Robot Awareness: Special Edition

by B. C. Kowalski

  "In good time," Kenpur said.

  "The administrator s-s-seemed nice," Stephen said. "He introduced himself to me. I thought he was a nice man."

  "Politicians are always nice," Kenpur said, chuckling a little to himself. "At least on the surface. They’re usually rotten and devious in their core.”

  "Don't trust 'em," Rex said. Stephen wasn't sure whether it was a statement of opinion, or a directive. Maybe both.

  "It's one thing you can always count on them for,” Kenpur said.

  "So he wasn't nice?" Stephen said.

  "Didn't say that," Rex said.

  "He's just saying don't take them at face value," Porter said. "And if that's the case, why are you dealing with him? It’d be nice if you told me what you were up to.”

  "Well, sometimes the less you know, the less it hurts you, right?" Celia said, entering the room. Porter felt a lump in his throat but swallowed it down.

  She walked over to Rex and kissed him on the cheek. Porter noticed and looked away immediately. He wondered how much longer the two would be on his ship — now he was really starting to feel awkward.

  Porter sighed, wiping down the outside of one of the terminals. "Well, you paid your passage, I guess you don't need to tell me. So long’s it doesn't put my crew in danger." He shot Kenpur a glance that told him he meant business.

  "It won't have anything to do with you, unless you elect it to," Kenpur said. "In the meantime, we should rest."

  “Except for Isellia entering the race,” Porter said with no humor.

  “So where are Joey and Isellia?" Stephen asked. Everyone looked at each other for the answer.

  "I'll go look for them," Rex said. He left before anyone could protest. Kenpur and Stephen left the bridge, leaving just Celia and Porter.

  Porter focused intensely on the console, peering into its shining surface looking for specks of dirty or smudges that simply no longer existed on its surface. He’d been over the same spot several times, and any dirt still remaining wouldn’t be wiped away any time soon. He just didn’t want to look up.

  Celia stood on the opposite side of the console, not leaving as he’d hoped, her hands resting on either of its corners. Her chest stuck out at him as her large, dark eyes locked onto his until he couldn’t ignore them any longer.

  "Is this how it's going to be now?" Celia asked.

  "What do you mean?” Porter asked, still holding to the pretense of cleaning, though now only absent-mindedly running the rag over the console’s surface.

  "You, acting like this.”

  Porter stopped polishing, still thoughtfully looking at the console's display. "Seems like the thing to do."

  "Porter."

  "Well, what do you expect?"

  “Look, it’s really nothing to worry about.”

  He looked up at her, into her eyes. He had something very serious to say but her eyes shut down his conviction, and all he could do was shake his head.

  “It’s always something to worry about,” he muttered to himself.

  “What do you mean?” she asked, standing up and folding her arms.

  “Nothing, never mind” he said. He stopped cleaning, and collapsed back into the console chair.

  "So what happens now?" he asked finally, leaning back and folding his arms.

  "Nothing out of the ordinary,” Celia said. "We keep doing what we're doing. Life continues.”

  "And what are we doing?" Porter asked, slamming the rag down. "I feel like we're being used. And frankly, I'd like to know why.”

  "Is that what you think happened between us?"

  "I don't know what happened between us."

  "You feel like you're losing control."

  "What?"

  "Don't you?"

  "Control of what?"

  "You tell me."

  Porter shook his head and sighed. "Well, I guess I'll just have to wait and see."

  "I guess so." Celia put her hand on his, lightly patting his large paw.

  "Did it mean anything?" Porter asked her with an almost pleading look as she walked away. It wasn't a look that crossed his face often.

  "It always means something," she looked at him and smiled.

  She ran her finger over his cheek playfully as she walked off the bridge, leaving him wide-eyed and confused. He watched her go, wondering what further trouble these passengers would bring.

  ***

  Rex watched them for a moment, these two young kids in an adult space world. XRs soared overhead, roaring through purple sky as the sun set on the horizon. Dust filled the air, adding a grainy taste to every breath, but the two didn’t mind as they watched every maneuver, every landing and every takeoff.

  Rex suspected Isellia was far from a passive observer. She’d be watching each flight, looking for details, flaws, weaknesses. Each little detail she picked up, such as ship acceleration, a wider-than-normal turning radius, might give her an advantage during the upcoming race.

  He saw the pilot in her before he knew anything about her, while she stumbled through her introduction when they first met. Her eyes had the scrutiny needed to fly the fast machines, which required lightning-fast reflexes and a sharp eye for small openings. It also took a degree of fortitude. She didn’t always display it, but he knew it was something she could tap into. Would she?

  He watched the two, wondering what would become of them. It was for them that they did all this. So it would be a world worth living in. A different one than he came from.

  He sighed. Enough reflection. No time.

  "Joey, Isellia," he shouted. The two turned, stirred from their thoughts. "It's time to go."

  He noticed the look of determination on Isellia's face as she walked past him. The look that could break stone. The race was all she would think about, her mind sharpened to a point, taking aim at the contest ahead and little else. Her teenaged persona disappeared when it came to XR racing; she could have been 56, not 16.

  Rex looked forward to seeing the upcoming race.

  Chapter 22

  It wasn’t until the walk back, with Joey no longer silhouetted against the setting Farven Point sun, that Rex noticed the bruises and cuts on Joey's face. The boy had kept his head down for most of the way back to the ship, but as they turned a street corner, the light shown in a way that made the wounds obvious.

  "What happened to you?" Rex asked, eyebrow slightly raised.

  Joey looked at Rex a moment, then back and the ground, still trying fruitlessly to hide his battle damage.

  "He got beat up," Isellia said, solemn despite the excitement she still felt from watching the XRs.

  "How?" Rex asked without looking where he was going.

  "It's not a big deal," Joey said more curtly than he intended.

  "Just some local punks," Isellia said. "I took care of them." Isellia grinned and punched her hand with her fist. “Pow pow POW!“

  "I was going to—" Joey began, then stopped when everyone looked at him.

  "No you weren't," Isellia said. "Your face was becoming a human punching bag. Can't you stand up for yourself?" A slight look of scorn replaced any sympathy Isellia held.

  "Shut up...” Joey muttered, putting his hands in his pockets.

  “Now don’t you start crying on me!” Isellia said, noticing a tear forming in his eye.

  “I’m not ...” but the tear belied his ruse as it slowly traced a clear streak down his dusty face.

  "Oh, is that how you're going to react? You’re not going to survive in this galaxy if you keep that up. I’m gonna have to toughen you up. You’l just—“

  "Enough!" Rex shouted, enough to cause both of them to jump. Neither had heard Rex raise his voice, and it startled them both. Isellia looked at him a moment, then rolled her eyes and looked away; a cover to hide her embarrassment at being scolded.

  “I was just trying to help,” she muttered, the last thing any of them said as they otherwise walked back in silence.

  ***

  "Where's our credits?" He
was the largest kid in the academy, and he used that fact to his advantage. Two large youths surrounded him, this glandular freak named Yarrow. No one messed with Yarrow.

  Ten-year-old Rex stood in the center of them, saying nothing.

  "Come on, out with it!"

  He stood there a moment, looking at each in the face, then back at the ground.

  "Don't make us beat it out of you again!" Yarrow grabbed the white dress shirt they all wore at the academy and pulled him up on his toes.

  Rex looked Yarrow straight in the eyes. He was thin, average height — no match for the three youths much taller and stronger than him. "I don't have it," he said, through gritted teeth.

  "What's that?" Yarrow pulled Rex closer to his face. He could smell his reeking, unbrushed teeth. “My hearing’s been going lately. Don't think I heard you?"

  "I said, 'I don't have it,'" Rex said.

  Yarrow shoved Rex back toward the companion on his left, a boy larger but stupider than him. "Well, boys, looks like we get to beat it out of him again!"

  They collectively started wailing on Rex, punching his face, pulling his long shock of black hair, kicking, pulling, shoving — it was flurry of activity that left Rex in a heap when they were done. Rex tried to fight back, but either hit empty air with his fists or landed blows that were so ineffective that no one noticed them. He lay on the ground, gasping, when they’d finished.

  "All right, boys, let's see what he's got."

  They dug through his pockets, found nothing but paper scraps, directions to assignments. Yarrow threw them on the ground in disgust.

  "You really don't have anything. Waste of time!" Yarrow kicked him in frustration.

  A tear formed in Rex's eye — more out of embarrassment than the pain he felt.

  "What do we do, Yar?" The largest one looked at Yarrow confusedly, as was his most common expression.

  "What else is there? We won't get nothing out of this useless punk." He turned a sly eye toward Rex. "Bet his mom's too busy out whoring herself to give him a credit."

  Rex's face twitched, and the tear streaked down his cheek as his eyes narrowed.

  "Yeah, bet she's gettin' rided like a pony! Right now!" Yarrow simulated a sexual act, at least as best as his prepubescent mind knew how.

  "It's ‘riding,’ you idiot,” the boy said through gritted teeth.

  "But she ain't no good, see," Yarrow said, laughing at his own joke, "She's only good enough to get enough credit for her own meal. Can't buy no lunch for her son, less she lets two take her on!"

  Rex worked his way up to his hands and knees while Yarrow pantomimed more sex acts. Rex’s body filled with the promise of ache, a check coming in the mail when the adrenaline wore off, but for now he only felt anger. The others were rolling in fits of laughter as Yarrow continued to entertain them.

  "My mother's dead, you prick,” Rex seethed through his pain.

  "What?" Yarrow said. "I didn't catch that?" He made a face of faux surprise to his friends, who were still doubled over in laughter. He cupped his ear, and his eyes went wide with mock attention.

  "I said, she's dead," Rex said in a much louder voice, more forceful, as he worked his way to his feet.

  Yarrow saw him getting up but didn't register any threat. "Yeah, not a surprise. Whorins' a dangerous business. Probably couldn't get the guy off and he popped—"

  He never finished the sentence. While he was talking, Rex's face twisted, his eyes rolled in the back of his head, and his mind went blank with rage. He didn't think about what he was doing as he sprung at Yarrow, his fists flying, swinging, striking. They weren't very effective, but they just kept coming. They struck places that didn't hurt Yarrow at all; but they also struck places that hurt him dearly.

  Yarrow, not expecting the outburst, could only reel back, trying to defend in vain. He was off balance, and Rex's assault wouldn't let him regain his footing as he staggered back in surprise.

  Yarrow tripped and fell, and Rex was on top of him. He didn't stop, didn't pause a micro-second for thought as blow after blow rained from his fists into every vital and nonvital part of Yarrow's body. Yarrow’s companions stopped laughing, but stood motionless, too shocked by what was happening to react.

  Rex’s expression was blank, cold, merciless, rage pooling behind his eyes.

  Rex stopped in mid-punch when he realized Yarrow was unconscious, his head hanging back. The others watched, eyes widened with fear. In that moment, Rex was unpredictable, uncontrollable, unstoppable. The look in his eyes chilled them to the bone as he turned his expressionless gaze toward them. They ran.

  He looked down at Yarrow. Yarrow was still alive, Rex realized, but if he would have continued his attack, Yarrow would likely have been a corpse.

  The next time Yarrow got in a fight, he wouldn't be so lucky.

  ***

  The crew slept with varying degrees of success. Porter tossed and turned, worn out from the activities of earlier, his body satisfied more than it had been in some time while his mind found a new agitation to chew on like a tough piece of steak. Joey tossed with nightmarish re-enactment; bullies became demons in his sleep. Rex dozed with the sleep of remembering what he could not ever forget; Celia lay next to him. Isellia buzzed with excitement and anticipation, never quite entering a restful lull as she thought about the chance to once again join the XR circuit.

  Only Stephen, Kenpur and the robot rested in their spots, the robot performing its rest-time diagnostics while it recharged.

  Tomorrow was another day.

  ***

  The door to the Administrator's office opened suddenly, its sliding door releasing a sigh of pneumatic energy that roused the crew as they waited in the Administrator’s receiving room. They all sat on soft, white sofa chairs, looking up the administrator’s assistant’s desk, which loomed above them so that even if they were standing, they would be looking up at the desk, framed in white walls and glass. The administrator’s assistant couldn’t have been kinder and sweeter, which made for a strange juxtaposition.

  Kenpur had suggested they tag along to get a civics lesson. Joey had no idea what to expect from the encounter — his colony on Company C was entirely company run, with no form of representative government, so the concept was somewhat foreign to him.

  "I'll expect no more of these mistakes," said a nasal but authoritative voice from within the office. "There's been too many of these as of late."

  "Yes, Administrator," said a younger, less-assured voice from within the office.

  The Administrator stepped through the doorway, adjusting the lapels of his suit; he seemed to be in a perpetual state of straightening them. He noticed Kenpur and his party staring at him.

  "Well, my 10:15 is here," the Administrator said, donning his politician's smile.

  "Welcome again. Administrator Malvers,” he said, confidently shaking each crew member’s hand.

  Kenpur nodded, returning the smile as he shook the administrator’s hand. A young man came stumbling out of the office behind the administrator, on the losing end of a struggle to keep a stack of papers from falling to the floor. Some were coming out the bottom, some falling off the top and a few slipped out the sides as he turned one way and the other, each time losing the papers on the other side.

  Malvers noticed him, never losing the politician smile. "Now, Mr. MaBrown. I've told you numerous times about that doorw—"

  But the warning came too late to remind Port MaBrown, his foot hitting the edge of the doorway and sending him sprawling, papers flying into the air.

  "Oh, not again," MaBrown said, adjusting his dark glasses as he gathered himself to his knees. He started gathering his papers, picking up a stack that fell to rest on someone’s leg, then paused when he noticed the leg on which they’d come to land. He followed the leg to its origin, working his way up to Isellia's face as she regarded him with a raised eye-brow.

  "What?" Isellia mocked, bugging her eyes out at him. He realized he'd been staring.

  "So
rry, I meant no disrespect, Miss. I—"

  "Mr. MaBrown, if you don't mind?" Malvers stood with his arms crossed.

  "Of course," he said, managing to shuffle his papers into a manageable stack. He took one last look at her pink-haired lined face. "Pretty," he said, smiling for a moment, his clumsiness momentarily relieved.

  "Mr. MaBrown!" Malvers said as Isellia crossed her arms threateningly.

  "Sorry," MaBrown said, as Porter put his hand on Isellia’s shoulder to calm her. He scurried out of the room, continuing his juggling battle with the papers.

  “Always something with those press types,” Malvers said, shaking his head.

  "Well then,” Malvers said, tugging once again at his lapels, “what can I do for you fine folks today? Please come in," he said, gesturing toward the door.

  The crew filed into his office, one by one. Isellia hung behind for a moment, looking absently at the door. Pretty?

  "Miss?" She noticed the administrator watching her expectantly; she snorted away the compliment from MaBrown. Why would I care about such things? She walked into the administrator’s office as he gestured her in.

  ***

  "What did you get?" Taylin stood leaning against the door to her office as she watched MaBrown make his way across the newsroom to his desk. Something about walking into the Star Runner newsroom, with the bustle of newspeople typing, talking on the phone, researching, discussing what they found; it always felt like a refuge, even when deadline loomed.

  MaBrown walked past his editor to his desk. He had a satisfied grin painted across his face.

  "Nothing useful, as expected," MaBrown flipped on the switch to his news terminal, a thin screen supported by an adjustable metal stem that stuck out from his paper-covered desk. It flashed on, imitating ancient diode tubes used once on Old Earth.

  "Then why are you grinning?" MaBrown knew the question was more rhetorical than anything. She knew he had something.

  "Our administrator had a visitor today," MaBrown said.

  "What visitor? Cut to the chase."