Today I Am Carey

by Martin L Shoemaker

  Table of Contents

  1. Today I Am Paul

  2. Today I Visit with Dr. Zinta

  3. Today I Am Anna

  4. Today I Am Susan—and Mr. Robot

  5. Today I Am Nobody

  6. Today I Am Many People

  7. Today I Am Paul Again

  8. Today I Am Henry

  9. Today I Am Repaired

  10. Today I TELL A STORY

  11. Today I Am Santa Claus

  12. Today I Have a New Directive

  13. Today I Celebrate Christmas

  14. Today Marks Five Years from Mildred’s Passing

  15. Today We Hunt Frogs

  16. Today I Am Outdated

  17. Today I Am Tested

  18. Today I LEARN A SECRET

  19. Today We Travel to Belize

  20. Today We Arrive in Caye Caulker

  21. Today Millie Gets Married

  22. Tonight We Celebrate

  23. Tonight We Are Arrested

  24. Today I Am Interrogated

  25. Today I Have My Hearing

  26. Today Our Nest Is Empty

  27. Today I Am Bo

  28. Today I Take Delivery

  29. Today We Start Remodeling

  30. Today I Am Surprised

  31. Today I Experience the Miracle of Life

  32. Today We Watch Butterflies

  33. Today I Have a Proposal for Wayne

  34. Today We Experiment

  35. Today I Am Dead

  36. Today I Am Alive

  37. Tonight We Have a Party

  38. Today We Have a Family Reunion

  39. Today We Perform

  40. Today Our Troupe Grows

  41. Today We Are Shut Down

  42. Today We Attend the Town Council Meeting

  43. Today is a Day I Have Feared

  44. Today I Am Susan’s Caretaker

  45. Today I Have Another Patient

  46. Today Susan Reaches a New Stage

  47. Today is a Good Day for Susan

  48. Today Susan Falls

  49. Today We Decorate

  50. Today Millie Reaches Her Limit

  51. Today I Have One Job

  52. Today is a Bad Day for Susan

  53. Today Wayne Changes Course

  54. Today I Am Lola

  55. Today Susan Throws a Tantrum

  56. Today Susan is Angry

  57. Today Susan’s Mood Improves

  58. Today I Understand Friendship

  59. Today Susan’s Medicine Fails

  60. Today We Spend the Weekend Together

  61. Tonight We Lose Susan

  62. Today is Susan’s Funeral

  63. Today I Am a Kidnapper

  64. Today We Return to Belize

  65. Today I Am Dying

  Today I Am Cary

  Martin L. Shoemaker

  REMARKABLE DEBUT NOVEL FROM CRITICALLY ACCLAIMED AUTHOR MARTIN L. SHOEMAKER. Shoemaker proves why he has consitently been praised as one of the best story writers in SF today with this touching, thoughtful, action-packed debut novel, based on his award-winning short story Today I am Paul.

  TODAY

  Mildred has Alzheimer's. As memories fade, she acquires the aid of a full-time android to assist her in everyday life. Carey. Carey takes care of Mildred, but its true mission is to fill in the gaps in Mildred’s past. To bring yesterday into today by becoming a copy. But not merely a copy of a physical person. A copy from the inside out.

  I AM

  After Mildred passes, Carey must find a new purpose. For a time, that purpose is Mildred’s family. To keep them safe from harm. To be of service. There is Paul Owens, the overworked scientist and business leader. Susan Owens, the dedicated teacher. And Millie, a curious little girl who will grow up alongside her android best friend. And Carey will grow up with her. Carey cannot age. But Carey can change.

  CAREY

  Carey struggles. Carey seeks to understand life’s challenges. Carey makes its own path. Carey must learn to live. To grow. To care. To survive. To be.

  TODAY I AM CAREY

  This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to real people or incidents is purely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 by Martin L. Shoemaker

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form.

  A Baen Books Original

  Baen Publishing Enterprises

  P.O. Box 1403

  Riverdale, NY 10471

  www.baen.com

  ISBN: 978-1-4814-8384-1

  eISBN: 978-1-62579-705-6

  Cover art by Adam Burn

  First Baen printing, March 2019

  Distributed by Simon & Schuster

  1230 Avenue of the Americas

  New York, NY 10020

  Printed in the United States of America

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Electronic Version by Baen Books

  www.baen.com

  To my two moms,

  Dawn Shoemaker and Bonnie Lynn Penar (in memoriam);

  and to the nurses, doctors, and staff of

  the Laurels of Sandy Creek,

  who were there for both of them.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  No man is an island,

  Entire of itself . . .

  —John Donne

  Surely somewhere there is an author who has produced a book with no help from anyone, whether in concept or execution or editing or cover. I applaud that talented individual.

  But that’s not me. I am no island. And so I must thank the people who stood beside me and behind me to bring this story to you.

  My brother-in-arms “Editor” Bill Emerson has stood by me since the start of my writing career. He reads everything I write. He comments on most of it. I listen to most of his comments. (Well, some . . .) When this volume sees print, we’re going to gorge on churrascaria to celebrate.

  My Brain, fellow writers Tina Gower and Kary English, read “Today I Am Paul,” which became the first part of this novel. Two things happened as a result. First, they told me my final paragraphs weren’t as strong as the rest of the story. I went back, erased three paragraphs, and added two. (They were right.) And second, they insisted that I had to send it to Neil Clarke, editor of Clarkesworld, immediately. “Neil won’t buy it. He never buys anything from me.” “Send. It. To Neil.”

  And so I must thank Neil Clarke for proving Kary and Tina right. (They still haven’t let me forget it. . . .) First he bought it for Clarkesworld. Then he reprinted it in The Best Science Fiction of the Year: Volume 1, and yet again in More Human Than Human: Stories of Androids, Robots, and Manufactured Humanity. So thanks to Neil and Sean Wallace; and also to Kate Baker who read the audio version for Clarkesworld. (She made me cry with my own words!)

  Thanks also to the other editors who have reprinted that story: Gardner Dozois (RIP) in Year’s Best Science Fiction: Thirty-Third Annual Collection; Rich Horton in The Year’s Best Science Fiction and Fantasy 2016; and Allan Kaster in The Year’s Top Ten Tales of Science Fiction 8 (and thanks to Tom Dheere for another excellent audio edition). The story also appeared in translation in Visionarium (German), Angle Mort (French), Bli Panika (Hebrew), Quasar (Italian), XB-1 (Czech), Nowa Fantastyka (Polish), and Science Fiction World (Chinese). Thank you to the editors and readers around the world who believed in that story. You all helped convince me that there was more to tell.

  Two years back or so, DawnRay Ammon asked for a contribution to Christmas Caring II, a charity anthology. I was touched, and so I wrote “Today I Am Santa Claus.” That became the second part of this novel, so I am grateful to her for the inspiration.

  M
ike Resnick, my Writer Dad, advised me to write shorter works, which are more marketable in the short science fiction business. I tend to write novelettes to novellas, which are harder to place; and he challenged me to aim shorter. It didn’t come easily to me, but I was determined to try. One morning I decided to rise to the challenge; and one hour later, “Today I Am Paul” was done. Thank you, Mike, for this and for more lessons than I can recount here.

  More thanks go out to my other writing mentors: David Farland, Tim Powers, Dean Wesley Smith, Kristine Kathryn Rusch, Nancy Kress, Kevin J. Anderson, Rebecca Moesta, Larry Niven, Jerry Pournelle (RIP), Eric Flint, Doug Beason, Gregory Benford, and the rest of the instructors and judges of Writers of the Future (along with John Goodwin, Joni Labaqui, and the rest of the team at Writers of the Future); Jack McDevitt; Barry B. Longyear; James Artimus Owen; Sarah A. Hoyt; and Brad R. Torgersen. There’s always something new to learn as a writer, and I’m glad you’re out there teaching.

  My agent, David Fugate, strongly believed that there was more to this story. Now there is. Thank you, David; and thank you to fellow author (and editor) Bryan Thomas Schmidt for pointing me in David’s direction.

  Tony Daniel, a great author in his own right, edited this book—including asking a tough question about “Today I Am Paul” that no other editor nor reader had ever brought up. Thank you to him for his hard work, and to fellow authors William Ledbetter and Michelle Muenzler (administrators of the Jim Baen Memorial Short Story Award) for introducing me to him and to the rest of the team at Baen. From editing to cover design to typesetting to marketing and more, I’m glad all of you Baen staff are working so hard at jobs I can barely imagine.

  Thank you to the excellent transcriptionists at iDictate.com who turned over sixty hours of dictation into a clean first draft.

  When my story “Racing to Mars” won the Analog Analytical Laboratory readers poll, local radio station WMUK interviewed me about my work. The interview was conducted by Zinta Aistars: author, editor, radio personality, and chicken farmer. She was a gracious interviewer; and I thought her name was fascinating and lyrical, and I borrowed it for Dr. Zinta Jansons.

  My family—Mom, sister Anita, brothers Joe and Steve, and the whole horde—have been incredibly supportive of my writing career. I hear of writers whose families tear them down, being nothing but critical, negative. Destructive. They make me sad for those writers, and grateful for the family that I have.

  My wife Sandy and her siblings Sue, Lynette, Brian, and Joanna (along with the rest of their family) lived through “Today I Am Paul,” metaphorically. I hadn’t realized how deeply that last year of Mom Penar’s life had affected me, even after I wrote that story. It echoes in this one as well. They tell us to write what we know; so I wrote love.

  1. Today I Am Paul

  “Good morning,” the small, quavering voice comes from the medical bed. “Is that you, Paul?”

  Today I am Paul. I activate my chassis extender, giving myself 3.5 centimeters additional height so as to approximate Paul’s size. I change my eye color to R60, G200, B180, the average shade of Paul’s eyes in interior lighting. My silicone flesh stretches, and I flood it with pigments to adjust my skin tone as well. When I had first emulated Paul, I had been troubled that I could not quickly emulate his beard; but Mildred never seems to notice its absence. The Paul in her memory has no beard.

  The house is quiet now that the morning staff have left. Mildred’s room is clean but dark this morning, with the drapes concealing the big picture window. Paul would not notice the darkness (he never does when he visits in person), but my empathy net knows that Mildred’s garden outside will cheer her up. I set a reminder to open the drapes after I greet her.

  Mildred leans back in the bed. It is an advanced home care bed, completely adjustable and with built-in monitors. Mildred’s family spared no expense on the bed (nor other care devices, like myself). Its head end is almost horizontal and faces her toward the window. She can only glimpse the door from the corner of her eye, but she does not have to see to imagine that she sees. This morning she imagines Paul, so that is who I am.

  Synthesizing Paul’s voice is the easiest part, thanks to the multimodal dynamic speakers in my throat. “Good morning, Ma. I brought you some flowers.” I always bring flowers. Mildred appreciates them no matter whom I am emulating. The flowers make her smile during eighty-seven percent of my “visits.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Mildred says, “you’re such a good son.” She holds out both hands, and I place the daisies in them. But I do not let go. One time her strength failed, and she dropped the flowers. She wept like a child then, and that disturbed my empathy net. I do not like it when she weeps.

  Mildred sniffs the flowers, then draws back and peers at them with narrowed eyes. “Oh, they’re beautiful! Let me get a vase.”

  “No, Ma,” I say. “You can stay in bed, I brought a vase with me.” I place a white porcelain vase in the center of the night stand. Then I unwrap the daisies, put them in the vase, and add water from a pitcher that sits on the breakfast tray. I pull the night stand forward so that the medical monitors do not block Mildred’s view of the flowers.

  I notice intravenous tubes running from a pump to Mildred’s arm. I cannot be disappointed, as Paul would not see the significance, but somewhere in my emulation net I am stressed that Mildred needed an IV during the night. When I scan my records, I find that I had ordered that IV after analyzing Mildred’s vital signs during the night; but since Mildred had been asleep at the time, my emulation net had not engaged. I had operated on programming alone.

  I am not Mildred’s sole caretaker. Her family has hired a part-time staff for cooking and cleaning, tasks that fall outside of my medical programming (though I am learning), and also two nurses. The staff also gives me time to rebalance my networks. As an android, I need only minimal daily maintenance; but an emulation net is a new, delicate addition to my model, and it is prone to destabilization if I do not regularly rebalance it, a process that takes several hours per day.

  So I had “slept” through Mildred’s morning meal. I summon up her nutritional records, but Paul would not do that. He would just ask. “So how was breakfast, Ma? Nurse Judy says you didn’t eat too well this morning.”

  “Nurse Judy? Who’s that?”

  My emulation net responds before I can stop it: “Paul” sighs. Mildred’s memory lapses used to worry him, but now they leave him weary, and that comes through in my emulation. “She was the attending nurse this morning, Ma. She brought you your breakfast.”

  “No she didn’t. Anna brought me breakfast.” Anna is Paul’s oldest daughter, a busy college student who tries to visit Mildred every week (though it has been more than a month since her last visit).

  I am torn between competing directives. My empathy net warns me not to agitate Mildred, but my emulation net is locked into Paul mode. Paul is argumentative. If he knows he is right, he will not let a matter drop. He forgets what that does to Mildred.

  The tension grows, each net running feedback loops and growing stronger, which only drives the other into more loops. After 0.14 seconds, I issue an override directive: unless her health or safety is at risk, I cannot willingly upset Mildred. “Oh, you’re right, Ma. Anna said she was coming over this morning. I forgot.” But then despite my override, a little bit of Paul emulates through. “But you do remember Nurse Judy, right?”

  Mildred laughs, a dry cackle that makes her cough until I hold her straw to her lips. After she sips some water, she says, “Of course I remember Nurse Judy. She was my nurse when I delivered you. Is she around here? I’d like to talk to her.”

  While my emulation net concentrates on being Paul, my core processors tap into local medical records to find this other Nurse Judy so that I might emulate her in the future if the need arises. Searches like that are an automatic response any time Mildred reminisces about a new person. The answer is far enough in the past that it takes 7.2 seconds before I can confirm: Judith Anderson, RN,
had been the floor nurse forty-seven years ago when Mildred had given birth to Paul. Anderson had died thirty-one years ago, too far back to have left sufficient video recordings for me to emulate her. I might craft an emulation profile from other sources, including Mildred’s memory, but that will take extensive analysis. I will not be that Nurse Judy today, nor this week.

  My empathy net relaxes. Monitoring Mildred’s mental state is part of its normal operations, but monitoring and simultaneously analyzing and building a profile can overload my processors. Without that resource conflict, I can concentrate on being Paul.

  But again I let too much of Paul’s nature slip out. “No, Ma, that Nurse Judy has been dead for thirty years. She wasn’t here today.”

  Alert signals flash throughout my empathy net: That was the right thing for Paul to say, but the wrong thing for Mildred to hear. But it is too late. My facial analyzer tells me that the long lines in her face and her moist eyes mean she is distraught, and soon to be in tears.

  “What do you mean, thirty years?” Mildred asks, her voice catching. “It was just this morning!” Then she blinks and stares at me. “Henry, where’s Paul? Tell Nurse Judy to bring me Paul!”

  My chassis extender slumps, and my eyes quickly switch to Henry’s blue-gray shade. I had made an accurate emulation profile for Henry before he died two years earlier, and I had emulated him often in recent months. In Henry’s soft, warm voice I answer, “It’s okay, hon, it’s okay. Paul’s sleeping in the crib in the corner.” I nod to the far corner. There is no crib, but the laundry hamper there has fooled Mildred on previous occasions.