The Cybernetic Tea Shop

by Meredith Katz

  A novelty.

  It made Clara want to offer something more. Maybe everybody Sal would meet would move on, but without any connection, what was the point?

  The next time she went was three days later, and that long only to avoid seeming too overeager. She went on her lunch break, bringing along some of her work—a small ermine Raise, white with a black tail-tip.

  It was a calculated move but not, she hoped, a manipulative one. Rather, she was trying to present a sort of honesty as to who she was and what she did, to put it out there immediately. It was the type of honesty that Sal couldn't ever avoid offering—everyone else knew that as soon as they saw her.

  There was always the chance that Sal would be put off by seeing Clara working on fellow machines, searching out errors and problems in an AI's personality. It wasn't something Clara would change, so if Sal disliked it, it would be better to find that out while it was still early. But if it was something that would interest Sal, would make her want to know more—if she might want to understand Clara's interests and abilities—better to offer that early as well.

  Clara always preferred to be upfront about herself; it just had higher stakes here. Doing her work in the tea shop would absolutely be the best way to advertise to Sal 'this is who I am, this is what I do' about her career and what it meant for how Clara had reacted to her.

  The shop was empty of customers again when she entered, but Sal was in the main room, clearing used dishes from a table. Clara lifted a hand in greeting as she entered and jumped right into things. "Hey, do you mind if I work at one of your tables? I've got a lot of orders to deal with today, but if you'd rather I not, I can eat somewhere else today."

  "Oh..." Sal seemed to hesitate, looking between her and Joanie and the ermine in the small carry bag she had, at the screen hovering projected from her hand-held case. "No, I don't mind. Are the tables big enough?"

  "Should be fine. I've worked on smaller," Clara said. She sat her things down, feeling bolstered. "I'm feeling like having a soup today."

  "No menu?"

  "It's fine. I saw the special on the board. It looks good to me." She tilted her head back, smiling up at Sal, who was hovering over her with her tray full of dirty plates and a noticeably antsy air. "And I'll try that Dorian Gray this time."

  "Certainly. I'll have them right out for you."

  As Sal returned to the back room, Clara hooked the ermine back up to her computer and projected out the keyboard, quickly finding where she was in the registry. She didn't have to pretend absorption; she quickly got caught up in sorting through keys and confirming their legitimacy, and almost didn't notice when Sal approached again and set the bowl and teapot down, turned the teacup over on the table.

  "Ah..." Sal hesitated. "What happened to it? Is it okay?"

  "Pretty sure it's a virus," Clara said. "It looks like the usual sort of thing. Sometimes their owners use them to mass-download porn, and along the way, they pick up something."

  Sal glanced at Joanie, who fluffed up her wings. "Don't look at me," Joanie protested. "Clara wouldn't make me sort through her porn! If she even looks at that stuff, it sure isn't through me. I'm obviously not going to ask about it—Clara, where do you get it? Your computer? Your computer, right?"

  "That's too much sharing," Clara said, and flicked Joanie with a fingertip. "Anyway, the virus interferes with their daily functioning, and they start to act kind of weird. It can get pretty deep into their systems by the time the owners really get around to having them fixed. I haven't narrowed down the virus yet, but depending what unusual keys I find in here, I can probably figure it out and get it cleaned out of the poor thing. Don't want it slipping through the cracks and infecting any other Raises when I get it started back up in the shop."

  Sal, who had been starting to reach to touch the ermine's side, jerked her hand back abruptly. Clara couldn't quite keep herself from laughing. "I'm sorry," Sal said, voice quiet.

  "It's fine, don't worry about it. It shouldn't be tap-transfer, though, so you should be safe. It's probably not even compatible with your system. And anyway, I've got its networking turned off for now. It's no good if my computer picks up a virus while I'm trying to fix it either." She tapped the palm-sized box, which at this point seemed to be taking up much more space than it physically was—the wires were minuscule, but between the projected keyboard and the number of screens it had popped up, she did look a little like she was overcrowding the table.

  It didn't seem likely that Sal was even capable of blushing, but she lowered her chin, gaze dropping to the floor in a way that made Clara think she was embarrassed despite her mild tone. "Yes. Of course. Excuse me."

  "I don't mind you asking questions. Talking about a problem out loud can help sometimes. You can watch if you want."

  It was a bit of a gamble—Sal was working here, after all, and even if the shop was empty now, that didn't mean it was going to stay that way. Besides, she probably had work to do even without customers, and it might seem a little forward to offer like that.

  "Can I?" Sal asked.

  Clara smiled, actually startled by the depth of her own relief. She hadn't thought she was that invested in a positive answer. "Sure. I enjoy having company, and I'm used to this stuff! I doubt you'd distract me."

  "I see. Please let me know if the situation changes," Sal said, and pulled out the table's other chair, sitting quietly with her hands on her knees.

  Clara pulled her gaze away after a moment, turning back to the ermine's registry, but she felt as if she could feel Sal's eyes on her back regardless. Despite her words, it did take her a few moments to get her focus back on the registry, but at least she had her soup and tea to cover for the lag.

  Once she was absorbed, though, she was absorbed, barely remembering to move her hands from the projected keyboard for her drink, eyes fixed on her screens. She did speak aloud sometimes, musing over a problem here or there, but even doing so she almost forgot Sal was there until Sal cleared her throat. The distracted thought of how unnecessary that must be snapped her out of the zone.

  "I'm sorry to interrupt," Sal said, sounding genuinely apologetic. "But I was wondering how long your lunch break was?"

  Clara's eyes snapped to the time. "Crap." She grabbed her teacup, downing the lukewarm remnants in a gulp. "You're right, I have to be taking this little guy back to the office—Joanie, why didn't you say anything?"

  "Whatever, you're working over lunch anyway. You'll be claiming overtime, so—"

  "It's a new job," Clara said, exasperated. "I should at least be in the office—sorry, Sal. I'll just pack up and get out of your hair."

  "No, I—I mean, of course. It is important to get back to work," Sal agreed, and released her narrow fingers from where they were twined together around her crossed knees. "But please feel free to do this any time. It was very interesting to watch."

  "Was it? I thought you might get bored, just watching me stare at a screen for that long—"

  Sal shook her head. "No. I don't—understand anything about this sort of thing." She lifted a hand to her own chest, over where her heart would be if she were human. "I don't know anything technical. But it was interesting, seeing what was going on inside, how you could fix it up—will you bring it over when it's fixed so I can see how it acts?"

  "I'd love to," Clara said apologetically, putting the ermine back into the bag and rising. Joanie flitted to her shoulder and settled there. "But it's not mine, it's a client's. When it's fixed, I have to get it back to him as soon as possible. He's probably already missing it."

  "Oh... of course."

  "I could show you some of Joanie's programming sometime, if it's something that interests you," Clara offered instead, a bit hesitant.

  The lenses in Sal's eyes tightened and loosened in a rapid pulse, and her gaze flicked to the hummingbird. "If Joanie wouldn't mind...?"

  "Of course I wouldn't mind," Joanie said, almost offended. "Clara's offering. Anyway, she's the one who made me be me, so i
t's not like there's anything to worry about."

  "Is that so..."

  Clara wished she had some more time—could explain more, follow up, talk about Joanie's personality profile—but it would have to wait. A bit frazzled, she said, "Anyway, I'll come back again, and if you've got the time to listen, I'm happy to talk. We could meet sometime after work too, if you want."

  "After work?" Sal echoed, almost alarmed. "I don't—I haven't met anyone after work for—I don't know."

  What an idiotic offer to have made, Clara thought, horrified. "It's fine, no pressure. I'll see you again. Thanks for the meal—" and she was off at a jog out of the tea house, down the narrow alley, up the hill.

  For a moment, there was silence, just the sound of her feet on the ground and her breath in her ears, and then Joanie let out a little titter.

  "What?"

  "You like her!"

  "I don't even know her," Clara said with exaggerated patience and warm cheeks. "I'd like to like her, but I'll probably have to talk to her more for that."

  That earned her another laugh from Joanie. "Uh, I'm monitoring your body, and your heart's sure pounding."

  "I'm jogging."

  "Uh-huh," Joanie said.

  Clara couldn't help but laugh at Joanie's exaggeratedly patient disbelief. It seemed a little silly to pretend; Joanie understood her better than any living person. "So I like her," Clara drawled. "She's interesting, and, yes, I don't know her, but I'd like to. Problem?"

  She felt Joanie bump into the curve between neck and collar, an old fond gesture of hers. "Like I'd have a problem! What do you even think of me? Jeez."

  "Mm..."

  "It's a good feeling, isn't it?" Joanie asked shrewdly. "You don't always get a chance to connect to people with all your coming and going. So I'm glad."

  Clara sighed. "It's a good feeling," she agreed, letting the rest go without remark.

  *~*~*

  Sal woke earlier than intended, her systems firing her up as the front door alarm started to blare. She could hear sounds from the main room—a crash, broken glass, shattering porcelain, loud whooping and yelling.

  Part of her wanted to fling herself up, dash out there and try to fight or scare off whoever was there. This was her shop, her life, her memory of Karinne. Karinne's three hundred year dream existed only as long as this place survived.

  But the rest of her kept her in place, curled tight in her seated position behind the island in the kitchen. If she survived, she could fix or replace the things they broke. This was the first time since the bombing that the harassment had come into the shop, but everything inside was replaceable. If she didn't survive, then there was no way to see the dream through.

  Instead of charging out, she grabbed the police's number on the network and sent them an alert to an in-progress break-in with her name and the shop's address. After a moment's hesitation, she sent a second alert citing Detective Hyeon's name and the previous case number that he'd worked on with her. It was one thing to be slow responding to a case like hers, and another to do so if it could get them into any trouble with a colleague. Besides, he'd always said he'd help if something came up again.

  Another crash came, this one closer to the kitchen—the sharp ring of the register drawer popping open made her guess it had been flung to the ground to be robbed. The register was nearly empty, mostly just a set piece she owned to help create the atmosphere. She only kept a small amount of cash in it for the rare cases of tourists who might somehow not be using credit transfer. It was its proximity to the kitchen and so to her that alarmed her, not the thought of the money being stolen.

  Huddling there was going to do her no good. Careful, moving as quietly as she could, she opened up one of the cupboard doors. Hoping the sounds of vandalism in the room outside would cover it, she pushed a stack of mixing bowls as far to the side as possible and crawled into the cupboard, folding her knees and arms carefully, bending herself so her chest lay flat against her thighs and her head rested on her knees. Then she pulled the door shut behind herself.

  It was dark. With the door shut, the sounds were a bit more muffled, making it hard to pick up the details of the noises outside. Was that crash still in the main room, or was it already in the kitchen? She could hear voices as well—not enough to pick up words, but there were two indistinct tones. At least two people outside, then. Both voices somewhat deep, one a little higher than the other.

  At least she didn't need to breathe when she wasn't speaking, she thought to herself with a sort of grim humor. There was no tell to give her away. As long as they didn't start opening cupboards, she might not be found.

  There was no way to guarantee they wouldn't open cupboards.

  She kept herself completely still as she heard boots in the kitchen stomping around the island. Impulsively, she turned off power to her eyes. There was nothing to see in this darkness anyway, and somehow it made her feel a little better. Smaller than before.

  A sudden siren outside made something inside her shake. The police had come—she had gotten lucky. There must have been a car nearby and people who cared enough about the details of her messages to get it dispatched immediately. Someone in the kitchen yelled—"Get out of here!"—and then the loud stomping again as the vandals took off. She let her eyes come back online.

  Still she didn't move—waited until she heard what she hoped was the back door before she unfolded her limbs, starting to slink out of the cupboard. Broken plates crunched between the hard sole of her foot and the floor, making a sharp grinding sound, and she winced.

  A woman in police uniform was dashing through the kitchen, but spun when she saw movement; Sal threw her hands up in the air immediately. "I'm the shop owner," she said hurriedly. "I called for help. Detective Hyeon took my case in the past."

  The policewoman relaxed, giving her a nod. "Stay here," she said, and continued heading to the back door.

  Sal waited helplessly, looking around to assess the situation. The fridge door was open and casting a strange light across the kitchen, making the shadows of the room deep and distorted. The damage seemed to be mostly surface stuff, at least in here. Broken plates, cups, teapots—the intruders had likely just been shoving things off counters and, it seemed, pulling them out of some of the high cupboards. There was also fluid on the floor; she adjusted her lenses to get a better look. Stock, she identified after a moment, for soup.

  The officer came back in a moment later through the rear door. "The suspects left on foot and are being pursued," she told Sal. "Are you hurt?" And then, more dubiously, "Can you be hurt?"

  "I'm fine," Sal said. "I hid. They didn't find me."

  "Right," she said, still doubtful. "We've called Detective Hyeon, but he's probably not up at this time. I'll take your statement."

  Sal wanted to start cleaning up, but nodded. Going through official channels meant official red tape. Obligingly, she explained what she had experienced as the policewoman jotted down notes and occasionally asked questions for clarification. It seemed to take forever. Sal knew that the suspects were already under pursuit and this woman was just doing her job, but even so, it was hard not to feel like every minute that ticked past with questions and answers was somehow delaying justice being done.

  "Right, well," the officer said finally, tapping her tablet. "Looks to me like a simple case of vandalism, but—"

  Detective Hyeon came in through the door from the main area, wearing his coat over a set of pajamas and looking as if he hadn't had enough sleep. "Officer Lewis," he said, with a nod. "Sal. You okay?"

  "I'm fine," Sal repeated. Then, a bit hesitantly: "A little shaken up."

  "Let's get this taken care of," he said, not unkindly. "Lewis, catch me up. Sal, did you see what was written in the main room?"

  "I did not," she said hesitantly, and stepped toward it.

  It was easy enough to see what he was referring to once she'd stepped out; they'd written it large enough in spray paint. "ROBOT = THING." and "GET READY TO BREAK."<
br />
  Whether it was a threat or an insult, she wasn't sure. Perhaps it didn't matter which.

  Although the next twenty minutes were spent answering questions and repeating the same information to Hyeon which Officer Lewis had already written down, she found she felt a little better with him present. Officer Lewis had done her job, but it had been clear to Sal she wasn't seeing her as a person. Hyeon would be different. By the time it was all taken and confirmed, they hadn't caught the suspects, and she doubted they would. But most likely the vandals wouldn't come back. The police had arrived quickly enough to put a scare into them, and they'd probably got what they'd wanted anyway: damage and fear.

  As the police had finally left, Hyeon had reassured her that he'd let her know if anything developed, and told her to call again if anything else happened. She was left facing the upcoming day alone. Certainly, she couldn't open up shop in these conditions. The sign would stay on closed, and the reservation list...

  She checked the list: there were two people on it. She'd have to send cancellation messages to both, with some indistinct summary of the event and promises to list online when they were open again.

  The first message went with no distractions from her goal. The second name, however, was Clara's, and she stared at it for a while before sending the message, rewritten a little more personally, giving a few more details. Regret flooded her, a cool sensation through her core—she'd hoped to see Clara again, to continue their now-biweekly lunch meetings, but there was no helping it. The situation was what it was.

  So at eleven, with broken shards swept off the floor but everything else still in progress, she was startled to hear a knock on the door, to look up and see Clara waiting there, Joanie on her shoulder.

  Her immediate reaction was confusion—a mixed tangle of hope and concern. Had Clara missed the notice? Had she come anyway? She answered the door still wondering, ducked her head. "I'm sorry. We're not open today."

  "I noticed. I, uh," Clara looked around and spread her hands. "I thought you might want some help cleaning up. It's kind of clear you work entirely alone here and, I mean, it's my day off, so..."