Polaris

Polaris woke at exactly 5:00a.m., two hours before sunrise; two hours of freedom.

Actually, two hours and two minutes of freedom—two hours, one minute, 48 seconds, and 5.6 milliseconds, to be exact, as her mildly annoying brain-calculator-thing reminded her.

She sat up, opened her eyes, and started to breathe, a special ability most androids didn't have. Hew owners wanted her to seem as humanlike as possible, so she had olive skin, dark blue-and-purple hair, and features so realistic, no one would doubt that she was human unless they looked very closely at her temple, where her chips were stored.

Polaris swung her legs off the bed and stood up. Her sonachip activated, and she smiled. "Open windows in this room and living room," she said, and the windows gently opened, letting in air that smelled vaguely of pine trees and orchids and hopes and dreams.

Polaris leaned on the dresser to look into the mirror, combing her hair back into a loose braid. She put on her clothes: leggings, skirt, loose blouse, scarf. They were all galaxy-themed. Polaris loved the idea of exploring the universe, even though she knew it'd be impossible for an insignificant android like herself to even step out of the city. She didn't have the programming of a Nova-edition android, which were the ones the International Space Association sent into space. She even doubted whether she could ever actually see the stars; pollution clouded the skies in thick shrouds of brown and gray, and even if it was less dense here, out in the suburbs, she'd never be able to go outside at night. Her Serfdroid programming controlled her actions through NT-85, the neurotransmitter that all androids had, limiting their moves from sunrise to the second they fell asleep. If she tried to escape, NT-85 would force her back. She had to "sleep" from 8p.m. to 5a.m. At least her owners had been relatively lenient, allowing her two hours of Sonadroid programming every morning.

Still, though—no stars.

Polaris pulled up an image of her favorite painting on her mirror touchscreen: Starry Night by Vincent Van Gogh. She imagined that this was what stars looked like if you journeyed out far enough. Explosions of light scattered across a dark canvas, flowing in harmony with the wind, like glowing, radiant tidal waves.

She sighed and tapped the red exit button, returning to a screen that displayed a map of the house. It informed her that five windows were open and that the coffee machine had run out of coffee grounds. She'd take care of that later. She swiped the screen away, and the mirror-screen became a mirror again.

"Lights," she murmured, and the lights flashed to life, bathing the room in a cold, hospital-room white. "News."

The wall-screen, what she used as her television (although television was an ancient word, practically prehistoric), displayed what was surely a Workdroid but with uncannily realistic features, shuffling the notes in front of—

No, that couldn't be a Workdroid. Polaris edged closer, squinting. Wrinkles. Workdroids never had wrinkles. Even humans seldom had wrinkles.

Gray hair. Blue eyes. They shone. They were watering.

Oh, this was a human.

But that was impossible—Workdroids did everything, from building houses to reporting the news.

"Volume: 29," Polaris whispered. At 30, her owners' SleepTech would automatically wake them up.

"Today, we have news that may change our lives forever," the woman said, and she sounded tired, her voice cracking. Oh, this was definitely not a Workdroid. "All registered androids have suddenly entered permanent shutdown, and despite the combined efforts of iDroid, Nova Industries, and Bots Incorporated, we have not been able to determine the cause of these malfunctions."

Polaris gaped at the screen, her mind reeling. All registered androids have suddenly entered permanent shutdown. But she was still alive. As alive as an android could be, anyway. Wasn't she registered under iDroid? Had her registration expired? Was that why she hadn't entered permanent shutdown?

"Even the Nova-edition androids on the space shuttle Monarch have inexplicably failed. Androids and humans included, our previous population was 27.4 billion. Now, a rough estimate of our population comes to the figure of a mere 16 billion."

Polaris squeezed her eyes shut and buried her face in her hands. This couldn't be happening. A mass android malfunction wasn't unheard of—a few years back, a glitch in NT-61 had caused the death, or "permanent shutdown," of a few million androids, but as far as Polaris knew, this had never happened.

"We have an exclusive interview with the CEOs of Bots, Nova, and iDroid, coming up after this commercial break."

"Okay," Polaris whispered, and then collapsed back onto her bed, trying to calm the frantic thumping of her heart. She released a guttural cry, not caring if her owners' SleepTech woke them up. She didn't care if the tears flowing down the sides of her face were the results of a glitch in her emotion regulator. She didn't care if she was ruining her perfect features as she dug her fingernails into her palms, releasing sparks that burned her skin.

Polaris rolled over, smothering her face in the blankets.

"Time," she tried to say, but her voice cracked and she was crying again, feeling things she never knew androids could feel, and maybe that was it, maybe she wasn't an android, but a weird, mechanical human, or maybe she wasn't a true android but a cyborg, or a robot, or, or, or

Polaris sat up and wiped her eyes, not caring about the time anymore. She focused on the wall-screen.

"And here we have the CEOs of Nova Industries, iDroid, and Bots Incorporated," the reporter said.

The screen split into four quarters, with the reporter in one, two very businesslike middle-aged men in the others, and in the last one, a woman who looked quite young, as if she'd come fresh out of college. Polaris recognized that one as the CEO of Nova.

"So what have you discovered about the affected androids?" the reporter prompted.

"Well," one of the men began—the one with the platinum blonde hair, no doubt dyed—"most of the androids didn't just enter permanent lockdown. They scratched themselves to bits, tore their own heads out of their necks, took themselves apart, bit by bit, screw by screw...we're not sure what triggered this behavior."

"We've interviewed many android owners, and they all say that their androids were behaving perfectly fine yesterday," the other man added.

"Thank you, Mr. Corbet," said the reporter. "What about you, Ms. Nova? Have you discovered anything interesting?"

The woman cleared her throat and said, "I haven't discovered anything else, but the cause of their actions seems clear to me. Obviously if they were behaving perfectly yesterday and they've all suddenly decided to kill themselves today, seemingly without reason, it's some kind of outside interference that's hacked into their systems. Probing into their bodies might give us information about what exactly prompted them to take this course of action, but what we really need to do is determine the perpetrator. A burst of gamma rays could interfere with their programming like this, but that's highly unlikely, given that gamma rays have harmful effects on humans as well and none of us seem to be affected in the slightest."

The reporter smiled. "Thank you, Ms. Nova. That was very enlightening. Now, Mr. Jacksen..."

Polaris watched for a few more minutes, but none of what they said meant anything to her. The only useful information she'd gleaned was the part about outside interference.

She bit her lip. "News, off."

The wall-screen dimmed and then shut off completely. White panels were all that remained in its place.

Polaris pulled up the time, and it showed at the corner of her retina display: 7:01a.m.

She sighed and went to ground up the coffee beans.

And then the clock reached 7:02a.m.

Sunrise.

Polaris closed her eyes and prepared for the inevitable. Any second now, she'd blank out and revert to Serfdroid programming, and she'd have no control over her actions throughout the day. She couldn't call it no control, actually. It wasn't that she couldn't control her actions; she could choose whether she wanted to walk straight to the kitchen through the hallway or take a detour through the living room. It was just that she had to listen to her owners. Her entire day's schedule was planned out for her.

But such was the life of a Serfdroid, and she had to accept it.

She opened one eye.

Flapped her arms around.

Bonked her head on the wall.

Spilled the coffee beans.

7:05a.m.

What was wrong with her?

Whatever it was, Polaris wasn't waiting for it to go away. She grabbed a portable battery, shoved it into her wrist compartment, and raced outside, laughing gleefully.

It was too much to hope for, and it hadn't even happened in her wildest dreams, but maybe, just maybe, she was free. Maybe what'd killed all those androids had freed her.

Polaris tilted her head up, squinting. She could see birds. Birds. Probably just crows, but still, birds.

And then she ran, savoring every step through the short, choppy grass, laughing, laughing, free.