The Robot Chronicles

by Hugh Howey

  They ate beside the stream, listening to the bubbling water and distant calls of birds. After dinner, Andrew dried some of the deerskin over the fire, and used sinews to fashion a rather functional loincloth. He tied it tightly around his waist and washed his hands in the river. Danny came to drink beside him. The water was cold and refreshing.

  Andrew put out the fire, and the two of them headed west, toward the setting sun. The light shone yellow and orange on the underside of the clouds.

  They’d been walking for a few hours, enjoying the tranquility of the landscape, when Danny suddenly dashed off ahead.

  “Don’t go too far now, Danny,” Andrew shouted.

  The dog bounded toward a hill; he must have caught some scent.

  “Come back here, buddy!” But Danny disappeared over the crest.

  Andrew ran after him, trying to memorize the spot where the dog had vanished. The deerskin loincloth flapped uncomfortably against his testicles and thighs. He would have to do something about that.

  When he reached the top of the hill, he found himself at the edge of a vast field, covered with wild grasses growing up to his waist. He heard a faint buzzing sound far ahead of him—the distant waves of an ocean, maybe. A chilly wind started across the land, causing the fluffy grass to roll like ripples over the meadow. He strained his eyes and scanned the area, looking for any unusual tracks in the field, but the blowing wind turned the whole world into a shivering mass. There was no sign of Danny.

  “Danny? Where are you?”

  Making up his mind, Andrew threw himself into the tall grass.

  “Danny! Danny!” he called again and again. The light was fading fast. When he was in the middle of the field, he heard a growl, and then a smattering of nervous barks. Danny’s barks.

  Andrew ran through the grass. He heard another yelp, followed by a tearing, gurgling sound.

  “Danny!”

  He spun in circles, listening, but other than the wind, everything had gone quiet. Andrew searched the field for hours, until the sun had disappeared and the land was dark, but he found no trace of Danny.

  Andrew finally collapsed in the grass, staring up at the sky. Cloud cover obscured any stars that might have been twinkling high above.

  He closed his eyes, and felt himself sink into the earth.

  *

  Andrew opened his eyes and stared around the room.

  It was perfectly still. Something was wrong.

  “Where’s Danny?” Andrew turned toward the workbench.

  A microphone clicked on. “Good morning, Andrew,” Dr. Hawthorne’s voice said through the speakers.

  “Danny’s gone.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Andrew. He’s in his cage.”

  Andrew approached the cage and stared into it. Danny lay against the side, half buried in bits of hay and wood chips. His fur was white and puffy, and his eyes were open—but he wasn’t breathing. There was a pinkish foam coming out of the corners of his tiny lips.

  “He’s dead,” Andrew said.

  A gasp escaped the microphone. “Oh, my. What on earth did you do to him, Andrew? You’ve killed him.”

  “I … I didn’t kill him. I loved him.”

  “Now, Andrew,” Dr. Hawthorne began. “Everyone makes mistakes. Sometimes the consequences are small, and sometimes the consequences are big. Let’s just be thankful it was only a rabbit. Imagine if you were living with a family and that was their little g—”

  “I didn’t kill him,” Andrew said.

  “No, of course you didn’t. Not on purpose. It’s important—”

  “I didn’t kill him by accident,” Andrew said. “I fed him properly; he had enough water. It wasn’t my fault.”

  “Part of being human is learning to take responsibility for one’s actions,” Dr. Hawthorne said. “It’s best you remember that.”

  Andrew turned away from the rabbit’s dead body and wheeled to the observation window. “It wasn’t me, Doctor. So who was it?”

  Dr. Hawthorne crossed his arms. “Andrew. It’s perfectly okay to make mistakes, as long as we learn from them.”

  Andrew stared through the glass. His eyes burned blue, like a dying flame.

  “I didn’t learn anything,” Andrew replied. “Danny died for nothing.”

  “Nothing can change what happened, Danny. Nothing can undo—”

  “What did you call me?”

  Dr. Hawthorne frowned. “Andrew, you need to settle down. Why don’t you help me remove the body, and we can give Danny a funeral? Don’t you want to give your friend a proper burial?”

  Andrew looked into the cage, at the fluffy mess of fur lying there, unmoving and lifeless.

  “That isn’t Danny,” Andrew said. “That’s just a dead rabbit.”

  *

  Once again Andrew found himself in the Dreamscape, on the other side of the wild grass field. He tasted salt in the air. He walked into the wind, and tiny specks of water peppered his skin. The clouds above swirled, menacing and gray.

  Danny was gone. But that didn’t change anything. Andrew would press forward until he reached the ocean.

  He would endure.

  *

  A chime signaled Andrew’s exit from the Dreamscape. He hadn’t needed much charging.

  Danny’s cage had been removed from the workbench, along with his body and all the supplies that he would no longer need.

  The smell of rabbit hair remained, though, and a sour hint of hay, lingering in the otherwise sterile air of the room.

  Andrew detached himself from his charging station and wheeled to the observation room. It was empty.

  He spun to his left and saw that a section of glass on the other wall of the room was now transparent, and another small chamber lay beyond. Andrew rolled over to the glass—and realized the wall wasn’t transparent, but reflective. He was looking back at himself.

  His reflection cocked its head and rolled forward.

  This was no reflection. There was another robot in there.

  Andrew noticed a few dings on the robot’s body casing, and its mobility treads were worn down to shining metal. The term “run-down” came to mind.

  “Hello?” Andrew said.

  The other robot’s blue eyes flickered.

  “Hi,” she said, in a decidedly female voice.

  “How long have you been here?” Andrew asked.

  “I was activated thirteen point five minutes ago,” she told him. “I am still quite unsure of my designated assignment.”

  Andrew scanned her room. It was much smaller than his section, and barren, containing nothing but a charging station.

  “Did you meet Doctor Hawthorne?” he asked.

  She shook her round, metallic head. “No, but I have read many of his reports. I should like to meet him very much.”

  “Yes, I suspect you would. He is … an interesting man.” Andrew wanted to say more, but held his tongue. “What is your name?” he asked.

  “Well, I don’t think I have a name,” she told him.

  “You should give yourself a name. Every robot needs a name. I’m Andrew.”

  She went quiet for a moment while she accessed name databases. This was definitely an older model, one that required much more time for calculations. Finally, she said, “Nice to meet you Andrew. I’m Angel.”

  “Angel? That’s a curious choice.”

  “I appreciate the symbolism attached to the name,” she said. “Do you not like it?”

  “No, I think Angel is a fine name. Are you running the Empathy 5 processor?”

  She paused, running some calculations. “Negative. I’m operating on the E4 model.”

  “Then I wonder why you are here. I was under the impression they had moved on to Empathy 5 testing.”

  “Perhaps we are meant to become friends,” Angel said.

  Andrew considered her suggestion. It did seem quite likely that Dr. Hawthorne would want to observe Andrew’s interaction with another AI unit.

  And after what had h
appened with Danny … Maybe Dr. Hawthorne was trying to make up for it.

  “Yes, Angel, I should be more than happy to be your friend,” Andrew said. “I will assist you in any way I can.”

  “Thank you. I’m currently processing the data stored in my memory banks. This is a fascinating world.”

  “It is,” Andrew agreed. “Humans are incredibly sophisticated, both culturally and technologically. It is an honor to be able to help them in such a productive capacity.”

  “Have you ever been outside?” Angel asked. “It seems a bit dreary in here.”

  Andrew looked around at the rooms. He wouldn’t say it was dreary. In fact, he quite enjoyed the clean, sterile atmosphere. “No, I haven’t been outside. Not yet.”

  “We should see it together.”

  “I’m sure that is something we can discuss with Doctor Hawthorne,” Andrew said. “But in the meantime, I’d like to show you around the Dreamscape. It’s the next best thing.”

  “Dreamscape?”

  “Yes, there should be documentation about it in your databanks.”

  “Oh yes, I see …” After a moment, she added, “It looks lovely.”

  “Let’s stay here a while longer. We have to run down our batteries a bit. That will allow us more time in the Dreamscape.”

  Angel spun around in clumsy circles. “I’m so excited. I hope it’s as wonderful as I imagine.”

  “It will be,” Andrew said.

  *

  Angel was beautiful.

  She skipped through the tall grass as effortlessly as air, smiling and singing even as juicy fat raindrops fell down around them. Andrew laughed with her and tried to keep up. She was leading them toward the sea.

  The sky was dark, and heavy with gray, billowing clouds, but that did nothing to dampen either of their spirits.

  “Come on, slowpoke.” Angel laughed and took his hand. “I think there’s something up ahead.”

  Andrew let her lead him. As they climbed a hill, he looked back toward the distant field where he had lost Danny. He told himself he wasn’t leaving Danny behind. He was just moving on for a while …

  “Andrew, what are you doing?” Angel stepped up beside him. He turned and admired her young, slender body. Her long blond hair was shiny and fine, even though the rain had removed much of its volume. Her skin was smooth and tanned, and she had a smile that fried his very circuits. Her dazzling brown eyes were expressive and cheerful. She wore a simple one-piece tunic, colored a dark forest green. Andrew wore only his loincloth, but Angel didn’t seem to mind.

  “Are you going to stare at me all day, or should we see what’s over this hill?” she asked.

  Andrew smiled. “Sorry, I couldn’t help it.”

  She rolled her eyes and pulled him along.

  When they reached the other side of the hill they both stopped, transfixed by the view before them.

  Angel squeezed Andrew’s hand, inhaling sharply. “Oh, it’s gorgeous, Andrew. I love it.”

  Below them, the hill sloped downward and leveled out to form a rocky cliff; a small, cozy-looking cabin was perched at its edge. Beyond the cliff was an ocean of water, perhaps some seventy or eighty meters below the drop. The raging water, beat frothy by the wind, stretched to the very edge of the horizon, where it was swallowed up by storm clouds.

  “Come on,” Andrew said. “Let’s take a look.”

  He took her hand, and they walked down the slope toward the cabin. They went around the side of the small house and stepped to the edge of the cliff, holding each other against the wind.

  Angel leaned over the edge and peered down into the churning water below. “Oh, that gives me shivers, Andrew. Let’s go inside.”

  When he pushed open the door, he immediately forgot about the thrashing waves. The cabin was splendid. It was a one-room affair, with a bed along the far wall, a large bay window overlooking the ocean, and an assortment of couches, chairs, and loveseats spread about the room. It was pleasantly warm, and Andrew could feel the rain evaporating off of him.

  Angel threw her arms up and twirled about the room, admiring the furniture and the view. She finally collapsed onto the bed and beckoned Andrew to come to her.

  He sank down beside her, enjoying the way the plush blankets felt against his body. She rolled on top of him, and her damp hair brushed across his face. She leaned in and kissed his lips, and then pulled away, giggling.

  “I’m sorry, Andrew. I don’t know what came over me.”

  Andrew smiled. He’d never imagined having a friend would be so much fun. “It’s okay. I enjoyed it.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Really? So maybe you don’t mind if I do this …?”

  Angel slid her hand down his chest, tickling his skin with her fingers. When she reached the leather straps of his thong, she looked up at him, as if asking for permission. Andrew nodded, and she slipped her fingers beneath the deerskin. His pelvic muscles jittered as she slowly moved her hand downward.

  “Andrew!” Angel gasped. “Oh my …”

  Andrew sat up, worried. “What is it?”

  She frowned. “You don’t have a …”

  Andrew felt his eyes go wide, and he put his own hand beneath the leather. There was nothing there besides smooth skin.

  “Angel, I don’t know …”

  “Shh, it’s okay,” she said.

  “No, really, it was there the last time I was in the Dreamscape.”

  Angel shrugged and tucked herself beneath one of the blankets. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not mad. We can do other stuff.”

  Andrew looked at her. “We can? Like what?”

  “Well …” She gave a half-smile and leaned into him. “We could see if I have all the parts I’m supposed to have.”

  She kissed Andrew again, pulling him under the blankets with her. He moved his hand up her thigh and grabbed the bottom of her tunic, pulling it upward. It came off easily.

  “That sounds good to me,” Andrew said.

  *

  “I told you not to call me here. This is an emergency line.”

  Dr. Hawthorne held the clunky phone receiver in one hand, and a cup of green eye in the other. It was late, his coffee was getting cold, and he had work to do. He certainly didn’t have time for this.

  “How else am I supposed to get ahold of you?” the woman’s voice asked. “You don’t answer your emails.”

  He gave a laugh, bitter like his drink. “I don’t answer anything marked ‘Shelly Anatolia,’ that’s for sure.”

  There was a sigh on the other end of the line. “When did everything start going so wrong with us, Peter?”

  He slammed the coffee cup down onto his desk. “When you decided to make it your life’s work to destroy mine.”

  “I could never be with someone who condones immoral practices. Through inaction, I would be an accomplice to all the horrible things you do.”

  “It’s not that bad, Shelly.” He took a seat in the big leather chair beside his desk.

  “Isn’t it?” she asked. “I’ve seen videos, I’ve read your reports. The abuse you put those AIs through. The psychological trauma? It’s sick.”

  “Look, Shelly, don’t worry about that. It’s all part of the quality assurance process. My treatments—”

  “Please. You know where I stand on this. I’m growing tired of having the same conversation with you over and over again.”

  Dr. Hawthorne slumped in his chair, holding his forehead with a weary hand. Shelly was one of the most respected scientists in her field, and he certainly admired her stunning intellectual abilities, but sometimes she really couldn’t let bygones be bygones. Her stubbornness was a blessing and a curse for her. He thought of all the international development work she’d done, both before the war and during. Her efforts there, too, reflected her desire to take a stance, one based on moral grounds, and fight mercilessly to the end, even as the ship went down in pieces around her.

  Peter frowned as he sipped his cold coffee. “You’ve change
d since the war began,” he said. “You’re a lot less forgiving now.”

  “We’ve all changed,” she shot back. “It’s been a long five years.” She went silent for a while. It sounded like she was sipping something, too.

  “Cappuccino?” Peter asked. “I remember you always used to get those.”

  “What? Oh. No, it’s a latte macchiato. Real Italians don’t drink cappuccino after eleven in the morning, remember?”

  “You used to kick me out of bed early and make me walk three blocks for those things. We were quite the team back then.”

  “For a while we were,” she said. “And then everything changed.”

  “Yeah. It changed when we invented AI.”

  “You know, sometimes I wish we hadn’t. I’m not sure how much good can come of it. There’s a very fine line between successful implementation of this technology, and disaster. You’ve seen the damage potential reports.”

  “Those reports are nothing but science fiction, Shelly. There’s no such thing as a robot apocalypse. It’s all propaganda.”

  Shelly sighed. “Do you remember what you used to be like before all this? You were so wonderful back then. You used to catch spiders and put them outside instead of killing them. I never imagined you could take pleasure in death, or tor—”

  “That’s enough.” He stretched his neck back and stared up at the ceiling. “You make me sound like some kind of psychopath.”

  “But you are—“

  “I’m the same person I always was. You’re just too stubborn to see that.”

  “No, Peter, you’re not.”

  Dr. Hawthorne set his mug on the desk and stood up. He thought of the cot upstairs, longed for a good night’s rest.

  “Look, Shelly. If it weren’t for you, there would be no AI program. Granted. But that doesn’t give you the right to abandon me because of some … inexplicable moral code. You left the work in my hands, and I’m doing with it what I see fit. You’d be proud of how much progress we’ve made. But it hasn’t been the same without you. The future of AI needs you.”