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“What the hell do I want with an android?”
Kamski offered Carl a wry smile as the older man wheeled around the specimen, studying it like the true artist he was.
“They’re all the rage, you know,” Elijah responded, admiring his creation while Carl still seemed sceptical. “Besides, it’s a big house. You must get lonely.”
Carl scoffed knowing Elijah was fully aware of how much he wanted to be left alone these days. “What kinda model is he?” Carl asked, missing the small smile that spread across Kamski’s face at the use of the pronoun. “Fucking caretaker, I bet. I don’t need an android to help me wipe my own ass, thank you very much.”
Kamski held up his hands, trying to placate the curmudgeon. “He’s an RK200. A prototype. One of a kind. Originally part of an…ambitious project; it got decommissioned. But I wasn’t about to let them destroy it – call me sentimental – so I said I’d repurpose it.”
“And they were OK with you just taking it? You don’t even work for Cyberlife anymore.”
Another twitch of a smile, a raised eyebrow. “People aren’t in the habit of telling me no. Besides, when I told them I intended it as a gift to the great Carl Manfred, they had no complaints.”
Carl squinted at Elijah, looking for any signs of deception. “That so…” he said, rolling himself back in front of the android, tilting his head to examine it like he would a piece of art. “And what’s with the sudden generosity?”
Kamski shrugged. “Just my nature.”
“Elijah,” Carl said, tone signifying he knew that to be a complete lie.
“Curiosity,” he amended. “The RK200 is the only android I have ever created without purpose. Without a directive. It’s a blank canvas, Carl.”
Carl looked up at the mastermind, curiosity now mirrored in his own expression. “So what...you want me to make him into art? Some little project for you to analyse?”
“Carl,” Kamski admonished. “If I’ve learnt anything about art from you, it’s that one doesn’t analyse it. To analyse is to misunderstand. To dehumanize. I’ll play no more part in it, promise. It’s your project now. And who knows. Maybe one day I’ll see what kind of impact it has on the world. Just like all your other pieces.”
“Sounds like some shady shit, if you ask me.” The remark held little hostility, their friendship going back long enough for Carl to know he’d never get a straight answer from the genius. He regarded the android once again, this time with a painter’s eye. “You can’t make a living thing into art.”
The wry smile returned. He had made the right decision. Carl was the only one who could make this possible. It would work. It had to. “Consider it a challenge. I think it could be your masterpiece.”
“Art is meant to be interpreted. It’s meant to be fluid. What happens when the art has the capacity to interpret itself?”
“What indeed?” Kamski asked, grin widening, eyes sparkling with barely contained glee.
“You’re a lunatic, you know that?” Carl said but there was a hint of a smile on his face.
“I’ve been called much worse. So. Do you accept?”
Carl tilted his head at the android once more. It had had its closed for the entire exchange, presumably in some kind of hibernation mode. “He got a name?”
“I called it Markus but you can re-pogramme it with whatever you like.”
“It’s not a stray you found on the street,” Carl said, absently. “Markus…”
The android opened its eyes, revealing a striking green. They lowered to make contact with Carl in his wheelchair. “Yes, Carl?”
Carl hesitated. He’d never had much interaction with androids, largely by choice, and Kamski was well aware of that. Bastard probably even took that into account. There was definitely a bigger picture here that only Kamski would ever be privy to. But maybe he could make this work to his advantage in the meantime. “Uh…make me a coffee? Please?”
Kamski disguised his chuckle with a small cough. “Of course, Carl. Milk and sugar?”
“No just…black. Please.”
“Of course.” And with that, the android disappeared to find the kitchen. Carl frowned as he watched him leave.
“You’ll get used to it,” Kamski said, sensing his unease. “Trust me.” Carl just hummed in response. “Well! I think I’d better leave you to it.”
“I thought you came over to play chess?” Carl said, frown deepening, waving a hand in the direction of the chessboard.
The small smirk resurfaced. “And I’ve made my first move. It’s up to you to decide what it is. The white knight. Just a pawn. The game is in your hands, old friend,” he said, pressing his palms together as he bowed just slightly. “I’ll see myself out.” And he was gone.
“Your coffee,” Markus said, suddenly appearing at Carl’s side.
“Oh. Thanks,” he replied, taking it from his hands but making no attempt to drink it. “You know, sometimes I think that man has too much control on this world…”
Markus looked in the direction his creator had left, watching as the door closed automatically, his head tilting just slightly as he filed that information away.