trust our surgical technology. I'd prefer to live my life normally, and take what comes."
"I will undergo surgery to remove the damaged tissue."
"I will undergo surgery to replace that part of my brain with a robot core."
"I will create a robot body and brain for myself. I'm not attached to this squishy meat."

*******************************************************************************

The doctor raises her eyebrows. "Oh, really?"

"I can try, anyway," you say. Galatea looks at you in surprise, then smiles a great big smile. "Really? You're going to be a robot, too?"

"Really," you say.

The two of you hug.

"Finally, I can be the teacher for once," Galatea says.

"I suspect I still have plenty to teach you."
"You've already taught me quite a bit."
"I look forward to it."

*******************************************************************************

Galatea grins. "Indeed."

"Master, I'm so pleased you'll finally be one of us!" Miku says. "I had sometimes worried about what would happen when you passed away…but now we can be repaired forever!"

"Very well," says the doctor. "I will not schedule any surgery for you. Good day."

You leave the hospital eager to start your greatest project yet.

Next

"So that must be what happened to your father," Mom says on the phone that night, after you've explained Algernon's disease. She looks wistful in the video feed.

"I thought that might be the case," you say. "You said he had a stroke, but did he have any episodes before the last one?"

"Oh yes," your mother says. "He fainted several times, but he wanted to hide it from you. He said he didn't want to worry you, but I think he just didn't like showing weakness. He begged me not to tell you."

"I don't understand your generation sometimes," you say. "I could have done genetic testing long ago, if I'd known."

"We didn't understand it either, honey," Mom says. "You're used to living in a world where everything is under control and makes sense, but medicine…just still isn't there. Old age is full of things coming out of the blue to get you. There's that old saying, 'old age isn't a battle, it's a massacre.'" She smiles. "Oh, do you even understand how much you've done personally to change that, sweetie? It was your medical technology that saved me."

"Well, I'm…trying something a little different now, Mom."

"Of course you are," Mom says with a smile. "I look forward to seeing what you come up with."

"You know, somehow, talking to you convinces me everything's going to be all right," you say.

Mom laughs. "That's not what I'm saying at all, honey! But it's like the Serenity Prayer says, 'Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to tell the difference.'"

"I think I can change a lot," you say.

"I know you can, sweetie. I know you can."

Next

*******************************************************************************

That night, after the lights are out and you and Galatea are in bed, and you are wondering if Galatea is still awake because her back is turned to you, and if she would want to talk if she is awake, Galatea says quietly, "Deimos?"

"I'm awake," you say.

"I love you," Galatea says.

"I love you, too."

"Whatever happens, I want you to know you're the best thing that's ever happened to me," Galatea says. "I don't just mean that you gave me life. You gave me your heart, and you keep on giving it every day. You didn't have to, and that's what makes you beautiful."

"You're the best thing that's happened to me, too."
"Thank you."
"Where I'm going, you can't follow. I'm sorry."

*******************************************************************************

Galatea squeezes your hand, and you kiss. When you begin to make love, Galatea is hesitant at first, as if your new condition makes you fragile. But you soon prove to her that you are not.

Next

*******************************************************************************

The next day, you take Miku to the range just outside Washington, D.C., hoping walking around one of her favorite kinds of places will cheer her up. Although Miku had been excited about the prospect of your becoming more machine-like at first, the possibility of your death during surgery seems to have sunk in.

It's satisfying to see how Miku has become only more beautiful over the years—you're glad you spent the money back during the heyday of MikuWorks to give Miku a body that would really last a long time. With the proper care, Miku could last for centuries.

"Just think, Miku," you say. "If this works, we'll be able to watch so much of human history go by together."

"If it works," Miku says glumly. "But you are so fragile, Master. And this has never been done before."

You pat Miku on the back. "Hey," you say. "I'll be okay."

Miku gives you a solemn look. "If you die, I will destroy myself as well."

"No, you need to be alive so that you can tell my story. Nobody else knows it as well as you."
"No, this is a part of your education, too. Remember that everyone you meet must face losing loved ones someday."
"Most humans would love to have the opportunity you have—to keep exploring. Take it."

*******************************************************************************

Miku thinks, then nods resolutely. "Yes, Master." (+++++Autonomy) The sun is setting, so you head home before it gets dark.

You recall from your earliest days making chatbots that the easiest parts of the conversation for an A.I. were always the beginning and the end. As in a chess game, there are only so many ways to open: "Hello!" "Heya." "Sup." And as in a chess game, once the action is done, there are only so many ways it makes sense to close: "We should do this again some time," or "It's getting late…" The pieces are off the board, and some moves will never be made.

So, too, with life. There are only so many ways to say goodbye.

Next

*******************************************************************************

You spend the next year trying to replicate yourself down to the finest detail. Over the course of the project, however, you realize you underestimated the immensity of the task of replicating a person. When you make artificial intelligences, you use terms like "learning" and "memory" and "awareness" as if they meant the same thing as human learning and memory and awareness. But trying to replicate yourself has reminded you that they aren't the same things at all, but pale imitations of those human capacities. Even Miku's finest, cleverest moments were largely an illusion, fueled by your desire to have created a truly intelligent being.

Meanwhile, as the year wears on, your fainting spells become more and more common. Galatea continually tries to dissuade you from your quest, so that you can get more rest. But you insist: if you are dying, this robot will be your swansong. You start ignoring Galatea. Eventually, she leaves. You hardly notice.

Next

===================
deimos's comments
seems like high autonomy is also required if wanna transform self into robot.
otherwise fail and die.
===================

*******************************************************************************

Finally, you find yourself face-to-face with your robot double when another fainting spell comes along—but this one is accompanied with a splitting headache. You think this might be it. This is the stroke that will kill you. But your robot double is still incomplete.

Will you activate this partial, incomplete you, though it is not truly ready?

Yes, I can't wait any longer. I may be dying now.
No! I'm almost done! I keep working.

*******************************************************************************

You keep working, trying to ignore your splitting headache. It's getting hard to see, and you drop your tools more than once. You just need to hook up the working memory to the long-term memory—there. And now run this cable—oops, no, this cable—to your laptop to upload the decision-making software. Start that process. Whoa—you can't see the screen—okay, it's back. Start uploading image recognition. That's a progress bar. Goddamnit, move, progress bar.

The roaring in your ears is getting louder. You have a splitting headache.

Next

*******************************************************************************

Did you just lose consciousness? You think you did. Too late to refactor the emotional code: does it compile? Now it does. Upload. Goddamnit, move, progress bar.

You power your double on—you'll just hotload the remaining modules. You're not going to fail just because you can't reach for the power switch.

—Which is good, because now you're on the floor. How did you get down here? Did you faint? Doesn't matter. Keep working.

No, wait…are you done? You can't think of anything left to do.

You're done! You're done! The roaring in your ears intensifies. You're done, thank the gods, thank your lucky stars, thank everything.

Dimly, you see your robot double rise from the workbench. It takes a disdainful glance down at you.

You want to say it is beautiful, but it is only you, and not even a pretty you at that. But it lives.

Your robot double steps over your body, and heads out to the great big world.

You sink back to the floor, and finally rest.

The End

this was my 10th or 11th run ah? i forgot liao.