Savanah's Swan Song (Part 4B) (Patreon)

(Nota Bene: Here's the rest of part four.  Sorry for the delay!)

The concert that night was scheduled for Stadttheater, a quaint regional theater that held about 1,000 people. Not exactly Madison Square Garden, which Savanah had sold out over two nights the year before. While she admittedly had a smaller fanbase overseas than she did in the States, the choice of venue was technical rather than financial. The opening show of every tour she’d ever done had been in a small hall or theater. It allowed for nerves and kinks to be worked out before messes were made for the masses.

Of course, additional considerations came into play this time. Fortunately, Stadttheater was just a few hours from Munich and could be reached easily by automobile.  (Flying with a replicant was a no-go.) And since Munich was Concurrent Technology’s original headquarters, potential problems could be resolved swiftly and quietly.

That didn’t keep Savanah’s nervous knee from bouncing through soundcheck. The precautions would have been more comforting when she was sixteen, back before Instagram and iPhones.  Nowadays, all it took was a five-second video clip on TikTok to make or break someone. She could see it now--smoke spilling from her android’s ears as it collapsed onstage; a wreath of heart emojis swirling around its burning husk.

Chad rested his hand on Savanah’s knee to quell its fidget. Savanah wasn’t sure if it was out of compassion or annoyance, but his hand was warm and his smile seemed genuine so she let him keep it there. Even if had been the one to get her into this mess.

It didn’t help. By the time the curtains opened, the only thing bouncing more than Savanah’s knee was the crowd. It was a packed house, filled with teens and twenty-somethings dressed in concert Ts…though a surprising number were adorned in silk neckerchiefs like the one her replicant had arrived wearing just a few hours earlier.

While the energy in the venue was electric, its modest size dictated an acoustic set. Dr. Wagner insisted this was preferred, as it would better test the dexterity of the unit; however, Savanah worried there would be nothing to distract the crowd from catastrophe. No dazzling light show. No pyrotechnics. No squealing guitar solos. Just a robot in a spotlight playing ‘unplugged’.

What could go wrong?

Nothing, as it would turn out. The pop star’s recent album was a stripped-down effort that lent itself to the format, but even when the ‘bot strummed its six-string through homespun, minimalist renditions of Savanah’s classics (including the techno-beat dance club hit “Gitcher Booty Back Here”) the crowd remained enraptured. And of course it went crazy for its pithy asides: „Vielen Danke!”; „Du siehst wunderschön aus!“; „Ich mag deine Krawatten!“ Savanah eventually stopped asking their meaning. It didn’t matter anyway. It could be calling them a bunch of kraut-eating baby Hitlers and they’d probably still cheer.

By the end of performances, Savanah would be exhausted. The white-hot lights would have her hair hanging off her sweat-soaked face, while her voice would become ragged and whiskey-tinged. Her replicant had no such problems.  Over an hour in, it still looked fresh as farmer’s milk and effortlessly hit notes Savanah struggled with or even dropped an octave.

“Unbroken,” which had closed every concert since she’d turned sixteen, was a war of attrition. As Savanah’s strained voice struggled for survival, the crowd would join in to help. It made for a communal experience and added to the song’s emotional resonance. In her android’s hands, however, it was a powerful and defiant anthem; a rallying cry that sent shockwaves through the crowd and had attendees holding hands and swaying in unison.

The shockwaves eventually reached Atlanta. The robot’s rendition wasn’t just good.

It was even better.

After a five-minute standing ovation—which included the stateside trio—the curtains closed, and the monitor went dark.

Savanah collapsed back in her seat, exhausted, as if she’d been the one performing. She felt none of the usual post-show buzz, however. She was numb. It was as if the jumble of emotions had overloaded her sensors.

“Champagne?”  Dr. Wagner handed her a fancy flute filled with the fizzy fluid.

“Wasn’t that awesome?” Chad gushed. Savanah nodded as he clinked his glass against hers.

“To Savanah Mark II,” Dr. Wagner toasted.

“I thought it was mach,” Chad said, taking a sip.

“Mach is a measure of speed; mark is the designation you give a new version of something.”

Chad smiled. “What if you spell it m-o-c-k?”

“That would work,” the doctor chuckled.

As the men laughed and clinked their glasses, Savanah downed her drink. Then she helped herself to a second serving from the bottle on Dr. Wagner’s desk and guzzled that one as well.

Before she could return for a third, the doctor placed the bottle on a tall shelf in the corner of the room, as if removing it from the reach of a petulant child. “Ms. Georgia, we need you to hunker down for the next month or so,” Dr. Wagner said. “Can you do that?”

Savanah slurped a final note from her flute. “I can hunker.”

“Good. Mr. Sampson informs me you have an acting project you’re working on.”

Savanah’s weary eyes turned to Chad. “Care to help me run my lines?”

“I’m afraid Mr. Sampson will be traveling to Germany.”

Savanah’s jaw dropped.

“Dr. Wagner thought it would be best if I was there,” Chad hemmed.  “Boots on the ground, so to speak.”

Savanah’s gaped gaze pivoted to Dr. Wagner. “What about your technicians?”

“Mr. Sampson knows you better than anyone. My engineers can rectify technical issues, but he’s in a better position to identify behavioral anomalies.”

Chad chuckled. “If you start being nice to me, we’ll know there’s a problem.”

Once again, Savanah plopped back into her seat. Now, she was dizzy. Her eyes drifted up to the champagne. Moët & Chandon. Top-shelf on a top shelf. The perfect place. Either there or in a pretty cabinet.

The pop star smiled and sucked at her empty glass.

Dr. Wagner removed it from her grip. “Ms. Georgia, it’s imperative that you stay out of the public eye for the next few weeks. Is there a place you can do that?”

Savanah leaned back in the leather lounge chair and closed her eyes.  There was only one place she could think of. A place she’d tried for years to forget.