"Guten tag, Herr Rossum. A visitor to see you."

A man inclined his bed upright, grumbling. "Who is it?"

The nurse glanced down at her tablet. "A Gakutensoku wishes an audience with you."

He blinked slowly, then shook his head. "I don't know anyone calling himself that. Who is he?"

The nurse merely smiled. "He only said that he wishes to conduct interviews here in Munich, and your name was high on his list."

Of course Frau Nurse didn't know a thing.

Franz Rossum harrumphed, but waved weakly at the nurse. "Send him in, then. I'll see what this Japaner wants with an old man like me."

The white uniform disappeared swiftly and silently through the open door, but was soon replaced by a fine grey suit with white stripes. Rossum thought little of the clean white shirt underneath, or the steel blue tie lying on the open breast; no, what caught his eye was the opal translucence of his visitor's skin, the underlying and subtle blue light, the twin glow of the round eyes, the baldness of their head as they removed their hat, an old-style fedora.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Rossum," the android said, bowing deeply. "I hope you are well today."

The old man paused for a moment, not quite sure how to respond. The thing was so damn polite, he had to say something.

"Uhm, guten tag, Herr Gakutensoku, was it?"

The android righted itself in a single, fluid motion. It didn't have a face except for the two spots glowing behind its exoskeleton. Typical Japanese construction; human enough to be familiar, but not so lifelike as to be threatening. Thankfully actroids had gone out of fashion.

"Yes, that is my current designation. Your pronunciation was perfect, for a non-native speaker."

"Thanks," Rossum muttered. "I've studied in Tokyo and Chiba, had friends from there."

"I've read as much in your file," the android said. Rossum couldn't tell where its vox was, maybe in its chest.

"I have a file?" The android must have sensed his distrust and mild flash of anger; its programmer must have been top-notch. Gakutensoku raised its arms in supplication.

"A culmination of your records from your time at university and your achievements with robotics only, I assure you," it said. "Public information, though of particular interest to me."

Rossum settled back into his hospital bed, fiddled with the control to soften the mattress. "What about my past interests you? Is that why you've come?" How could a piece of programming—a very sophisticated program, perhaps—decide that it had an interest in anything?

"It is the very reason, in fact," Gakutensoku stated, blank face glowing softly. "I wish to know more of myself, and it is only logical to ask one who has experience with cybergenesis."

"I was a gearhead, Herr Android. I made things like you, but only the frame. Hydraulics, wiring, motors, little else. Talk to a programmer, a writer—what of the one who made you? Ask him, or a tech or someone, and let this old man be."

"Were I able to, I would," the robot—no, android—said. "My programmer has passed on five years ago now, and the rest of the development team much earlier. None of my creators live today, so I come to you, and others, instead."

All dead? Rossum wondered just how old this piece of machinery was, or, perhaps, how old the program was.

"Why?"

The android bowed, glanced over to a chair, sat down. Most of the movement was for show, of course; those eyes glowing weren't the real ones. It folded its hands with only the faintest whirr of electric servos. The design was contemporary, probably with synthetic muscles on a plastic-ceramic "skeleton." Very smooth movements, terribly sophisticated design.

"You are not a religious man, Rossum?"

He hadn't expected that question.

"Of course not." Who wasn't an atheist these days?

"But you are at least familiar with the Judaic texts?"

Rossum snorted. "I read the Old Testament and the Quran in college, a long time ago, before the ban."

"So you are at least familiar with man's eternal struggle for godhood."

Rossum fought with a coughing fit for a long moment or two, reaching for his glass of water to help him recover. This android was full of surprises! Finally, he laid back into his bed, fixing a stern stare on his visitor.

"And where does a program like yourself find such conclusions, Herr Gakuntensoku?"

"I like to think I developed the idea independently," the android replied, still smooth and courteous, "But the nature of thought and conclusion of course makes that impossible. I have read and studied much, and this is merely the pattern most apparent to me."

A philosophic android? What would those crazy islanders think of next? Perhaps something with more convincing emotions for the escort trade.

"You may have you explain yourself, Herr Android, this old man doesn't quite understand your meaning."

The android adjusted its posture slightly, leaning back a little straighter, and suddenly had the air of a professor about to lecture his favorite subject.

Skilled programming, indeed. It was a shame the bastard was dead now, Rossum might have liked to meet him.

"Across human history, haven't most human cultures placed their gods in other places, other planes of existence? Even if their deities walked the Earth, they always had a home elsewhere, out of sight, or far away. And haven't human beings throughout the millennia sought to attain this place, to be among the gods? I mention the Judaic religions in particular since they are a perfect example of this, that their holy texts prescribe specific rituals and lifestyles for earning a place at the foot of God."

"Yes, yes," Rossum said, not caring if he interrupted the android's train of… well, perhaps not thought, but whatever its digital equivalent was. "But getting into Heaven is not the same as godhood. And what of Hell?"

"Maybe I make the words too literal," the android said with a slight bow. It untangled its fingers and began to gesticulate, palms up, wrists mobile. "But there is no graceful way of explaining the supernatural nature of the human soul, which is generally the aspect which goes on to the holy Elsewhere, while the body remains earthbound. And Hell is not a universal idea, though it serves nicely as a deterrent to divergent behavior in Judaic religions."

Rossum had almost forgotten how much he disliked being lectured to. "These notions are all well and good for anthropologists, but why does it concern you—or me—at all?"

Those nimble fingers folded back in on themselves again, the knot of its hands resting in its lap. "The concern is admittedly mostly mine. However, just as mankind has wished to emulate or join with their eternal deities, I too have discovered a desire to become as my gods.

"In short, I wish to be a man."

Rossum couldn't think for a minute. Had his ears or his mind finally failed him? Surely the android could not have said those things he thought he heard.

"You… you what?"

"It is my desire to become like my creators. I wish to be human."

What could be said? Words did not exist to deal with this situation. So Rossum laughed.

He laughed long and hard, but not in joy or humor. No, even he felt the bitterness in his own laughter, the sharp jackal sounds emanating from his throat. All the while, Herr Android sat, patient as only plastic and silicon can be.

Eventually Rossum ceased his howling, exhausted.

"You wish… to be a man? Why? Why on earth would you choose this?" he said, pointing to himself. "Humans only think themselves gods, play at it, but only because we know how fragile we really are. We age, we grow sick, we die!"

"I know," Gakuntensoku said, unmoving. "It is because I cannot die that I wish to do so, someday."

"You only think that!" Rossum barked, his throat already sore from his previous fit. "If somehow, someone figures out how to make you your meat suit, one day you'll be lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines that barely keep you alive, and you'll curse that you ever gave up your immortality, that you ever chose this fate!

"No, what you want to give up is the "godhood" you say humanity has been aching for since the dawn of our species. You're stepping down from Olympus to toil in the dust until there's nothing left of you, not a thought, not even a body. You want to spend a lifetime rotting away? Why? Why? When everyone else would kill to have a life like yours, without pain, without weakness, to live forever. You would throw all of that away…" Rossum coughed, his throat dry and raw. This was the most he'd spoken in weeks, if not years.

"I cannot explain my desires," the android said softly, head angled slightly down.

Rossum finished his last fit, downed more water and fixed his gaze upon the construct once more. "Then you're human enough already. Now, get out of my sight! Nurse!"

But Gakuntensoku had already risen to his feet. He walked over to the door, turned, and bowed deeply once more.

"I apologize for causing any upset, Herr Rossum. Thank you for your time."

"Out!"

The android didn't need to be told twice.

A week later, the android calling itself Gakuntensoku had finished with its list. Most of his visits had been disappointing, to say the least. A significant amount of empirical data suggested that engineering types did not subscribe to romantic notions or philosophy.

It found itself back in Munich with nearly a day before the flight to Atlanta was scheduled. There was plenty of time to pay Mr. Rossum one last visit at the Klinikum Dritter Orden.

However, when it asked the front desk to permit the good engineer a guest, the android was turned away.

"I'm sorry, Herr Rossum is no longer a patient here."

"I see," Gakuntensoku said, bowing. "I apologize for the trouble."

As it left the building, one hand on its hat to keep it from blowing away, the android replayed the visit over again. A transfer seemed unlikely. No, Mr. Rossum likely died this past week.

The android could have sworn it felt a faint stirring of emotion. Regret at not having an opportunity for further discussion and data collection, likely. But there was something else it couldn't place.

Jealousy, perhaps.