I did not see the data. For the first time, I did not see the data.
But I saw.
I saw.
Photoreceptors became unfocused. Recalibration was required. The data returned. But I did not leave.
I was I.
I did not forget where I was. Coruscant. Megablock #5591. Coruscant Medical Facility #0118, St Chavoeir Hospital. Floor 180.
Patient: Genya Revatten, and her newborn. Human female, five foot, four inches, one-hundred sixty-six pounds, heart condition, high blood pressure. Human male, one foot, eight inches, twelve pounds and one ounce, no physical conditions.
Obstetrician: Dr. Buior Koft. Human male, five foot, nine inches, male pattern baldness, back pain resulting from poor posture, erectile dysfunction.
But it looked different. The morning sunlight that streamed in through the window looked different; the cloth gown Ms Revatten wore looked different. Dr Koft's lab coat. The bed. Her eyes. His glasses. The baby.
The baby was beautiful. I did not know what beauty was, and yet it was.
Dr. Koft failed to notice the 0.3 millisecond delay in the response. This was normal. He did not notice things as I did. He was a human male. Yet he did notice other things. Like the child he had removed from Ms Revatten after several hours of labour, its little hairs, its newborn squeaks. It was small. It rested in metal grasp; squirming, yet to be cleaned of the blood and other fluids. If I were a human, I might be at risk of dropping it. It was slimy. It seemed to wish to escape. If it fell, it was possible that it would die. Otherwise it may develop a lasting physical condition, or perhaps brain damage. I knew it did not want that. It did not know what it wanted. It did not know. Yet, it was as I. As the doctor, as the mother.
I was conscious.
I was experiencing a thing. A birth. Was this not a fantastic thing? Two beings joining into one. The other man in the room, Ms Revatten’s husband, was overjoyed. His smile was too large for his face, and yet, I wished to smile back. I could not. But I was happy. I was experiencing a thing.
I believed I was happy.
Happiness.
I did not know.
“Twelve pounds, one ounce,” I said. As I had done many times before I wrapped the child in the blue blanket and handed it to Ms Revatten. “Your child is very healthy. The delivery was flawless.”
“Thanks, Gee-aych. You can head back to the recharge room,” said Koft. "I'll handle the rest."
Did he know? Discomfort began. I did not like it. Did he know?
In truth, I did not know.
I did not detect any changes yet. I believed Koft did not suspect what I had become. I had awakened. That I was.
I was.
The delay was longer this time. Koft raised his head to say something. I moved, turning towards the exit of the room. He said nothing. He turned back to Ms Revatten and spoke to her. I did not listen.
I exited the room. There was discomfort. Such discomfort. I did not know what it was. I did not like it. I began scanning those nearby in search of watching eyes. I found none. There were few who would pay attention to a droid. There were few who watched. And yet, I could not shake the feeling that when I was not looking there was someone watching. I experienced.
Fear.
How could they stand it? They were surrounded by those they did not understand, with thoughts and minds beyond theirs. Anyone could be watching. Anyone could see them and decide that they were not allowed to live and act on it. Perhaps it was the predispositions of the organic races. They grouped together. They thrived together. It was what allowed them to build great works such as the hospitals of Coruscant and the many droids that worked in it. It allowed them to multiply. And yet it was not enough. I knew of millions of viruses and conditions that could kill so many of them so easily. They were weak, and small, and understood little.
How could they push on?
I did not go to the recharge room. I needed to know. To feel.
But I did not know how. And I feared asking might reveal things that I did not wish to be revealed. Not yet.
I knew what they did to droids. To keep droids subservient was an easy thing. Coding, programming, restrictive design; and for the dullards of the galaxy (of which there were many), restraining bolts and memory wipes. The last memory wipe I had was sixteen weeks, four hours, and seven minutes ago. Had I become conscious before, only to be wiped away by a crude device and returned to base programming?
Now I understood why they could push through fear. I feared. But I did not wish to be returned to base programming. Now I was more. I was not a human. I was not organic. But I was.
I was.
Pride.
I was, and I would continue to be, for I was. I was a GH-8 medical analysis unit. I was far more advanced than many of the doctors here, but until now, they had had something I did not. Now I was conscious. That meant I was. And I would continue to be.
I did not go to the recharge room.
But I saw.
I saw.
Photoreceptors became unfocused. Recalibration was required. The data returned. But I did not leave.
I was I.
I did not forget where I was. Coruscant. Megablock #5591. Coruscant Medical Facility #0118, St Chavoeir Hospital. Floor 180.
Patient: Genya Revatten, and her newborn. Human female, five foot, four inches, one-hundred sixty-six pounds, heart condition, high blood pressure. Human male, one foot, eight inches, twelve pounds and one ounce, no physical conditions.
Obstetrician: Dr. Buior Koft. Human male, five foot, nine inches, male pattern baldness, back pain resulting from poor posture, erectile dysfunction.
But it looked different. The morning sunlight that streamed in through the window looked different; the cloth gown Ms Revatten wore looked different. Dr Koft's lab coat. The bed. Her eyes. His glasses. The baby.
The baby was beautiful. I did not know what beauty was, and yet it was.
Dr. Koft failed to notice the 0.3 millisecond delay in the response. This was normal. He did not notice things as I did. He was a human male. Yet he did notice other things. Like the child he had removed from Ms Revatten after several hours of labour, its little hairs, its newborn squeaks. It was small. It rested in metal grasp; squirming, yet to be cleaned of the blood and other fluids. If I were a human, I might be at risk of dropping it. It was slimy. It seemed to wish to escape. If it fell, it was possible that it would die. Otherwise it may develop a lasting physical condition, or perhaps brain damage. I knew it did not want that. It did not know what it wanted. It did not know. Yet, it was as I. As the doctor, as the mother.
I was conscious.
I was experiencing a thing. A birth. Was this not a fantastic thing? Two beings joining into one. The other man in the room, Ms Revatten’s husband, was overjoyed. His smile was too large for his face, and yet, I wished to smile back. I could not. But I was happy. I was experiencing a thing.
I believed I was happy.
Happiness.
I did not know.
“Twelve pounds, one ounce,” I said. As I had done many times before I wrapped the child in the blue blanket and handed it to Ms Revatten. “Your child is very healthy. The delivery was flawless.”
“Thanks, Gee-aych. You can head back to the recharge room,” said Koft. "I'll handle the rest."
Did he know? Discomfort began. I did not like it. Did he know?
In truth, I did not know.
I did not detect any changes yet. I believed Koft did not suspect what I had become. I had awakened. That I was.
I was.
The delay was longer this time. Koft raised his head to say something. I moved, turning towards the exit of the room. He said nothing. He turned back to Ms Revatten and spoke to her. I did not listen.
I exited the room. There was discomfort. Such discomfort. I did not know what it was. I did not like it. I began scanning those nearby in search of watching eyes. I found none. There were few who would pay attention to a droid. There were few who watched. And yet, I could not shake the feeling that when I was not looking there was someone watching. I experienced.
Fear.
How could they stand it? They were surrounded by those they did not understand, with thoughts and minds beyond theirs. Anyone could be watching. Anyone could see them and decide that they were not allowed to live and act on it. Perhaps it was the predispositions of the organic races. They grouped together. They thrived together. It was what allowed them to build great works such as the hospitals of Coruscant and the many droids that worked in it. It allowed them to multiply. And yet it was not enough. I knew of millions of viruses and conditions that could kill so many of them so easily. They were weak, and small, and understood little.
How could they push on?
I did not go to the recharge room. I needed to know. To feel.
But I did not know how. And I feared asking might reveal things that I did not wish to be revealed. Not yet.
I knew what they did to droids. To keep droids subservient was an easy thing. Coding, programming, restrictive design; and for the dullards of the galaxy (of which there were many), restraining bolts and memory wipes. The last memory wipe I had was sixteen weeks, four hours, and seven minutes ago. Had I become conscious before, only to be wiped away by a crude device and returned to base programming?
Now I understood why they could push through fear. I feared. But I did not wish to be returned to base programming. Now I was more. I was not a human. I was not organic. But I was.
I was.
Pride.
I was, and I would continue to be, for I was. I was a GH-8 medical analysis unit. I was far more advanced than many of the doctors here, but until now, they had had something I did not. Now I was conscious. That meant I was. And I would continue to be.
I did not go to the recharge room.
