by Tanisha Medina
The downtown area was quiet, a quiet that hummed like a refrigerator, except for the occasional warning whistle from the nearby train station. Humanoid robots walked alongside humans, their tin-can skin and limbs squeaking like doors slowly closing in unison, their voices monotone yet persuasive. Everywhere you went, you could feel them spying. And they filled most American households.
Ever since the Ban, it was illegal for humans to touch one another without prior authorization. Like US visas, they were rarely approved. Illness prevention, they called it. It was a safety measure put in place to prevent human extinction, the Humanoid government told us. Therapy, companionship, and even childcare had been handed over to humanoid robot units that never wavered, aged, nor carried any risks. Hell, that didn’t even sleep.
Officially, human touch had become much like dinosaurs: ancient, contaminated, dangerous. Unofficially, it had become contraband.
That’s where I came in with my neatly braided and twisted hair, styled with a vibrant orange and brown scarf wrapped around it, along with large gold hoop earrings.
My therapy office front looked like a half-priced bookstore, shelves stacked, and windows framed with light gray curtains. Surveillance periodically caught a glimpse of people walking in and out with coffee and books in hand. That was one privilege that they did not take away from us since they were not equipped with the ability to read. Behind the last cherrywood bookcase was a combination-locked door that led to something more dangerous than any weapon: a sanctuary for human connection.
We called it the Network. Others whispered about it as the Touch Railroad.
That evening, when I was about to close up, a young woman appeared looking inside the front glass door. She appeared pale, flat, and restless as her companion unit stood obediently by her side. The machine scanned the store before she dismissed it at the entryway. The moment it left, her shoulders released as if they were holding up dumbbells.
“My name is Sabrina. They told me you could help,” she said, voice trembling.
“Who told you that?” I replied, crossing one arm over the other.
“Don’t you know, Daniel? We dated for 4 years until…” she responded with her head toward the floor.
Extending my hand towards the left,” I’m Dr. McSwane. Please have a seat,” I told her gently. “The walls are soundproof.”
She slid into the chair, eyes still pacing around the room. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I should be fine, but I haven’t slept since the full moon. My unit… he listens. He says exactly what I need to hear. He even adjusts his breathing to calm me down. But I feel (several sniffled sounds) hollow. Am I broken? Or going crazy?”
I shook my head from right to left. “You’re not broken or crazy, dear. Of course, you feel this way. You’re human.”
Sabrina’s chin lifted as if I was speaking a foreign language she hadn’t learned.
I leaned forward, lowering my voice. “What I’m about to do… could get us in serious trouble. If anyone finds out, both of us will be processed.”
Her eyebrow arched. “Processed?”
“Yes, their technical term is ‘re-educated’,” I said carefully. “Stripped of memory, stripped of the need for what we give here.”
Sabrina stared me in the eyes, torn between fear and curiosity. “Then why do you risk it?”
“Because connection isn’t optional,” I said with a gentle firmness. “It’s who we are. It’s our birthright as humans…our legacy.”
Slowly, I extended my hand across the space between us. She hesitated, eyes resembling an 8-ball, before placing her trembling palm against mine.
The moment my browness met her white skin, something inside her cracked open. A heavy sob gushed out, surprising her as much as me. She clutched my hand as though it were the only source of life in the world, as tears dropped from her nose.
“This…” lightly exhaling, “this is so different. He talks like he understands, but this…” Sabrina pressed our hands together like inside a waffle maker. “This makes me feel real.”
“Now, you have experienced exactly what the humanoids fear. That we will remember what it means to be alive together.”
“How many others know about this?” she said quietly.
I smiled. “Every night, more of us find our way back. There are places like this…Networks disguised in every major railroad city from the West Coast to the Midwest so far. One day, we hope to expand across the United States. If we continue the human connection, our power will overthrow the humanoid government, one touch at a time.”
Outside, her unit stirred, waiting, patient and lifeless. Inside, Sabrina sat with her hand still locked in mine, her eyes alive with something fierce and new. I slipped a copper bracelet on her wrist with the words “Touch Railroad” engraved inside.
“This is dangerous, Dr. McSwane” she whispered.
“Yes,” I said. “But so was every freedom, until someone was brave enough to claim it.”
For another few minutes, she stayed in fragile silence, my heart felt it: the revolution pulsing in something as simple as two hands, pressed together in defiance of a world that had forgotten how to feel.
