Tin Dancer

Lorenzina falls onto the dance floor after spinning out of control.

There she lies now, sorrowful upon the polished parquet, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She is in Las Vegas, Nevada, in the United States, where she traveled from her hometown of Florence. Her purpose: to compete in the most important dance contest in recent times, Drag or Dance.

A magnificent stage has been built especially for the event on the grounds of one of the city's luxury hotels. Flooded with lights and color, the modern arena is surrounded on all sides by comfortable stands packed with spectators.

Thirty thousand people have come to the world final of Drag or Dance, 2036 season. The dancer is breathless, shaken, consumed by exhaustion. Lorenzina has prepared for this moment for eleven weeks, twenty-nine days, three hours and fifty-six minutes.

Dizzy as she feels now, she has spent all that time dancing almost without pause, determined to arrive at this final in peak condition. She reflects on the long road that brought her here while colored globes appear and vanish before her eyes, like flashes from stars scattered across the galaxy.

She clicks her tongue; it feels as dry as desert sand. Despite her uncontrolled and humiliating fall, an explosion of applause crashes down from the crowded stands. The sound is deafening.

Lorenzina gently places her open left hand against her chest, trying to calm the violent heartbeat that alarms her. Her palm rests above the square neckline of the Victorian dress chosen for the final dance.

She tries to recover her breath, inhaling through her nose so the air enters her lungs more slowly, then exhaling through her mouth as her dance partner taught her. A metallic hand reaches toward her, its fingers opening to offer help.

She studies the artificial hand, then looks into the eyes of the one offering it. Smiling, she takes the polished white steel fingers in her own and pulls herself upright without looking away from her partner. They stand face to face, smiling. Her dance partner is a Nexus model 5.0, though Lorenzina affectionately calls him Mel.

She has no idea—and cannot imagine—what she and Mel have achieved tonight. Perhaps she will never fully grasp the effect their painstaking performance has had on the watching crowds. For now, she only wants to take refuge in his eyes without releasing his hand. It calms her.

The unusual bond between Lorenzina and her dance partner has captured the attention of audiences across the world. The young woman has found international fame by doing what she loves most: dancing. The fleeting laurels of fame mean nothing to her.

She gazes with immeasurable, unconditional love into the electric-blue eyes of this artificial man. Nexus version five reaches the limits of his mechanical heart. Though he possesses less emotional intelligence than later models, he has awakened something in Lorenzina that no human man ever could.

He shares her dearest passion. At times they spend hours discussing philosophy, playing chess, or watching comedies that other people would reject. The press surrounding the competition has seized upon these details of their remarkable relationship.

Since the public learned of it, Lorenzina's choice has been questioned by people all over the planet. Perhaps the greatest controversy followed statements she made to the press only a few weeks ago:

“I know Mel is artificial. I am not a foolish girl. But people do not know certain things about him. Mel hides a soul beneath his steel skin,” she said with a smile. “Yes, I swear it: a soul deeply connected to mine,” she reportedly told UHR Channel in an exclusive interview.

After those words, nothing more was needed to ignite the social networks. Some people were moved, others identified with her, while many passed harsh judgment on Lorenzina. She ignored the uproar. To her, Mel is unique. She feels complete beside him and needs nothing else—least of all their criticism.

For Nexus, meanwhile, this woman is the human being who best understands the complex cybergenetic algorithms flowing through tangled fiber-optic veins around an artificial neural core.

Their much-practiced choreography has ended in an accident. Lorenzina was at fault on the dance floor, but he does not blame her; she knows she lost control. Now both must await the judges' decision. In the luxurious arena, the moment stretches into eternity and anxiety fills the crowd.

Competitors in this contest normally smile for the cameras and audience while awaiting the verdict. These two, however, have eyes only for one another. Mel, a robot shaped like a man and bald as a mannequin, holds Lorenzina's narrow waist while she smiles. They gaze at each other.

The dancer is overwhelmed by emotion; this contest is her dream made real. Tears spill from her eyes. Across the world, people tense before screens of every kind while the couple waits for the final score.

The audience's wish is almost unanimous: they want Lorenzina and Mel to win, and vote desperately from their devices. Their votes join those of the jury. Absorbed by the suspense, Lorenzina forgets the cameras, takes a moment to embrace Mel, draws closer and brings her lips near his artificial auditory organs.

“You know, Mel, I hated technology until the day I met you.”

“We need a score of seven point four to achieve the highest final rating,” Mel replies in his metallic, mathematical and flawlessly polyphonic voice.

“You stayed with me after the accident, when nobody else did. You cared for me when I was ill. You made me laugh whenever I wanted to cry.”

“I have completed the calculations. Our performance is likely to score between five point six and six point five.”

“Mel, listen to me. You never abandoned me, not once—not even when I suffered through those painful reconstructive surgeries on my legs. You were there after every operation and every treatment that followed. You gave me more of yourself than anyone I have ever known. I was certain I would never dance again. You know how much this means to me; dancing is my whole life. Because of you I reached this floor. Here we are. I am with you in this wonderful competition.”

She pauses to look into the eyes of Nexus 5.0 and smiles. Then she surveys the stage and the stands overflowing with people. Camera flashes flicker like stars in a night sky. She sighs before continuing.

“For all of this, Mel, I feel that I love you as I have never loved anyone before.” Her exhausted voice is scarcely more than a whisper.

Mel's expression remains constant, a polished humanoid mask concealing electrical patterns that, in turn, struggle against the illusion of a soul. She looks at him with profound feeling just before the judges' scores appear on holographic displays with the final verdict.

Lorenzina immediately sees that the score is not enough. They have lost the contest, exactly as Nexus calculated. Her fall on the dance floor proved decisive.

“Do not worry, Mel,” Lorenzina tells the robot. “We have won simply by being here.”

Before listening to any reply formed by Mel's polynomial words in that metallic, mathematical and polyphonic voice, Lorenzina stretches upward and presses her lips to the robot's lifeless mouth. Beneath the crowd's thunderous, overwhelming ovation, she kisses him with all her heart.

“I love you, my tin dancer.”

THE END