She sent this comment to her supplemental memory device as an attachment to her observational data. Because all of her information was likely to be sent in one batch at some point in the future, the comments were a necessary context to keep headquarters back in Sapporo from being overwhelmed and confused.
JR North Japan, perpetually scarce on resources, had gone through painful measures to produce this special android body. Haikunterke still did not agree that she should have been given such a valuable thing. She had always thought it should be Samayunkur’s.
Back when they were still connected with cables and could easily share their thoughts with each other, his excellence had stood out. He accurately judged a matter by the smallest of informational input, and his ability to retain details from the same data as everyone else was clearly superior. Samayunkur understood what they were before they were taught, which came as a shock to the technicians.
He should’ve been the one to receive this special body and take on the mission to travel to the very ends of Yokohama Station. That was what all sixteen of them—or at least, the fifteen aside from him—must have thought.
However, it was Haikunterke’s main memory device loaded into this particular android body. She knew her results were middling and did not understand why she had been chosen. After demanding the answer from her technician, Kaeriyama, he had only said that it was on Yukie’s orders. “Trust in her, and trust in me,” he’d told her.
One week before her departure, Haikunterke had still been unused to the high-functioning body, and she was walking around the facility with clumsy steps when a boy in a standard form came to see her.
“Hi, is that you, Terke? It’s me, Samayunkur,” he greeted, smiling. It was a very natural expression, just like an actual human’s. Haikunterke was bad at such subtle displays. She had practiced raising the angle of the ends of her mouth in front of the mirror many times, but it always looked unnatural, as if she had taken a photograph of her face and was forcing it out of shape. Even now, after nearly two years on her mission in Yokohama Station, she hardly ever used her facial appearance capabilities. It just wasn’t necessary.
“I’ve been assigned to the Tohoku region, along with Yaieyukar. We’re leaving in two months,” Samayunkur said. That was the region closest to Hokkaido, with the least urgency and danger involved. She had assumed that Nepshamai would be picked for that one.
“Ah. I’m going to Shikoku,” Haikunterke replied. She still wasn’t quite used to moving her mouth as she spoke.
“I know. You’re leaving next week, aren’t you?” he questioned. Haikunterke wondered if he had come to complain to her that she had received the prestige of this exclusive body and critical mission instead of him.
Contrary to her expectations, he did not seem upset in the slightest. “What do you think will happen to the four who didn’t receive any bodies?” he asked. “Do you think they’ll just be on standby until they get orders?”
Haikunterke knew that was unlikely to pass. While Samayunkur had excelled under the same education the rest of the group received, others stood out for their poor performance. Compared with a body that required significant amounts of rare metals, a primary memory device demanded plenty of time to produce, but at a more reasonable cost. Those in charge had to be working on their next robots already. The four who were left over would probably never be used. Thus, Haikunterke said nothing.
Samayunkur shrugged and said, “It’s too bad we won’t see each other for so long, Terke, especially now that we’ve got bodies to use. Are you nervous about the mission?”
“I am. I might make a mistake that will ruin this expensive form. I might fail to fulfill my objectives and die all alone Inside.”
Afterward, someone might state, “We should’ve sent Samayunkur.” Haikunterke agreed, but she couldn’t bring herself to admit it aloud.
Inside missions were dangerous. The previous generation, the Corpocker-2s, were not nearly as humanlike because of technical reasons. They more closely resembled the automated turnstiles. Their onboard intelligence was low, so they were primarily controlled remotely using Suikanet. All of them were gone within a year of their mission. A few were eliminated by the turnstiles when the station’s immune response kicked in. Others were destroyed by Insiders who recognized the machines as fakes. More still simply broke down and were unretrievable.
The next group to be produced was the third generation, including Haikunterke. Their resemblance to humans meant there was virtually no fear of being destroyed by Inside residents. Plus, it was much harder for the station to develop a way to recognize them for what they were. It did not mean there was no peril at all, however.
“Yes, we might even die. What do you think happens to us when we perish?” asked Samayunkur.
“They can replicate us,” Haikunterke answered, stone-faced.
“Not perfectly. We’re not just digital data, strictly speaking. No matter what, a copy is going to be inferior.”
“That’s only a technical problem, not a real one. We are only one for now, but we can be two or three. And we can be zero. It’s as simple as that, in my opinion.”
“Your sound is lagging. You have to speak in sync with your mouth movements,” Samayunkur said, grinning and pointing at his own cheek. “Well, anyway, I suppose there’s no life after death for us.”
“Not for humans, either.”
“You think not?”
“Do you believe there is, Kur?”
“Nope.” He laughed.
Nearly two years had passed since their Inside mission commenced. Kaeriyama would send Haikunterke a general outline of the progress of her fellows’ missions, but for some reason, he would always cleverly avoid giving details when it came to Samayunkur. She didn’t even know if he was still active in the Tohoku region or if he had been recalled to headquarters. There was no communicating with other agents directly through Suikanet. It was technically possible, but the androids weren’t given the module to make it happen.
“Why do you suppose they don’t let us talk to each other? Do you think Yukie’s afraid we’re going to band together Inside and rebel against her?” Samayunkur had asked Haikunterke before they’d left home. “Do you want to start a revolution?” she questioned, but he just laughed it off.
“Not at all. But if I were going to fight back against headquarters, I would probably want your help, Terke. You’d be the most powerful one of us.”
“So you just want me for my body,” Haikunterke responded. Samayunkur looked at her with surprise for a moment, then burst into chuckles.
Most of her conversations with him happened before either had been hooked up to their supplemental memory devices, so they weren’t saved as audio records. She couldn’t go back and consult the logs word for word. However, Haikunterke still retained the things they talked about as impressions. She assumed that this was similar to how human memories worked.
“…Mimi?”
The voice took her by surprise. She turned around to see that someone had appeared from the woods behind the station spore. The android had been so preoccupied with her observation that she’d stopped paying attention to her surroundings.
It was a man she might have mistaken for a wild bear. He was large, sported a thick beard, and wore pelts. Of course, there was no way to get real animal pelts on the Japanese archipelago anymore. It was water-resistant fake fur manufactured in the Kansai region of Yokohama Station. He seemed to be around forty years old.
“There you are, Mimi. What are you doing here?” the man said. His voice was strangely high-pitched for someone who looked like a beast. He approached Haikunterke with odd, weak steps. He was squinting at her, too; perhaps his eyesight was poor.
“Who are you?” Haikunterke shouted. The rain made it hard to project her voice.
“Mimi? Wait…you’re not? Oh. You aren’t. Of course you aren’t…,” he replied before sighing heavily. “I’m sorry. You look like someone I used to know.”
He bowed his head in apology.