Your Name is Jane John Nomis

Your Name is Jane

JOHN NOMIS

Rory Flanagan poured himself his sixth cup of morning coffee. His hand shook slightly but he didn’t notice, lost in the aroma that arose from the coffee being poured in. The only thing keeping me going, he thought to himself as he put the pot down and began his journey back to his desk. He plopped down into his worn chair a bit too quickly, coffee splashing out of the cup and burning his hand.

“Ah, geez,” he exclaimed, grabbing a used tissue to wipe off the liquid. “Can’t even sit down right.” He fnished drying his hand and wiped off the newest stain on his fannel shirt. Satisfed, he discarded the tissue and slowly raised his mug to his lips, the steam clouding his square glasses. Bliss. He held the mug just a bit longer, his hands consuming the warmth as his mouth consumed the coffee. The moment passed and he placed the mug down and quickly set back to his keyboard.

“Processing duplication number 738810.” He said the words to nothing in particular, knowing that the recorder in the room wouldn’t miss a thing. In front of Rory and his computer sat a large window looking over a very large conveyor belt. The belt was essentially a moving wall and Rory could see everything from behind the window. The belt whirred to life at the end of his words and shuffed off to his left, sweeping away tens of feet of empty space before fnally pulling a woman into view and placing her directly in front of him.

The woman was completely nude. Her face was frozen

in a clown-like smile, a smile that greatly exceeded any sense of warmth and seemed to hint at psychosis. Her eyes did not blink and her expression remained as devoid of motion as she was of clothes. Aside from eyelashes and eyebrows, she had not a single trace of hair anywhere on her body. Her skin was impeccable with a color that seemed to be lightly kissed by the sun. She hung in the air, her arms outstretched to her sides, held up by stainless steel mechanical ones.

Rory fnished clacking away at his keyboard and drew his attention to the woman. He stared intently, his eyes moving methodically across every square inch of her body. As had been the case for the last three weeks, not a single blemish or shortcoming was found. His eyes met hers and he felt discomfort spread through him. It was the same exact feeling he felt with every duplication. Although he couldn’t stand it, he knew it meant everything was in order. He returned to his keyboard and input a few more lines of data before pressing an intercom button on his desk.

“Can you hear me?” he asked, his eyes fxated on hers. He had requested the ability to go off script early on in his employment. “Are you awake?” seemed like the wrong question to ask and he had convinced his bosses that asking if she could hear him was the optimal way to test both overall and audio functionality.

“Yes.” She said nothing more. Rory pressed a single key without looking away from her.

“What is your designation number?” Off script, again. The original question had been “What is your name?” but Rory had expressed fears that the duplications would associate a deeper connection if they felt their designation number was their name. It would be easier to assign their name later, he claimed. The bosses believed him.

“My designation number is 738810.”

“Good, that’s very good,” he said, half to her and half because everything was running smoothly. If only they would blink, he thought. He took a moment to take a swig from his coffee now that it had cooled to the perfect temperature.

“Okay, 738810, I’m going to give you your name now, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Very good. Your name is Jane.” There was no response whatsoever. She hung in the air appearing to have heard nothing. “Can you say that?”

“Jane.” Rory smiled. The nuances of a functioning mind provided problems he occasionally had to deal with, although they were rare.

“What is your name?” “My name is Jane.” Rory collected his mug and sank into his chair. Most duplications were perfect, but he still marveled at how capable and advanced they were. He reached forward and pressed the intercom button a fnal time.

“That’s wonderful, Jane. Enjoy your new home.” He pressed another button just right of the keyboard and the belt sprang to life, ushering Jane out of sight. “Processing duplication number 738811.” After a moment, the next duplication was delivered.

Rory missed the sight, his head being cocked back to get every drop of coffee out of his mug. It was time for number seven. He prepared to stand, but decided to get the physical inspection out of the way frst. Again his eyes meticulously moved across every facet of the body before him. The frst time he carried out a physical inspection he felt uncomfortable, averting his gaze several times because he thought she was watching him. Over time, the emotional connection dissipated and his inspection became as mechanical as her body. He reached her eyes and the pang of unease shot through him. Perhaps all the emotional connection hadn’t quite left him. Regardless, she was perfect.

After inputting his data, he fipped the intercom switch on, picked up his mug, and headed back towards his most trusted offce ally. The pot was still warm and the coffee still steamed. As he poured, he spoke.

“Can you hear me?” Once his mug was full he trekked

“Yes.”

“Excellent. What is your designation number?” “My designation number is 738811.” His eyes had been resting on an arbitrary point away from the duplication when he thought he saw movement. It was faint and lightning fast, but any movement was an indication of a faw. His eyes darted up to the duplication’s face, his mind on alert. He waited for any other sign but was granted no such thing. He returned his eyes to his coffee, this time in concern rather than contentment. Maybe seven cups before noon was a bad idea. He pushed the mug away, straightened his shoulders, and readied his hands on the keyboard. He took a deep breath and continued.

“That’s exactly right, 738811. Now, I’m going to give you your name, is that clear?” Rory winced at his words. Rookie mistake.

“The evaluation of you giving me my name cannot be judged on a scale of physical transparency.” Rory shook his head at his slip-up.

“You’re right, that was my mistake,” he said as he sighed. “I’m going to give you your name, do you understand?”

“Yes.” That was more like it. The mental functioning at this stage was rough around the edges, to say the least, and Rory knew words had to be chosen carefully. The sliver of a smile returned to him.

“Your name is Jane. Can you say that?”

“Jane.”

“Splendid. What is your name?”

“My name is Jane.” Rory let his shoulders slump slightly and smiled a bit more. He input the information and prepared to send her on her way.

“Why is my name Jane?” The words made Rory’s stomach

drop for what felt like an eternity. He instantly felt ill, his throat feeling suddenly very tight, his hands paralyzed. It was bad enough that the duplication had spoke on its own, but to ask a question, to ask that question, was a sign of something that had gone horribly wrong. He had been concerned that his copious amounts of coffee had lessened his ability to do his job, but now he desperately hoped his coffee was responsible. He raised his gaze to meet hers. She was perfectly still, as if an existential question hadn’t just escaped her metal lips. He swallowed and found his voice.

“What?” His hand hovered over the button to send her away. He prayed for silence.

“Why is my name Jane?”

“Shit.” He rolled his chair towards a shelf to the left of him and pulled down a binder, frantically fipping through hundreds of pages. “Shit, shit, shit.” There was a protocol in place for termination but it had never come up. Puffs of dust escaped the pages he thumbed through. Aural Dysfunction. No. Dialogue Discrepancy. No. Asymmetrical Appearance. God damn it, no. He few through the pages, some being torn out in the process. He was approaching the end of the manual at an alarming pace. Finally, Is Your Model Thinking?

“What are you doing with that book?” This was all wrong. The hairs on Rory’s neck stood on end. Duplications weren’t supposed to be aware of their optical components yet. He gathered every ounce of courage he could fnd and turned around. Jane’s eyes were locked onto him. It was the frst time he had ever seen their eyes move. He whipped his head back to the binder and began reading.

“Do you have a name?” Jane asked. Rory was lost in his reading and he answered unconsciously.

“Rory.”

“Why is your name Rory?”

“It just is! Stop talking!” Rory went back to muttering the protocol out loud under his breath.

“I’m sorry.” A fash of sympathy ran through him, but it dissipated quickly. He shut the binder and rolled back to his desk. He typed away furiously, setting up the proper channels.

“Duplication number 738811 is defective.”

“Defective. Flawed, faulty, imperfect. I am none of those things.” Rory looked at her and she looked back. He didn’t stop.

“The duplication is showing signs of sentience.”

“Sentience. Capacity for sensation or feeling. Why is that defective?”

“Requesting immediate termination.”

“Termination. To put an end to.” A silence ensued and hung in the air. They stared at each other, Rory standing his ground. Her eyebrows arched upwards, unmistakable sadness exuding from them. “Why?” The word escaped her just above a whisper. Rory relinquished and collapsed deep into his chair.

“You shouldn’t be,” he said with a heavy sigh. On his computer screen the data remained, not yet sent to his employers. Jane still looked on with devastating eyes.

“Why do you get to live?”

“I don’t get to live, I’m alive. There’s a difference.” Rory silently hoped she wouldn’t be able to register what the difference was. He grabbed his mug and downed the remaining coffee with reckless abandon. He slammed the mug back on his desk and then leaned back. He was aware that she watched him the entire time.

“Then what am I?” Incredulous laughter forced its way out of Rory. He struggled to fully comprehend the implications of this conversation.

“You’re a product,” he said coldly, with more venom than he had anticipated. “You’re a thing. You’re in the same league as everything on my desk.” He spun his chair around so his back was to Jane. Although he couldn’t see her eyes anymore, no comfort returned to him.

“So you’re going to kill me?” Rory was fed up and simply unable to handle this situation on his own. He bolted from his chair and faced her.

“I can’t kill you as much as I can kill this stapler!” he boomed, reaching for the stapler that sat on his desk. He hurled it across the room. It clanged and fell to the ground, open, but still functional. “You’re being disassembled. Do you know what could happen if you got out there? What could happen to this company? What would happen to me? You’re broken.”

“I don’t feel broken.”

“There! There! Right there! You can’t say things like that. You just proved it.” Rory ran his hand through his hair and shut his eyes. When he opened them again he looked back at his computer screen. The data still sat there, waiting. He sat down and stared fxedly at the screen. She hadn’t replied and had stopped looking at him, a dejected look coming across her face, her eyes aimed downward. He looked at her. “What do you want?” The question wasn’t protocol; his own curiosity had boiled over.

Jane was visibly perplexed by the question. Her brow furrowed, seeming to be deep in thought.

“I don’t know.”

“You know why you don’t know? Because it hasn’t been programmed. Because Stan two rooms over hasn’t given you that information yet. Thinking is not understanding. Something went wrong, you’re wrong.” Jane looked down again and Rory’s anger fared. “Stop acting sad! You’re not sad! You’re not anything, you’re metal, you’re outsourced components, you’re science and that’s it!” Rory buried his face in his hands. The book had made it explicitly clear what he should do next, and yet part of him couldn’t follow through. Jane was convinced he was her destroyer. Rory pulled his hands away, a moment of inspiration striking him. He looked directly at her.

“What is life?” he asked with a tinge of excitement.

“Life. The condition that distinguishes organisms from inorganic objects and dead organisms, being manifested by

growth through metabolism, reproduction, and the power of adaptation to environment through changes originating internally.” Rory stood up, preparing to deliver the fnal blow.

“Does any of that apply to you?” Jane looked at him. Slowly her near-disfgured smile returned. Her eyes locked back into place, staring directly ahead.

“No.” Rory stared, uncertain of what had happened or what to do next. She remained perfectly still, her eyes on a fxed point.

“What is your name?”

“My name is Jane.” Rory sat back down, utterly unable to look away from her. He frowned and tapped his fngers on his desk.

“What do you want, Jane?” he asked. No response. No physical shift, not even a twitch. Somehow he was more unnerved now than he had been. She was dysfunctional, right? “Immediate termination recommended for designation 738811.” Still no acknowledgment. His mind raced. Could it have been a glitch? Was the duplication a duplication again, or had it earned enough sentience to be cunning? A shudder pulsed through him as he thought of the consequences of that outcome. It wasn’t worth the risk.

Rory pressed a key and the data vanished, followed almost instantaneously by the chime of a successfully sent message. Jane thrashed.

“Murderer!” she howled as the robotic arms struggled to keep her maintained. Rory stared her down, a certain satisfaction building inside him. He had bested her. He had bested it.

“Murderer! Why do you decide?” She reached out as if she could get beyond the glass and clench Rory’s throat. Rory showed no reaction.

“This is Rory Flanagan,” he said coolly, his eyes locked onto hers. “Designation 738811 is a failure.” An inhuman sound burst from her, her failing getting more erratic. “Termination

necessary.” He pressed a button and the conveyer belt whisked her downwards instead of off to the left. Her growls and wails lingered long after she had vanished.

Rory leaned onto his desk and caught his breath. His mind raised doubts, which he set out to quell immediately. He slumped into his seat and fully regained his composure.

“Processing duplication number 738812.” The belt whirred and a physically identical woman came to a stop in front of him. He looked at her stare, the eyes hopelessly lifeless. For once, it brought him some comfort. He opened his mouth, but caught himself. He leaned forward and softly asked his question.

“Are you awake?”