Automaton Girl

Part 2 - Chapter 9 - Creation

Tick, tick, tick.

The machinery moves like clockwork. Probing at wires, testing electricity flow, sparks flying freely as it pinned it's needle-like claw against the live current of computer boards.

In the dimly-lit laboratory of Dr. Crodier, this was just one of many machines he had invented to perform this purpose. Dr. Crodier sat in the corner of his laboratory, tweaking parts of a robotic arm. Every time he moved his screwdriver to a particular angle, the arm moved instinctively.

Dr. Crodier, a man in his fifties with long graying hair and white skin the color of snow, would move the corner of his mouth as if he had a twitch. Laying on the desk he was working upon were blue prints -- an immaculate set of instructions labelled in the top left corner, "CR 0".

---

The Omiplor plasma he stole from the planet Zuzbar turned her blood purple and the color of her hair lavender. It was an unintended side effect he tried tirelessly to correct, but he discovered the plasma wouldn't work properly if it wasn't naturally purple. Of the countless models he made of CR 0 -- in which the functioning model he thought should humorously be named CR 11 -- they all never had enough oxygen supplied to their robotic hearts in order to live more than a few hours. The purple color, he discovered, allowed replication in order to continue breathing. So he allowed her to remain purple.

She was like a doll to him. Her face was shaped like an oval, and her lips were a natural cherry blossom pink, plump and pouty. Her skin was like olive-colored, with a clear complexion. Her eyes were such a piercing blue, reminding him of the oceans he once sailed. Her hair, originally meant to be a snow blonde, ran down to her lower back. She had a fit, slim body, designed to his imaging.  When she didn't show emotion, she looked like a picture of a model in old Times Square, from the history books he used to read in grade school. The logo Vogue just needed to be plastered somewhere in her frame and she'd fit right in.

She was perfect to him.

They sat across from each other, in the poorly-lit 1950s-styled kitchen of his home. The counters were a mess, aligned with various pieces of used foods that Dr. Crodier neglected to throw away. Dust collected in corners that were easily visible. On the stove, used pans racked up on top of used pots. Newspapers, some dating back many years ago, ran all along the dining room table. In lieu of using that table, he threw the stacks of mail on top of the kitchen's two-seater table onto the floor and place their meals across from each other. A microwaved grandeur meal of broccoli, carrots, mashed-potatoes, and chicken.

CR 0 sat across from him, wearing a shirtwaist dress with old-style floral decoration patterned across it. Her hair was pinned back, with a headband riding across her head as if to conspicuously hide her abnormal hair color. In the background, Grant Green hummed from Dr. Crodier's dying record player.

Dr. Crodier filled the conversation with meaningless, one-sided chatter. CR 0 didn't say a word, prodding at the food that never really filled her, listening to Crodier's attempt to create a meaningful bond with her. Perhaps he did create a bond, she thought, but she knew she never did. He was always a stranger to her, even though he did create her.

She always sat across from him on the inside of the kitchen, giving her a view of the living room. The windows were boarded up, nailed shut with plywood. Outside, she could hear the distant cries of gunshots. Sometimes the house would rattle, but Crodier would never acknowledge it. He would always continue speaking about his latest trip to the Freska Dwarf, or how Holly 002 needed repairs, or how he was thinking of taking her to the Milky Way for a day. He never did.

At nights, she would sleep in her own room. In a single bed, with antique furniture reminiscent of the country daytime shows she would watch while Crodier spent his days in the laboratory. Her room, just like the others, had boarded up windows as well. The closet was full of shirtwaist dresses, with accessories of different types in the vanity dresser. On the shelf of the vanity was a framed picture.

In it were three people -- a woman, sitting in a rocking chair, holding a small boy on her lap. A man stood behind them, his hand on the shoulder of the woman and patting the head of the small boy. The picture seemed old, with a crack in the corner of the frame. The woman, CR 0 realized, was wearing the same dress she was. CR 0 touched the dress, as if she felt some bond to this woman in the picture.

She realized, after looking at the picture enough times, that the woman was Crodier's wife.

--

Only once did Crodier ever catch her attention with conversation.

"I'm thinking of creating you a friend, Susie." He said.

"You are?" She responded. Funnily enough, Crodier seemed surprised upon her interaction in the conversation.

He smiled smugly at her, as if he finally had something she wanted.

"Yes, I am, indeed. The blueprints are in the works, but I'd like to get him done soon, I think. I need someone around here to get things done outside, as I'm too old to do it myself nowadays - I must admit that."

Outside. Those were words she hardly ever heard.

"Outside?" CR 0 questioned. "Can I go outside?"

Crodier sucked his lip, as if contemplating. "Susie...outside is not what you think."

CR 0 bit her lip. The silence was eventually interrupted with the distant, melancholic sound of gun shots.

"What is going on out there?" CR 0 prodded.

Crodier began to stand up, grabbing his empty microwave plate with him.

"Please!" CR 0 pleaded.

"Susie! I am not discussing this. Please, leave it alone." He looked pained. "Please."

CR 0 stopped. She stood up, angrily grabbing her plate and throwing it in the garbage as she stormed off to her room.

She wanted to know what was going on outside.

She deserved to know.