Free Vampires Don't Sparkle! by Michael West Page B

headset with a thin wire microphone over my head. The wire curves forward; the mic hovers before my throat.
    I step out onstage and find my spot between the dancers. Through the closed curtain, I hear the crescendo of crowd noise behind the folds. I look up, self-cue the dance program, and extend my arms out in the first position.
    I spot Sayuri onstage near me and lower one eyelid down and up in a wink. I parse her expression as surprise. I want her to know I am ready. I am engaged in the performance, and all will go as planned.
    The curtain rises, and synthesized drums and chords erupt from the overhead speakers. I begin to dance, to move my arms in swoops.
    The background performers part to either side of the stage. The spotlight falls on me.
    Me. Jinan, the star. The purpose of this exhibition. Rogi-Tech’s ninth generation model and most life-like girl robot entertainer.
    I open my mouth — a decorative contrivance, as my voice comes from a speaker in my sternum — and I sing. I modulate a series of vowels and consonants pre-recorded by a local singer under contract of anonymity and for a substantial sum of yen. But the control is mine — the ability to mix, match, and string together the sounds are mine.
    With my newfound awareness, I vary the program, take the sounds higher, and hold the pitch longer.
    One background dancer missteps and drifts into my path. I stop so she may pass, then find my spot and continue.
    All eyes, hundreds of engineers, dozens of entertainment reps, a handful of celebrities, and hundreds more of ogling music fans, all focus on me.
    I dazzle them.
    40 minutes and 36.3 seconds later, I perform the final spin. I hit the high note, and open my arms to their admiration.
    I drink in their applause.
    Their adoration.
    Their worship.
    -----
    I file in with the other dancers. Those within reach touch me, place their hands on my shoulders, or brush against my arms. They speak words of acceptance and success. For reasons I cannot yet analyze, the words cause a positive flush of current through my circuits. I break off toward my private room, where my charger and computers await me.
    As I step through the door, Gentoshu wraps his arms around me and pulls me close. “Marvelous, Jinan! Incredible! Your performance fills me with honor. I couldn’t be happier if you were my own daughter tonight.” He pulls back. His hands still lay on my shoulders. I recognize the wide, up-curved shape of his mouth as a smile, a facial expression I am often asked to emulate. Another positive power flush courses through my circuits.
    I conclude this power flush agrees with me. During those precious microseconds, my perceptions enhance. Initial analysis suggests this is perhaps pride, success. I have no correlation to answer; I only know the perception is a preferred state for optimal functioning.
    I offer the social pleasantry. “Thank you, Gentoshu-san. I am glad you enjoyed the performance.”
    Gentoshu looks upon me with a facial expression I cannot interpret. “I knew the program would change you, Jinan, but I didn’t expect this. So many of your base functions were through remote control, and I wanted to free you a bit, to learn, gradually, and gain more independence. But this level of interaction, so quickly — I am amazed.”
    “Thank you, Gentoshu-san. May I offer a possible explanation?”
    He smiles again, though I am not certain why. “I am interested in any observations you wish to volunteer regarding your own functions, Jinan.”
    “Although you activated my program only 50 minutes and 24.4 seconds ago, I have several months of captured sensory input. When you activated the upgrade, I analyzed the previous data, categorized it, and learned from it.”
    Gentoshu’s head nodded up and down. “Yes, Jinan. That makes perfect sense. I hadn’t considered that you could jump-start your learning by reviewing your sensory history.”
    I had operated independently from my recharging unit for over half my