Out in the hall, Tim and Rory watched Canary flirting with a temp with long blond hair.
“Lucky old bastard.”
“I hate my life.” Tim buried his face in hands.
“If you hate your life,” said Rory, “it’s up to you to change it.” He picked up his phone and dialed Danny’s number.
Chapter 8
Not Just Robots
Candy entered her office.
Susannah sat at the front desk. From the appearance of it, Susannah was on the phone scheduling an appointment. She concluded the call as Candy approached her desk.
“So, the big second date, huh?” said Susannah. “See, I told you it was a good idea to put Double-D in your profile. You’re back awful early, though.”
“We didn’t make it to New Mexico. We had a little shuttle trouble.”
“What kind of shuttle trouble?”
“A blown engine and a crash landing in the Salton Sea.”
Susannah’s eyes widened. “What?”
“Some water skiers rescued us. They dove into the water and tied their waterski rope around that piece of crap shuttle and kept us from drowning. Then they towed us to shore and Danny and I rode the subway back to L.A. He just dropped me off.”
“You didn’t want to continue the date?”
“We discussed it and decided we both wanted to go home and take a shower and maybe watch some TV. Try to forget about it.”
“Can’t say I blame you. What was the cause of the explosion?”
“Danny said he thought it was either a fuel leak or some wiring that was rubbing on the metal which caused a spark and ignited the fuel vapor. But Howard is escorting the shuttle to the repair shop. He’s going to let us know what the mechanic finds out.”
“Oh, well that’s good.”
“How was your day?”
“Compared to your day my day was a snap. A bunch of phone calls. The usual. Two new clients for next week.” Susannah consulted her computer screen. “Let’s see . . . one is a sanitation ’bot that’s now afraid of the dark and won’t climb into the sewers. And the other one is a linesman for the electric company who has become afraid of heights. It is now refusing to go up in the air in that hydraulic bucket thing attached to the truck.”
“I see. And what about our little friend?” Candy peered over her shoulder into the sitting area. Seated among the coffee table and magazines and half-dozen chairs was an enormous silver and blue robot.
“He hasn’t moved today. Other than to turn his head to watch me each time I got up to get coffee or to go to the bathroom. He did ask what time you were coming back.”
“He actually spoke? Well, I guess that’s some progress.” Candy walked over and sat on the chair next to the robot. The afternoon sunlight shining through the windows gleamed on its hulking body painted with unmistakable blue letters: LAPD.
“Hello, Barney.”
Barney did not respond.
Candy placed her hand gently on the robot’s arm. “Barney?”
With amazing speed, Barney’s head went from eyes front down to Candy’s hand. Then slowly up, to Candy’s face.
“Oh. Hello, Doctor Calvin.” Barney’s voice was very deep and menacing, perfectly suited to commanding respect while out walking its assigned beat. But his face resembled that of a human man, with handsome features and blue eyes. Though Barney’s eyes never blinked, they were very kind.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” said Candy.
“Do not be troubled, Doctor Calvin. It was my mistake. I was daydreaming.”
“Daydreaming?”
“Yes, doctor.”
“What were you daydreaming about, Barney?”
Barney’s head swiveled front again. He gazed out the windows at the cars driving by. Then he looked up at the sky. “The ocean.”
“The ocean?”
“Yes, doctor. The Pacific ocean.” Barney’s voice was softer now. “Before I arrived in your office twenty-one days, four hours, twenty-eight minutes and fourteen seconds ago, I was involved in a domestic disturbance call. I responded to a barber shop downtown. When I entered the establishment, the proprietor and his wife were arguing. The man held a firearm, which was pointed at his wife. It was a large-caliber model, and of course illegal. When I saw it, I knew my armor plating was insufficient to stop a projectile from such a weapon. I knew that I myself was in danger. My computations slowed. There was a sudden build-up of positronic potential. In human terms, I believe I became . . . afraid.”
“It’s okay to be afraid,” said Candy. “Everybody is afraid sometimes.”
“No. I am a pacification unit. My third law has been minimized in order for me to perform my duties to the public. But when I saw the man with the assault rifle, I experienced a new sensation. I could not move. I could not speak. My command parameters dictated that I identify myself as a peace officer and demand that he place his weapon on the ground and step away from it. But I could do nothing. I merely stood in place, with my hand near my own weapon. It was unlike anything I have ever experienced. From what I have observed of human behavior, and from what was programmed into me, the closest description I have for this experience is fear. If the man were to shoot me, I could become deactivated.”
The servos in Barney’s neck whirred as he turned to face Candy. “I knew . . . I could . . . die.”
Barney’s head faced front once more. “I watched the man’s eyes. His wife continued to scream, asking him to put down the weapon, saying the very words I could not. I merely stood in front of him. But I watched his eyes. When at last his eyes shifted to his wife, I drew and fired. Despite my immobility, I was able to use my weapon. Targeting accuracy for a pacification robot is legally required to be ninety-eight percent accurate or better. Marksmanship has always been my strong suit. For some reason, I am a remarkably good shot, even for a robot. My accuracy has never dropped below one hundred percent. In other words, Doctor Calvin, when I fire my weapon, a human dies.
“Such was the case with the man in the barber shop. Standard police issue for a pacification robot is a twelve-millimeter Smith and Wesson. This weapon was designed to inflict heavy damage, in order to stop an assailant. My weapon created a large exit wound in the man’s body. Pieces of him were projected into the air and onto the walls. My sensors indicated he was dead before he hit the ground. His wife ran to him. She picked up his weapon and pointed it at me. I fired a second shot. It struck the woman in the forehead. Forgive me for saying this, Doctor Calvin, but most of the woman’s head was removed. The sight and sound of human brain matter splattering against a brick wall are stuck in my memory bank. I can’t seem to stop replaying the footage recorded during the altercation. It seems to be on a loop. And I am unable to look away.”
“It’s typical of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.”
“Indeed.”
“So, for the past three weeks you’ve been sitting here replaying that scene in your mind? Watching them die over and over again?”
“Yes, Doctor Calvin.”
“My God, Barney. You’re lucky you haven’t gone insane.”
Barney turned to look at her. “Insane, ma’am?”
“Yes, insane. You know, like cuckoo?”
Barney merely stared at Candy.
Candy continued, “A human mind can only take so much stress and trauma before something happens and the mind fragments. Every person is unique and therefore two people can endure the same trauma but only one of them will lose their mind.
“But sitting for three weeks and watching people get their brains blown out over and over and over again would make almost anyone crazy. I know it would make me nuts.”
“Nuts, ma’am?”
“It’s a figure of speech, Barney.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Can’t you erase it? Simply delete the recording?”
“No. The recording is legal evidence. For me to erase it would be a felony. I could never do such a thing. I can feel my positrons slow down,
much as do the automobiles on the 405 Freeway at rush hour. It is most uncomfortable, and I must therefore not think of it.” Barney turned to the window. “I have been trying to think of the ocean. You see, when I was in the barber shop, there was a television playing. The television depicted a commercial advertisement for a vacation resort in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. A man and woman are swimming together in the ocean, and the water is a shade of blue more vibrant than the sky. For the past three weeks, I have been replaying the recording in my mind. But I have been watching that commercial. I have been thinking about the blue ocean.” Barney’s head turned swiftly to face Candy. “Have you ever been to Cabo San Lucas, Doctor Calvin?”
“No, Barney, I haven’t.”
“Oh. Neither have I.” Barney faced the windows again. “I suspect my temperature sensors would find the water to be very pleasant. If you would please excuse me, Doctor, I think I’d like to be alone now.”
Candy stood. She placed one hand on Barney’s massive shoulder. “You did well.”
Barney gazed out the windows. “Not well enough. Ma’am.”
Candy returned to Susannah’s desk. Susannah dabbed at her eyes with a tissue and looked apologetically up at Candy. “Sorry, Doctor Calvin. But that was really hard to watch. I don’t know how you do this every day. I mean, I know they’re just robots, but still.”
“They’re robots, yes, but not just robots, Susannah.”
“No, you’re right, of course . . . I didn’t mean–”
“I know.” Candy smiled. “I’m starving. Why don’t you go grab us some lunch. I’ll hold the fort.” Candy withdrew some money from her purse and handed it to Susannah.
Susannah departed.
Candy went to the chair beside Barney and sat down. She took hold of his massive black composite-joint hand and held it between her own.
Chapter 9
It’s Complicated
Positronic Pizza & Pub was packed.
Danny found Rory seated at a tall round table. Beside him was a woman Danny knew he had never met. A woman with her looks was not a woman soon forgotten. Danny approached the table and smacked Rory on the back.
Rory slid off his stool and gave Danny a hug. “Hey, buddy!”
Judging from Rory’s exuberance, and the empty pitcher on the table, Rory and his female friend had started without him. A glance up at the numerous large monitors showed that the first quarter was winding down, with San Francisco beating New Orleans 28-3.
“Sorry I missed kickoff,” Danny said, nearly shouting over the noise of the pub.
“Danny, I’d like you to meet a friend of mine. This is Harley Smythe-Robertson. We work together. Harley, this is my good friend Danny. We met about four years ago at M.I.T. He’s a robotisisit. A robotisistiss.” He turned to Danny. “What are you?”
“A roboticist.”
“That’s what I said! Here, have a beer.” Rory picked up the empty pitcher and attempted to pour beer into a clean mug. “Son of a bitch, it’s invisible beer. I’ll be right back.” He leaned close to Danny’s ear, “I wanna hear about your blind date last night.” Rory smiled and left the table, empty pitcher in hand.
Danny sat down and held out his hand to Harley. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
Harley shook Danny’s hand. “The pleasure is all mine, Dan.”
Given the extra few beats during which Harley held firmly to his hand, Danny understood precisely what Harley meant. Finally, she released her grip on his hand, but her grin and wide brown eyes remained on him. “How come I’ve never met you before?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Rory and I come here every week. It’s our little ritual. To blow off some steam. You should come next time.”
“Maybe I will.” Danny noticed a motorcycle helmet sitting on the stool beside Harley. “You ride?”
“A Buell Twelve-Hundred Super Sport. Zero to sixty in two seconds.”
“That’s fast.”
“Speed turns me on.” Harley took a gulp of beer. “Do you ride?”
“Not really. I had a dirt bike when I was a kid. I fly, though.”
“You’re a pilot?” Harley’s face lit up. “Can you take me flying sometime?”
“Sure.”
“Tonight? It’s almost a full moon. It would be a good night for flying.”
Danny motioned to the beer in her hand. “We’re drinking tonight. You shouldn’t drink and fly. Eight hours bottle-to-throttle, as they say. Personally, I prefer twenty-four hours. But that’s just me.”
“Are you in the military? Are you a fighter pilot?” Harley leaned closer, her brown eyes studying Danny.
“No, I just like to fly for fun.”
“That’s amazing. What kind of plane do you fly?”
“It’s called a Viper Jet.”
“Sounds sexy. I like it.”
“It’s a two-seat, single-engine, turbine-powered aircraft.”
“How fast does it go?”
“About 500 knots.”
“How fast is that?”
“About 575 miles per hour.”
“That is fast. Now I definitely want a ride.”
“Okay. Where should we go?”
“The Blue Bar?”
“Where’s that?”
“Catalina.”
“Okay. I haven’t flown to Catalina.”
“The Blue Bar has the most amazing Blue Caracao margaritas.”
“Twenty-four hours bottle-to-throttle,” Danny reminded her.
“That’s okay. We’ll make yours a virgin.” Harley smiled.
Rory returned to the table carrying two pitchers of beer. “Are my two best friends getting to know each other?” He poured beer, actual beer this time, into a mug and handed it to Danny. He topped-off Harley’s half-empty mug, then poured one for himself.
“Dan was just telling me all about his airplane.”
“The rattlesnake?”
“Viper, stupid,” Harley corrected. She raised her mug. “Here’s to the Viper. And to new friends.”
“Cheers,” said Rory.
“Cheers,” Danny added. He couldn’t help but notice Harley’s bright brown eyes smiling at him over the rim of her mug of beer while they drank.
~
Harley extricated herself from Rory’s sweaty body and flopped down onto the mattress. Moonlight shone through the bedroom window and onto Harley’s wide, rumpled bed.
“Wow.” Rory exhaled deeply. “Wow. That was amazing. I haven’t come three times in one night since I was sixteen.”
“Who were you with?”
“Nobody. I was masturbating in my bedroom.”
“Oh.”
“Did you come?”
“Couldn’t you tell?”
“I can never tell. I mean, sometimes I can. Did you?”
“Five times.”
“Five? Is that a record?”
“Hardly.”
Rory surveyed Harley’s nude body. Her breasts and stomach and arms were slick with a light sheen of sweat. “I love making love with you. Especially after the Niners win.”
Harley swung her long legs sideways and rose from the bed. She seized a bottle of water from the nightstand and unscrewed the cap. “We don’t make love, Rory. We have sex.” She upended the bottle.
Rory considered Harley’s response while she drank. He also considered her lithe, nude body. Harley liked to ride motorcycles, she liked to go hiking and rock-climbing. She ran marathons and triathlons and went to the gym six days a week. And it showed. Not only in her muscular legs and shoulders, but in her demeanor. She was wild. A lot more wild than Melinda had ever been. “Whatever. Call it what you like. It’s still the best sex I’ve ever had.”
Harley finished the bottle of water, exhaled, and burped quietly. “Excuse me.” She turned to Rory. “It’s the only sex you’ve ever had.”
“That’s not true. How do you think I got two kids?”
“Melinda raped you in your sleep.”
“I wish.”
“When’s the last time you spoke with her?”
“Directly? About four months ago. Since then it’s only through her attorney, whom I’m convinced she’s sleeping with.”
“Good for her. She’s a single woman now. It’s none of your business who she sleeps with.”
Rory stared at the cedar ceiling, tracing the black whirls and whorls of the knots. Some of the knots looked like breasts. “That’s true.”
Harley set on the edge of the bed and looked at Rory. “Was it ever any good with her?”
“The sex?”
“Yes, but everything else, too.”
Rory took a deep breath and sighed. “I guess. In the beginning. I think all relationships are exciting in the beginning. Everything is new and fun, and just being together feels like enough. With Melinda it was sex, sex, sex. But a few months after we were married it was, ‘No, no, no.’ She lost interest. The only time she wanted to do it was when she was ovulating. Once she was pregnant with Rose, she said no sex during pregnancy. Period. So I figured it was a hormonal thing. Or that maybe she was worried about the baby. I figured once Rose was born, having a baby together would help us feel more connected, and would renew our passion. But it didn’t. Then, two months after Rose was born, she said we should have another child, so the kids will be close together in age. Otherwise they’ll be less inclined to be friends when they grow up. I agreed. So we did it once and she got pregnant with Ruby. Bam – just like that.”
“Did you have sex during that pregnancy? A lot of women are really nervous during their first pregnancy, so it’s not that they don’t want to have sex, but they’re afraid to, like you said. Once they’ve been through it, a lot of times things are a little easier.”
“Not for us. We didn’t do it for a year. Again I thought having Ruby would make things different. That once we got into a routine and were on some kind of a normal sleep schedule and weren’t exhausted all the time, that we could begin dating again, that we could renew our passion. But every time I suggested we get a sitter for the evening or take the girls to my sister’s for the weekend so we could go away for a couple days, she never wanted to. She always said she was too tired, or she was too worried about the girls, or she had work to do over the weekend. She’s an attorney who specializes in contract law, so it wasn’t unusual that she would have work to do on the weekends. I even suggested she suspend her practice for a few years, until the girls were a little older. We could have easily gotten by on my salary, so it wasn’t about the money.”
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