A Hair's Breadth from Greatness
Flash fiction, 900 words. For IAM's April 3 prompt. It's planting season, set your trowels to stun!
“You want us to put hair … on this? Hair?”
“Yes. As you can see, it has none at the moment.”
“Just … just on the head, right?”
“Obviously.”
Janie Capelle considered. The offer was tempting. Her firm wanted to market a solution to male pattern baldness. Dr. Prisce’s firm wanted to build androids. If she could convince hair to grow from even its artificial follicles, that should put to rest any rumors that she peddled snake oil.
“Are we thinking Fabio, or Marine buzz cut?”
“Somewhere in between. Enough to hide what’s beneath.”
This could be big for Hairman Melville, Inc. This could be their ticket. Janie worried her bottom lip. Were there any downsides? Would men decline to follow the lead of an android? Would people think the hair was plastic?
“What kind of genetic material would be available? Our research shows that our product works best on a particular East Asian phenotype. But we’re making important strides across …”
“That isn’t important. Send a report, and a technician who best matches the criteria will be happy to provide the material.”
Janie frowned. She wasn’t sure she wanted to provide information that confidential. She also wasn’t sure Dr. Prisce wasn’t a robot himself. She’d never met anyone so cold. This android was his prototype, his template, his launchpad to fame. He’d come all this way to procure hair, so he must know that looks were important. And certain elements of the population would eviscerate both companies if they mis-stepped some arcane cultural consideration.
The android had the appearance of a man in armor and a cape, clocking in somewhere between a centurion and Superman. Some of his skin and plating were missing, revealing the underlying machinery. But had he been human, baldness would have been an unthinkable tragedy.
Janie quashed her misgivings.
“Could we ask him? The android. Maybe he has a preference?”
Dr. Prisce stared at her.
“You wish to ask the machine which are its preferences for a keratin-based head covering? Ms. Capelle, it won’t have any.”
“But you said it was fed information from more than two thousand people, didn’t you? All their hopes, dreams, opinions, favorite books …”
“I believe the brochure says something about that, yes.” Dr. Prisce had turned from cold to peevish. This task had taken him from his lab to hold a conversation clearly beneath him. Janie fought for patience.
“Dr. Prisce, you passed Route 9 on your way here, right?”
Of course he had. She didn’t give him a chance to shift his mechanical mind.
“It’s a long drag of strip malls, right? Surely you observed the businesses therein?”
God, now she was talking like him.
He blinked through his glasses. A vein throbbed across his right temple. His liver-spotted hands shook as he gripped his cane. Janie knew what he was thinking: I’m going to die before I see my life’s work come to fruition because this woman won’t stop asking stupid questions.
“Do you know what all those strip malls had in common?”
“Suburban sprawl?”
“Hairdressers, barbers, hair-braiders, and accessory shops for tweens or middle-aged aunts.”
“Are you suggesting that we procure hair from such places? Unacceptable! This android will be the face of an entire line meant to embody the values of innovation, transcendence, progress, and power. Observe his mien. He is engineered to be tall and straight-backed. His features were carefully formed by an anthropologist who specializes in pharaohs, conquerors, and emperors. His muscles were custom-grown in a lab under the most rigorous conditions. I was convinced to approach you because a technician said you could grow a full head of hair from genetic material and whatever soup you use. My prototype will not have a wig of scraps, Ms. Capelle.”
Janie hoped his poor technicians were paid well.
“There will be no wig, Dr. Prisce. My point is that people care very much about hair. The length, color, texture, style. In fact, they’re going to care very much about your robot’s …”
“Android.”
“Your android’s hair. They’re going to talk about it. It’s going to either make him look human or make him look stupid.”
Those are not mutually exclusive, said the Dr. Prisce in Janie’s head.
He produced a faint sneer of acceptance. “Very well, let us venture into the ludicrous.”
Now Janie was nervous. Her gambit had worked, but what if said it wanted to be blond? Blond was the least successful pattern. Blond material produced red at best, or at worst, a strange stiff, straight, fuzzy texture like a Persian cat and nothing like a human.
“Attend, please, Alexander.” Dr. Prisce clapped his hands twice for effect, as though the android were a lamp.
The silicone head twitched slightly. The eyes – an opalescent violet – fluttered open. The android looked around curiously.
“Ask as you like,” sighed Dr. Prisce with a dismissive wave. He closed his eyes as though preparing to take a nap. But Janie detected him eyeing them when he thought she’d looked away.
“Alexander,” she started, staring into those late-evening eyes. “We would like to put some hair on your head. Do you prefer a particular color or style?”
“Innovation, transcendence, power, progress,” muttered Dr. Prisce like a litany.
Alexander beamed beneficently upon the good doctor. His fingers lingered over his half-plated pate for a long moment. Finally, he turned his ersatz gaze to Janie.
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied respectfully. “I want an orange mohawk.”
Okay, that was hilarious. I can only imagine the look on the doctor's face when he heard that. Very nicely done!