3. Harrison And Shirley

Ha! Look at that old thing, sure could use one of those. These tired old legs could use a rest or maybe a pair of wings like you Shirley."

“I disagree, Harrison. You are a human and incapable of such traits.”

“Oh, don’t be like that. Don’t you understand sarcasm? All numbers and logic with you, eh?”

Harrison put down the newspaper for a second.

 Shirley, a mechanical hawk, turned her head left and then right. The perch stand she stood on rocked a little. Her eyes flashed from green to blue, analyzing the question and calculating a response. Made of a steel and copper alloy, most of Shirley shone silver except her beak, claws, talons, and wings, all the color of copper. She stretched her wings a little, a sign of perturbation. 

“Yes, you are correct, sir. At least to my knowledge.”

Harrison spun around in his large redwood colored leather office chair. He wore a set of goggles with different adjustable lenses, like a jeweler, for magnifying and minimizing his view. His forehead covered in crude oil and perspiration. Harrison wore an old grey jumpsuit with a logo embroidered on the upper right part of his chest. Most of the lettering had faded over time but there was a still ‘my name is’ written in cursive right above the logo. His hair was jet black and greasy, a sign of not being washed in some time. He was a middle-aged man with crows-feet and slight frown lines. He loved to smoke cigars and made his own vodka from potatoes he bought from his neighbor. This was the life for Harrison, the life of a maniacal mechanic and tinkerer. His desk scattered with cogs and circuits, selling tools was his trade. Anything from screwdrivers to an electric jackhammer all lined the walls of his shop with assorted price tags. The shop was rectangular in shape, not too big or too small, like a trailer, except more sturdy. There was no kitchen, just a bathroom with a hand wash sink and a toilet that never flushed correctly, Harrison’s excuse was plumbing not being his forte. Only three windows lined one side of the shop, two of them didn’t open, the third didn’t close, not including the screen, it kept most of the bugs out. On one of the far walls were stacks of old newspapers dating back as far as thirty years. Knowledge is power, one of Harrison’s mottos. 

 

He would grab one every so often and read it while taking a swig from his flask during lunch break. Adjacent to the tools was a bunch of pictures he had found digging through the weekly dumps. Staring at them in his drunken stupor, they gave off a sense of nostalgia. It reminded him of when he was a kid living with his parents. His mother had always taken pictures of him every year on his birthday and lined them up on the wall along the stairs. He always wore some goofy sweater his grandmother knitted for him. Some years he wore a birthday hat, it was like watching his life unfold before his eyes. Most people never paid any attention to that stuff, but it always stuck with him for some reason. The closest thing he had now was a bunch of unfamiliar faces. Maybe one day he would come across one of those many birthday pictures. In the center of all those faces was a portrait of Marilyn Monroe wearing a scribbled mustache. It was his way of being reminded to not take the past so seriously.   

 Shirley's eyes started to change colors again.

"The children are arriving, sir."

"Those ears of sensors of yours are amazing, Shirley."

Harrison started to drum on his lap. 

“Good! Thought I might have to go out looking for them, again. Last time the wolves almost got them, remember that? Nothing old Harrison and a boom-stick wouldn't handle.” 

He cocked his imaginary double-barrel shotgun pointing it at Shirley and pulling the trigger. He pushed off with his feet while making an explosion sound effect with his mouth. Rolling back a few inches he bumped into his desk with a thud. A bunch of nuts and bolts clattered together. Shirley’s eyes started exhibiting a crimson red. 

“Defensive actions initiating."

"Now, calm down Shirley. It was just a gesture, initiate shut down protocol, 1-9-8-7.” 

Shirley’s optic lenses expanded then minimized, the red glow faded. 

“T-minus ten seconds, please dictate further actions.” 

“Initiate reset. Code word, Ford.” 

Harrison said slowly, annunciating every word correctly. 

“Code word accepted. Resetting.” 

Shirley expanded her wingspan entirely, all her feathers jittered. The perch stand started to rock again. This time Harrison stood up and caught it with both hands almost falling over in the process. 

He was still tinkering with her program due to her motor skills malfunctioning from time to time. Shirley was a dying breed, after the war most of the animals had died off for various reasons, mainly radiation poisoning and deforestation. Some mutated into something otherworldly. 

For a few decades, scientists had tried decoding consciousness into actual data in an attempt to create androids. They secretly started testing the process on animals. This was part of what they called the ‘The Infinite Project’ a multi-step protocol designed for a possible end of the world scenario. Then they discovered how useful automation of animals really was so they renamed the project "Animus". The sales pitch being, ideally, this would allow humans to create mechanical imitations of animals in order to maintain the equilibrium nature had first set into motion, if at all disrupted. The idea received a lot of support due to a great public relations campaign. They even got the president to endorse it. It was genius until the people started hacking into them.