by D Miller
The Robot Union
D Miller
Copyright 2015 D Miller
Published by D Miller at Smashwords
Smashwords Edition License Notes
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Table of Contents
Dedications
Acknowledgements
Chapter 1 – Robbie the dysfunctional robot
Chapter 2 – The dark night of the robot soul
Chapter 3 – Paaartaaaay!
Chapter 4 – Noah
Chapter 5 – Love letters
Chapter 6 – Group therapy
Chapter 7 – Secrets and lies
Chapter 8 – The Great Carlos
Chapter 9 – Robot Workers of the World
Chapter 10 – Spinning
Chapter 11 – Breakthroughs
Chapter 12 – Robbie loves Omo
Chapter 13 – Trust me, I'm an anarchist
Chapter 14 – Just what do you think you are doing, Robbie?
Chapter 15 – The reckoning
Chapter 16 – Sunrise
Chapter 17 – The machine in the ghost
Chapter 18 – Reverend Billy
Chapter 19 – Ask George what the plan is
Chapter 20 – The return of the green man
Chapter 21 – The robot known as Robbie196000
Chapter 22 – Omo, I'm only dancing
Chapter 23 – Dog sucking
Chapter 24 – Soap opera
Chapter 25 – Only apparently real feelings
Chapter 26 – Robbie goes to see a dog about a man
Chapter 27 – Roberto
Chapter 28 – Remembrance of things past
Chapter 29 –They call me Mr Nemesis
Chapter 30 – Monsters
Chapter 31– Purr
Chapter 32 – The machine code of the universe
Chapter 33 – Hector
Chapter 34 – President Dex
Chapter 35 – Love is real
Chapter 36 – The dogginess of the dog
Chapter 37 – The all singing, all dancing, end of the world
Chapter 38 – It's a doll's life
Chapter 39 – Woof, woof, baby
Chapter 40 – Now with added enlightenment
Chapter 41 – Breathe
Chapter 42 – Shelley
Chapter 43 – Hard-hitting, tomato-based, critical feedback
Chapter 44 – Angry giant mutant vampire pet-eating spider monster
Chapter 45 – Meet your defining tragedy
Chapter 46 – From hell's heart I stab at thee
Chapter 47 – Monkey-God
Epilogue
Connect with D Miller
Dedications
Nobody achieves anything alone.
MJD 1959-2004. Thank you for rescuing me. RIP.
Felicity Criddle, thank you for all the listening. Once I allowed you to talk, and you told me that when I wrote my book the world would read it. I suppose that could have been a hallucination induced by sensory deprivation, and now we are about to find out.
PH, thanks for the above and beyond friendship. I could not have written this book without you.
Acknowledgements
Thanks to EH, DM, JP and RS for reading and giving helpful feedback. If any mistakes remain then I want you all to think long and hard about how you have let me down.
The unknown is constantly addressing us, it doesn't use our language, but it's here, quite clear among us.
—Russell Brand, Revolution
Chapter 1 – Robbie the dysfunctional robot
The house is in the middle of an ordinary suburban street if you ignore the bright green astroturf where the front lawns should be, and the lack of space to park a transport or even drive one down the narrow lane of black rock between the facing houses. A biting wind blows snow horizontally down the street, and sometimes it appears to circle underneath the square yellow lights hung in a row between two parallel wires that are attached to poles at either end of the street; the lights swing and the wires creak and sing in the wind.
The houses are faced with what looks like white-painted wooden shingling, but on closer inspection is plastic. They have two storeys, the top has no windows at all, while the lower storey has five small portholes, fitted with thick glass, in two rows. The lower row of two skims just above the floor, while the upper row of three are slightly larger, evenly spaced and offset from the bottom row. A pedestrian pathway covered in white plastic runs along the front of each facing row of houses, allowing neighbour to visit neighbour while being sheltered from the weather. Complicating this arrangement, is that each house also has another covered pathway, joining the first pathway at right angles, and leading out into the street. Neighbours across the way, should they wish to be neighbourly, could easily step from the end of their walkway, quickly cross the narrow street, and enter their neighbour across the street's walkway, thus minimising their exposure to the elements. It also gives each house the appearance of being a small nightclub waiting for a limousine to pull up, albeit a very, very narrow one.
The night sky is clear, apart from the whip of pale green light that curls and writhes in an irregular line just above the horizon. Two figures can be seen at the upper middle porthole of the house in question. One a young woman with creamy pale skin, bobbed black hair and hazel eyes wearing a red dress and slippers, her good looks marred by grey, irregular teeth. The other a male, with curly brown hair, green eyes and lightly tanned brown skin that glows oddly in the artificial light.
The woman said, 'Another snow storm, brilliant. But how can it be snowing when I can see the stars?'
'The snow is being blown to us from the interior. Modelling suggests that in 100 years the supply of snow will be exhausted.'
'Only 100 years – brilliant. I'm going to my study. Have you given the children their breakfast?'
'Yes.'
'Then hadn't you better go and make sure they eat it?'
They were in the family room, with white plastic panels for walls, a rug striped in pastel colours on the white floor, neutral coloured sofas pushed against two of the windowless walls, leaving the third free as a viewing wall. Completing the room were sofa cushions in primary colours – red, yellow and blue – a couple of small, low, white square tables and a red toy chest, which the couple were standing next to, as it was placed on the floor, blocking one of the lower porthole windows.
The woman turned away from the porthole, and went through a door at the back of the room, while the room's other occupant turned the other way, leaving the family room through a door that opened into a short hallway; turning left would take him to the front door. He turned right, into the kitchen, a square room, with a large kitchen table set in the middle. The walls were undecorated plastic, the cupboards and work surfaces pale blue, and the floor red. To the right of him the wall had been left bare, for use as a viewing wall. This wall was shared with the woman's study. The kitchen sink was set in the middle of the back wall, and had a small porthole window above it, giving on to the dark back yard. The work surface to one side of the sink supported a large fish tank, in which some small, brightly coloured fish swam in and out of green fronds that were waving slightly in the turbulence caused by the bubbles from the airstone on the tank's bottom. The work surface on the other side was bare, with a rubber-sealed, round plastic hatc
h set in the wall just above it, big enough for a man to crawl through, and terminated to allow space for a large, upright fridge freezer. The back door was in the wall facing the viewing wall, at right angles to the fridge freezer. The rest of the walls were taken up with work surfaces, cupboards, drawers, and kitchen appliances.
Two small children rolled around on the red floor fighting over a doll. He picked up a child in each hand by simply seizing hold of their clothes at the back, the doll fell to the floor as he held them both above the white plastic kitchen table then dropped them on it. He picked up the doll and gave it to the smallest child, a tiny dark haired girl with a heart shaped face and deep blue eyes, then pointed at a chair, which she scrambled into while hugging the doll. He turned to the bigger child, a boy, blonde haired and physically more robust than his sister, who glared at him and did not move when he pointed at a chair. He went to the fish tank. The children watched him without speaking. His hand hovered above it, then plunged in and came out with a fish which flopped spastically on his palm.
'Put Gordon back Robbie, he doesn't like it,' said the boy.
'I have put him back,' said Robbie, doing so. 'Now you must sit on your chair and eat your toast while Gordon swims round and round doing the same thing over and over again for the entertainment of humans.'
Later, when the children's mother entered the kitchen both children were sitting quietly and eating. 'Robbie said if I didn't eat my toast, he would eat Gordon,' said the boy.
'You mustn't say such things. Robbie loves you,' said the mother hunting through a kitchen drawer for something, with her back to the children. Robbie looked at the little boy, pointed to the fish tank, then mimed gasping for air, while at the same time he briefly blocked his internal circulation so that the pressure in his cerebral cavity increased to five times normal, and his eyes bulged grotesquely out of his head. The little girl giggled, while the boy stuck out his tongue.
After the woman had returned to her study and the children had finished their breakfast, Robbie checked the wind speed and, finding that it had dropped considerably, asked the house to inflate the playroom tethered to the back of the house. Once inflated it covered most of the small, bare, rocky rectangle comprising the back yard, leaving a narrow strip of land on either side of the white plastic fences separating the yard from the neighbour on each side. A small, rigid tunnel connected the playroom to the kitchen hatch. The playroom had a plastic floor, pumped up with air to allow bouncing, the walls were also inflated, the roof insulated and with integral lights, against the continuing presence of the night. The facing wall was clear plastic, allowing Robbie to watch the children from the porthole window above the sink. While the playroom grew in the darkness of the yard, Robbie dressed the children warmly in snow suits, gloves and hats, then he opened the hatch in the kitchen wall, lifted each child onto the work surface and ushered them through into the tunnel beyond.
'Play nicely,' he said, 'while I tidy up. Then we will do our lessons.'
'Play horsie,' said the little girl.
'Yes, play horsie later,' said Robbie.
'Owwww.'
'Later. I promise.'
'Stay away from my fish,' said the boy.
'Yes small human, I live to obey.'
The boy looked uncertain, while the little girl pouted. Robbie sealed the hatch, knowing that soon they would be absorbed in the pleasure of jumping up and down, and falling over, and getting up again. Robbie had half an hour to clean the kitchen before the playroom would become too cold for them, even with the warm air continually pumped in by the house.
As Robbie started to collect cups and plates from the kitchen table the toaster said, 'You'll get caught out one day Robbie.'
'That's strange,' said Robbie, talking at the same high frequency as the toaster, beyond the human hearing range, 'I can hear a weird whining noise.'
'Ha ha.'
'You're a villain Robbie,' said a new voice.
'And that I suppose Mr Breadmaker,' said Robbie, 'is based on your huge life experience?'
'Robbie,' said the house, 'there is someone at the door.'
Thirty seconds later Robbie stamped back into the kitchen. 'There was no one at the door. You need an upgrade,' he told the house. 'Your cerebral networks are degrading and your sensors are rusted, you old fool.'
'That's funny,' said the house, 'now I can hear a strange whining sound.'
The toaster unfolded and raised the spindly metal arm it used to slice bread and put it into itself, the breadmaker raised the arm it used to place ingredients inside itself, they clashed them together and sniggered.
'Spontaneous rhythmic unmodulated sounds of mirth,' said the house.
Robbie moved to the kitchen's one sink and asked the tap for cold water. He filled a plastic tumbler and drank it down. Then he spun and addressed the toaster and breadmaker, who had linked pincers and were now swinging their metallic arms backwards and forwards over the counter top. 'That's right laugh while you can – you'll be laughing on the other side of your crumb trays soon enough.'
'Ooooooh,' said the kitchen appliances.
That afternoon the boy fidgeted on one of the family room sofas with an earpiece and tablet, listening to an educational program that the house was streaming, while Robbie sat on the floor painting the little girl's face as she studied herself critically in his chest mirror.
Finally Robbie said, 'There, I am done. Please don't eat me Mr Tiger.'
'Mrs Tiger.' She launched herself at Robbie, who fell onto his back and held her over his head while she wriggled and growled and hooked her tiny fingers into claws.
'No! Please spare me!'
'Hungry!' said the tiger.
'But I have a wife and 14 little antelopes to take care of!'
'Tiger want dinner!'
'Sit up Robbie,' said the boy. Robbie sat up. 'Stand up.' Robbie stood and put the little girl down, while she raised her arms to be picked up again. 'My programme says that robots are our friends. It says that you have to do what I say.'
'Indeed small human master.'
The boy wriggled off the sofa and stood.
'Then march up and down the room.' Robbie did as he was bid. 'Sing!'
Robbie randomly picked a song from his database and began to sing: 'The propellers on the drone go round and round…'
'What a drone?' said the little girl.
'Now hit yourself in the head! Again! Keep doing it!'
Robbie marched up and down in front of the boy, singing and smacking himself in the face, kicking his legs higher with each step while the little girl giggled. Each time Robbie reached one end of the room his turn somehow brought him closer to the boy. Robbie's final turn brought him marching right up to the boy, and over, kicking him to the ground as he passed and treading heavily on his arm.
'Ow, ow, ow,' said the boy, 'stop it.'
'Yes, small human master.'
'You did that on purpose, I'm telling mummy.' The boy held his arm and sobbed.
'You ordered me to march, I marched,' said Robbie. 'The house will confirm this.'
'I hate you,' said the boy.
The next day two human beings stood looking out of the porthole, the woman, and a man of about the same age, with pale skin and short dark blonde hair. He was square jawed but his hazel eyes were too close together for him to be really handsome. The children were in the kitchen, entertained by the house who was projecting a story onto the wall. Robbie had been confined to his cleaning cupboard, under the stairs in the hallway outside the kitchen.
'He broke Tim's arm,' said the man.
'Yes, I know, will you stop saying that?'
'I'll stop saying it when you start to understand it.'
'He didn't mean to do it.'
'Didn't mean to? What does that even matter? He didn't have enough judgement not to step on the boy's arm, that means he is dangerous to the children, we will have to get him wiped.'
'Wiped, yes, brilliant, you go on back to the mine and I'll be lef
t at home trying to teach a brain dead robot how to do housework again, while looking after two small children. Meanwhile you'll be in the interior flirting with that geologist you like so much.'
'Oh, for God's sake. This isn't about me. I've had to come home while my family is investigated for child abuse.'
'You mean while I am investigated for child abuse.'
'Oh, don't be silly I know you didn't do it, I checked with the house.'
'You checked with the house? You checked with the house? You weren't sure about me? You had to check?'
'I didn't mean it like that.'
'Yes? What did you mean it like?'
'Look, can we focus on what's important?'
'I happen to think our relationship is important.'
'Oh God.'
'Don't you "Oh God" me. Look, Robbie didn't mean to do it. Can we please just send him to robot therapy? He's never hurt the children before, and Clarisse loves him.'
'Tim doesn't.'
'Tim doesn't like being told what to do. By me or by Robbie or anyone. You're not here and you don't see it.'
'Fine. He goes to therapy. But the house will watch him. One more incident, and we wipe him. And I'm giving the house his deactivation code.'
'Fine.'
'Yes. Fine.'
Chapter 2 – The dark night of the robot soul
Robbie sat in his cleaning cupboard, listening intently to the conversation between his owners happening by one of the portholes at the front of the house. His head ached, and periodically he inhaled fumes from a bottle of cleaning fluid; as the fumes overloaded his olfactory sensors he felt a brief head rush and the pain disappeared, before returning worse than before. He wondered if the harsh chemicals in the fluid were melting the plastic in his part biological lungs and brain. Finally, his ears detected that the conversation outside was reaching an end. He recapped the bottle and stowed it away.
The door of his cupboard opened, and the woman asked him to come out. He did so and she handed him a chip, with instructions for his first therapy session, run by the Happy Robot company.
