Entry 22

Ven strolled through the halls of the Society of Anthropologists with confidence, as if he was one of the myriads of anthropologists who had every right to be present for the symposium. He had said he was part of the organization that worked against the Society’s ways, which made me wonder if this anti-anthropologist society taught classes in how to act like an anthropologist. I was sure I looked exactly like I was, an escaped Zoo specimen.

I was sure my clothes gave me away. I was wearing faded blue jeans, a green Johnny Cupcake’s shirt, and black Reeboks. I looked like any other American teenager. Ven’s outfit looked nothing like American style. I should have noticed that when he first rescued me, but I suppose I was distracted by his dashing looks. He wore a navy blue three-quarters sleeved jacket that seemed to be made of leather over a gray shirt. The shirt was nicer than a t-shirt but not quite the quality as a button up shirt. His slacks were black and seemed as durable as jeans, though I doubted they were denim. His shoes were bright red, as if to offset the drabness of the rest of his outfit. He would have stood out like a sore thumb on Earth – I mean really, who wears a three quarter’s sleeve jacket? – but in the hall of the Society of Anthropologists his outfit was one of the more tame. He fit in much better than I did. I was sure I would be caught.

“How much longer until we get there?” I could not help but ask. Ven looked back at me with a mixture of amusement and annoyance.

“We’ve barely been walking five minutes,” he answered. “Be patient, Carlee. You’re acting like you’re twelve.”

“I’m fifteen,” I retorted. “And I’m acting like any other fifteen-year-old would when she is worried about her big brother.” My words caused Ven to sigh and shake his head.

“It’s not your brother, Carlee,” he said. “I can’t express that enough. It’s just a machine. It’s not a person.”

“Data is a person,” I snapped, causing Ven to frown.

“Data is definitely not a person,” he responded. “It’s a usually the results of science, experimentation, or analysis.” I did not bother to explain. I did not have time to explain Star Trek to a man who had never heard about it and who probably could not care less. I had a brother to save.

“Why are you so against me having my brother?” I asked. “Even if he is just an android, he’s still my possession, isn’t he? A person is allowed to have possessions. You have your ship.”

“Yes, a person is allowed to have possessions,” Ven said. “But the human colony does not allow androids. There are strict android regulations in the universe. The Android Acts, they’re called. You won’t be able to bring your android to the human colony.”

“Then I won’t go,” I responded, appalled. “Why would they not allow androids?”

“There are many reasons,” Ven answered, suddenly speaking passionately. “Androids take away jobs from hardworking sentients who need the work and money to support their families. Having an android near you is like having a constant spy watching you. Whoever owns the android can ask it to report on your activities or download its memories of you. It’s a violation of sentients’ rights. They are disturbing replicas of sentients meant to fool and trick innocent sentients into trusting them, like you trust your android. A person should never trust a machine more than they trust people. An android is just another part of technology that works to de-sentientize the galaxy. Androids go against nature. Nothing natural creates working replicas of itself to do its work for them. Androids are unnatural, immoral, and wrong.”