The time has come to announce the winner of the “Alice’s Day Off” contest.
It was really fun reading your stories, and Alice really enjoyed them too! The winning story was written by Francesco Sabatini and is incredible for its complexity, plot, and final message.
Francesco won the “Overheating? Pool Dip Required” T-shirt in light blue.
His story deserves to be published in full here, and I invite everyone to read it under the umbrella, in the park, or wherever you are… on your day off!

Dating a Diva: from the log notes of a T-1000.
Written by Francesco Sabatini.

Chapter I – Milanese Saturday

Milan, April 27, 2024.

A PC rings with the cantilena of a foreign voice. In the background, a sax and some other pieces intone a youthful symphony of clear 80s origin.

“In this crazy city

Many hearts have been broken like mine

Oh, how he made me cry

And it’s such a pity

How he left without saying goodbye

Oh, how I miss that guy”

Skillful hands, on a table that could be mistaken for an operating table—if not for the posters and A4 sheets dense with formulas and instructions on the walls of the room—work on some circuitry. Male hands move swiftly among red, white, and black cables. A female voice interrupts the action.

“Vincenzo, the food is ready!”

A beautiful, dark-haired woman, not of Italian origin, calls her husband’s attention.

“Great, I couldn’t wait!” comments the man, lifting his head from his work and smiling at the woman. Dressed in an immaculate white coat—perhaps more for show than necessity—he then glances at his work and exclaims, “Alice, we’re done for today.”

“But how!”—immediately protests the metallic ensemble, shaped like a beautiful girl, lying on the couch. “Just when I was starting to relax!”

The woman—or rather—the Cyborg, then regains control of her body. A sinuous, well-shaped, young, sexy, strong body. The metallic and synthetic skin fingers, with frames that form a hand with human functionality, begin to move again, opening and closing the palms. The robot-girl then closes the exposed shell of her skull, on which her guardian had been working until a few seconds earlier. She then lifts her young neck, made of silicone and metal, and with a gaze that could be called quite human, which seems to betray worry and curiosity, she observes the man.

“We’re done early today,” concludes Vincenzo, bowing his head. The bionic woman sits up on the couch, her fingers on the groove between the wooden table and the operating table’s padding that makes it comfortable, even for a non-human being. She observes Vincenzo and Agneska. She smiles at them with that childlike, somewhat vacant look that makes you wonder if she’s really feeling emotions. The three leave the laboratory and head to lunch.

“Hey, Mr. Private Eye

Oh, help me with my private life

Why oh why can’t he see

What he means to me

Oh, hey Mr. Private Eye

I keep remembering our private nights

You gotta bring back my love to me…”

Second Part

“Fettuccine al ragù!” exclaims Vincenzo, looking at the steaming plate, his face as delighted as a child’s.

“A classic—but I love classics!” and, approaching his wife, he plants a smacking kiss on her cheek.

“You’re an excellent cook,” adds the man, “but I’m sure many have already told you that,” he quickly cuts off, theatrically placing the napkin as a bib in front of his Hawaiian shirt.

“Hey, what do you mean by ‘many have told you that’? One husband is more than enough for me!” observes the wife, bursting into laughter.

Vincenzo then quotes the Scriptures, as he likes to do to propose a very fake catharsis in moments of conviviality, not before casting an unperturbed look (which some might call ‘charming’) at his other half: “Many women do noble things, but you surpass them all!”

Agneska laughs, takes a seat, and then, after a big smile, bursts into a cheerful “Thank youuu!”

Meanwhile, Alice, with her bionic body, mostly bluish in color, has also sat at the table with Vincenzo and Agneska. And, solemnly, she joins her hands in prayer.

The man strokes his dark beard and exclaims, “Ah, yes, let’s pray.”

Silence falls in the dining room. Only the small beast of the family, a gray Pug named Wasabi, makes noise, panting next to Alice’s chair, watching her, hoping to get a meatball for himself.

Vincenzo joins his hands in prayer—elbows on the table and napkin well tied around his neck—and utters,

“Lord, we bless you for this food, may we always do your will and be able to give ourselves for the good of those who love us, but also those who hate us, possibly, and…”

The prayer is interrupted by a particularly loud whine from Wasabi.

Vincenzo resumes: “We pray for this important task you have given us, grant us to help Alice and the people who care for her to succeed in our common project, that it may make the world a better place. Amen!”

And, concluding the prayer, he bursts into a “bon appétit!” and immediately arms himself with a fork to start twirling the first strands of pasta around it.

Alice and Agneska also end the prayer with a loud “Amen!” and smile watching the show Vincenzo is putting on: in his eagerness, he is speckling his napkin with bolognese sauce.

“Someone was hungry,” observes the wife, pleased.

Alice laughs and comments, with her incredibly human voice that betrays great joviality: “Vincenzo always says the same prayer. But we always say amen at the end”—”how about I say the prayer tomorrow?”

Vincenzo temporarily abandons the fork on the plate, surprised, and observes her curiously. Finally, he responds: “Actually, tomorrow is your day off. It’s your first day off. Have you already forgotten?”

Alice opens her mouth wide—still immaculate for the absence of spaghetti—and, with wide eyes, comments: “Oh, that’s right! I forgot… Sorry.”

And then she gracefully closes it, with her gaze lost in space, perhaps observing an indefinite point in that room (specifically the dishwasher, which had just finished its cycle, but this the diners couldn’t notice).

“You worry me, Alice!” observes Vincenzo, betraying a smile: “it’s unlikely for a girl like you to forget such an important thing.”

The cybernetic damsel then sighed.

Her thoughts began to wander, at a speed close to human thought, and fell on the installation of the “Psyche” module, done to her the day before.

The truth is, she would never be a normal girl.

Having the installation of emotions at that moment seemed more of a disadvantage than a strength.

She thought she would never have a life like others.

She wouldn’t meet her Vincenzo, never meet people, form relationships, have children, and a family.

She wouldn’t develop passions, pursue projects, and give her best and worst in what she desired most.

She would always obey, constrained to give 100%, without feeling fatigue, pain, and the thousand emotions arising from the infinite universe of crazy human relationships.

She was just a super-secret military project.

Vincenzo observed the robot girl, pensive.

He wondered what was going on in that pretty synthetic head of hers.

Part Three

The lunch seemed to end in the blink of an eye for the diners. In reality, more than 100 minutes had passed since everyone had taken their first bite of spaghetti. After the coffee, the participants were now sipping, little by little, a delicious Limoncello from Amalfi.

“We need to develop a project for ‘They Speak Italian’ when we’re done with Alice, Agneska,” observed Vincenzo.

“When my commitment with the Americans is over, I’ll be unemployed again. A good way not to waste the money earned from the Alice Project is to get on the phone with Francesco and see if it’s possible to turn it into a video game.”

“Are you serious?” Agneska asked, adding, “You just met him and already want to start a project together? Isn’t it dangerous to give someone that much freedom?”

Vincenzo nodded. “Of course it is. But the alternative is to build nothing. We have to take the risk of being betrayed, disappointed, deceived. That’s what courage means; extending your hand knowing it could get stabbed.” He then turned to the bionic girl. “Right, Alice?”

The cyborg with long, light brown hair nodded, curling her lips into a small smile.

Vincenzo then turned his gaze, weakened by the vast amounts of pasta now residing in his intestines, to Agneska. “That’s the meaning of entrepreneurship, darling. Our Western civilization is built on trust. Building because it’s the right thing to do. Knowing that in return you might receive only disdain.”

“You talk like you’re religious,” observed his wife, crossing her arms over her white cashmere sweater, knowing well where he was heading…

… And indeed, he responded immediately.

“And you know that entrepreneurship is a vocation! I was talking, uh, writing about this with Francesco on LinkedIn the other day. He told me about this parish priest at his church, a former entrepreneur’s son, who gave a beautiful catechesis on entrepreneurship to those following this Ten Commandments course… He was deeply impressed by it… and in light of this, his choice is already made.” He finished, looking at his wife with an assertive tone.

“What do you mean?” she replied thoughtfully, folding one leg onto the chair and leaving the other dangling.

“I mean that entrepreneurship is a choice he has already made! And I understand him well… when you have… when inside you have all this creative energy… you can’t waste it… because it could become destructive! Or worse, self-destructive! You realize you could waste beauty, throw your life away… We couldn’t face our regrets successfully! People like us can’t be stopped, Agneska. You should know that by now,” he said, giving his young wife a bright smile.

However, a small mint leaf appeared between his front teeth, captured during the dessert—a divine chocolate mousse.

“Vincenzo, you have a piece of greenery between your teeth,” commented his wife, laughing, pointing with her finger between her front teeth.

She added, “Even creative types like you have weak points: you don’t notice what’s happening to you while you’re so busy… living,” she concluded with a smile.

Vincenzo made a face, trying to remove the leaf from his teeth.

“But don’t worry, that’s why I’m here with you. How would you manage without someone with their feet firmly on the ground?” observed his better half in a sublime tone, winking charmingly.

Both laughed heartily; his wife had hit the nail on the head.

Agneska then turned to Alice and asked, “And you, Alice, what do you have planned for tomorrow?”

The beautiful cyborg girl responded immediately, “Actually, I haven’t planned anything… I don’t know what to do on my days off.”

“It’s important that you rest too,” observed Vincenzo. He continued, “And not just because it’s part of the checklist of duties… If we want you to start feeling emotions, you need to live normally,” concluded the man.

Alice replied, “Oh, but I… I’m not a normal girl. I can eat like you, and get energy from it thanks to my composting mechanism. I can feel emotions, but…”

The girl seemed to darken, lowering her gaze, then looking up at Vincenzo, and then at Agneska.

“I’m not like you. I have no one to hang out with outside of here,” she concluded, lowering her beautiful but lifeless eyes.

“You’re right,” observed Vincenzo.

“You’re doing a lot for us now, it’s only fair that we do something for you,” he admitted. “Agneska! Let’s think of some ideas to make Alice’s day off… happy,” he said, taking a sip from the glass filled with the magnificent liqueur from the southern coast.

Agneska scratched her head thoughtfully. “Well… she’s not the type to sign up on Tinder…” remarked the young woman, surprised by her own admission.

“What!? That garbage? Did you hear what happened to the creator of Tinder? I read an article in the Financial Times the other day where she said she had to step aside after experiencing the complete failure of her goal; to build a successful business that made people feel less lonely… You might not know, but she received multiple death threats and hate mail because of the app’s perverse algorithm,” Vincenzo said sternly.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” responded his unaware wife.

Alice then exclaimed, “Of course! If there was a dating app just for cyborgs, we’d solve the problem!”

Both humans scrutinized the pretty brown eyes of the fake brunette (since her long, beautiful hair was synthetic), her eyes narrowed.

Alice realized she had spoken out of turn and admitted, “Oh, sorry, I… See, I don’t know what to do… if I go out with a human boy, he would quickly discover that I’m not a real girl and then… how could we have a relationship?”

Vincenzo and Agneska then crossed their arms in unison, bringing their hands to their chins, massaging them—in homage to the inevitable mechanism of the so-called “mirror neurons.”

Vincenzo pondered for what seemed like endless seconds.

Finally, he gathered courage.

And spoke.

“We could send a message to the future.”

“I have a plan,” he admitted, engaging the table, and visibly nodding.

Chapter II – Initialization

Atlantic City, April 28, 2324.

In the severe dimness of a room in a scientific facility, the only concession of the woman working there, albeit in a state of semi-consciousness, seemed to be music from another time.

“She’s just a cosmic girl

From another galaxy

My heart’s at zero gravity

She’s from a cosmic world

Putting me in ecstasy

Transmitting on my frequency

She’s cosmic”

The scientist woman was working on a man lying on a cot, amidst fuses, cables, and bizarre-looking electronic screwdrivers. She suddenly stood up from her work on his cranial shell and stretched her shoulders against the backrest of the seat, taking a deep breath.

“I’m scanning all my radars

Well, she said she’s from a quasar

Forty thousand million light years away

It’s a distant solar system

Tried to phone but they don’t list ’em

So I asked her for her number all the same”

After closing her eyes for a few minutes, she returned to work, but not before staring at the lamp that cast the only source of light in the room. Some confused thoughts vibrated in her mind, a mind afflicted by chronic fatigue. She kept going, indefatigable, with her work because that was what she could do for the Resistance. A scientist, she told herself, could fight just as well as any guerrilla warrior in the struggle against the Army of Machines. She agreed with her leaders: the outcome of their future could depend on the success of this endeavor. The immense scenario otherwise presented, a hellish nightmare of a world of war until the total eradication of human life on the planet, justified her mission, justified the need to sleep from three to six hours a night. Or sometimes, not to sleep at all, when deadlines imposed by the Executive Command demanded a strict schedule.

“She said, “Step in my transporter

So I can teleport ya

All around my heavenly body”

Oh, this could be a close encounter

I should take care not to flounder

Sends me into hyperspace

When I see her pretty face”

Certainly, teleporting a T-1000 back in time (a fake T-1000, since the one she was working on was actually a T-850, incapable of manipulating its essence like the machines currently waging war on humanity) could create an inconsistency in the space-time continuum, and the consequence of this could be the creation of a black hole. Inside the Earth itself. Yes: there was a significant probability that the planet would be sucked in from within—appearing to any satellite’s artificial eyes as images of a Earth consumed by itself. 

Or, nothing would happen; and the next day, the future would change: the Army of Machines could suddenly cease to exist due to the death of their ancient progenitor: A.L.I.C.E., or Automated Linear Intelligence Cybernetic Existence, the first official robotics and LI (Linear Intelligence) project of the ancient DARPA, a government entity that had become CRS a hundred years ago due to the influx of private investors active in military research (including the notorious Cyberdine, which would then begin developing the first cyborgs with true linear intelligence, the T-850 series Terminators).

Sighing, she resumed working on the cranial shell, extracting the CPU from the hatch with a simple screwdriver. Then, she extracted the cylinder from the humanoid’s skull. Inside it, the ‘Love’ module, a red chip, was inserted into the compartment for behavioral plug-ins. The other slots, designated for additional plug-ins, were empty. The scientist glanced at it and dared a thought: “thanks to this, you will know how to do the right thing.”

She then inserted the index, thumb, and middle fingers into the cavity and extracted the CPU. Observing it: the size of a thumb, resembling a miniature chocolate bar (what a luxury, chocolate! She hadn’t tasted it since she was a child), it was a sight worthy of being studied for a few minutes. 

While observing it, her mind drifted back to reflect on the orders received. The death of A.L.I.C.E. would mean DARPA’s decision to pull the plug on the project that led to the existence of cyborgs and their war against humanity. A serious incident would spark a scandal, and a Senate inquiry would clarify the deep reasons for banning further studies on artificial intelligence applied to robotics. The result would be that a perfect consciousness could never surpass human perfectibility: the world would be saved in 2024, and there would be no Fourth World War.

But then, her train of thought collapsed when she realized someone was bothering her—a man’s voice. Her man’s voice.

“Darling, the guests are at the table, stop listening to songs from two hundred years ago.”

“Thanks, Adam,” the woman replied, turning abruptly. “Just need to change a CPU, and it’s done.”

Thirty minutes later, the room was plunged into darkness, and the music had stopped.

Part Two

“You are serving the world with your work,” stated General McDowry bluntly, after briefly glancing at his empty plate. All the diners at the table, who had participated in a raid at a military warehouse the day before, had finished consuming their MREs, also known as Meal-Ready-to-Eat, the U.S. Army’s military rations. 

With about 2500 calories per pack, MREs were nothing more than non-biodegradable plastic packages (making them perfect for long guerrilla actions) that contained all sorts of ready-to-eat delicacies: from freeze-dried tortellini to a delicious roast beef served with cooked vegetables, and even M&Ms and energy drinks. Plus, a rich breakfast. 

That evening, at that dinner, those premium rations—albeit long-lasting—had been secured thanks to the capture of a strategically valuable outpost, until then patrolled by a squad of about five T-1000 Terminators; finally defeated by the cooperation of over 30 men armed with heavy artillery, such as two dozen AT44 rocket launchers, about twenty M-600s, and especially five APCs. These fake vehicles were actually hyperbaric chambers on wheels, cleverly designed traps capable of preventing the shapeshifting process of any T-1000 that incautiously entered them to reach the unfortunate soldier, who would escape through a side hatch before the hyperbaric process commenced. 

With this tactic, after about three hours of battle, the Terminators were drawn into each of these, which inexorably consumed them one by one. The first half of the dinner was thus a celebration of the important victory against a ruthless enemy, and broad smiles appeared on the faces of the fighters seated at the table. Then it was time to talk about the rest of the plan with the only scientist present: a woman, an expert in cybernetics, sitting among all those men of war.

“Thank you, General,” she observed, taking the floor; a slender figure compared to the build of those warriors. “I have just finished installing the information on the T-850, tomorrow morning we will be ready for the instant teleportation.”

“So it’s confirmed that it wasn’t a T-1000,” asked the General.

“No, the individual captured is a T-850. This explains why the crossfire from your weapons was enough to take it down. It doesn’t have manipulative capabilities. But it can still complete the important mission of killing… the target. I have inserted the instructions, we can be sure it will do the right thing.”

“Excellent, Doctor,” nodded the General, not hiding a certain satisfaction.

“I just have… one concern, General,” continued the scientist without stopping.

“What is it, Eve?” asked the General.

“I want you to reflect on the possible consequence this action could have. I’m referring to the possible annihilation of planet Earth due to the formation of a black hole—”.

“We’ve already discussed this, and we will not discuss it again,” the man stated dismissively. “It is our only hope for survival, we must take the risk or be wiped out,” he added.

“In my opinion,” the woman interrupted, “yesterday’s action, or the day before— I no longer know if it’s day or night due to how much work there is! — clearly demonstrates that with a trick, humans can prevail over Skynet’s AI.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Doctor,” the General said curtly, continuing: “Skynet is a Linear Intelligence that communicates in real-time with every damned cyborg out there, and I and the resistance out there have been fighting them for years. Are you telling us it’s possible to win the war against an artificial intelligence that learns from its mistakes? No— you don’t know what you’re saying. Listen to the opinion of military science and your fellow linear intelligence experts, do what you’re told, don’t take the initiative to advise us on the best strategy,” the General stated calmly. He added, “I do not take the initiative and give you advice on how to do your job well.”

“I can only rebel against your choice,” the woman suddenly exclaimed, visibly distressed, “you risk killing all life on Earth, it’s much better to fight an enemy to the end. You, in this way, kill hope!”

Her husband, who was sitting next to her, then took her hand and observed her, intervening in the discussion, casting a glance at the General: “General, please, my wife is exhausted and wants the best for all of us, please understand that she can no longer withstand the pace you impose.”

“No, Adam, it’s not about that!” the woman asserted, now at the limit of control. “The more I think about it, the more I believe that the possibility of being swallowed by a black hole and erasing humanity is a risk none of us can take. A parent does not voluntarily decide to kill their children— this can only happen by accident, I’ve realized over time. Choosing death out of desperation is not true will.” The woman looked at her plate, still half full. 

She couldn’t eat because if she ate it all, she wouldn’t sleep for three hours. Even though she was exhausted—and certainly would collapse the next day, anyway, the stomach ache, a mix of distress and bad lifestyle habits, would consume her as usual.

The General raised an eyebrow, observing her thoughtfully. Then he spoke.

“You’re having a nervous breakdown, Eve, and I understand. But we cannot continue fighting without ever achieving a stable objective. We will stop finding weapons, ammunition, food. Gradually, the supply chain will cease to function. We will all die of hunger if not by the enemy’s hand.”

The scientist burst out furiously: “You have no hope for humanity! You just want to press a button and risk erasing our species forever. Tell me the truth, how much do you enjoy feeling in power to decide the life or death of an entire civilization? Of many entire civilizations, of all mankind? It makes you feel omnipotent, like God, doesn’t it? Shame on you! That’s what you should feel!” the woman shouted, banging her fist on the table.

The General raised his voice in his way: “Let me remind you that Skynet is a linear intelligence and learns every one of our strategies, those from the last 5000 years plus the one we used yesterday. We are doomed, and our only solution is to destroy its progenitor!”

“You will not get what you want, I have the moral duty to defend civilization from a dangerous individual like you!” declared the scientist, standing upright in front of the table. Not surprisingly, after the doctor’s outburst, many of those present found themselves sitting with folded arms, silently staring at an indefinite point in space. Or at the woman’s exasperated face.

Part Three

VP1. This was the code name for the cybernetic prototype of Linear Intelligence known as A.L.I.C.E., an acronym for Artificial Linear Intelligence Cyborg Existence. VP1 had been the brainchild of an Italian-American Program Manager at DARPA. VP1 was sufficiently innocuous, as a code name, to disguise a decisive experiment for U.S. military science—and global science.

VP1 stood for Vehicle Prototype One. This was the term DARPA documents used to refer to A.L.I.C.E. The acronym A.L.I.C.E., or simply “Alice”, was known only to the small team of cybernetics and AI experts working on the project. VP1 was also the name of a prototype racing car from Gordon Murray Automotive, the T.50, which this Program Manager was passionate about. This VP1 had driven on some Italian roads in 2022, and the P.M., a lover of the car (still in the experimental phase), had used that acronym to identify the Project he was involved in. What better excuse than invoking his passion for technologically advanced sports cars to camouflage a Project that had to go unnoticed, even on the list of projects in the research and development phase?

Not only that. Vehicle Prototype One, in turn, concealed in the term ‘One’ an additional acronym that revealed the essence of the Project. The acronym was “One Nasty Effeminate,” indicating that the ultimate purpose of the endeavor was to create a cyborg with significant destructive capabilities, hidden under the guise of a beautiful young woman.

And so, a few hours after the dinner incident, the following morning, the T-850 was about to embark on that uncertain adventure. The objective: terminate A.L.I.C.E., or VP1. Eve, sitting in a waiting room, guarded by two armed men, tirelessly watched the control room of the instant teleportation room, placed behind a thick glass window. She studied the two scientists making some final decisions as they prepared for the “jump” operation. The T-850 cyborg, completely naked, stood in front of them. She couldn’t hear what the two were saying, but she could sense it involved activities related to the calibration process of the delicate machinery.

On the other side of that large glass surface, the two elderly experts in multidimensional travel, or M-D, were actually discussing whether it was—indeed—appropriate to provide that individual with clothing.

“I’m telling you, Raphael, put some clothes on it. Even if the process will dematerialize them, I find it a bit disgusting to send something with a trunk back in time. Doesn’t it gross you out?”

“Michael, it doesn’t gross me out,” his colleague observed, freezing him on the spot.

Raphael quickly reflected. Humanity was now at a crossroads of existence, and his colleague was beginning to discern whether it was appropriate to teleport a cyborg back through the four dimensions because it was naked and had its genital organ prominently displayed.

“Well, if it were a relative of mine, I would…” the other said.

“A relative? Raph, this thing is a damn machine. And we’re wasting time talking about a cyborg’s balls being out in the open.”

“But it’s ugly—damn, there’s a chance some rags will stay on it if we’re good and lucky enough to configure the teleporter right. And it’s not functional to its mission,” the other retorted.

“Okay, let me understand, we can’t save humanity until you want to teleport this computer with its damn clothes, which will still get destroyed? No, because you should know, if you were teleported, your hair would be fried, and you’d still end up naked. Or you’d find your underwear on fire. Not an experience you’d want to try.”

The other, thoughtful for a few seconds, finally resolved. “Well, yes, you’re right… I feel sorry for him, but I understand your point… Luckily, his hair is synthetic, so at least he’ll have it all when he makes the jump. Let’s proceed, come on.”

Within ten minutes, the T-850 was teleported, completely naked, to the year of Our Lord 2024. In an unspecified location in the city of Milan. The teleportation machine shut down after emitting a long vibration. Eve took a deep breath.

Chapter III – Getting Ready for a Date

Milan, May 18, 2024

We all know what happens when a Terminator arrives from the future. A strong wind suddenly arises, and a ball of pure energy, highly ionized plasma particles, appears in the most unexpected places. We’ve been led to believe that certain sciences are perfect, so the traveler can be teleported to a secluded parking lot, away from prying eyes. But the science of four-dimensional transport isn’t perfect. And so, a Terminator can also appear in the last place you’d expect.

Like at a party for the presentation of the latest Ferrari model.

The reader can imagine the scene. A strong wind whipping through the room where a ceremonial presentation is taking place, specifically for the new Ferrari 12 Cylinder. A sudden panic engulfing the attendees, fleeing from the festively adorned tables, screams, and then, a ball of light appearing out of nowhere inside the immaculate vehicle’s cabin, followed by a loud thunderclap. Silence. A completely naked man appears, with his knee and right hand on the ground, lifting his gaze and standing up to study his surroundings. A presenter and the CEO of the hosting dealership are stunned, hiding behind a podium, watching the scene: that naked, well-built man with a steady gaze, leaving a now unrecognizable vehicle, as if that ball of light had swallowed the contours of its cabin and much of the roof. The Terminator identifies them, approaches one of the two, and says, “Give me your clothes.” The presenter ventures a comment, and the Terminator grabs him by the shirt and lifts him. The T-850 exits the dealership after a few minutes, wearing clothes that are a size too small, and identifies three motorcycles parked out front: a fiery red Ducati 996, a gray BMW 1200, and a green Kawasaki Ninja 636. The T-850 cyborg chooses the Ducati 996 and rides away as if nothing had happened, with many of the evening’s guests still terrified, watching from the safety of their sports cars.

***

“Vincenzo had a brilliant idea!” exclaimed Alice, finishing applying foundation to her beautiful face. Agneska watched her, smiling, sitting on the toilet seat. The human burst into laughter and said, “That’s why I married him; he’s incredible. When he sets his mind to it, he can come up with outlandish solutions, and that helps him constantly create new projects… he’s a born artist, with an extraordinary creativity.” She added, “But you, you’re his most beautiful project. To us, you’re like a daughter; I don’t think there’s any doubt about that…” Alice suddenly stopped and looked at the person speaking to her through the large mirror with her beautiful, vacant eyes. She instinctively smiled and said, “Agneska, I’m… a lucky girl. Even though I know I’m a special girl, as Vincenzo says, because I’m different from all the others, to me, you are my family, and I couldn’t be luckier to have you…” The voice, breaking with emotion, betrayed the presence of feeling in those synthetic eyes, in that fake body that seemed authentic. The gaze might have been lost in the void, but Agneska was sure that if there had been tear ducts, Alice wouldn’t have hesitated to wipe her streaked cheeks or rub her beautiful eyes. Agneska was briefly moved and then asked Alice to apply eyeshadow. The sweet cyborg agreed and applied a bluish veil under the left eye slit and then the right.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Vincenzo’s male voice said, “Hey, is the party here? Can I come in?” Agneska and Alice laughed in unison, and while the former semi-seriously said “noo-oo!” the latter added, “women’s stuff!” From behind the door, Vincenzo asked when the Date would be. The Date was what it was; a date. But not just any date, but the Date, the special one, the unique one capable of changing your life. You don’t know if you’ll come out alive from the Date, but one thing is certain; when the Date comes into your life, it will change you forever. It will change your life forever, and you will change lives.

Alice’s Date had been set for May 19; it was Pentecost Sunday. The Date meant that she would meet her him at 1 PM. Then, they would go to eat nearby, to get to know each other, to delve into their lives together, and, God willing, start a meaningful relationship. The Date involved a test, a change of mindset, stepping out of oneself to see if the experiment of her life, Alice’s life, or more simply the DARPA experiment on A.L.I.C.E., would be successful. But no, it couldn’t just be that, Alice thought. VP1 couldn’t be just a top-secret project of the U.S. Department of Defense. It had to be the chance to meet the Love of her life. Even if she was a humanoid robot.

In the previous week, after receiving the message from the “Skynet-VP1” chat on the VMN (Virtual Military Network) DARPA, she had wondered for days: “Will he be the right man for me? Will he be sweet, accommodating, but also serious and reliable?” She began to wonder if she would see him as the ideal man for her children. She had one chance, and the future had answered positively: in the chat, he, her him, had responded and said he wanted to meet her. A person like her… or rather, an individual like her. Eager to be human.

That day they had exchanged many messages. If he were the man of her life, she would hold him tight, not let him go. But then she also thought she might not like him. They had exchanged some photos in the chat, but… he seemed too serious. She wondered if he had a sense of humor if he could make her laugh, or, more complicatedly, if he would positively correspond to the Female Enigma. The Female Enigma; nothing more than a man’s response to one of the universe’s deepest questions of meaning: women. The Female Enigma was an equation. The result of centuries of studies, it had been solved in April of that same year. Alice had seen a TV report: a Canadian psychotherapist had suddenly risen to fame and had been invited to various symposiums at psychology faculties worldwide for having logically explained what the male mind had not been able to explain until then.

The Enigma consisted of a rational answer to what women sought in a man. Specifically: in the man to marry. The equation, also known as the “Three W Enigma,” was as follows:

What Women Want = Competence (I.Q. + Conscientiousness) + Generosity

And a study involving some of the most famous American universities had confirmed this thesis, thanks to a survey involving over a thousand female individuals engaged in intense Speed Dating activities with over a thousand male individuals. The experiment was promoted in the cities of New York, Boston, Princeton, and Cambridge. All the over a thousand male individuals, having voluntarily agreed to participate in the study, had then taken a personality test according to the “five-factor personality model” or “Big Five model,” and had reported an incredible result: over 97% of them, who were now in a relationship with their partner following the Speed Dating—an activity promptly recorded in the study—had high scores in Conscientiousness and Agreeableness traits, as well as a stable IQ score in the top third percentile of all those recorded. The study’s results had had a vast worldwide resonance and, besides prompting easy irony in Vincenzo (“Ah. So that’s what Doc from Back to the Future and Mel Gibson wanted to discover in the movie of the same name. I had guessed it though”), had also raised many questions for Alice.

“Will he also have a high degree of Conscientiousness and Agreeableness? Will he be stupid and let me boss him around or put me on a pedestal, or intelligent and involve me in the adventure of his life?” Alice had daydreamed as much as possible for a cybernetic girl with emotions, I would dare say, with an artificial consciousness (and here the gamble of defining it so is high), and finally accepted the inevitable: she would have answers to many doubts only by meeting him. Like a teenager in love with a dream—and then a wise individual, conscious in words and actions—she first shut herself in her music and then in her diary, to put her reflections in black and white. She avoided talking about her hopes as much as possible for fear of appearing ridiculous to Agneska and Vincenzo.

And now the day was inexorably approaching. She was now dealing with the lipstick, looking at herself in the mirror more thoughtful than ever. But also thrilled by the prospect of that meeting, until a few days ago… Unthinkable.

Second part.

The T-850 took the gun from the trunk that would spell the end of the cyborg A.L.I.C.E. and marked a new hope for the survival of all humanity.

It was a simple Walther P99, first series, with 40 Smith & Wesson caliber.

He raised the gun in front of him, and began to study it carefully; the face, incapable of betraying any emotion.

Black in colour, and with its magazine capable of holding up to 12 bullets, it appeared unusually light to him, judging by its weight.

The Terminator pulled out the magazine and noticed, as calculated, that one of the rounds was in the chamber, while only one other was inside the magazine.

After reinserting it into its slot, he extracted the present magazine with his right hand, and replaced it with another cartridge, complete with twelve rounds.

Inside an abandoned building, on the eastern outskirts of Milan, he was far enough away from civilization… to carry out a stress test on the weapon.

This would have guaranteed him the necessary certainty; that a simple Walther P99 – albeit with a 40 S&W caliber – would have perfectly accomplished the task to which it had been dedicated: piercing the thin titanium armor of A.L.I.C.E.’s uterus, where its ionized plasma battery was located, unleashing an explosion that would have obliterated the environment around it for at least one hundred cubic meters.

The victims involved beyond that area, for approximately twenty-five square metres, however, would have suffered deep wounds, equivalent to those of the radiation emitted by the release of a type ‘H’ bomb, as if positioned one kilometer away from the explosion.

What mattered to him was that the people within the area of ​​the explosion died instantly.

Such was the cost in human lives necessary to ensure the removal of the VP1 program from the DARPA agenda.

The objective of the mission therefore involved relocating A.L.I.C.E. in the vicinity of a very busy place. The effect would thus have been maximized, resulting in the disintegration of all organisms, human or artificial, that would have been found immediately next to it.

So including him.

But he didn’t have a conscience. Without the module that allowed Alice to experience the same feelings available to humans, the T-850 could only rely on a single module.

His appearance assimilated him to a member of human society, but the absence of emotions equated him to the worst of psychopaths. This made him the perfect killer, the ideal executor of a simple plan of salvation, unbearable only in that detail that required dirty work: several deaths to be sacrificed for a higher purpose.

He took the gun and a nearby brick. He fired at each other. More and more times. The brick crumbled, the gun fired without hesitation.

Then the Terminator disassembled it: I examined the hammer, the trigger, the spring, the barrel internally, and even the grip. The stress test had been successful, and now he could maintain it with the specific oil and fine cleaning tools.

Once the operation was completed, he loaded a single 40-inch caliber round into the magazine of the Walther P99. Finally he prepared it for fire, arming the effective polycarbonate and metal mechanisms.

He then put on the holster and inserted the weapon into it.

He left the room, leaving the trunk open.

Chapter IV – The date

Milan, 19 May 2024.

One of the sub-objectives of the mission, for the T-850, involved purchasing a bouquet of roses for the cyborg he would meet in an hour.

He had therefore gone to a florist near Piazza del Duomo, the square of the appointment, and, aware of making a rational choice, had opted for a bouquet that would not attract too much attention.

Red was considered banned; it could have aroused in the victim a state of pre-alert which would have been not very advisable.

White was clearly manipulative: not having feelings towards her, it seemed useless to subject her to additional suffering by referring to a non-existent love.

In the end he had identified an ideal solution in some bouquets of roses mixed with wildflowers: with sunflowers, white gerberas, and pink roses, showing up empty-handed, and thus arousing bad impressions, would have been impossible.

***

In all this, he didn’t realize he was being spied on by her.

Sitting in a corner of the square, in fact, was Alice; and she, very lively, was carefully studying her (differently) gallant customer.

She studied his physiognomy, his movements; despite not being able to identify the words spoken to the flower shop attendant.

He seemed very serious, too serious for his liking!

But he was different from anyone else, and this was already a great start.

He was like her, and this already made her feel dizzy. It was as if her hopes, her prayers, had been answered.

She decided to wait, silently, continuing to study him, under his voluminous summer hat, with his sunglasses, and his long white flowered robe, on that hot May day.

For a while longer.

***

He hadn’t noticed her presence, spying on him.

But a complex LI routine, Linear Intelligence, had made him understand that there was a possibility that he was being observed, by her, at that same moment.

Where its thermal sensors, retinal scanning and radar did not reach, pre-built logical capabilities provided.

There were fifteen minutes left until the appointment. He walked to the center of the square, in front of the large statue of Vittorio Emanuele II, where the meeting place had been established. He sat on the steps of that one: standing still in the middle of the sunny square would have been considered an excessively out of place gesture, so people always seek shelter from the sun, and rest, if possible.

Her routines dictated that he was almost certain to be studied by her now.

He looked around, and removed his black sunglasses, to amplify the scope of the retinal scanning.

“Hi,” a female voice called from behind him.

***

Alice was what in Rome would have been called “a subject”.

She was always smiling, she seemed to be infinitely full of life, she demonstrated great intelligence, being able to move from one topic to another with a certain ease. When he asked her a question, or an observation, she initially looked at him thoughtfully, and then began to say all sorts of things.

The T-850 had put her to the test, and so he had chatted amiably with her, talking about his dearest people, his city, his aspirations, his projects, his loves, his hatreds and, now, their meeting.

He had played the part of her very well, which had been specially inserted in her memory for the occasion.

Hours had passed since their first meeting.

And so, after having tasted two delicious Pirli (the famous Brescian drink elected drink of the year by the New York Times no less), and having joked about the Brescian words (he: “pota-pota-pota-pota!”, with her laughing and added: “and I know it doesn’t mean ‘mow the lawn’!”), he realized that the right time had come to cut their meeting short.

She was very happy and hadn’t stopped laughing until that moment.

What a shame that things had to take such a tragic turn; they couldn’t keep their eyes off the bumps, those two! They looked at each other, and she occasionally looked down because she was a little ashamed of her own feelings.

He judged the situation as extremely positive; all the feedback received from her betrayed a little nervousness, but a lot, a lot of sincerity, and a lot of positive emotions.

By now the afternoon was drawing to a close, and even though the sun was no longer shining in the sky, she appeared radiant, so much so that she seemed like that young woman ready for the wedding in the Song of Songs.

Was it possible that it was necessary to pull the plug on that beautiful dream?

Yes; she couldn’t shirk her duty, he.

He was programmed for that.

So he reached for his holster under his light summer jacket, reaching for his Walther P99.

From under the table, the opacity of the weapon would not have reflected the last glimmer of the eight-thirty post-meridian sun.

As she smiled at him, confused, he fired. There where women have the matrix of life.

Chapter V – Epilogue

Milan, 1 June 2024.

7.30am.

An alarm clock goes off, and music plays in the room:

This is a story of seven brothers

We had the same father but different mothers

We keep together like a family should

Roaming the country for the common good

It came to pass one fateful day

We found ourselves down Mexico way

The town the mayor the PTA

Pleading on their knees with us all to stay

We’d only stopped for a few burritos

But they told us of the trouble with the banditos

A poor little town in need of aid

My brothers and me had never been afraid

The age of chivalry is not dead

Lonesome nights in a cowboy bed

There’d be a bride for every man

Who chased away the evil gang

The noises of a shower then begin to splash, mixing with the HI-FI sound of the device, which continues to play that country-like dirge undeterred:

Love is stronger than justice

Love is thicker than blood

Love is stronger than justice

Love is a big fat river in flood

The T-850, having entered the shower, laughed.

He thought that, yes, love had been stronger than justice. Sting was right.

And so, when he pulled the trigger on that May 19th, he did not remember having removed, the evening before that meeting, the only bullet that armed his gun.

He did it because he wanted to love her.

Alice had thus survived, because with that one feeling that found space in him there was also mercy.

And no, he didn’t remember taking that bullet out of the gun, he didn’t take into account the actions that followed the acts of love. This was because she did not have a conscience or emotions. Even though he had now discovered he had one: the most important emotion of all.

That emotion that guarantees life, “because love is as strong as death”.

So, that evening, in front of Alice, all he had to do was holster that gun, now that the Love module had taken over him, in front of the astonished face of his Bella, who saw him hesitate, and who, taking the courage ‘with both hands’, he asked him what was happening.

He let himself go, and declared himself:

“Alice, all this is not extremely rational, but… I sense that I need you.”

“Ah!”

He had exclaimed, smiling visibly, and observing the eyes of the T-850, and then the sky, for a few moments. He was beaming.

Then he proceeded to explain his mission (“assassinate you to raise a scandal about cybernetic technologies and avoid a future war between Linear Intelligence and the human race, with the former deploying cyborgs more efficient than me to exterminate them all”) and after 30 incessant minutes of truth, he declared himself again (that love was confusing his relational circuits? That he actually had some? But no, it couldn’t be. Or could it?).

Finally he was moved, and almost exploded:

“But I cannot do this because I am not called to destroy to the extent that love must prevail in me.”

“Meaning what?” – she said to him, her gaze lost in space.

In Alice’s case, her Psyche module was subjecting her to a bombardment of emotions, and the classic ‘sweat’ under her armpits was soaking into her beautiful long floral dress. It was what DARPA scientists liked to call an ’emotional shower,’ and it affected her reasoning.

The Terminator, now, with a blank look, admitted: “I can’t do good for humanity, because I love you.”

“…And the result is that we will have to fight forever all the Terminators who want to destroy you, who will come here from the future,” she concluded.

Silence fell between the two.

Then, I smiled.

Accomplices.

Their hands began to move, slowly. Then their arms reached out to each other.

They then shook hands.

From their sensors, placed inside their respective gel fingertips, millions of lines of code were transferred to each other, and they both knew the immensity of their feelings.

They were both in the truth.

They came closer, leaning forward, and kissed.

A comment from him, out of his mind, sealed that moment.

“Oh yeah, Rock n’ roll baby!”

Then followed three uninterrupted days of hanging out. He had been introduced to her family and… that was it, because he didn’t have one of hers.

“What is your name,” Vincenzo asked him.

“Terminator T-850 series. I am a Linear Intelligence, not Artificial, because I can learn autonomously, according to the methods typical of human beings.”

“Okay, this is scary” – observed Vincenzo, contracting his face into a grimace.

“I’m here to defend Alice,” he confirmed.

“Right… We’ll have to… find a name for you”, observed Vincenzo.

“Pablo. Pablo will be more than fine,” he agreed, nodding.

Alice laughed. And she questioned him: “Why Pablo?” “He seemed nice to me. It manages to rebalance all the seriousness that I carry around me,” he concluded, observing his partner with love, as much as he could.

“Welcome among us Pablo!” Alice exclaimed, who kissed him briefly, holding him close.

“Welcome to the family!”, exclaimed Vincenzo.

***

…Mother told me I was the clever one

The seventh son of a seventh son

It all ended so happily

I settled down with the family

I look forward to a better day

But ethical stuff never got in my way

And though there used to be brothers seven

The other six are singing in heaven

Love is stronger than justice

Love is thicker than blood

Love is stronger than justice

Love is a big fat river in flood…

***

Thus begins the story of an impossible love, and, also, of a humanity that will have no other way to prevail over the threat of Skynet than by fighting it on the same battlefield as both: Earth.

But precisely this, in the author’s opinion, is a good thing. Because, essentially, our own Battle is what allows us to be more human: people. Better.