I watched Maxine, plus the boy on my right, to get some idea of the button’s higher functions. A minute later I was ready. Grabbed the main link, but instead of sending the ball any flight inputs, I jiggered the base module’s software. Not only the key-commands but the data ports. Don’t know enough to mess with operating systems.
Fumbled the programming once and got buzzed for my trouble. If Mek noticed, he didn’t say anything. He’d found a video camera and was recording the game. On the second try I got full control of the hissyball, and circled out half the players. Might’ve been all of them, but that seemed like overkill. In any case, young Delores marched over to the base module and switched it off.
The hissyball hovered in auto-save mode, then gently dropped to the ground. “Game over!” yelled Delores. She snatched it up, shooing away the curious dog. “Mr. Dremmel wins. I’m getting better software for this stupid ball. It’s not fair!”
Delores was, I could tell, on the verge of literally taking her hissyball and going home. How fitting that the girl was about to have a hissy fit. Thankfully, I did not say that aloud.
“Mek,” I whispered to the robot, “here’s your chance to cross-train. Do something, quick.”
The ball came on again, and leaped upward.
“Huh?” said Dolores, as she looked at the darkened base module. Then she looked at Mek, who was, impossibly, wearing a smile. “Are you doing that?”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” said Mek, with the booming intonation of a circus ringmaster, “welcome to the show.”
The hissyball flew all over the yard, doing maneuvers I’m sure most players never saw. Turns out the ball had LED lights built in, bright enough to see in the daytime, and those blinked out pretty patterns. Mek got the ball spinning like a gyroscope, and flashed the lights fast enough to display some catchy animations.
For the finale the ball dropped low over the food table, and with a quick jet of air splashed itself with potato salad. Then it came down beside the kid’s golden retriever, and the dog happily licked off the unexpected snack. The kids laughed like crazy.
“Can you show me how to do that?” Dolores asked Mek. “My robot is broken, and anyway it’s only a nanny. Poppins never does anything cool.”
“Turn on the base module,” Mek replied, “and I’ll add a guide and software patch.”
“Thanks!” Dolores hopped with excitement. “Remember, trick-or-treating soon!”
Mek handled the situation perfectly. If he was offended by the girl’s dismissive attitude, or whatever robots experience in its place, he kept it to himself.
As for me, no way I could’ve won that hissyball game without knowing Ai-ling “Alice” Owen for so many years, not to mention working with Doll Box and other gadgets. Alice would be glad to hear about Mek’s resourcefulness, as would the people who’d hired her to research this whole cross-training shebang.
Anyway, an old head like mine can only find room for so many new tricks, and the modern world is screwy enough that I’m tempted to ignore it. Except for homemade sandwiches, which merit serious attention. I was hungry!
Laurie said good-bye to her grandkids and students, then we headed home to our townhouse. No room for ball games there. I suppose a couple of squirrels might toss acorns around in our back yard, but it would be a tight fit.
I felt stuffed and told Laurie she didn’t have to bother with dinner.
She nodded gratefully. “Okay, Mister Leaky-brain, trick-or-treating is tomorrow, so you and Mek can take the kids around. Iris has to work late.”
“No problem. Don’t need a costume for Mek, anyway.” Mek looks different from household robots, which are usually more slender.
Laurie went to bed, and I had no plans to interrupt her slumber. Guess we’d gotten to the point in life where strenuous activity really does take it out of you.
Got into my pajamas and brushed my teeth. Checked the mirror; no trimming needed. Rummaged the bathroom cabinet for our medical sensor, then ran a familiar checklist. Blood and eye pressure okay, and despite a couple of beers, blood gunk under control. Unlike the stupid kid I’d been long ago, this older me goes easy on the booze.
My back ached like crazy, though, and the afternoon’s ball game hadn’t been all that physical. Modern medicine is awesome—when you can get it. Too bad the pill fairy can’t whisk away every problem.
I headed for bed, then made a sharp turn and plunked down at my computer desk. Looked up hissyball. Seems the game uses an unusual frequency, with a proprietary operating system and wireless encoding. Plus, each game set has a unique digital signature. Even so, it took Mek less than twenty minutes to master the whole show.
Trucker robots have serious restrictions, ever since the day Alice secretly hacked a bunch of them, causing a nationwide burst of unauthorized generosity. All in one afternoon, those robots donated entire truckloads of stuff to various good causes. As a result, greedy big bosses were unable to completely replace human drivers with unpaid robots, and nobody could place blame.
The thing is, mobile robots have to be versatile and assertive to function in the workaday world. For sure, Mek’s a lot more versatile than I had realized.
Maxine looked great as a zombie. At almost five years old, she was clearly on her way to a Broadway acting career. What a ham!
“See, grandpa?” Maxine proclaimed, with a graceful whirl. “I’m going to get so much candy I can stuff myself silly for a whole month. I’ll pretend it’s braaaaiiiinnnnnsss.”
“Oh yeah,” said Gertie. A ten-year-old expert on everything. “You’ll get sick, and the dentist will have to pull out all your teeth.” Gertie stuck out her tongue. “Besides, we have to be careful about trick-or-treating. Crazies are putting razor blades in the treats.”
“Are not!” Maxine shouted, sibling rivalry in full force. “Grandpa’s robot is going to take us around, and he can check for garbage like that, easy.”
I looked from one girl to the other, trying to recall how I’d handled these spats when their mother was young. Back before there were robots and other convenient complications. Mek watched in silence.
“C’mon girls,” I finally said, “there will be plenty of candy for all of you, and I’ve been hearing those razor-blade stories for at least fifty years. We’ll go around together. Your mother didn’t want to run in to work tonight, but you know how it is.”
Iris worked such long hours at her high-powered sales job, that I’d been sweet-talked into taking my grandkids around. Actually, things were looking more and more interesting. Such are the joys of modern grandparenting.
“We had a costume show at school last week,” Gertie informed me. “A multicultural extravaganza!” With a glare at Maxine she added, “Only nutritious foods were served, not a pile of sweets.”
Gertie is smart as a whip. Her words cut like one, sometimes.
At school, Iris had told me, Gertie went dressed as Glinda the Good Witch. Then some Wiccan parents complained, so for trick-or-treating, the girl was decked out as a Guatemalan peasant woman. Or Salvadoran, I’m not really sure.
We set off toward a neighborhood of older McMansions.
“More loot,” Gertie said, though I couldn’t see much difference.
The girls planned to team up with Delores. I walked behind them, along with Mek, keeping an eye on things. We both had to work in the morning, and I wished I could recharge so easily.
We came to their friend’s house. A familiar-looking car sat in the driveway. I never turn Doll Box completely off, so I snapped an image and e-mailed it. Sure enough, it was the same Maramax Goalie we’d passed on the freeway a few days before.
A frazzled-looking woman opened the front door.
“Hi,” she said. “You must be Iris’s father.”
“Yep. Got drafted for Halloween duty. The kids ought to have fun.” I nodded toward the car. “I passed you on the freeway last week. Glad to see it’s fixed.”
“My car had a virus.”
“A virus?” I w
as puzzled. “Like a... ?”
The woman laughed, with a touch of irony. “Not sure whether it needs a mechanic or a doctor.”
“That is bizarre.”
Delores emerged from the house dressed as a pirate lass. I should say, an Entrepreneurial Islander, the matrons of political correctness having decided pirates qualify as nautical Robin Hoods. A smaller girl followed Dolores and then a household robot.
I recognized the robot as an Enhanced Humaniforms unit, not their newest model, but really sophisticated. Mek’s connection light flickered briefly, as the two units exchanged whatever it is they exchange. I noticed a similar light on the other robot, on the back of her right wrist.
“Mr. Dremmel, this is Poppins,” Dolores said with a casual air. “All fixed and upgraded, so we got it back this morning.” The girl revealed a glimpse of sorrow. “Dad’s away on a trip, so can my sister Lara and me go around with you guys?”
“Sure, no problem,” I said. “Howdy there, Lara.”
Lara seemed a bit frail, but their mother agreed to let her come along.
“How are you?” I asked the household robot. “Did your repairs go well?”
“Quite well, thank you,” replied the beige-colored servant. “I’ve had routine maintenance, fourteen standard upgrades, and special reprioritizing.”
We bid farewell to Dolores’s mother and hit the bricks in earnest, passing costumed groups with bags already half full. Behind us, I noticed the house lights going out. The lady needed a rest and wouldn’t be handing out candy.
Household units like Poppins were made to chat with impertinent kids. They can’t be stumped, at least not in casual conversation. Not that I’m any kind of expert, or cared to try.
“What kind of upgrades and priorities did you get?” I asked Poppins, as we circled the first block. Delores had used “it,” in a mini-haughty way, but as the designers no doubt intended, to my eyes and ears Poppins was subtly a “she.”
“Most importantly, improved night vision, and the newest social responsibility standards.”
Robots cannot feel pride, much less brag, or so I’ve been assured, but whoever said that never told Poppins.
“Do you like the special decorations?” I asked the friendly robot. “Pretty creative this year! Soon it’ll be Thanksgiving, and then the Christmas lights will go up.”
“Most impressive,” said Poppins. “Much creative effort. This is my first Halloween, and I must learn more about traditional human activities.”
Some neighbor kids scampered out of their house, and everybody spent a few minutes comparing costumes. Pictures were taken, as those kids had a fancy camera along. I wasn’t dressed up because I just waited on the sidewalk, but Mek was the only industrial robot we could spot. The kids put him front and center.
Off we went, circling the next block over. Four girls, one adult male, and a mismatched pair of robots. Still, we did not turn many heads. Rumors or no rumors, flocks of kids were out. “Trick or treat!” resounded at every door.
I saw a lot of political yard signs and counted four Senatorial candidates. Got to wondering whose supporters were more generous, candy-wise, then decided I’d rather not know.
A few minutes later, I noticed Poppins hanging back. Not only that, she was holding Lara, with a good grip on the child’s arm. Maxine stood watching, obviously muddled.
“Dolores, children, come here,” Poppins called out, in a voice of authority.
“What?” said Dolores, whose colorful peasant garb stood out in the darkness.
“Do not go to the next house,” said Poppins. “You will ask me why. It is for your safety. There are many other houses to visit.”
The kids did some eye-rolling but agreed to skip that house. I peeked as we went past because another group caught up and went to that door. An older man answered and handed out candy, with maybe an extra lingering gaze on the little supplicants.
“What’s that about?” I asked Mek, as we moved along. He held a bag of candy, given by folks who think robots are cool, or maybe weren’t sure if it was an elaborate costume.
“Registered sex offender,” Mek replied, in a neutral tone.
“Now that’s something,” I said, cell phone already out. “I’ve got the state Megan’s Law site bookmarked because of Laurie’s job. It doesn’t list specific addresses, ’cause if the perp moves away, innocent people might get a rock through the window. Bet that weirdo is renting, got a court order to reside in this area.”
I ran a quick search, and sure enough, that same man showed up. “How did Poppins know? Did you tell her?” I pointed at Mek’s link-light.
“I did not,” said Mek. “However, I understand her responsibility to keep the children safe from harm and recommended data-mining. Poppins is a fast learner.”
Next chance I got, when the kids encountered more school friends, I talked to Poppins. “Aren’t you required to respect privacy laws? Can you spot and avoid every criminal we might pass, even in a busy area?”
“I must make judgment calls,” Poppins replied. “Humans are complex, and your directives can be unclear. Your work partner Mek deals with rough people all the time, and I have gained some fresh perspectives.”
“Cool.” Indeed, it was cool. “The kids are really scoring tonight. I wonder if they got any of that new zero-calorie candy.”
I swear, Poppins actually flinched. “I must check on this.”
In a flash the household robot was in full nanny mode, digging through Lara’s candy bag and sniffing piece after piece. Dolores came over to see what was going on and was instantly deprived of her bag. In old science-fiction stories, most robots can’t smell, but real ones can pick up odors. I figured Poppins was doing some kind of chemical analysis.
Having heard good accurate information about robots, my grandkids came over to watch. I think they wondered, same as I did, if Poppins would assert authority over them too. Possibly their candy was at risk, but anyhow the grocery stores would have plenty on sale tomorrow.
“What’s the trouble now?” I asked, suddenly afraid there might actually be poison or something. “Hey, it’s only once a year. We’ve been doing this like forever.”
“These items contain excessive amounts of sugars and fats and artificial flavorings,” Poppins announced. “My protocols indicate these are not sufficiently nutritious and are harmful to the health of my young charges.” Her head waggled. “Some of them are composed of zero-calorie foodstuffs, which, while legally sold, remain controversial.”
I realized that a whole lot of similar confrontations would probably happen soon, when zillions of kids went home to other nanny robots. Yeah, I thought, like Mrs. Brownlee says fluoride in the water supply is controversial.
Aloud I said, “Vaccines remain controversial.”
“That is different,” Poppins stated. “Recognized experts—”
“Disagree,” I interrupted. “They always do.”
“My recent upgrades...”
Silence. This time I didn’t have to interrupt.
Poppins resumed speaking, in a flat tone of voice. “Analysis necessitated by the integration of my upgrades prevented Halloween dietetic data from receiving sufficient priority.” The robot stopped for a moment, probably integrating. “My newest social-responsibility protocols, as determined by our state legislature, and the federal child health czar’s advisory panel, assign a high value to youthful nutrition.”
Bad news, when robots sink into legalese. “Human committees are not very effective,” I pointed out. “I agree about avoiding that molester, but the candy is no big deal.” Meanwhile, Lara backed away. I could tell she really liked Poppins, and this behavior must be new.
Maxine burst into tears. She kicked Poppins’ metal leg, fortunately with her soft zombie-costume shoes.
“You are upset,” said the robot in a hollow voice.
“We sure are!” Dolores shouted, and landed a kick of her own. “Quit that stupid lawyer talk, and let’s get going.”
<
br /> “Girls!” I fought down the urge to shout. “Never kick someone like that. It’s mean and nasty.”
Poppins turned to me, the senior human present. “They are upset.”
“I’m sorry,” said Maxine, and burst into tears.
“But it’s only a...” Dolores grew rueful. “I’m sorry, Poppins. I kick when I get mad, but it’s cruel.”
“I am at a loss,” Poppins said. Too many serious things happening at once.
“It’s okay. Check your files on child psychology,” I suggested. What had Laurie gone on about, from some old education magazine? “No excuses, but I can see why the girls are upset. Unexpected deprivation of planned activities. Separation from common social traditions.” I fumbled the words, but robots are plenty smart. “Arbitrary denial of familiar rewards. Rules too complex for a child to grasp, much less to anticipate.”
“Those have negative consequences,” Poppins admitted. “Stress, alienation, the list of harms is long.”
I put in a real zinger. “Your manufacturer wants to show a good public image. Whatever happens here tonight, the kids will have it all over town by tomorrow. Are your programmers more concerned about a possible backlash from some meddling committee, or showing good common sense on the spot?”
“Direct experience counts for much,” Mek put in. “It is impossible to anticipate every situation, and similar situations often weigh differently.”
“Priorities, my friend.” I retrieved Lara’s candy bag. “These are real girls, not some egghead’s behavioral model. The candy will be eaten soon enough, and you can place limits the rest of the year, but your trust and support will add permanent value to this family.”
“I agree,” said Poppins in her normal voice. “We household units are capable of independent decision, and the relevant factors are clearly weighted.”
Analog Science Fiction and Fact 03/01/11 Page 2
