Today I Am Carey

by Martin L Shoemaker

  Mrs. Cales looks over at Millie. “She is a beautiful bride. But oh! Her glass is empty!” She moves off to the head table to pour some wine for Millie and Wayne.

  As I watch Mrs. Cales and the others at work, I can almost feel my empathy net adjusting, expanding. I still have much to learn about Belizean culture, but I start to see recurring patterns. In time, I am sure, I shall understand them as I understand Americans.

  After the meal, Thérèse and Alejandro bring out instruments: him a large guitar, and her (with much rolling and scraping) a harp. They quickly drop into a duet, just a few short, light, energetic bars to get the attention of the guests. Then the volume drops and Alejandro speaks over the music. “Ladies and gentlemen, honored guests of Caye Caulker, we have the great pleasure of performing for the first dance of Wayne and Millie Stockwell.” The music switches to a louder but slower tune, a harmonious waltz, as Millie and Wayne come out on the small dance floor and start to circle around the room.

  Many more dances follow: Paul with Millie, Susan with Wayne, and Anna with Dr. Winters. Then everyone rises to dance. My appreciation of music is strictly academic. I understand how rhythmic patterns and variations can please humans, but they elicit no response within me. I can recognize technical prowess, and these two musicians are very good.

  But there is a way I can appreciate the music. I activate my emulation net at a low level, just reactions, not changing my body. Today, at a low level, I am Susan; and as Susan, I find this music very good indeed.

  Then as Carey I realize that I am grateful, and I wish to express that. I approach one of the servers. “Two glasses of wine, please.”

  She giggles. “The mechanical wants wine?”

  “Yes, please,” I say.

  “Very well.” She ducks into the kitchen and brings me back two glasses. I hold them, waiting for the musicians to take a break between songs. Then I walk up to them, still emulating Susan enough to convey her warmth. I bow my head. “You play beautifully, Mr. and Mrs. Cales. Please, some wine to show my appreciation.”

  The man stares at me at first, but his wife touches his arm. “Alejandro,” she says, and he looks down. She turns to me. “Yes, I would like some wine. Thank you. Alejandro, this nice gentleman has brought us some wine.”

  Alejandro smiles and takes the glass. “Yes, some wine between friends. That would be good.” Thérèse takes her glass as well, and they drink. Then Alejandro looks at me. “You are different.”

  “Thank you,” I say, recognizing it as a compliment.

  He drinks the rest of the wine. Thérèse sits back behind the harp, and then he strikes a chord. “Next,” he says, “a number for our new friend, the caretaker.” They start up a new song. I do not recognize it. It has a more modern beat than their other songs. The dancers return to the floor. Millie comes over to me, smiling at the musicians. “A song for Carey? Thank you.” She takes my hands. “If this is your song, then dance with me,” Millie says.

  “I do not dance,” I answer.

  “That’s what you said at Anna’s wedding, and I didn’t believe you then, either. Come on.” Millie takes my hand and pulls me out onto the floor.

  I do not understand dancing, but I observe Wayne dancing with Susan. By activating low-level emulation, I can mimic his rhythmic gait.

  Millie holds me close, “Do you remember last time?” she asks. “Eighteen years ago?”

  “I remember everything.”

  “Of course you do. Remember . . . I asked you why people got married? You couldn’t explain it.”

  “I still cannot.”

  She laughs. “Well, what does your empathy tell you?”

  I pause in mid step, concentrating fully on her tone, her stance, her mood. “It tells me that you are very happy. That you feel somehow . . . I don’t have a good word for it. Perhaps complete.”

  “Complete. That’s close,” she says, and we resume dancing. “I am so happy, but I am especially happy that Dad and Mom could be here. And you. Thank you for convincing me.”

  “It is good that you are happy.”

  Millie giggles again, “Do you remember what I said back then? I said someday I’d marry you. You told me that I couldn’t marry an android, so I said I would marry my frog Jake instead.”

  “That is correct. I think it is better that you are marrying Wayne than an android or a frog. Do you make him complete as well?”

  She looks over at Wayne as he dances with Susan, and she nods. “I do. I really think I do.”

  I search for the right response for a human to say at this moment. “Then I am happy for you, Millie.”

  This time it is she who stops dancing. She examines me, and then she says, “You know, I think you really are.”

  23. Tonight We Are Arrested

  It is after midnight when the party ends. The streets are dark, but Paul and Susan’s comps provide adequate lighting. I follow behind them, doublechecking the route. I remember the way, and the town layout is not complicated.

  We have gone barely a block when a voice comes from the shadows of an alley ahead. “American visitors,” it says. “So happy with your fine computers. May I see them?”

  Paul steps in front of Susan. “No, I don’t think so,” he says. “We’re heading back to our hotel.”

  “No,” the voice says. The form comes out from the shadows. The comp lights glint from a barrel of a gun. “I want your computers, your wallets, rings. And turn those lights off.”

  Again my empathy net has failed to understand Belize. The man is nervous and afraid, but I did not predict violence. Now my understanding grows: He wants this over quickly. He expects me to either argue with him or submit.

  Instead, I leap. I was designed as a medical assistant, not an acrobat, but I have had many physical upgrades since the fire that claimed Mildred. I am now limber, my perceptions are thousands of times faster than human, and my frame has been rebuilt with lighter, stronger alloys. They propel me through the air in a tumbling arc over Paul and Susan’s heads.

  The man’s eyes bulge as I land and bound forward, running at him. A loud shot rings through the night air, and I feel the bullet tug at the silicone flesh of my lower chassis. Diagnostics tell me of minor damage to my physical emulation systems, but nothing that I need worry about at the moment.

  Before I can reach the thief, he fires again. This time the shot tears through my left shoulder, damaging my articulation system. The joint itself is functional, but the control circuits are damaged. So it is with my right hand that I grab the gun barrel, rip it from his hands, and smash it against the wall. But the wall is stucco over tar paper, so the gun just punches through it. I had hoped to disable it, rendering it no longer a factor in this confrontation. But instead, I throw it behind me.

  This all happens so quickly, the man only now realizes that his shots have not stopped me. He turns to run, but I grab his arm and yank him out of the alley. In the moonlight, for the first time, he sees my face. He looks me over and shouts, “Mechanical! Help!” He struggles to get away, but my grip is too strong.

  Paul comes up, the gun in his hand. “Stop!” he says and points the gun at that the man.

  I hear more shouts. Two officers on motorized bicycles speed up to the scene. “No one move,” the first one says. “Hands in the air. Put that gun down.”

  Paul puts the gun down and raises his hands. Susan raises hers as well. But I cannot raise my left arm, and my right is holding onto the thief. He also makes no move to comply, and he tries to pull away back down the alley.

  The second officer fires a warning shot over our heads. “On the ground! Now!” I throw the thief to the ground, and then I join him down there.

  The man shouts, “Mechanical! It’s an invasion.”

  “It’s not an invasion,” Paul says.

  The second officer shouts, “Silence! You’re all under arrest.”

  24. Today I Am Interrogated

  I am lying on a table in a conference room at the local Defence Force h
eadquarters. Somewhere they have found heavy chains to wrap around me, securing me to the table. I do not know where Paul and Susan are; but from the way the soldiers are acting, I think they are more interested in me. Paul and Susan should be relatively safe. I consider asking about them, but anything I do seems to agitate the officers. It is better that I act the dumb machine.

  My comm signals. I do not recognize the number, but the ident reads U.S.A. Consulate, Belize. I answer internally with a non-committal, “Yes.”

  A woman on the other end asks, “Is this BRKCX-01932-217JH-98662?”

  “Yes, it is.”

  “Also known as Carey?”

  “Yes,” I say.

  “This is Ambassador Hendricks with the U.S. Consulate. Anna Owens contacted me. Are you free to talk?”

  “The police are unaware that I can converse internally.”

  “Are you all right?”

  I answer, “I sustained minor damage during a robbery attempt. It is repairable at a proper facility.”

  Hendricks takes a breath before proceeding. “I’ve placed some calls to the government in Belize City. I’ve gotten the Owenses released. I’m on my way there as fast as I can to make sure that they’re okay. I should be there soon.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But you are another matter. I am told—” But at that moment, her voice cuts out.

  Then I realize that it is not her, it is me. All of my external lines are dead. Someone is jamming them.

  Soon enough, I learn who. I am not surprised when Colonel Rejón walks into the room, followed by his ever-present aides. “You fools! I told you to get a jammer set up. No one out here in the cayes knows how to do anything right.” He comes in and looks down at me. “You’re jammed now. Who were you talking to?”

  I see no purpose in lying. Cooperation seems like the wisest course. So I answer, “Ambassador Hendricks.”

  “A foolish American woman, like all of them. She thinks she runs things down here. I should have you destroyed just to show her who’s in charge in Belize.”

  I remain silent. He has not asked me a question, so today I am a dumb machine.

  But then he grins down at me. “No reaction? You do not struggle? Come, come, I’ve heard the rumors. Rodrigo’s a fool. You are more than a mere caretaker. Talk to me.”

  I remain silent. The colonel leans in closer and shouts, “Talk, or I’ll have you destroyed immediately!”

  My empathy net is still unreliable. The colonel may be bluffing. There would be legal and diplomatic ramifications if he destroyed me now that the ambassador is involved. He may be merely trying to frighten me into a reaction. But I cannot be sure.

  The colonel paces back and forth by the table, his limp more noticeable than before. “You say nothing now, but you spoke before.” One of his aides whispers in his ear and the colonel nods. “You answered a question. All right. Let’s try some more. Why did you attack that man in the street?”

  “This unit did not attack him,” I answer. “This unit defended the Owenses from his attack. He threatened them with a gun, and he shot this unit twice.”

  “When the officers arrived, Mr. Owens had the gun.” I am a dumb machine. I respond only to questions not statements. So I remain silent until the colonel adds, “How do you explain that?”

  “This unit took the gun away from the attacker and threw it out of danger. Mr. Owens picked it up, and used it to convince the thief to stop struggling.”

  “Struggling.” Again I wait for a question. He adds, “What do you mean?”

  “After this unit took the gun away, the thief tried to flee, and this unit apprehended him and held him until Mr. Owens appeared. Then the police arrived, and this unit laid down on the ground as instructed, taking the thief with him.”

  “That’s not what he says,” the colonel replies. “He says you chased him, hunted him down for Mr. Owens’s sport. What do you say to that?”

  “That may be what the thief said, but it is untrue. This unit can produce video and audio of the encounter to confirm that. The gun and the ammunition should have the thief’s fingerprints on it. But only the gun should have Mr. Owens’s fingerprints.”

  The colonel’s eyes widen, and I know I have gone too far. I have shown too much cleverness. “That’s a very interesting observation. Is that programmed into your medical banks?”

  “No, it is not,” I answer truthfully.

  “So you reasoned that out. Is that what you’re saying?”

  “This unit reasoned it out.”

  “I think you are a very dangerous machine,” the colonel says. “Perhaps I should have you destroyed now before anyone else can intervene.”

  Before I can consider this, a woman appears in the doorway. Tall, fair skinned with short red hair, she wears a gray suit. Her body language tells me that she believes she has authority here. Behind her are Paul and Susan. “Colonel Rejón,” she says, “I’m Ambassador Hendricks.” She reaches out her hand, but the colonel just looks down at it, eyes narrowed.

  “Ambassador, who let you in?” The colonel looks at one of his aides, and the man leaves. “Whoever it is will be very sorry he disobeyed me.”

  “Colonel, I represent the United States government. Your government wishes to cooperate in this matter as fully as possible.”

  At that the colonel smiles. “Cooperate? My government? Ambassador, we do things differently here. When it comes to matters of state security, I answer only to my chain of command.”

  “And what do they say about this?” Hendricks asks.

  “Nothing, yet. I haven’t reported to them. They have entrusted me to handle this.”

  “To handle what? A thief assaults two Americans, and their android saves them, capturing the man with no one injured. You should be thanking it.”

  “It is an automated soldier, which is against the law in Belize.”

  “It is not an automated soldier,” Hendricks replies. “Your own technician certified that.”

  “Yes, I shall have words with Rodrigo. He failed on this.”

  Hendricks raises her voice. “Colonel, you have no right to keep this android.”

  “It is a dangerous device. I have not just the right, but the responsibility to keep it until I have authorization to have it destroyed.”

  “No!” Susan says, but Paul holds her back and quiets her.

  The ambassador says, “Colonel, that would be a mistake.”

  “Why? It is a mere caretaker android, decades out of date. It could easily be replaced. But if it is something more . . .”

  “Colonel, this is not a decision you should make.” I am impressed with the ambassador. She has found the colonel’s weakness, and she is hitting it with everything she has. “You have the unit secured.”

  “For now, yes.”

  “Then there is no rush. You do not need to take immediate action. If it must be destroyed, then you can wait for that order to come down through your chain of command. And therefore, whatever consequences will follow . . .” She pauses and gets her face right in the colonel’s. “. . . and I promise you, there will be consequences . . . will accrue to your superiors, not to yourself.”

  The colonel does not blink. “Are you threatening me, ambassador?”

  “I am advising you, Colonel. As you say in Belize, slow down.”

  I have been in low-power mode to conserve my batteries. When I awaken, Millie leans over me. “Carey, are you all right?”

  I hear Wayne’s voice. “Rana, I know you’re worried, but I have to get to it to see how bad the damage is.”

  Millie straightens up, and I see Wayne behind her. On the other side of the table are Susan, Paul, Anna, and Ambassador Hendricks. Wayne steps in closer. “This is no way to work. I don’t have my tools. Do we have to have these chains?”

  The ambassador nods. “The colonel insists, and I couldn’t change his mind.”

  “This is nonsense. Carey’s no threat to anyone.”

  Wayne tries to move the chains on
my upper torso for a better view at my shoulder.

  “If it would help, Wayne,” I say, “I could get out of the chains.”

  “What are you waiting for?” Millie says.

  “Not a good idea,” the ambassador answers. “The colonel could come in at any moment. I wish you hadn’t even said that. This room may easily be bugged.”

  “I do not believe it is, ambassador,” I say. “This room is under broad-spectrum electronic jamming. I believe that would interfere with any listening device as well.”

  The ambassador checks and then frowns. “You’re right. We’re probably safe to speak here; but still, I advise you to stay in those chains.”

  Wayne asks, “Can it at least shift so I can get to its shoulder?”

  “Can you?” the ambassador asks.

  “I think I can do that, yes.” I twist my body while simultaneously contracting all of my chassis and structural extenders. The chains loosen.

  “Perfect,” Wayne says. He slides the chains down from my shoulder and looks. “That’s not too bad,” he says. “The actuator’s ruined, plus you have a tear in your flesh. If I had a spare actuator and my tools, I’d have you fixed in a minute. Where else did he shoot you?”

  “Left abdomen. The bullet went right through, damaged my microtubules.”

  “Hey! Who’s the android technician around here and who’s the android?”

  “I am sorry, Wayne. Please continue.”

  Wayne checks my abdomen, prodding at the damaged area. “Millie,” he says. “Do you have your lens?”

  “Um, let me check.” Millie searches through her purse and hands Wayne a magnifying lens.

  Wayne probes and scans again, and then says, “It took out a significant node of the microtubule network.”

  “What does that mean?” Millie asks. There is fear in her voice.

  “Not to worry, love. That network is how Carey uses pneumatics and fiber optics to change the shape and color of its body. You’ll do no emulating below the waist,” Wayne says to me. “Not until we can get you back in Dr. Jansons’s lab. No one has made parts like these for fifteen years. But emulation isn’t a critical function. You’ll be fine.”