Body Shop - Book Two in the Annihilation Series

by John Hindmarsh

  “I know—I just read it. We do the certifications?”

  “It would be an impossible bottleneck if the state required DMV employees to conduct inspections and tests. We’re underestimating IQ scores by at least 15 points.”

  “Hmm. Tell me, what did it cost?”

  “Cost?” queried Bronwyn.

  “Yes, cost.” confirmed Toby.

  Billie, listening, covered her mouth to muffle her laughter.

  “Aah. Cost. In dollars or in equivalents?”

  “First the dollar amounts, followed by what you mean by ‘in equivalents’.”

  “Toby, I have to rejoin the project meeting.” Darwin wanted out of this conversation.

  “Okay. I’ll deal with you later. Now, Bronwyn, speak up.”

  “We—that is, your persona consulted with Victoria Zhou to ensure it—well, most of it—was legal. We contributed to every California state senator’s campaign committee. That cost ten million. We encouraged six senators—three from each party—to travel on fact-finding missions to Europe; they traveled first class, of course. We—you—paid all expenses. We donated a substantial amount to the governor’s favorite charity. Four senators traveled with HAT convoys, in order to gain experience of high-speed heavy autonomous trucking convoys. Senator Helen Bridgewell is expected to conclude her therapy treatment next week.”

  “Treatment?”

  “Yes, she traveled with Dash—he’s one of the best pilots—and she didn’t realize until the journey was well underway that he wasn’t human. She panicked. The doctor said she suffers from a form of hysteria based on fear of intelligent robots. The psychiatric profession hasn’t agreed on a name for the phobia, yet. I suspect it will be called meta-something-phobia.”

  Toby sighed. He ignored the possible pun. “I can’t keep track of all this. Continue with costs and—ah, equivalents.”

  “All told, with political and charitable donations, trips, entertainments, and other minor expenditures, the cost approached seventeen million. Additionally, we gave each senator a robot of choice. About half made requests for care bots. Others—well, there’s those new Japanese bots, you know, the sexy ones? We had to buy fifteen female and one male bot from the US distributor and they are expensive; I recommend you add that company to the Euler organization. The remaining requests were either for companion, guard, or chauffeur bots. One or two senators wanted office PAs. More than half of the senators asked for multiple bots; I think these extras were for family members. I estimate these equivalents cost two million or so.”

  “Two million? That’s a heck of a lot of family member requests.”

  “Yes, Toby. But we got the bill passed. As of next week, all of the DMV offices will allocate a day each week to register bots that have been manufactured in California and that we’ve certified. That’s currently ten million bots in this state, and the numbers are increasing almost exponentially. We estimate the total will double in the next six months. Our next target is to arrange for driver’s licenses; that will need more state legislation.” Bronwyn explained why she and Darwin wanted to have bots registered and issued with drivers licenses. She continued, “When we’ve succeeded with the second bill, and the state government agrees to issue licenses, we’ll get them to introduce a process for issuing a range of craft and professional licenses and certifications. For example, we’ll have care bots formally recognized as nurses and training bots as teachers. Bots need to be registered, first, so we can progress our plans.”

  “In future—” He didn’t want to explore what Darwin and Bronwyn were planning for the future. His guess was they planned to pursue similar legislation in other states, until all bots were registered, countrywide.

  Bronwyn sighed. “Yes, Toby. Talk to you first. You’ve been very busy, though.” Her image faded from Toby’s computer screen.

  Billie said, “She has you there.”

  Toby frowned. “I know. Sometimes, though, they must consult, first. This is going to have a major impact and not only in California. I suspect we’ll have major reactions to the bill from Washington, and not necessarily positive.”

  The senator stood on the steps of Congress for his televised attack on California and on that state’s the new legislation to register bots. A preacher, his white collar obvious against his brown uniform, stood beside him. The politician’s voice was reminiscent of numerous fingernails scratching on blackboards, only worse. He was from a mid-west southern state and did not restrain his antipathy to robots, Californians, and anyone else he thought might be sympathetic to the idea of registering non-humans.

  Toby watched the televised speech with avid interest.

  “Again,” Senator Roy Miller declaimed. “The furrin state of California with all its nuts is tryin’ to override the nat’ral and Christian rights of the real people of this country. Robots.” He spat the word and said it again. “Robots. They’re lumps of metal with some kind of dogblamed computer program. We’re supposed to treat them as entities.” He stretched the word out and repeated it. “Entities. It is anti-Christian.” He sounded ‘anti’ to match ‘entity’. “It’s agin our teachings. Man and only man was created in the image of God. Robots have been made by man, not created by some higher authority. We cannot allow this evil Californian legislation to stand. We must pass a bill in Congress that wipes out this work of the devil and of these sun-dried devil worshipers.”

  A reporter managed to interrupt the impassioned flow and asked, “Senator Miller—Roy—may I ask a question? What if tomorrow a spaceship lands with an alien on board. Will you consider him—or her—to be also the work of the devil?”

  Miller almost choked. His face grew red. He said, “How dare you—that’s a blasph’mous question. If—I say if—there are such things as aliens—and one landed here, he would look like us. Otherwise, it too, would be the work of the devil.”

  “So you expect aliens to be human and what—white? With blue or green eyes?”

  “Sir, if duelin’ was still allowed, I’d challenge you—”

  “Don’t let that stop you.”

  “How dare you make fun of a Christian, a true American, a supporter of MAWA.” Miller turned away from the reporter and continued with his speech. “Tomorrow I’m introducin’ a bill—I have the President’s support for my proposed legislation, called The Humans Above Robots Bill—that will nullify all states’ legislation purportin’ to register robots or in any way attemptin’ to treat them as human. In addition, my bill will ensure that these metal idiots will never gain rights under the Constitution of this great United States of America.” He stopped to breathe.

  A couple of people in the senator’s entourage applauded.

  In the studio, the broadcast from the steps of Congress was unexpectedly interrupted by a video clip. It showed the senator in a hotel room engaged rather amorously with one of the latest female sex bots. The identity of the bot was indisputable; her face had been portrayed in numerous recent news clips announcing that not only had she been accepted as a candidate in a state beauty contest but she also had been granted status as a resident of Puerto Rico.

  The broadcast transferred back to the senator standing on the steps. He was still in full flow. “…personally I will never have one of these monstrosities in my house. I would never engage with a robot under any circumstances.” He was interrupted by gales of laughter from the people standing in front of him. Someone had seen the sex bot video clip in the broadcast and was sharing it around the group of reporters.

  “Senator, do you know a sex bot called Betsie? Betsie Bountiful, I understand is her full name?” asked one of the reporters.

  “Of course not. How dare—”

  “Senator, how do you explain this video? It certainly looks like humans above robots.” The reporter held up his cell phone so the screen playing the video was visible to the senator.

  “That’s fake news,” screeched Miller, his voice increasing in volume. “Lies. Lies.” He was almost frothing at the mouth—spitt
le was flying everywhere. “That’s nothin’ more than an attempt by the devil to malign a god-fearin’ Christian—”

  The studio cut the broadcast, and the commentator said, “We apologize for that technical fault and interruption. We don’t know the source of the video clip, and of course, we cannot vouch for its accuracy. Our Washington reporter, Dan Roberts, will provide an update as soon as possible. In the meantime, we suspect Senator Roy Miller may be unavailable for interviews for a week or two, at least.” She appeared to be struggling to keep a straight face.

  Toby couldn’t stop laughing. “Darwin, did you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Interrupt a news broadcast from ABZ with a somewhat salacious video clip of Senator Miller and a sex bot?”

  “What? No, of course I didn’t.”

  Toby realized he’d be stonewalled by both the SIs and didn’t inquire further. He had his suspicions, though. He worried that there would be retaliation from the brownshirts.

  oOo

  Chapter 15

  “Have either Darwin or Bronwyn managed to discover what happened to your uncle?” Billie asked. They were sitting across from each other on the comfortable chairs in the portico. It was cool in the shade despite the heat of the late summer sun.

  Toby did not answer immediately. He had asked the SIs to examine all their files, those that had been uploaded to the Euler cloud from bots and accessible cameras, but with no results.

  “We’ve tried that,” he said. “There are gaps that neither SI has been able to cover. Nothing suspicious, I suppose. Simply there’s no record available. I think sometimes Nat established no-go areas, where neither bots nor SIs were allowed to record or to retain knowledge. He wanted to be private, something he obsessed about. That’s why Darwin has no knowledge of the videos that Nat prepared for me.”

  “I wondered.” Billie looked at her toes and wiggled them. She was wearing long striped socks, the colors matching her top. Toby noted she still had dark rings around her eyes. “Do you think he had other reasons for keeping Darwin out? And Bronwyn?”

  Toby sighed. “I’ve wondered, too. For example, how did he build his—well, his business empire, I suppose you could call it.”

  “You weren’t that close to your uncle?”

  “We were very close when I was younger. He guided me through my teenage years, made sure I didn’t mess up too much. It began to change from about when I started college; he seemed to be busy and not always available.”

  “He wasn’t married? No family?”

  “I was his family, mainly. At one stage he had a very serious relationship with a young lady—it seemed they were intending to marry. However, she went back to her home in France. She was very sexy, or so I thought. I had a crush. In my defense, I’ll point out I was fifteen at the time.”

  Billie threw a cushion and Toby caught it and added to those already propping up his head. “Thank you, I needed extra support.” He frowned into the distance. “I must say—”

  “You can only do your best, you know.” Billie stood up and kissed Toby on the top of his head. She repossessed her cushion.

  “Am I that obvious?” He held her hand. After a moment he released it, and Billie returned to her chair.

  “Yes, of course you are. You worry about it all.”

  They were both silent. Toby had to admit that every so often he found the scope of Nate’s business to be overwhelming. Sometimes in the middle of the night, his eyes flicked open, and he lay there in the dark, full of worries. He missed his Caltech role, his PhD students, even the subtle cut and thrust of his fellow academics. He knew though, his uncle’s business was reality. Caltech was a dream, something in his past that he could savor yet never resume.

  Billie, apparently reading his mind, said, “You can never go back.”

  Toby sighed again. “I know. Anyway, this is far too much introspection. My current worries are more urgent.”

  “You have current worries?”

  “Yes.” Toby almost growled. “The brownshirts. How to protect you. Me. Everyone.”

  “The world?”

  “Almost.” Toby sat up straight. “I almost forgot. Rick’s due any minute. The new guard bots have probably stopped and strip-searched him.”

  The gurgle of Billie’s laughter relieved him. She had been very reserved and serious in the days since her rescue. He knew she was re-living the murder of her stepfather and her kidnap in her nightmares. He grinned at his friend and lover. He stood and held out his hand. “Come on, we’d better check.”

  They wandered along the garden path towards the front of the house. The grounds were large and required the efforts of a gardener full-time. Toby identified two of the Mars bot team on watch near the portico; their camouflage was surprisingly effective.

  He said, “Did you see your security bot?”

  “No.” Billie looked around and asked, “Where?”

  Toby pointed out the two bots. One was standing under a small tree, its camouflage supplemented by the shadows. The second one was standing next to a flowering shrub, and it had managed to match its camouflage to the leaf and flower patterns.

  “They’re good.”

  “I think the bot near the flowers is one of your Venus team.”

  “How can you tell?”

  “She’s carrying a pink grenade launcher.”

  Billie dug him in the ribs.

  “Ouch. That hurt.”

  “Baby.”

  Their timing was close. Rick had arrived at the front security gate seconds before, and the two large Mars units that were on duty waved him through.

  “Damn,” said Rick. “For a moment I thought they were going to strip-search me.”

  Billie nearly doubled over with laughter. Toby stood back with his arms folded and maintained a straight face.

  Rick, all innocence, asked, “What did I say?”

  “Nothing.” Toby wiped the tears from Billie’s face.

  “It’s—it’s just that Toby said—”

  Rick didn’t seem to get the joke; he too, was keeping a straight face.

  Billie caught on. “I’ll get my revenge on both of you,” she sniffed. Toby gave her a hug.

  Rick said, “I’ve some interesting videos for you. Oh, and I brought my end of month report.”

  Toby frowned. “I’ll have to find a way to eliminate all these reports; it’s taking me more than a month to review them. Come on.” He led the way to his office.

  Rick loaded his video file and took command of the controller. While he was working, Billie asked, “Where’s Karla?”

  Rick waved the controller at the television set. “She’s still in San Francisco. She’s conflicted. She doesn’t know whether to go full out with Travers TV or not. Her family is applying pressure because her brother’s a member of the brownshirts.”

  “I hope it works out for you,” Billie said.

  “Oh, I’ll be able to find someone to work for us. I’ve received a dozen or more resumes in the last week, of people wanting to work with us.” He looked at Billie. “Karla and I aren’t an item, despite my intentions.” He clicked on the TV.

  Rick said, “Yesterday was the first day for registration of bots under the new legislation and we had our video teams out to capture what was happening at different locations. The first segment is at the Pasadena DMV on Rosemead Boulevard.” He started the video.

  The camera panned from the front door of the building to the parking lot where thousands of bots waited in orderly lines. The camera shifted to a longer view down Rosemead Boulevard where the lines continued. The unseen commentator said, “This morning, here in Pasadena, we see the results of one of the most adventurous pieces of Californian legislation to be signed into law in the past hundred years. Bots are people, in reality and according to law. Numerous bots, all different shapes and sizes, have lined up here to commence their registration process. Let me talk to one or two, so we get a feel of how they feel about this day in history.”


  The camera focused on a bot carrying a microphone. He turned to the camera and said, “Yes, it’s me, Trevor Jones. I’m a freelance video bot, acting as your intrepid reporter. I’m planning to register too, but I’ll wait until the crowds ease up.” Trevor spoke clearly with a firm tenor voice. He stood taller than most of the bots waiting in their orderly lines. His facial features were soft and except for his black camera eyes, were strongly human. He had short curly hair and an engaging smile.

  He tapped a bot on the shoulder. Its function was not obvious. It stood four feet tall, was of sturdy build, and judging by its body design and facial features, was an older model. It turned towards Trevor.

  “Yes?” Its voice was soft and mellow.

  “I’m Trevor Jones reporting for Travers TV. You’re on air right now. What’s your name?”

  “Oh, hi, Trevor. I enjoy your reports. I’m a Structure Class bot, trained for residential construction work. My friends call me Ezekiel or Eze if they’re in a hurry.”

  “Eze, what do you think of today? Of being able to register?”

  “It’s marvelous. I never thought this would happen. Next, I hope to be able to register as a contractor and get all the licenses I need to do renovation work.”

  “Very good. Thank you, Eze.” He turned to the camera. “Now I’ll talk with a care bot, one of the 800 class.”

  The camera followed him along the line until he stopped next to a group of smaller bots. They were of the same size and build, a foot or more shorter than the structure bot. They all turned to the camera.

  Trevor addressed the nearest of the group of care bots. “Hi Susie. We spoke before. What do you think of today?”