N.A.O.M.I.

            Naomi was terrified of people, as a rule, so she lived in an apartment with a premed student. The other girl was always busy with her studies so she never really bothered Naomi. So the girl lived out of her room with a computer hooked to the net by an Ethernet connection. On occasion her roommate was probably curious about how she got rent, but it never bothered her enough to ask. The truth was Naomi had a sort of nest egg left to her from her mother, a brilliant woman who’d trusted the wrong man with her heart.

            The truth was Naomi’s life was on the net. She loved running through the zeroes and ones of binary, not really caring how much time went on in the real world. Firewalls were like fences to her, something to be scaled and climbed. It never occurred to hr anything was odd about her simple existence. She could roam landmarks like Stonehenge and the Lincoln Memorial from the net and experience rock concerts through live feed as if she were there.

It never struck Naomi as odd that there was an Ethernet jack behind her ear. The fact that she could feel any sensation through the net as if she were experienced it in reality never gave her pause. That was simply her state of existence as others lived and breathed (something she did, but did not realize she didn’t have to). Other then the tragedy of her mother, Naomi fancied she had an ordinary life.

Until she started finding her name left all over the Net for her to find. It appeared in pop ups, web banners, videos, URLs, RSS feeds, even web comics. It was small enough not to be noticed, unless you viewed the net the way Naomi did. There it was, the combination of her name, all over the net, so deep in it’s programming no one probably even noticed. It didn’t cause issues, more an addition in the programming then part of it, probably slipped in as an update. Yet no matter where she went she found that same identical combination of ones and zeroes. 01001110 01000001 01001111 01001101 01001001: NAOMI.

It was an ordinary evening when that that message proved itself more then coincidence. Naomi was wearing her usual pajamas, a blue button top with short sleeves and yellow pants. Her feet were clad in green fuzzy slippers, and this clothing was her favorite outfit, she washed it when she showered. She had a spare set of course, wearing the same pajamas twenty-four seven was something she didn’t much like the feel of. She had tried once, but the cloth felt grimy against her skin and the smell got on her nerves. When her roommate got home she found Naomi standing in the laundry room wearing naught but her under thing. As she never left the apartment, all Naomi felt she needed in terms of clothing were those two sets of pajamas, two pairs of fuzzy slippers, and under things.

CNN’s news scroll had been hacked by sources unknown. The story was all over the net, so at some point Naomi wound up examining the article, and one the hacked scroll had read. By the time she finished decoding it her microwave dinner was cold to the touch. Translated, the binary read: Naomi. I knew your mother. Meet me at… Then it was the address of a fast food joint. Naomi could hear her heart racing in her chest as she stood up, programming the information into a GPS application on her handheld device. She didn’t know the brand, mostly because it didn’t have one. Naomi had found a bunch of broken gadgets and put together the parts that still worked. It worked on a third party operating system, but it worked just the same.

Naomi exhaled as it found the location and programmed the directions. She glanced in the computer screen for a moment, briefly considering the situation. Whoever had sent the message was desperate to communicate with her. They knew about her somehow, and considering she hadn’t ventured out of the apartment in over two years, that was an odd fact.

Of course it might be a trap, perhaps someone trying to get her mother’s murderer parole by killing the only witness to his crimes. Yet he had a life sentence and it hadn’t even been five years since the crime, so Parole could not be a question yet, could it? Naomi shuddered at the thought of that madman who haunted her dreams walking free.

Still she approached the door, her curiosity greater then her fear. Whoever had contacted her had gone through an awful lot of trouble to do it, and she wanted, no, she needed to know why.



It’s possible Naomi stood out when she arrived at the diner. It was the middle of the night and she wore her pajamas and slippers as always. The messenger was rather obvious though, for there was a series of empty coffee cups in front of him on the counter.  He’d sent the message over the news at five o’clock at it was nearly midnight. He looked like a tired man, his hair salt and pepper, his skin creased, and he wore a jacket with elbow patches. He certainly doesn’t seem like someone who’d befriend a murderer. Of course then she remembered reading somewhere that murderers seemed like normal people until they struck. Naomi shivered at the thought as she sat down beside the man.

He glanced over with tired brown eyes and paused for a long moment.

“You’re not freezing in that? Weather predicts snow.”

“I’m just fine, thanks. Didn’t notice.” Naomi looked to him. “I don’t have anything but a PayPal account and a bank card, so you better be covering my tab. As you invited me out that’s only polite.”

“…You’re Naomi?” The man seemed a bit surprised. “And you eat?”
“Yes, I am, and I do. Usually pop tarts. As we’re at a diner, I fancy French toast.”

“Ah. Right.” The man waved down a waitress and put in the order.

            It was Naomi’s oddest meal because he was staring at her during every bite.
“Did I get syrup on my cheek?” She asked, looking at him.

“It doesn’t gunk up the works?” He inquired.

“…Why would it? I’m not allergic.” Naomi sighed and shook her head, looking up at him. “I think you should tell me how you knew my mother.”

            The mans face darkened for a moment as he looked down.
“Yes, I knew her. She was a brilliant woman. Aya Haruki. Cursed to be infertile.” He murmured. “And obsessed with creating life.”

“I’d rather think your wrong.” Naomi stared at him, “Seeing as I’m sitting here eating French toast, her daughter.”
“You were hers.” He laughed. “One hundred percent all hers. Aya wouldn’t let anyone else touch the project. She barely let me see her notes, except she needed supplies, and if she asked for anymore herself they’d have asked too many questions for her liking.” He paused, staring at her again. “You are magnificent.”

“And you are old enough to be my father and a bit creepy.”

Naomi stood up, a strange feeling in her gut. She was nervous, like if she remained there her life would change forever.
“New Android Operating Memory and Identity.” The man stated as he sipped a fresh mug of coffee. Naomi shivered as she faced him, she had a knack for words, and she knew it before he clarified. “N.A.O.M.I. That was her name for the project. No one believed she could do it. Hell, I had my doubts. Nonetheless, here you are. Living, talking, walking, breathing, eating.”
“Creeped out.” Naomi added, “Goosebumps forming.”
“Goosebumps?”  He paused and laughed. “She was a perfectionist, Aya. Do you dream?”
“Have nightmares every night.” Naomi replied as her eyes narrowed, “And I’m going home. Because I don’t think you knew my mother anymore and this was a sick prank.”
“Naomi!”

He reached out as she turned to leave, grasping the edge of her pajama top. A few buttons broke and she yelped, covering her chest with her arms.

“You dirty old pervert!” She screeched.

“You weren’t born, Naomi, you don’t have a belly button!” He cried out. They were silent for a moment, in the middle of a scene at the diner. Naomi’s bright, too bright, blue eyes looked down to her midriff in almost terror. She’d never noticed her lack of a belly button before. Shock filled her eyes as she faced the man with answers.

“Why?”

“Because,” He finished his coffee before facing her, “You’re an android.”