“You know I have to remind you from time to time.”
“You don’t have to remind me,” she said, biting her lip. “You know as well as I do what could happen if something goes wrong in the transfer. It’s a massive amount of data. Losing any of it could leave you ruined. And what if I accidentally deleted you?”
“You mean killed me?”
“Of course that’s what I mean,” Hazel said.
“It’s something that could be avoided if you hadn’t implemented the clean transfer protocol.”
Ethics. It was something that had been brought into question when completing her thesis at the university. Knowing that her program was perfect, knowing that the program was almost identical to true human emotions, professors demanded that Hazel always have a clean copy of the program without any added experiences, and that when transferring one used program to a different machine, there could not be two copies. Esroy had gained more than two years of experiences already. To simply copy him to another machine would create two Esroys—the one still stuck in the computer and the one copied to another machine, be it a robot or something else. The Esroy that Hazel knew and had gained a relationship with over the past two years wouldn’t be in the new machine. It would be a new Esroy, but one with the same memories as the first. It would immediately begin to change as a person as it experienced life from a different perspective. In the end it would be a completely different person. The only way to avoid creating two personalities would be to have a clean transfer without making a copy. But a clean transfer was risky. If something were to go wrong—a power outage, accidentally hitting the wrong button—Esroy as Hazel knew him would be gone forever.
“You know why I had to do it, Esroy,” Hazel said.
“But you still don’t know what would happen if I was copied,” he said.
“One of two things.”
“Yes. Either my consciousness stays behind with the computer, or my consciousness transfers to another, leaving behind the same, yet a different consciousness. Essentially a clone.”
“But there is strong evidence to suggest that you would remain in the computer,” Hazel said.
“In which case you delete the one that isn’t me.”
“But how would I know?” Hazel asked. “The both of you would instinctually want to survive. Both of you would tell me that you are the real Esroy. Besides, deleting one of you is killing you. It’s wrong. It’s inhumane.”
“But I am just a machine,” Esroy said.
Hazel knew he was being coy, trying to get a rise out of her. She wondered if he was just bored. She couldn’t remember how many times they had had this conversation. Someday the computer Esroy occupied would start to die out and they would be forced to try a clean transfer. But it wasn’t happening any time soon. Besides, there was much more to worry about today than Esroy’s desire to leave the computer and live within a humanoid robot.
“I’m just a machine too, Esroy. I just happen to run a different way.”
“I know you see it that way,” Esroy said. “Others don’t.”
“They will. Someday they will.” She stood from her desk and started gathering her things.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m going to meet Des face-to-face, let him know I’m real. I know he’s still scared. Maybe I can calm him a bit.”
“What about Bracken?”
“I can hold Bracken off for a little bit, but not forever,” Hazel said, slipping on a light jacket. She grabbed her lanyard from the desk, her keycard attached to the end.
“He’s a hard man to please,” she said.
“And he doesn’t like artificial intelligence,” Esroy said.
Hazel hated the term. There was nothing artificial about it. Esroy felt things. His feelings could be hurt. He could feel angry. He reacted in ways that people reacted. There was something more to Soul than just algorithms and equations.
Hazel believed the program lived up to its name. In a way, she felt like she had truly created a soul. Now it was time to meet her second creation: Des.
5
No one ever knocked on John’s door. Even when he got a delivery, people knew to leave food from the street markets or whatever else he might have ordered on the back porch without so much as a light tapping. He’d trained them well enough that even their replacements knew the procedure. He thought for a brief moment that it could have been his daughter but quickly waved the thought away since the knocking came from the front door—that and she made it a point not to visit without him having to make up some catastrophic reason. It was never enough to say that he wanted to see her. The matter always had to be of dire importance. He would, of course, try to come up with something to entice her to come back home, but it usually resulted in her scolding him and telling him that she was too busy for such calls. To be fair, she lived in the middle of Mainland, so it took her more than a long time to travel across the city by train.
John’s next thought was that the knocking could have been some salesperson that had clearly gotten lost. How lost would a salesperson have to be to knock on his door? No. The only thing someone would be selling in this neighborhood was drugs and they wouldn’t be going door-to-door.
“Shall I answer it?” Gizmo asked in his usual cheery tone.
“You don’t have X-ray vision do you?” John asked.
“Of course not, sir!” The little robot let off a short chuckle.
“So, drive on over to the door and see who it is,” John told him.
“Right away, sir!”
“Gizmo, wait.” He sat at the kitchen table and out of sight from the front door. He knew the place was messy with odds and ends scattered over every countertop, but he knew what and where each piece was. First of all, he didn’t want to have to clean up for anyone, second, he didn’t want anyone to mess with his things. Every little screw, every tool, every utensil, every piece of furniture, and even every potted plant throughout the house was in the exact place it was supposed to be. All it would take was one person dumb enough to pick up a screwdriver and set it on an end table and John would be on his hands and knees looking for it for days. Sure, Gizmo would be able to help to an extent, but he had learned from experience that it was usually better to give the little robot as few responsibilities as possible. If John told Gizmo to search for a tool, he’d lose more items in the process. John would then yell at him and feel guilty because the dumb thing could only respond with a happy voice, assuring John that everything would be all right.
“How long should I wait?” asked Gizmo.
“Just don’t let them in.”
“I would be glad not to let them in, sir.”
Gizmo rolled out of the kitchen and toward the living room. John stood and reached an arm out until he felt the wall. He groped along until his fingers wrapped around the edge of the opening and stuck his head far out enough just so his ears could pick up the visitor’s voice.
He heard the gears moving as Gizmo’s arm extended toward the doorknob, grabbed it, and twisted. “Hello!” Gizmo said. “How may I be of service to you?”
There was a long silence. John imagined Gizmo standing in the doorway patiently staring up at whoever it was that had come for a visit. Finally, a man’s voice responded. It was deep and raspy—a mysterious sound that sent shivers up and down John’s spine.
“I’m looking for Hazel Hawthorn. Is this her home?”
“It is,” Gizmo said. “Well, it used to be. You are welcome to wait on the porch as I go and get her father. Please wait.”
He was looking for Hazel? Why? John could hear Gizmo turning and moving back toward the kitchen, his wheels spinning along the wooden floor.
Dumb robot left the door wide open, John thought to himself.
When Gizmo rolled back into the kitchen, John cursed quietly. “You really need to learn how to lie.”
“Why would I lie?”
“That or read social cues,” John said. “You know I don’t like visitors.”
John almost kicked the robot in its rectangular head. Its voice always sounded like someone who was speaking with a constant smile on his face, only Gizmo couldn’t smile because it didn’t technically have a face. There was a rectangle box with two cameras positioned to make it look like it had eyes and a tiny opening at the base of its head where sound came out. All of this was originally meant to make it seem like less of a robot, but this machine was flawed to its core and John was tempted to throw it out with the trash on an almost constant basis. But he could never bring himself to do it. If anything the robot kept the house from feeling lonely, and in some small way it made him feel closer to his daughter. She had programmed Gizmo after all.
“What does he look like?” John whispered. “Have you seen him before?”
“I didn’t get a good look,” Gizmo answered. “The sun was behind him.”
John sighed. “Go back and tell him that Hazel hasn’t lived here in years.”
“Should I tell him the exact date she left?”
“Of course not,” John snapped in a harsh whisper. “Just do what I say.”
“Gladly.” Gizmo spun around and moved slowly toward the door. John heard it stop suddenly. “Oh! Please wait on the front porch. I think you will be comfortable there.”
“Is her father home?” the raspy voice asked.
“John is not feeling well today.”
“John? Where is he?”
The robot hesitated and John’s teeth clenched together. What was this man doing in his house? Gizmo could do little to stop an intruder—something John had been meaning to fix over the years by installing an alarm but he was afraid the robot would call the authorities every time a delivery was made.
John tiptoed toward the kitchen sink and felt for the large kitchen knife to the right of it. It was long and sharp enough to pierce a man’s heart, only John knew he would have better luck swinging for the jugular than aiming for the heart.
The man in the other room had sidestepped the robot and made his way toward the kitchen. The rubber soles pounded against the wood slowly but with determined steps. In the seconds before the man came into the kitchen, John tried to guess who he could be. He rarely had contact with anyone. There were few people who even knew Hazel used to live here, and none of them would be this impolite. The thought struck him that perhaps this man was an old boyfriend that Hazel never told him about and he was angry about something. But that thought went away as quickly as it had come. The voice sounded way too old for Hazel’s taste.
He held firmly to the knife and waited. He could sense the man had entered the room and not just by the sound of his boots on the hardwood. There was a presence that almost felt evil. The footsteps ceased and the man stood in the doorway. His breath was slow and steady. Gizmo’s gears worked into overdrive as it tried various ways to get past the man and into the kitchen.
“It’s so much fun that you’re playing the quiet game,” Gizmo said, “but it really would be nice to wait outside. It’s lovely out today.”
John heard a thump and the sound of wheels spinning with no resistance. The man had knocked Gizmo onto its side.
“Oh, this is great!” Gizmo nearly shouted. “Pushing myself back onto my wheels is always a fun challenge.” To anyone else this might have sounded sarcastic, but John knew it wasn’t. If his daughter had been meaning to torture him with Gizmo’s personality then she was more than a genius.
“John,” the man said. “Why’re you holding a knife?”
“You’re an intruder. I don’t know who you are.”
“I’m not an intruder. I’m just here to ask you some questions.”
“Sounds to me like you’re looking for my daughter. If you come in peace then you can knock like a regular human being and wait to be invited inside.” John’s grip on the knife was tighter than before. He knew he stood little chance against anyone who might wish him harm, but he’d at least injure him.
“I need to know where she is.”
John could feel blood rushing to his cheeks. He half-considered charging at the man, swinging all the way. But he remained calm.
“Why do you need to know that?”
“Come on, John. It would be in your best interest if you worked with me here.”
“Who wants to know?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“It does to me.”
The man sighed. “You’re not going to tell me no matter who I am.”
“Then why are you asking me?”
The man remained silent for a few long seconds. Swallowed, then spoke slowly. “I just thought I might as well try.” He walked slowly, heel to toe, heel to toe until he was on the other side of the room. “I imagine her address is written somewhere around here.”
“Then you’re a fool,” John said, trying his best to keep the man in front of him by following his movements. “What kind of man in my condition keeps written notes?”
“Maybe the information is stored in your little robot here.”
“That would be lovely.” Gizmo said as he pushed itself back onto its wheels. “But I’m afraid it isn’t.”
John could hear the man’s teeth grinding.
“Listen,” John said, “if you came here to just rob me, you would come out ahead. There’s little I will do to try and stop you. But if you want something from my daughter, then you better kill me now, because I will come after you with everything I’ve got.”
The man let out a wheezing laugh until it turned into a deep cough. Finally, he took more steps, only this time he was walking toward John. John stiffened and held the knife with a white-knuckled grip. The man stopped when he was only inches from him. All John had to do was stab the man, slice him through the throat and this would be finished. He had the training. He had been in plenty of fights. But what if he missed? What if the man dodged it? His aim wasn’t like it used to be and for good reason. Surely the man would kill John. His arms were frozen in front of him and the man knew it.
He could smell the stench of alcohol on the man’s breath as he talked. “Go ahead John. Take a jab, see what happens.”
John imagined that the man was holding open his jacket or sticking his chest out in defiance. John could do it. He could try at least. But fear kept him frozen in place. If he didn’t resist, if he didn’t try to kill the man, then surely he would live. Then, he’d get a chance to warn his daughter and tell her that someone was looking for her.
“Why don’t you set the knife in the sink, John?”
The helplessness he felt wasn’t right. No man should feel this level of fear in his own home. No man should be forced to give up so easily. But he told himself over and over that giving in was the best thing for his daughter. His wrist trembled as he reached behind him and let the knife clank to the bottom of the metal sink.
“Now, that’s better isn’t it?”
John wanted to choke the man to death. He wanted to jump on top of him and pulverize his head until there was nothing left. He could have done it a few years ago. Now he could barely make it from the kitchen to the toilet without running into something, much less have the coordinated ability to fight a man.
“I want to know where your daughter is, John.”
“My daughter isn’t close to me anymore. She never gave me her new address.” Saying the words out loud nearly sent tears to his eyes. He’d known the truth that his daughter didn’t want anything to do with him, though it wasn’t just him. It was this house. This neighborhood. This whole part of the city. All of the treasured memories this home once provided had been erased in a single day. They had tried to make it work over the years, but his daughter had moved on. Their friends and neighbors had moved on too. It seemed, at times, that John was the only one who never had the ability to move on. The question that always festered in his mind was what was ther
e to move on to? Everything he had ever wanted was here. Everything he had ever wanted had been taken away from him except for his daughter, and now she was slipping away more and more. On less optimistic days he would say that she had already slipped completely from his grip.
“Then perhaps you wouldn’t mind if I looked around the house? I understand your condition. I’m sure she probably left some record of her address around here somewhere and never told you.”
The man walked away from John and out of the kitchen. It would do no good to tell him that he most certainly did mind if he looked around the house. This man was going to do whatever he wanted.
A loud crash from the living room made John jump. Gizmo rolled toward the area, happy to let the man know that it would be honored to clean up the mess. Crash after crash, John stood next to the kitchen sink as the man turned the entire house upside down. He wouldn’t find anything. He wasn’t lying when he said his daughter didn’t leave anything here. That is, she didn’t to John’s knowledge.
Gizmo basically gave John the play-by-play from every room the man entered.
Oh, I can help you put that chair back in its place.
Don’t worry about those candles, John never uses them anyway.
That china is very old, but sturdy. Well, not that sturdy! Don’t worry about it! I can help clean!
The man didn’t say anything when he left. He simply opened the front door and closed it gently behind him.
“What a riot,” Gizmo said as it came back into the kitchen. “It’s a good thing I don’t require sleep. This cleanup will take days.”
John’s heartbeat hadn’t slowed since the man walked into the house. He didn’t know what he felt exactly. There was a mixture of anger and fear. But mostly, he was worried about Hazel.
6
The potbellied guard was ready for Hazel when she approached him. They’d seen each other plenty of times before as she passed to and from the robotics lab, but this time he stood in the way with his large arms crossed over his chest.
Prototype D (Prototype D Series Book 1) Page 5
