Danny and Candy dug into their fish and chips.
“This is amazing,” said Danny. “I can’t believe it’s not actually fish. It looks like fish. It smells like fish. It tastes like fish and even has the same texture as fish.” He picked up a French fry. “Are these actually potatoes?”
“Yes, but they’re baked, not fried.”
He held the fry before Candy’s mouth and she bit off its end. Danny finished the remainder.
The bright, glowing squares of light on the floor shifted to a new pattern.
Danny sipped his beer. “Think this place or whatever becomes of it will still be here in fourteen thousand years?”
“No. This place will probably be buried under a glacier.”
“I’d love to see what the world looks like fourteen thousand years from now.”
Candy squeezed lemon juice onto her fish. “Hope you have a time machine.”
“Or a potion for immortality.”
“Why, do you want to live forever?”
“I don’t know about forever, but I’d like to live five hundred years or so.”
“Why?”
“So I could see all the new technology. New forms of transportation. Space travel. Interstellar travel. We could take a space cruise, a three-week cruise from Earth to Jupiter and back.”
“What would we do on a space ship for three weeks?”
“Guess.”
Candy smiled.
“There’s a smile,” said Danny. “Finally. I was getting worried.”
“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m a big girl.”
“I know you are. But letting me worry about you is not a referendum on your status as an adult and an experienced professional, or on your ability to manage your life.”
“Then what is it?”
“Love.”
“Worrying is a form of love?”
“Of course. When you love someone, they become important to you. Their well being takes precedence over your own. Or becomes at least equal, anyway. If you love something, or someone, it’s natural that you’ll be fearful of losing it.”
“Barney was afraid. That’s why he shot himself.”
Danny sipped his beer. “I’m trying to cheer you up. If you’re determined to be depressed, let me know, so I can be depressed with you.”
“I don’t want you to be depressed.”
“I don’t want me to be depressed, either. Nor do I want you to be depressed.”
“I’m not.”
“You sound like it.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I just feel like I failed him. He was looking to me for help and I couldn’t help him.”
“What could you have done differently?”
Candy considered it, gobbling French fries as she did so. “I don’t know. Nothing. Intellectually I know that. But it still hurts.”
“Give it time.”
Romeo approached the table.
“I sensed a bit of tension over here so I thought I’d make nuisance of myself. How’s the fish?”
“Delicious,” said Danny. “What’s it made from?”
“Honey, if I knew the answer to that question I’d open a fish taco stand in Okinawa because I am just a fool for a man in a uniform. A couple of months ago the Enterprise came into port down in Long Beach and this whole city was crawling with sailors. We had a whole mess of them in here and they all wanted Vegetarian Fish and Chips. I was hotter than a two-dollar pistol. My microfusion reactor certainly hit critical mass, if you know what I’m sayin’.”
Candy burst out laughing, followed by Danny.
Romeo patted Danny on the shoulder and marched away.
Candy and Danny finished eating, paid the tab, and exchanged hugs with Romeo. “I shall bid you a fond farewell,” Romeo declared. “I hate goodbyes so you two kids take care of yourselves and come again soon. Mi casa es su casa.” Romeo winked once more. As Candy and Danny passed through the front door, Romeo called out “Ciao!” He was oblivious to the other guests who had begun to fill the restaurant.
Out in the courtyard, Candy took hold of Danny’s hand and they strolled between the buildings. The sun was nearly setting and the shops had activated their nighttime illumination.
Candy and Danny strolled hand in hand, window shopping here and there. Danny grinned inwardly each time he noticed other guys checking out Candy. One of them strolled with a woman. The man casually turned his head and looked over his shoulder as Candy walked by. The woman beside him made a fist and punched his shoulder. Hard.
Danny and Candy paused before Pacific Coast Artifactories. The store window displayed many impressive woodworks: tables and chairs and plates and bowls and flatware for eating, and everything made entirely from wood. Real wood, too, based on the small hand-written price tags attached to the beautiful pieces, all of which had been hand crafted by robots.
“What made you want to become a robopsychologist?” Danny asked.
“When I was a little girl, one day my friends and I decided to set up a lemonade stand. We spent all morning making lemonade and gathering cups and a pitcher to put it in.”
“Did you make a sign?”
“Yes, we had a very nice sign free of typos or dyslexia. We set up shop on the sidewalk in front of my house and before we sold a single cup of lemonade, a robocop shows up and asks if we have a business license.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No, I’m not kidding. It was our first day of business, our first hour of business. And we were eight years old. What was I supposed to do, whip out my articles of incorporation?”
Danny laughed. “So what happened?”
“The robocop said we could not sell lemonade without a license, and he would have to cite us. My friend and I both began to cry, the robot began to apologize, and then it froze.”
“It froze?”
“Like an ice cube,” said Candy. “Obviously it didn’t want to hurt two little girls, but our lemonade stand was illegal. It had a dilemma it couldn’t reconcile. So it froze. I never forgot the look on its face right before the red light went out of its eyes. It was the first year facial animatronics had been introduced. They only allowed for about a dozen facial expressions, but it was obvious that the poor robocop didn’t like his job. I felt bad for him. I never forgot him.”
“So you went on to become a prestigious robopsychologist capable of helping troubled robots all across the land?”
“Something like that.”
“Makes sense.”
“What about you? How did you get into the field?”
Danny sighed. “I don’t remember.”
“How can you not remember? I just poured my heart out regaling you with the tragic tale of a little girl’s lemonade stand gone wrong and you can’t remember what made you want to be a roboticist?”
“Your story was very touching. All I can tell you is that for as long as I can remember I’ve been interested in robots and how they function, and how they function in society. The difference between the robot mind and the human mind. A few decades ago the difference was as great as night and day. But today’s robots are far superior to the old ones. Take Howard, for example. He’s so smart, all he’s missing is a human body and you would never know he had positrons rolling around in his head instead of neurons and meninges and whatnot.”
“Barney was smart, too,” said Candy. “Smart enough not to want to go on suffering.”
“He made his choice,” said Danny. “There was nothing you could’ve done to stop him.”
Candy sighed. “I know.”
Danny and Candy soon came upon a smart-looking shop with a brilliant neon sign ablaze with purple and red lights: Mechanical Man and beneath it, A Bot for All Occasions!
“Shall we go inside?” Danny asked.
“We’re not in the market for a robot.”
“True. But they don’t know that.”
Candy grinned and they entered the shop.
Mechanical Man was top of the line. Glass
and chrome and fiber optic lighting hidden in the floor displays showed off a variety of robots for sale.
Danny and Candy stopped in front of a burly, camouflaged ’bot designed for exterior security and surveillance. The green-and-blue optics of its eyes suggested supreme eyesight in all lighting and weather conditions.
Promptly a salesman approached. He wore a banana-yellow suit and matching yellow shirt and tie, even matching yellow patent-leather shoes. The salesman was human, and appeared to be in his fifties.
“Hatkef!” the salesman barked.
At once the camouflaged ’bot came to life, myriad servos whirring in rapid precision. The ’bot bent its knees and crouched into a fighting stance. It withdrew two long silver knives from dual sheathes hidden in its upper thighs. Two foot-long gattling guns popped up, one on each shoulder, and swiveled downward until they pointed directly at Danny and Candy.
Danny seized Candy and drew her behind him. One of the gattling guns tracked Candy’s movement. The other targeted Danny.
“Hiraga.”
The ’bot stood upright, sheathed its weapons, and powered-down into stand-by mode. Danny could feel it still observing him.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” The salesman inserted himself between Danny and the ’bot. “It just arrived this morning. Designed and manufactured entirely in Israel. Top of the line in every respect. It’s called the Pagaz, which translates as missile, but from what the sales rep told me it is also understood to mean bad-ass motherfucker. Pardon my French, madame. I’d buy one myself but I live in a high-rise condo in Marina del Rey. I don’t think the concierge would appreciate this sucker standing outside my front door all night scaring the neighbors.”
“It certainly is impressive,” said Danny. “But I think we’re in the market for something a bit more . . . residential. Something for the indoor environment. Less camouflage and fewer serrated weapons.”
“I understand completely, Mr . . . ?” The salesman waited for Danny to offer his name.
“Bond. James Bond.”
“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr. Bond.” He shook Danny’s hand up and down. Heartily. “Yours as well, Mrs. Bond.” He was no more gentle with Candy’s hand. “My name is Oberon.”
“Oberon?” said Candy. “As in, Oberon . . . King of the faeries?”
“Did Romeo tell you to say that? He is such a hoot. I eat lunch over there almost every day and he is absolutely incorrigible. He talked me into buying this suit. I wasn’t too keen on it but he said yellow is going to be the new black. What do you guys think?”
“It’s certainly . . . yellow,” said Candy.
“My wife said the same thing.” Oberon sighed. “I’m burning it when it I get home tonight. Anyway, our domestics are right this way. If you’ll please follow me.”
Oberon led them toward robots smaller and less intimidating than the Pagaz.
The phone rang.
“Won’t you please excuse me?” Oberon turned and departed for the sales counter, where he snatched the phone from the wall.
Candy turned to Danny and spoke privately. “What are you doing? Who is James Bond?”
“He’s a famous British spy. I saw him in a movie when I was a kid.”
“What was his wife’s name?”
“I don’t think he had a wife. He was a real ladies’ man. He nailed a different chick in each movie. Sometimes more than one.”
“Wow, I must really be something if I’m the chick who snatched James Bond off the market.”
“Indeed.”
Danny and Candy kissed.
“Well aren’t you two an inspiration for the rest of us,” said Oberon as he returned. “How long have you been married?”
“A year and nine months,” said Danny.
“A man who knows his specifics. Well played, sir. If you two newlyweds want to follow me, these are our domestic robots. Each of them can handle just about any workload you can dream up. Each one has its own price point, of course. But they all come with a manufacturer’s limited warranty. Plus we also offer our own line of in-house add-on warranties which cover everything from the top of the head to the tips of the toes, the fingers, hands, brain, and nose. If your ’bot won’t walk or talk, won’t clean and scrub and keep your house tight, bring it back and we’ll make it right.” Oberon smiled a perfect huckster smiled and closed one eye in an exaggerated wink. Then he resumed his normal demeanor. “Sorry. They make me say that.”
“Quite all right,” said Danny.
“Would you folks prefer a traditional robot or something a bit more . . . advanced?”
“Advanced in what way?”
“In appearance. Follow me.”
Oberon led Candy and Danny through two white swinging shutters which could have been an entrance to an old West saloon.
On the other side was a smaller showroom featuring about a dozen different robots, each illuminated by a radiant overhead spotlight.
“You weren’t kidding,” said Danny. “From a distance, these robots could easily be mistaken for people.”
“They look so real,” said Candy.
“That’s the idea,” said Oberon.
“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” said Danny.
“No reason you should have. They’re brand new. Supposed to be the next big thing. Though only time will tell if the buying public is ready for robots so advanced. Some people find them disturbing. Others are downright creeped out by them. Personally, I never met a ’bot I didn’t like, so I admit I’m a bit biased. Take a look at this one.”
Oberon led Candy and Danny to a nearby male robot. It had a surfer's tussled, sandy-blond hair, and bright blue eyes. A slight crease in its brow gave it a pensive look.
“If not for the fact that he’s frozen in place, I’d think he were a real person,” said Candy.
“Indeed,” said Oberon. “Pronouns notwithstanding.”
“Pronouns?” Candy asked.
“You referred to this robot as ‘he’ rather than with a traditional ‘it’.”
“I did?” Candy was surprised. “I didn’t even realize it.”
“That’s one of the things people are afraid of with these new designs.”
“I can see why,” said Danny.
Candy wandered over to four robots of equal realism, but wearing far less clothing. There were two males and two females. The males had muscular chests and chiseled abdominal muscles, and wore snug, black boxer briefs. Each set of briefs contained an impressive package.
The two female robots wore sexy lingerie: the Caucasian redhead wore a sheer black bra over her ample breasts, a black g-string (Candy snuck a peek at its posterior to confirm the realism of the cleft in her—rather, its—buttocks). It also wore spiky black high-heeled shoes. Its sister robot had skin as rich and smooth as milk chocolate. It sported a sheer purple negligee.
“These are Cherrolet Incorporated’s all-new Pleasurebots,” said Oberon. “Designed and built for one thing and one thing only. Although from the brochure, pillow talk is one of their primary high-ranking directives if that’s your thing. They are anatomically correct in every way. At least, in every way that matters, given that they are purpose built.”
Candy ran her hands over the chest of one of the male robots. She pinched its nipples. “Wow. Almost as good as the real thing.” She hooked her fingers into the waistband of the robot’s underwear and took a look inside. “I don’t think so!” Her eyes opened wide, and her mouth curled into a big ‘O’ of surprise. Danny adored Candy’s myriad facial expressions. Candy began to laugh.
Danny walked over and had a look for himself. “Holy. . . .” He turned to Oberon. “What is that?”
“Like I said, they are purpose built.”
“For what purpose, wrestling a Burmese python? That thing is huge.”
“They can be custom-ordered, sized to one’s individual, uh, preference.”
“Can they be upgraded later on? If I decided I want something, um, bigger?�
�� asked Candy.
“It is possible. But such a modification as . . . that requires the, er, unit, which is to say the, uh, robot, be brought back to the store to be serviced. Which is to say it’s not a modification one can make at home with a, um, screwdriver. So to speak.”
Candy moved to one of the female robots. “Can I touch it?”
“Certainly,” said Oberon.
Candy placed both hands on the robot’s breasts and gave them a squeeze. She moved one hand to her own breast and gave it a similar squeeze. Then she squeezed the robot’s breasts again. “They feel so real. Come over here and feel them . . . James.”
Danny did so. “Wow. These are great. I wish I could’ve had one of these when I was in high school. I’d have flunked every class, though, ’cause I never would have left my bedroom.”
Danny and Candy continued fondling the robot’s breasts.
“James,” said Candy, quietly, but not too quietly, “remember how I said I’ve been wanting to . . . experiment? You know, with a woman? Well, this could be the way.”
Danny turned slowly to look at Oberon; Oberon promptly pretended to be plucking lint from the sleeve of his yellow suit. His cheeks and forehead appeared rosier than they had moments ago.
Danny felt Candy’s tongue slide into and around his ear, so warm and soft and wet that a chill traveled through his neck and he thought he might lose his balance.
After a long moment, Candy turned to Oberon. “Can we activate this one, too?”
As soon Candy said ‘activate’, the robot came to life. Her face, which had been frozen in a far-away stare much like a department store mannequin, softened. The eyes blinked twice. Her posture took on a less rigid, more human-looking poise.
The robot surveyed Candy and Danny. It looked down at the hands caressing its robotic breasts.
The robot fixed its eyes on Danny. “Normally I like a man to buy me a drink before I let him get to first base.” The voice was sultry yet feminine. It turned to Candy. “But since you brought a friend, the only question is ‘Your place or mine?’ ”
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