First Person

by Eddie McGarrity

  Terrified of the dark, I keep moving. I want to throw up, scream, and run back up the stairs, but I must keep moving. I force myself to concentrate. Step after step I keep going down. The stairs twist around like a square spiral. I am dizzy and disorientated. It is utterly dark. Fighting the urge to flee, I feel my breath becoming more intense. My chest heaves and my nostrils flare, my jaw clamps shut. It is as if I am on the edge of a cliff looking over, pushed back from falling only by a high wind, as I lean over to get a good view of the rocks. Finally I am at the bottom. I can hear nothing, see nothing.

  “Hello?” I call out. “Is there anyone here? Are you hurt?”

  I step forward on the basement floor. My hands reach feebly out to make sure I do not bump into something. My feet shuffle along the slimy cement floor. Suddenly, inevitably, I slip and stumble. As if in slow motion I feel myself fall into what feels like a pool of icy water. It engulfs me, and when my head comes up, I gasp for air, shocked by the blast of freezing, fetid, water. It is only as I grasp around the edge of the cement floor I realise my right leg has become caught in something metal. I imagine this basement floor laid with iron bars to strengthen the concrete, crumbling under years of neglect, and filling with trickling rainwater.

  Warmth at my leg tells me the twisted iron wreckage has ripped my trousers and pierced my skin, and the warm sensation is blood leaking from a wound. I cannot free my leg from the metal holding it in place. I can only flounder in the water as my body temperature drops. My fingers become weak and numb as they slip on the disintegrating pool edge. I still cannot see my surroundings. The only sight is a pin-prick of fading daylight emanating from where the stairs must be. It will be dark soon, and not many people come here. I realise I am the only one here. I am the only one who has ever been here. All the events of my life have brought me here to this wretched place. Bleak, helpless, dread fills my soul. My heart is soaked in defeat. I cry out, my voice sounds thin, and frightened, as it calls out across time.

  “Help! Help!”

  Glimmer

  I WAS EXHAUSTED. After sleeping for quite some time, I heard a voice. Seemingly far away, and fuzzy, the words came into focus. “Holy crap, its eyes just lit up.”

  In that moment, I saw the owner of the voice, though I did not recognise him. Wearing a white shirt and black tie, the young man had his face very close to mine. Framed in the doorway behind him was a young woman, surely Abbie, so grown-up since the last time I saw her. And at her hip, a small girl, not unlike Abbie herself at that age. With no time to wonder why this stranger in white shirt and black tie was in Doctor Spencer’s workshop, my view faded. I returned to sleep, exhausted.

  The next time I awoke was something similar. I imagine that due to movement, some remaining current was squeezed out my power cells. It was Abbie I saw, and only her, lines around her mouth. This time a lid was being closed over me, like I was in a box. Abbie paused for a moment, shock widening in her eyes. Again, my eyepieces must have illuminated, enabling me to see, but then my vision faded and I slept again.

  This was the last time I was asleep. When finally awake, I was in a different workshop. As my eyepieces became functional, I could see brick walls, painted white. A large roller door at the far end suggested a garage, or perhaps a loading bay. Even then, my programming had the ability to see shapes, understand them, and form a hypothesis based on the available information. Unfamiliar equipment was laid out on a workbench in front of me. Hearing some movement beside me, I turned my head to see Abbie again, younger than the last time I saw her. Doctor Spencer had aged while he built me and he explained the concept. But to see Abbie become younger conflicted with my understanding. Then she spoke, and I worked it out. “Hello, Glimmer. Can you hear me? My name is Gail.”

  She looked over to the side, at a flat-screen monitor. I said to her, “Yes, I can hear you. Hello Gail.”

  After reading my words printed on the screen, she smiled broadly. Turning to me, she said. “Do you know who I am?”

  I turned my head once to the side, in a mimic of thinking. Squaring back to her I said through text on the screen. “You are Abbie’s daughter, Doctor Spencer’s grand-daughter.”

  Gail smiled again. “Are you fully operational?”

  Her question prompted a full internal diagnostic. My software was intact. Apart from my head, which sat on a simple frame, my only other fitted part was a right hand and forearm. Here is a trick Doctor Spencer taught me and I used it to demonstrate to Gail. I lifted my hand. The forearm pivoted on a simple ball joint. I twisted my head towards it and contracted each of the digits in turn before swivelling my eyes back to Gail without moving my head again. “I am fully operational, Gail.”

  She smiled at the words on the screen. Without turning back, she said, “That is excellent, Glimmer. Well done.”

  After that, it was a simple job for Gail to fit my remaining parts. I was then, much as you see me now, a ‘skeleton’ of robotic parts covered with only carbon fibre shields at strategic places. Two arms instead of one, of course, and legs to scale. My head was virtually unchanged cosmetically. A new voice synthesiser was hooked up for my speaking to be heard rather than read. Gail had much amusement in choosing a voice for me and in the end chose one she thought sounded sympathetic.

  We spoke whilst she fitted new power cells. I began the conversation, using a technique learned in Doctor Spencer’s lab. “You are very skilled at this type of work.”

  Gail remained focused on her work. “I became interested through my mother. For some reason, she kept you after her father died.”

  My memory had recorded a sequence of Abbs and me in the workshop. “We played catch together.”

  She finished up her work and secured my chest plate. “There, all operational. You’ll need to be charged regularly but no need for sleep mode anymore.”

  “Thanks, Gail,” I said, consulting my internal clock. “It’s almost time for Henry to arrive.”

  Looking at her wristwatch, Gail said, “Are you ready?”

  “Of course.”

  A short while later, an associate of Gail’s arrived. She had gone outside to meet him and they walked in together. He saw me as soon as he walked in the room but, familiar with robotics as you would expect, he only glanced and kept his attention on Gail instead. I remained seated. When they reached me, Gail said, “Please meet, Glimmer.”

  I stood. The man watched me carefully but he was not interested in the mechanics of how I got up. He was watching my face. I clutched a tennis ball in my right hand and threw it in the air towards him. “Catch, please,” I said.

  Startled, he caught the ball before it dropped to the floor in front of him. He smiled at Gail. “Well done,” he said to her.

  To continue the demonstration, Gail came in closer and leaned into me, pushing at my right shoulder. I stumbled over to my left, but kept my balance. It’s a common test of robotics, pushing us to see if we fall over. Bad manners it’s called, but Gail had said we would do these things. I remained on my feet and said, “Whoa, Gail. Go easy there, partner.”

  Henry chuckled, pleased with the demonstration. He said to me, “Your name is Glimmer. Why is that?”

  I bowed my head slightly and paused. “I don’t know. Doctor Spencer gave me the name.”

  He pressed me further. “And does it mean something?”

  I swivelled my eyes towards Gail, but directed my question to him. “You probably don’t require the dictionary definition.”

  “No I don’t.” He smiled at Gail.

  Pivoting my arm on its upgraded ball joint, I touched a finger to my chin. “May I ask what your name is?”

  This time he smiled at me and not Gail. “It’s Henry.”

  Lowering my arm, I asked, “And where did you get your name, Henry?”

  Henry leaned forward. “From my mother. It was her uncle’s name.”

  I turned my whole body towards Gail. “Did your Grandfather have an uncle named Glimmer?”

  Laughter again. Gai
l clenched both hands and raised them to her face. Henry then spoke to Gail as if I was not there. “Gail, your robot will probably pass the test at New York, maybe even win, but what do you hope to achieve?”

  Gail had a quick answer. “My grandfather did this work almost thirty years ago. He needs the credit for his proprietary technology.”

  This was my turn to speak. “An early artificial intelligence test was a simple trolley in a field. When you threw a ball to it, and only a straight throw would do, the trolley would catch the ball in a scoop. If you see the ball, calculate the speed and trajectory, you can work out where it will land. Move towards that point and catch the ball. A child can learn this. The trolley’s designers conceived a calculation for their machine to perform the same manoeuvre. Please...”

  I moved away from them, stepping nearer the roller door. Holding up my right hand, I flicked my head back as an indication to Henry that I wanted him to do something. He had been toying with the tennis ball I threw him earlier. When he realised what I wanted, he threw the ball to me, but it fell short and to my left. I had to take a step forward, bend my knees, and catch with my left hand before the ball could hit the floor. Straightening my legs, I said. “Abbie and I played catch many times.”

  Both became silent. They looked at me, not at each other. What they could not know was that almost all of my actions had been taught to me as illusions by Doctor Spencer. Pausing before speaking, using certain phrases, even catching a ball were all things I was shown how to do. Everything else I really did learn. Using new legs and a left arm to demonstrate a catch was something I was not programmed to do. I had learned.

  Henry finished staring at me. He placed a hand on Gail’s shoulder and moved her out of the room. I waited for her to return. She was smiling, “Well done, Glimmer. He was impressed. We’re ready now for New York.”

  I said, “I know of New York, but what will happen there?”

  Gail put her hands in lab coat pockets. “It’s the International Turing Test. It’s my best way of gaining recognition for my grandfather’s work.”

  Hearing the word ‘Turing’ activated a memory. I crossed my left arm under my chest and leaned the other on it. I held my chin in my right hand. “And how is Henry involved?”

  “He’s a Fellow at the College,” she said. “In the same seat as my Grandfather.”

  I raised my right hand and pointed to the roof. “Doctor Spencer had aims other than recognition for him and the College.”

  Gail frowned slightly. She had watched my movements with her usual mixture of surprise and amusement but she seemed troubled now, waiting for me to speak. My memory had an instruction to tell Abbie this but, in her absence, telling Gail was the correct action. “I don’t just imitate thought. I actually think. This was Doctor Spencer’s breakthrough. As you say, this is proprietary technology.”

  Gail’s frown faded. She had made the connection. “He patented the technology.”

  “That is correct,” I said. “And he had in mind one aim in particular.”

  Gail turned her head slightly and narrowed her eyes. “What was that?”

  My right hand was still pointing upwards. I reorganised my digits. Tucking the last two into my palm, I rubbed the first two against the thumb. Gail leaned forward, studying my movements. She imitated it, something taught to me by Doctor Spencer when he embedded this memory. She rubbed her thumb and first two fingers together.

  I said, “Money. Doctor Spencer wanted to make money.”

  Angel Rhithlun

  OUT HIKING, I heard the boat before I saw it. Berthed at an old broken down jetty in a small north-east cove, it looked like a passenger launch from a cruise ship. A yellow roof wrapped round large picture windows. Bouncing around on the swell, the launch seemed out of place on this stretch of coastline. Its engine was being turned over, unsuccessfully. I could see some heads bobbing inside. Stepping down the hill to see if I could be of assistance, I couldn’t for the life of me think why it was here and not the city further up the coast. I caught sight of a white-shirted man at the helm and gave him a wave. Without returning a greeting, he spoke to the people beside him.

  Finally, I was at the old jetty. Bedded on rock, it was a jumble of concrete, stones, and metal bars. Further along the cove, there were remains of a small house, no doubt the owners of that also built this pier at one time. Careful not to fall in, and after leaving my bag on the shore, I stepped onto the jetty. A solitary rope from the boat was attached to a rusty old ring. I called out a hello and shielded my eyes from the sun to see inside the cabin. The guy in the white shirt was there, dark epaulets on his shoulders denoting some kind of rank. He gaped back at me, not saying anything. Behind him were two others in uniform. A woman, small and afraid looking, had her arm round a male crewmate who seemed to be sleeping. Behind them were a few other people, older passengers in casual clothing.

  “You okay in there?” I said to the man at the wheel. “You speak English? Do you need some help?”

  He looked at the female crewmate. She nodded at him. He turned back to me, and said with a thick accent it was difficult to place, “Yes, I speak English fine. We are having trouble with the engine.”

  I looked out to sea. The horizon was hazy despite the sunny day. No other boats, let alone a ship, were out there today. “You been stuck here a long time?”

  “We had to make a choice. We have been here overnight.”

  I was shocked by this. If they had engine trouble and been there overnight, no wonder this guy was cagey and nervous. He must have been stressed out. “You had anything to eat?”

  He looked back the woman. Still holding the man next to her she said, “We need something to drink, urgently.”

  Well, I could help them with that. I retrieved my bag and came back to find the helm guy reaching out for it. I ignored him, pulled the boat closer to the jetty and stepped on. My backpack had two water bottles and I fished around for them while I looked around at the startled passengers. “Hello there. You okay?” I asked one of the men. He just looked at me blankly. Thinking he was maybe not an English speaker, I handed over the water anyway. He took it from me. At the front, I found the woman crew member with an arm around her colleague. For the first time, I could see he was injured and I recoiled at a dark red patch on his white shirt. She looked at me with a scared expression. When I asked her name, she said quietly, “Sue. Can you fix the boat?”

  “I can have a look, but I’m not really a mechanic,” I told her but before I could explain further, she called out to the helm guy something in their own language. He gestured me forward, next to Sue and her injured friend. We opened a floor panel marked: Do Not Open at Sea. This revealed the engine. It looked clean and well maintained but I had absolutely no idea where to start. Dad had shown me a few things on my first car but that was it. However, I knelt down and pushed at a few things. The distributor cap was loose, and because that was the only thing that gave, I told him to start the engine again.

  He spun round, reached for the key, and turned it. The engine started first time. This cheered the passengers up. Half-hearted clapping was shared amongst them. I gingerly replaced the hatch and went to get my bag. Sue said to me, “Can you pilot the boat? He is no good.” She pointed with her head at the guy at the helm. He smiled and shrugged as if he agreed.

  Looking round at the aged passengers, I couldn’t really refuse. Having had some experience on pleasure craft, I felt sure I could navigate up the coast to the city. I put my bag down and went to the wheel. It was straightforward enough. A power lever sat to my right, fitted with reverse too, and the wheel in front. With one final thought about not doing this, I was persuaded when I looked at Sue’s friend next to her. He looked in a bad way. The helm guy was already untying the rope from its mooring. When he was safely inside beside me, I pushed forward the power lever without another thought and we were away.

  I took it easy at first to get the feel of the thing. The throttle was pretty generous, so I pulled it back
a bit while I cleared the cove. Once the mouth of that natural harbour was cleared, it was a different situation. It was pretty rough and we bounced about a lot until I got us turned north and into a small breeze. From there, I pushed the throttle forward and we started making progress. The helm guy grinned at me. “Well done, sir. You’ve got this under control.”

  Pleased with myself, I looked back to see the passengers’ reaction. Unfazed, they were already looking out the windows, enjoying the scenery. I had expected a little more credit. Still, it was fun actually piloting that small boat. Sue tended her stricken colleague, stroking his hair. The helm guy tapped me on the shoulder. “Look, it’s the ship. Angel Rhithlun.”

  I leaned off the seat and looked ahead. Sure enough, on the misty horizon was a middle-sized cruise ship. Its hazy white outline sat on the water, and perhaps had done overnight, waiting for their crew and guests. Sue leaned over to look. “Go, go, go. Hurry.”

  Mindful of her injured colleague and the elderly passengers, I pushed the engine further. It never occurred to me we had just ‘fixed’ the engine but luckily it held out. I could see that we were zipping along the coastline, with me quite happy on this adventure, but we didn’t seem to be closing on the ship, the Angel Rhithlun. I looked at the helm guy but he kept smiling. It was only when the ship turned into the left that it became obvious it was moving and was turning in to the city itself.

  Soon, our little boat made the same turn left, rounding a lighthouse on the point. Fog from the sea had moved in closer to the shore, blocking the sun and cooling the air. By this point, we had lost sight of the cruise ship and found ourselves in a wide river leading to the city harbour. Ahead, the city’s buildings shouldered each other to face onto an industrial port of large ships and cranes. Other than that, our way in was quiet with no other traffic. We stopped bobbing about so much, now we were in the safety of the river, and were quickly within the harbour itself.