Chapter 1
Even an artificial life can dream.
In my case, I always maintained the appropriate data storage, accessing memory information during hibernation mode and deciding what was necessary and what was not.
Of course, I did recall experiences from my past during this process.
Whether it was the same as the dreams humans had—I was not sure, but in the sense that they were images recalled based on memory, there should be no complaints about calling them dreams.
So, this must surely have been an illusion that had appeared in my memory.
The land was still faintly covered with snow.
Bathed in the warmth from the sun, a young girl crouched on the ground, her back rounded, her black hair waving in the mountain breeze, gazing excitedly at a spot barely visible through the snow.
Approaching her, I looked to where her gaze was fixed on a a butterbur sprout peeking out from the melting snow, surrounded by ice yet reaching straight for the blue sky, striving for the light.
Icy meltwater. The faint scent of earth lingered in the air.
Here, the end of the harsh winter and the gentle blossoming of spring collided.
A breeze blew softly.
The young girl, having stood up without my noticing, stared intently at me.
Her face was tiny, no larger than the palm of my hand.
Testa, why do you sometimes become silent, saying nothing at all?
Her voice was youthful and clear, blending with the still chilly air.
Above her cheeks, red from the cold, her eyes sparkled with the reflection of the sun.
I have . . . an illness.
I saw my reflection in her round eyes.
My rugged, steel-covered body was shining with an unnervingly smooth sheen.
Unlike the girl's skin, it was distinctly metallic.
Illness? Can robots get sick?
Alas, such is the case.
The girl pursed her lips in wonder.
As though the meaning of my words slowly dawned on her, her expression turned to one of worry.
I see . . . In that case we must make sure you get treated.
As she spoke, the girl stood on her tiptoes and reached as far as she could towards my face.
Realizing she couldn't reach me, she began to jump, still trying to reach my face.
Seeing her struggle so hard, I couldn't help but bend down to meet her.
Finally, her innocent hands, reaching as far as they possibly could, touched my cold, metallic cheek.
Testa, your face is cold, so I'll warm it up for you. We'll make you better, okay?
While uttering her childish words, the girl smiled bravely.
What came from her palm was human warmth, the tremor of her pumping blood, and the fragility of a life akin to a flower.
Yes . . . I must recover quickly.
A slight pang of guilt stabbed at my heart.
The words I uttered were merely wistful thinking.
Pulling my face closer for a moment, the girl broke into a soft smile, flashing her pearly white teeth. Her eyes crinkled as she gazed up at me, a smile of innocence, a clear division between human and machine.