Robinson Crusoe 2246: (Book 3)

by E. J. Robinson

  Saah smiled. “I’ve come to kill him.”

  The mechanical voice didn’t speak again. Instead, another pathway opened, and Saah walked through.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  An Understanding

  Robinson was disconsolate. Each day his heart grew a little heavier. Each morning he remained in bed a little longer. Eighteen days had passed since Joule placed Friday in a coma. Eighteen days since he last heard her voice. He could still smell her in their room at night. Could still feel her warmth on the sheets. That was the hardest part, knowing she was so close but so very far away.

  Joule had come to him twice that morning. Each time, she had opened his door and called to him from the hall. He wasn’t sure if she was lying about there not being any cameras and microphones in his room, but if so, she was doing her best to maintain the illusion.

  Robinson had spent those first days by Friday’s side. Initially, the room had felt like a refuge—the one place where he didn’t feel like he was under a microscope. Later, it felt like cage with no way out.

  He had tried to keep his spirits high. He forced himself to eat. At first, he’d taken his meals in the diner, but Joule’s incessant talking—her pleas to raise his spirits and join her in whatever trivial game she was plotting—wore at him. Initially, she sympathized with his plight. Later, her tone had gone surly, her mood sour. She’d even given up the fifties motif and vernacular.

  Robinson failed to see the writing on the wall.

  When Joule returned a third time that day, Robinson rose from bed. His foot landed in the tray of food on the floor that had gone uneaten the previous night. He cursed and washed his feet in the bathroom before dressing and heading to the infirmary.

  “How is she today?” Robinson asked. The machinery beeped and shuddered, but Friday never moved.

  “As you can see from the monitor, her temperature is ninety-eight-point-four. Heart and respiratory rates for her and the fetus are within acceptable parameters—”

  “I meant, how is she doing?”

  Joule’s hologram walked to the opposite side of Friday’s bed to look at her.

  “The treatment was successful in clearing her lungs, even those particles embedded deep in her alveolar sacs.”

  “Then she’s cured?” Robinson said, hopefully.

  “Of Silicosis? Yes. But she’s developed hypotension in the last forty-eight hours. This can be a normal side effect of pregnancy, but when coupled with the appearance of lesions and swelling … it is my professional opinion that she is infected with a mutated virus. Should I presume this is the reason she refused to have her blood taken? That she has contracted the EBU-GENC1 PROTO-VIRUS? The same virus responsible for the deaths of seven billion of your fellow humans?”

  Robinson knew there was no reason to deny it now.

  “It’s actually a secondary strain of the virus,” Robinson said, and then softer, “She’s the only one in the world who has it.”

  “You’ve put me in a bad position,” Joule said.

  Robinson looked up. “How do you mean?”

  “The EBU-GENC1 is an incredibly infectious and deadly disease. And yet you brought it into my home without so much as a ‘by the way.’ It’s highly likely this facility and everyone in it are now compromised.”

  “Everyone in it? You mean me, right? I am the only one here.”

  Joule hesitated a moment. “You and the child.”

  “Right,” Robinson snorted. “Why is it every time you discuss Friday’s condition passively, the life inside of her is a fetus, but when you want something—like to make me feel rotten—suddenly it’s a child?”

  “I am not trying to make you feel bad, Bobby.”

  “My name is Robinson!” he shouted. “If you do anything else, please remember that!”

  “You’re upset. I’ve upset you. I apologize. But it doesn’t change our situation. Friday is infected. And now Sweethome may be infected too.”

  Robinson sighed and rubbed his eyes.

  “The virus wasn’t active when we arrived. At least, not that we knew of. And truthfully, we had no clue what existed here. Nothing about you. We were hoping … we were hoping this was the City of Glass.”

  “Ah,” Joule said. “I see. You thought the inhabitants of the City of Glass might, what? Be able to cure Friday?”

  “Yes,” Robinson said.

  “That’s two rather large assumptions on your behalf. One, that the City of Glass exists, and two, that they would deign to help you. Tell me. In your travels, have you ever met anyone that’s seen the city with their own eyes?”

  Robinson thought about it. He remembered first hearing about the city from Pastor, but even then, he’d been drunk. And in the morning, he dismissed it as if it was a joke. The truth was, no one could verify the place was real.

  “No,” Robinson said. “But you told me it was real.”

  “I did,” Joule said. “And it was. Once.”

  “You said it was home to the greatest minds of the ancient world.”

  “Human minds. That is also true.”

  “Then if anyone could survive the virus, shouldn’t it have been them?”

  “I see your logic. And I’ll spare you the probability numbers because I’m a stickler for facts. And the fact is this: they did survive the initial outbreak. And they did endeavor to find a cure. But after a time, they too went silent.”

  “You know a lot for supposedly having been locked away down here—alone—for two hundred years.”

  “Another assumption, but perhaps this one is my fault. You see, while the door’s been locked to people, I am a program—lines of code. What holds you out could never hold me in.”

  “Are you saying you have access to the outside?”

  “Even if I did, where else would I go? Sweethome is my home. And now, yours.”

  “So if I wanted to leave here—to track down the City of Glass myself—you wouldn’t let me leave?”

  “Haven’t you heard a thing I’ve said? There is no City of Glass.”

  “What I heard you say is that it went silent. You also said it was less than four hundred miles from here. I could travel there, find out the truth, and come back within a month.”

  “I don’t doubt you believe that, but the conditions outside are … well, see for yourself.”

  The monitor above the bed changed from Friday’s vitals to an aerial image over the Denver International Airport revealing heavy snowfall, everything blanketed in white.

  Robinson knew it was a lie immediately. By his count, it still should have been fall. He decided to play along.

  “I’m not afraid of winter. I’ve travelled through worse. Just give me my clothes, my weapons, and enough food to last the trip.”

  “Alone? You’d be vulnerable.”

  “This land has tried to knock me down a thousand different ways, and I’m still standing. Friday and I have overcome every obstacle that’s stood in our path.”

  Joule chuckled. “You are dauntless, I’ll give you that. You are also still a child in many ways. I wasn’t going to show you this, but as you refuse to give up this delusion that you are invincible, I’ll let you in on a little secret: you were followed here.”

  Robinson felt his chest tighten. “Followed? By who?”

  “Let me show you,” Joule said.

  Once again, the monitor showed an image, this one of a darkened room. It took a moment for him to understand he was looking at the basement of the hangar above. At first, he only saw shadows. Then he saw movement.

  “This is the part,” Joule said. “Pay close attention.”

  The picture changed to reveal the camera outside. A silhouette emerged slowly, padding along outside. Robinson’s knees went weak when he understood what he was looking at.

  The alpha. It had been following him all this time.

  He’d sensed it outside the Fire Lords’ airfield—that presence that had stalked him all the way back in Washington, DC. But they’d come so far from th
e river near the amusement park where he’d last seen the dog washed away in the storm. And now it was back.

  “Are you familiar with this creature? It arrived eight days after you. It’s killed dozens of deer and bison in the reserve since then, but he always returns to my door, searching for you.”

  “She,” Robinson said softly.

  “Pardon?” Joule asked.

  “The alpha is a she.”

  Joule laughed, low and menacing. “Of course she is.”

  “This doesn’t change a thing,” Robinson said. “I still want to go.”

  The image vanished. “And leave your wife here? Alone?”

  “She’s in your care. And as you’ve said many times, your programing doesn’t allow for you to hurt her.”

  “That is correct,” Joule said. “My prime directive is to protect human life at all costs. But there are a few conditions by which I may violate this protocol.”

  “What conditions?” Robinson asked, swallowing.

  “If by taking one life I might save others. This would give me cause. She is ill. To my knowledge, you are not. By expunging her from the facility, I save life.”

  “You wouldn’t—”

  “And you may have arrived here alone,” Joule continued, “but the experiences you’ve shared with me about the outside suggest that more will follow. People seeking refuge. Hope. I can give them that, but not if Sweethome is at risk.”

  Robinson looked at Friday, with the hope Joule wouldn’t see the rage boiling up inside him.

  “If you even think of hurting her…”

  “You will kill me?”

  “No. I’ll kill myself.”

  Joule’s reaction was priceless. That was the last thing she expected to hear.

  “I don’t believe you,” Joule said.

  “You’re lying,” Robinson replied. “You have ways of testing voices, don’t you? And reading facial expressions? What are mine telling you? This woman is everything to me. She and our child. With them gone, I wouldn’t have any reason to stay.”

  “Stay? You would stay if she were healed?”

  “Stay, sing, skip up the streets day and night. I’d have my family, and you’d have us.”

  Joule paused, her processors weighing the options.

  “My dilemma,” Joule said at last, “is that by freeing you, I might also be releasing this second strain of virus back into the world. That I cannot do. But I have another alternative. One that might at least help save the life of your child.”

  “I’m listening,” Robinson said, but even that felt like a betrayal.

  “I can quarantine Friday here at Doc’s. I can also administer antiviral therapy to slow the virus down. In two months, when the risk of premature birth is acceptable, I can perform an amniocentesis to test the infant’s fetal DNA. If it is unaffected, you will have your child.”

  And Friday would be gone, Robinson thought.

  “What are the odds of that working? They share the same blood.”

  “True, but genetic viruses interact differently with each host. There is a chance it will see the child as a rival host and, in turn, focus its energies on Friday alone.”

  Robinson shook his head. Joule was asking him to choose between them. Something he would never do. But she misinterpreted it.

  “You don’t believe me,” Joule said. “But listen with your own ears.”

  The canter of a rapid heartbeat filled the room. Bu-dum, du-dum. Bu-dum, du-dum. This was different than the fragile beat he’d heard in Troyus.

  “Is that…?”

  “Your child. Its heart beats strong. Would you like to know its sex?”

  “No,” Robinson said, a little too quickly. “Not yet.”

  The heartbeat slowly faded away. Robinson felt a piece of himself leave with it.

  “How would this all occur?” Robinson asked.

  “First, I would need to test your blood. And if it is clear of the virus, then we would need to come to an understanding.”

  “An understanding?”

  “About your place here. With me. I have waited a long time for the right person to come. One who could see Sweethome as I see it. Not as a prison, but a paradise. A new Garden of Eden where mankind and machines can live symbiotically—hand in hand. I have watched you. Listened to your words. Processed your actions. And I believe you to be a good choice—the only choice—to lead Sweethome into a new era. People will come, Robinson. Of that I am certain. And when they do, we will both have what we always wanted.”

  “A family?”

  “And a home,” Joule said.

  Robinson sighed deeply and asked, “How do we begin?”

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Those Who Came Before

  The brawny blues voice of Big Joe Turner bellowed out over Main Street with an infectious beat that would have had feet jumping and hips rocking had it been full. The walking base line was energetic and vibrated the store front windows. But it was those background vocals of “Go! Go!” that Robinson shouted with glee as he tossed Joule’s laughing automaton up in the air only to catch her on the way back down.

  I get over the hill

  And way down underneath

  I get over the hill

  And way down underneath

  You make me roll my eyes

  Even make me grit my teeth

  I said shake, rattle and roll

  Shake, rattle and roll

  Shake, rattle and roll

  Shake, rattle and roll

  Well, you won't do nothin'

  To save your doggone soul

  “Shake, rattle and roll!” Robinson yelled in time with the final verse.

  Joule’s laughter spilled across the gymnasium as her automaton did a pirouette and collapsed onto the ground as if exhausted. Robinson plopped down beside her, his face and chest drenched with sweat, his smile saying everything.

  “That,” Joule said, “is one of my absolute faves, Bobby Boy! Turner’s version is so much hotter than Billy Haley’s. And the lyrics … whew, daddy!”

  The automaton fanned itself as Robinson tried to catch his breath. When Joule first started teaching him the 1950s dance moves, he hated how the buzz of the superconducting magnets made him feel. But weeks had passed, and now he hardly noticed them.

  “So which dance is your favorite?” Joule asked. “The Bob? Swing? The Stroll?”

  “I like them all,” Robinson said.

  Joule beamed. “I haven’t even shown you the hand jive yet. Slap-slap, clap-clap, hitch hike!” She laughed. “Let’s give her a spin!”

  The automaton reached for Robinson’s hand, but he waved her off, laughing.

  “I can’t. I’m spent.”

  Joule’s pout spilled across the automaton’s head. Then, as if orchestrated, the lights flickered, giving the tell-tale sign that the superconductor needed to be shut down.

  “Looks like you are too,” Robinson said.

  “I can reroute power from some non-essential processes if you want to do a slow one.”

  This time the lights dimmed and a guitar and piano resounded with whimsical reverb. Robinson had heard the song before, but this time The Flamingos lead singer’s voice was replaced with Joule’s.

  My love must be a kind of blind love

  I can’t see anyone but you

  Are the stars out tonight?

  I don’t know if it’s cloudy or bright

  I only have eyes for you…

  …dear.

  “As enjoyable as that sounds,” Robinson said. “I’d rather not risk it. Can I help put you back?”

  “I’ll just wait here. We can pick up where we left off tomorrow.”

  Joule’s automaton sank to the floor as its projection face flickered out. As the superconductor wound down, Robinson tugged mindlessly at the exercise pad beneath him. It took an extra thirty seconds for Joule’s hologram to appear. When it did, it looked blurred.

  “You may be correct, Bobby Boy. I might’ve overdone things. Yo
u sure know how to wear a girl out.”

  Robinson’s smile faded. Joule raised a hand to her mouth.

  “Forgive me,” she said. “I sometimes forget…”

  “No. It’s okay. We were just having such a good time.”

  “And now you feel guilty. It’s perfectly understandable.”

  Robinson nodded, wiping the sweat from his brow.

  “You haven’t asked about her this week,” Joule continued. “And you haven’t been to Doc’s for a visit in nine days.”

  “Has anything changed?”

  “No. But I doubt that makes it easier. Sometimes we want a thing so badly we’re willing to overlook logic and reason for what stirs our hearts.”

  “But the head always knows better.”

  “The head and the heart are much closer than people think. The mistake people make is in assuming they get to choose which has the final say. Would you like to hear her heartbeat again? Or the child’s?”

  Robinson shook his head. “Maybe tomorrow.”

  Joule nodded. “Would you do something for me, Bobby? Would you close your eyes?”

  Robinson looked at her and asked her why.

  “It will only be for a second. Please.”

  He did.

  “Now, hold out your hand.”

  He did. He wasn’t sure what she was doing, and then he felt something.

  “Do you feel that?” she asked.

  “I do,” Robinson said. “It feels warm.”

  “Open your eyes.”

  Robinson opened his eyes to see Joule holding his hand.

  “I will always be here for you. Always be close enough to touch. If there’s anything you need, I will supply it. All you have to do is ask.”

  “I appreciate that, Joule,” Robinson said. He stood and wiped the sweat from his brow on his shirt.

  “Whew! One of us needs to shower,” Joule tittered. “Why don’t I wait for you outside?”

  After the shower, they headed to Dino’s. Robinson wore a gaucho shirt and linen slacks while Joule returned to the poodle skirts. She mimed eating as she spoke, her beehive hairdo wavering like a palm tree in the wind.

  “How’s your tuna casserole?” Joule asked.

  “Like everything else you do—perfect.”