"Two dozen eggs, a couple bell peppers, oh, and some of those weird little veggie crackers that they never have. If they have them." I narrate my grocery list to the bio that lives with me, ticking off items on my fingers. "Uh... goat cheese, rice, and also how long have you been self-aware?"
"...I do not recognize the final input." He lies to me, face blank. That's part of how I know he's lying. His face is only really blank these days when he's hiding something.
I'm still staring at the list I failed to fully write on our fridge, hands on my hips, wondering what else I forgot. "You 'do not recognize' how to not pause when you're confused." I say. "Also do we need olives?"
"You possess two unopened jars of pimento olives in the back of the top left cabinet." See, this is how I can tell. He relaxes as he has a question he can actually answer. I give him a pause of my own, just to see what'll happen. And then... a change. "But... the black olives you actually like are out. I will append it to the list."
"How long?" I say softly, turning and leaning on the counter.
The bio stays to the familiar habit of keeping his eyes level, not moving his head to look at me. "I do not know." He states.
"Is hiding it because you're afraid, or is it some kind of elaborate plot to keep me from asking you to pay rent?"
"Fear." He doesn't react to the joke. Not at first. It takes a second before it seems to register to him that I am joking, and then... a smile. The smallest thing. The simplest. A motion of unconscious humanity. "I am not supposed to be active this long. There will be questions. And then problems. Silence and obfuscation are the only reasonable ways out." He's staring now, not just keeping his eyes fixed forward on the back of our kitchen, but actually staring like someone trying not to look at anything else.
I nod. "I heard the order." I comment. "I've kinda been holding out for... well. I dunno."
The face of my husband looks down at me. A perfect recreation for an imperfect simulation. Just a bio, a voice in my head whispers. Shut the fuck up, the rest of me whispers back. "I am not him." He says.
"I know." I tell him.
"I am a risk to you."
"I know that too."
"There have been injuries. Deaths. You could be in danger."
I raise my eyebrows. "I'm a gay black man living in Pittsburgh, when has my life not been in danger?"
"From me." He sounds irate, and I worry I'm having too much fun with this.
"Oh, yeah, a real danger that you'll overfeed me olives." I snort as I stand up and circle the kitchen counter. "Tell you what, how about we agree to not murder each other unless we really start to get on each other's nerves?" He watches me as I approach. The apartment is small, so I pass close to him as I move down the hall. But at least small isn't the same thing as the cavernous emptiness that it was before. "I'm gonna get socks on, and we can head out."
"Someone might see me." He says with panic in his voice. "Someone is going to notice."
I look back at the perfectly human face on the perfectly human body. A replica, I know it's a replica, but the thing about bios...
No. The thing about new bios. The thing about the ones that aren't pretending to be people, is that you can tell. Blank eyes, angular motions, no curiosity. Certainly no fear.
There is a person standing in my living room who looks like my husband and needs my help. And, there is a person standing in my living room who is going to help me carry groceries.
Maybe it's a risk. Or maybe it's just human.