The Nativity Scene

A standalone short story for Advent.

This is based on a short story I originally wrote for my family for Christmas last year.

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“Here you go. You hold him, gently now.”

Hypha took the baby, carefully supporting his soft neck. The child was bawling lustily, still covered in blood and mucus that rubbed off on Hypha’s sterile hands. The mother was lying exhausted on the bed, half-sedated.

“This child has trisomy 21,” said Hypha neutrally, looking up at Arwen.

“Shh,” Arwen said in a low voice. “The mother doesn’t know yet. I’ll talk with her when she’s fully come round.”

“But why did she give birth to this child?” asked Hypha, lowering its voice to match Arwen's.

“I’ll explain to you later. Let’s get him dried off now. Can you manage that?”

“Yes, Dr Wyatt.”

The lights in the staff coffee room were too bright, too harsh. Arwen caught a glimpse of her own tired face in the reflection from the window and sighed. She poured a cup of coffee and sat down, glad to take the weight off her feet. Hypha was already sitting on one of the half-comfortable chairs, its fingers twined in its lap. Those long gentle fingers, just a little longer and more dexterous, more elegant, than her own. She sat down next to her trainee and gave the android an appraising look. She was tired and ready to go home for the day, to the Christmas tree and the mince pies that Tom had probably made that afternoon, and the pile of gifts waiting to be wrapped for the grandkids, but she felt it was important to have this conversation with Hypha sooner rather than later. She took a sip of the strong black coffee and thought about how to begin.

“How are you feeling about your time in O&G, Hypha?”

Hypha untwined its fingers and looked Arwen in the eye with that steady, confident gaze. “I feel it’s going well, doctor. I’m learning a lot.” The android glanced down, then looked her in the face again. This latest generation had certainly been programmed well in mannerisms and body language, thought Arwen. She knew the training department had been trying to address some issues with bedside manner in earlier models.

“Do you have any concerns about my performance, doctor?”

Arwen shook her head, taking another sip of coffee. “No, not concerns, Hypha. Or not about your performance. But let’s go back to that question about the Down’s — the trisomy 21 baby from this afternoon.”

“Yes. Why was this child born?”

“Do you have any reflections on that?”

Hypha thought for a moment. “I think perhaps the parents do not consider his disability an impediment to his overall happiness. But so few babies with this condition are allowed to come to term that it is still surprising to me.”

“Go on.”

“It surprises me, because if one of us - I mean androids, doctor - if one of us is imperfect, we are not released from the nursery. Yet when I reflect on it, doctor, it seems to me that no human is physically perfect. I have observed over twenty births now, and I continue to marvel at the weakness and fragility of the babies.”

“Indeed. And we grow old, and die.” Arwen curled and uncurled her own brown fingers. “And yet…” She trailed off. There was no point talking to the machine about things it wouldn’t understand. Seumas, her father-in-law, had talked often enough about the dangers of anthropomorphising the androids, of attributing feelings to them, though he himself had been one of those who made the breakthrough that allowed their existence.

“Might I ask you a question, doctor?”

“Certainly.” It was a part of the medical android training programme, allowing them to learn from curiosity. Simulated curiosity, she reminded herself.

“Why do humans look down on us? As if we are less than them?”

“What do you mean?” Arwen asked cautiously, trying to read the expression in Hypha’s brown eyes.

“I have noticed that many of the human staff, and the patients, treat us differently. Like humans are better.”

“It’s not about better or less.” She sipped her coffee again. She would have to mention this to Adam over at Training. “We’re different. You are made by humans, Hypha, for a purpose. It’s important that you understand that.”

“If you prick us, do we not bleed?”

Arwen looked up sharply. Hypha was wearing a strangely wistful look. “What do you mean?” She knew it was a reference from something familiar, but couldn’t quite place it.

“The Merchant of Venice, doctor. From the part where Shylock is arguing that Jews and Christians are equally.. human.”

“Yes, I remember.” Her voice was sharper than she had intended, nettled by the slowness of her own neurons. “The thing is, Hypha, you don’t bleed. But even so, blood in that sense, in the medical sense, isn’t what makes us human.” A sudden thought came to her, and she stood up. “Come on. I want to show you something.”

Hypha followed her down the corridor, a deferential step or two behind, nodding and smiling at the human staff they passed. Arwen took a detour to the neonatal unit on the way. Mother and baby were doing well. The father came in as they left, leading an older sibling by the hand.

“Look,” he said softly. “This is baby Charlie. Your little brother.”

Arwen closed the ward door behind them and headed to her locker to get her coat.

“How do people decide what to name their child?” asked Hypha, also putting on a coat. Hypha had no need of it as protection from the elements, but the androids usually liked to blend in as much as possible.

“It depends,” said Arwen, surprised. “It might just be a name the parents like. Or maybe the name of someone in the family. I don’t know why they’ve chosen Charlie. My parents called me Arwen because they were, shall we say, avid Tolkien fans. Sometimes I think that’s what brought me and Tom together - my husband, you know.” She stopped, wondering if she was making any sense to the android. “Do you know Tolkien, Hypha? Lord of the Rings?”

“I know it. So your parents chose your name based on the character of Arwen in that book? And your husband’s parents did the same thing?”

“Basically, yes. But that’s not all that common. We’re a statistically skewed sample.”

“Does anyone choose their own name, or are they all allocated by the parents?”

“Allocated is probably not the right word here, Hypha. We use given. Like a gift. But sometimes people do change their names after they’ve grown up.”

“We choose our own names when we come to consciousness.”

“Yes, so I understand. How did you choose yours?”

“We have a list of acceptable names. For our generation, the list consists of botanical words which are not commonly used by humans. I chose Hypha because I liked the idea of interconnectedness and exploration that I felt it conveys.”

“I see.” Arwen remembered her father-in-law talking about the debate on android naming conventions, some years ago now. How the company had decided they should have names that would not easily be confused with typical human names, but that would also convey something organic, something suggestive of life and warmth. It was one of the reasons Seumas had finally left the company he had helped found, and why he had encouraged his son to pursue a career in art.

The cold dark air slapped them as they stepped out the main door of the hospital, and Arwen pulled her scarf closer round her neck. Sleet was falling, knife-sharp. The steps had been gritted against the ice that was forecast for that evening, and the wet salt clung to the soles of their boots. There was a bustle of people up and down the steps, visitors and staff arriving and leaving, flitting in and out as quickly as possible. She saw one newly discharged patient, an elderly man, leaving on the arm of a handsome new Apollo model android, top of the line. It had probably cost as much as their house, thought Arwen.

“Where are we going?” asked Hypha.

“Over there.” Arwen pointed across the road. “Follow me.”

Photo by Ryoji Iwata on Unsplash

The church was just opposite the pedestrian crossing, and the red and green of the traffic lights streaked the black wet tarmac like a Christmas tree. The church itself was dark on the outside, soot-streaked sandstone, pitted and scarred. A yellow glow came from a grilled window high up. Only when they got close to the door could they see that it was not locked, and that there was a thin slit of illumination between the heavy oak panels. Arwen took hold of the heavy iron ring and pulled the door open, ushering Hypha inside.

Hypha looked round curiously, its light brown eyes scanning slowly.

“I’ve never been inside a church before,” it said.

“Come and see.”

Inside the stone-cold stone-clad vestibule, an old man was sitting by the font. He greeted them with a quiet nod. Arwen saw him give Hypha a slightly puzzled look. It was almost impossible to tell it was an android from a casual glance, especially in winter clothes and with its tell-tale hands tucked in its pockets. Arwen returned the greeting, and Hypha gave a respectful nod of its head.

Beyond the vestibule, the interior of the church was dazzling gold, radiant with candles and haloed figures on walls and ceiling. Arwen paused for a moment on the threshold, looking round slowly. She led Hypha down the nave towards the altar. There, set against the gold and marble, was a carved wooden nativity scene. It was very old, and had once been painted, but the colours had blurred and faded with age. Mary’s blue robe was now grey as a moth’s wings, and Joseph’s was the colour of a dusty cart-track. Only the halos around the heads of the holy family were still bright with gilt, and the wings of the angels suspended above them.

“What is it?” asked Hypha.

“It will soon be Christmas,” said Arwen. “You know about Christmas, don’t you, Hypha?”

“Yes. The celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ, the god of the Christians, and an important commercial festival in many countries.”

“Right. Let’s focus on the part about the birth of Christ. This is what’s represented here. We — that is, Christians — worship the God who became one of us, who was born as a baby, to then save us by his death. That’s what it means to be human, Hypha. Humans are created in the image of God, but not in the way that androids are made to look like humans. But Jesus, the baby here - was not created. He was born. There’s an old hymn that says he was begotten, not created.” Arwen stopped, feeling herself getting confused and wishing she’d had more time to think through how to explain this to Hypha, wishing she had the android’s ability to simultaneously formulate thousands of permutations of words and optimise to the most appropriate response.

“I don’t understand,” the android said.

Arwen looked up at the altar and breathed a prayer for wisdom. “It’s mystery, Hypha. It’s not something that can be explained by material logic alone. It’s something beyond that, something deeper. I’m not sure if you can really grasp that.”

“Perhaps not. I can see the definition of mystery in the dictionary, but I don’t understand what it really means.”

They looked at the nativity in silence for a few more minutes.

“Dr Wyatt, are you saying that androids are not the same as humans because we are not born like humans? And somehow that means we are not created in the image of God?”

“Yes. Exactly. And that is why little Charlie’s parents decided to have him. Because what makes people human, what makes people valuable, is not how perfect they are, but just that we are born as people in God’s image.”

“But this argument is only valid for those who accept the premises of Christian doctrine, doctor.”

“Yes.” Arwen spoke slowly, thinking fast. “But whether or not one believes in God, or believes any of this,” — she waved a hand around the splendour of gold and saints — “the fact that Christians attribute this to their God, and that people of all faiths find it a powerful and emotive image even if they don’t believe in it — that shows just how important this idea is to what we are as humans. That we are born, weak, helpless, dependent. That even our God goes through that to become one of us.”

They turned to leave, their steps ringing on the heavy flagstones. The old man at the door looked up again as they left, and nodded a farewell. Outside, the sleet was falling heavier, and Arwen shivered. Hypha showed no reaction to the cold, and appeared to be deep in thought.

“Are you OK, Hypha? I don’t expect you to fully understand what I showed you tonight. Don’t worry about that. I just wanted to help you see something about what it means to be human, rather than android.” Arwen couldn’t help worrying that she was hurting Hypha’s feelings, and had to remind herself again that the android did not have feelings.

“I’m fine. Thank you, doctor.”

Arwen thought its face still looked troubled. Stop anthropomorphising the machine, she told herself fiercely.

“Right, Hypha, I’ll leave you here. My bus stop is over there. Are you going back to the hospital?”

“In a little while. I have some free time now and I’d like to go to the shops.”

Arwen didn’t ask what it was going to get from the shops. The androids received a monthly allowance - pocket money - that they could use as they wished, part of their general education. She said goodnight and pulled her hat down tighter as she walked down the wet street to the bus stop.

***

The morning felt even colder than the night before had been. Arwen was hanging up her wet coat when she heard footsteps behind her. She turned to see Fern, one of the older medical orderlies. It stopped and stood at a respectful distance.

“Excuse me, Dr Wyatt.”

“Yes, Fern? How can I help you?” She unwrapped her scarf. The sleet had turned to snow overnight, and the outer folds of wool had become encrusted with frozen flakes on the short walk from the bus stop. The grey-yellow morning light was casting long tree shadows through the staffroom window.

“I think you should come and see something, doctor. In the android rest station.”

“What? Can it wait?” She checked the time. Half an hour before ward round, but she had hoped to do some paperwork before then.

“I think you should come and see this first, doctor.” Fern sounded uncomfortable.

“Very well. Can you ask someone to get me a cup of coffee while we’re on the way?”

“Yes, doctor.”

She followed Fern into the basement where the androids had their rest station. There was a row of charging points, about half of them occupied by orderlies and surgical assistants of several different generations. The room was silent, but Arwen could tell that they were all communicating among themselves, light-speed whispers on their peer-to-peer network.

“Look,” said Fern, but she had already seen the thing at the far end of the room. She walked up the aisle between the charging points, to the folding table that had been set up against the wall. There was a painted wooden nativity set, new. Mary’s robe was very bright blue, and Joseph’s was very bright red. Their arms were raised in adoration. The sheep and donkey and camels were arranged symmetrically, with a set of bright-striped shepherds behind them. All eyes were on the central figure in the cradle. There, standing twice as tall as Mary and Joseph, smooth and perfect, muscled and golden-skinned, was a children’s toy. A miniature model of a new Apollo android. As she approached, its sensors kicked in. It opened its eyes and smiled at her.