RobotWorld

by Ray Verola

  Dee narrowed his eyelids over his always-intense eyes. “Wow. What a surprise. I thought Morris was one of your favorite humans.”

  Sophia shook her head. “Not anymore. I have my reasons. But with these damn employee protection laws that seem to get more complicated by the day, we must have clear cause to fire someone. I’ve already started to obtain dirt on him from a female personal bot I set him up with a few weeks ago. She’s getting him hooked on Serenity. Lying about the dosage, saying it’s eighty-one mills. Even the smartest humans, like Taylor, can be manipulated. Especially when a pretty woman or a pretty robot is involved.” Sophia grinned. Just like a human would grin after uttering my last sentence, she thought. “Get something negative on him here at work, and let’s get him out of our hair.”

  “You got it, boss.”

  After Dee left her office, Sophia thought that maybe job termination wasn’t enough. If Taylor did see her blue patch, perhaps more dire consequences might be appropriate.

  9

  Upon arriving in his PTV at the apartment parking lot after work, Taylor was stoked, as usual, with anticipation to see Jennifer. The elevator doors opened on his floor. As he turned toward his apartment he stopped short when he saw the person walking toward him from the elevator at the other end of the hall. Tracey.

  For a moment, he remained frozen in his tracks. Tracey. His twin sister, Tracey. Plain, slightly overweight Tracey. Wearing her usual understated, dated clothes: baggy blue jeans, a loosely fitted white blouse, and black sneakers that had gone out of style a decade earlier.

  He couldn’t remember the last time they’d spoken.

  “Don’t look so stunned,” she said.

  “It’s been a while. To what do I owe this honor?”

  “Am I not allowed to visit my brilliant, one-percent intuitive big brother? Even if you’re my big brother by only three minutes.”

  They awkwardly kissed each other on the cheek.

  “So,” she said, “are we going to just stand here in the hall? Or are you going to invite me in?”

  He inserted the magnetic card key and opened the door. Jennifer was standing at the ready, across the living room, waiting to make her usual welcome-home dash into his arms. She froze when she saw Tracey.

  “Trace, this is Jennifer. Jen, this is Tracey, my twin sister,” Taylor said.

  Jennifer’s face broke into a wide smile as she offered her hand. “Nice to meet you. Taylor has mentioned you.”

  “In glowing terms, I’m sure,” Tracey said, as she took Jennifer’s hand. Taylor detected more than a hint of sarcasm in her words.

  “The resemblance is amazing,” Jennifer said. “Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea?” She laughed. “Wine? We do have it on hand, even though Taylor doesn’t drink. I bought some the other day. I’m trying to get him to loosen up and live a little.”

  “Regular black coffee, no cream, no sugar, would be great,” Tracey said.

  “The same for me,” Taylor added.

  Jennifer smiled one of her electric smiles. “Coffee, black and clean, for both of you. Be right back.”

  Taylor and Tracey then sat on opposite ends of the white leather couch.

  “How’s your asthma been?” she asked.

  “Fine. My life’s going well.”

  “It’s always been a gauge of how your life is going,” Tracey said. She looked around. “Nice place. Very bright. It suits you, Tay.” She made eye contact with her brother. “I can see you’re surprised to see me.”

  “It’s fair to ask . . . after all this time . . . why you’re here?” Taylor replied.

  “There have been some changes in my life, and I wanted to run them by you.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  Tracey shifted in her seat. “I’m now working for the government . . . with the Robot Integration Council—and for someone you know: Sophia Ross.”

  “Interesting. You’ll find she’s super intelligent and quick, with a bit of an attitude. But please don’t quote me. Passive-aggressive, she is. Don’t cross her. The woman is goal-oriented to the max. Anything off-topic from business objectives and she bristles. Believe me, I know from personal experience. Sophia has really gotten into her government work dealing with smoothing the assimilation of robots into society. She knows more about robots than just about anyone. I’ve been noticing that her Robot Integration Council work is taking up a lot more of her time. What exactly are you doing for the RIC?”

  “As you said, dealing with the smooth integration of robots into society.”

  “Yeah, obviously. I’d gathered that. I know the purpose of the council.” Taylor paused, thinking his response might have sounded harsh, even though Tracey’s answer to his direct question was unnecessarily curt. But it made no sense to pick a fight now. He’d change the subject. “You know, Jen is a robot.”

  “Incredible. I couldn’t tell. But I guess that’s the point, right?”

  “Best relationship I’ve ever had. Without a doubt.”

  “Not surprising. People were never your strong point. It’s a quality we share.” She stood. “I gotta go.”

  “Leaving so soon? Jen isn’t even back with our coffee.”

  “I only wanted to let you know I’ll be working with your boss at RobotWorld. You were bound to find out. And perhaps our paths will cross down the road. Most RIC meetings are held at the RW offices. Didn’t want it to be super-awkward to see you at RW for the first time in . . . a long time. And I didn’t want you to hear it from your boss.” She started walking to the door. “Oh, another bit of news,” she said, not slowing her brisk pace. “I’m dating Shane Diggins.”

  Taylor followed her to the door. He knew the name, of course. But to say he was surprised would be an understatement. He had to ask a question to be sure in his mind. “RW’s head of research and development?”

  “One and the same.”

  “Terrific. I had no idea.” He didn’t want to say what he really thought. What a shocker. Shane is so successful and is even higher on RW’s pecking order than I am. He’s all about work. What the hell do the two of you have in common?

  As she grasped the doorknob, Tracey said, “Don’t look so surprised. I’ve been working on my personal development. Downloading self-help books to my telescreen and taking self-improvement telescreen seminars. It’s good to improve oneself.”

  “I agree. I’ve been working on myself too. Not taking courses like you’re doing. Just attempting to be more honest in my work life and personal life. My concern of how society has progressed—or regressed—is growing, but I haven’t taken any action. It’s a great balancing act. When you stick your neck out today, you’re in danger of having your head chopped off.”

  “How’s your imaginary friend? George, right? You always liked him better than me.”

  “You’re not still jealous of George, are you? I’ve outgrown him. He’s gone.” She seemed determined to leave. He wanted to say something conciliatory or do something to stop her from leaving. But he couldn’t find the words. He blurted out, “Good seeing you again. No need for you to be a stranger.”

  She turned the doorknob and smiled in what he read as a sour expression. “It goes both ways. Say goodbye to Jennifer for me.” She was quickly out the door.

  A minute later, a smiling Jennifer strode out of the kitchen holding a tray with a coffee pot and two cups. She stopped and looked around the room. “Where’s your sister?” she asked, her smile melting into a serious expression as she set the tray down on the dining room table.

  “Tracey had to go,” Taylor replied. “She wanted me to say she was sorry she couldn’t stay.” He said this even though Tracey hadn’t expressed any sorrow in not staying longer.

  “I’ll bet anything she lied about not being able to stay. I wasn’t eavesdropping, but I couldn’t help but overhear. Who’s George?”

  “Just
the name I gave to my intuition a long time ago. Made it easier to relate.”

  Jennifer’s eyes grew wide. “Wow. So you’re a one-percenter. An intuitive?”

  He shook his head. “I’m out of practice now. For all the problems it’s caused me, I can’t say it was a good thing to have in the first place.”

  “Of course it is. The more talents a person has, the better. And now I know you have the gift of wisdom. At least that’s what I’ve read—through my downloads—about people like you.”

  “I think I’ll have some of that coffee.”

  As she poured him a cup, Jennifer asked, “So what’s the reason you and your sister haven’t been speaking?”

  “Too complicated. Truly, I don’t even know now. Just the silly kind of barriers that sometimes spring up between people and in some families. It sort of happened. I’m sure part of it is my fault.” He turned away from her and looked out the window. “I just don’t know.”

  “It’s you humans that are way too complicated. It’s amazing how you all create problems out of thin air. Not saying that’s what happened between you and your sister, of course. But come on. There has to be a story here—a concrete reason for the situation.”

  “You’re right. It was more like an accumulation of things. She always felt that our parents liked me more or favored me in some way. Maybe she was justified in her feeling. We were the only kids of our parents, who are now deceased. Some twins get along. We always seemed to disagree on everything.” He took a sip of hot coffee that burned the roof of his mouth. “Then, in high school, I was a wrestler. I wrestled a guy she was sweet on in the semifinal round of a big tournament. She was rooting for my opponent. Anyway, I won. And ended up hurting the guy really bad. He was paralyzed for a while but later recovered. She accused me of hurting him purposely, which was nonsense. Honestly. And I was furious at her for rooting against me. We never were close after that.”

  Jennifer shrugged. “Forgive me for saying so, but that sounds ridiculous. You humans, way too complicated.”

  “I told you it was silly. Silly and a little sad too. Actually, more than a little sad.” Taylor sighed. “Sometimes I wish I could be a robot.”

  10

  A few days later, Sophia, Dee Woodson, and five RW executives, including Taylor, were seated around the conference table in Sophia’s expansive office. The meeting was a typical, straightforward Sophia-led staff meeting. As she droned on, Taylor became fascinated with watching one of the four piranhas darting around the fish tank while the other three remained almost inactive.

  At the end of the meeting, Sophia and Dee, apparently by design, focused stony gazes on Taylor.

  “We need everyone in this room to be one hundred percent committed to the mission of this company,” Sophia pointedly said. “Ninety-nine percent doesn’t cut it. Anyone without complete commitment to the goals of this company should strongly consider whether this is the right place for him or her to work. Okay, meeting adjourned.”

  Taylor lingered after the meeting broke up and approached Sophia. “Were your closing remarks directed at me?” he asked, though he suspected the answer.

  Sophia refused to make eye contact with Taylor. “If the shoe fits . . .” She then brushed past him and disappeared out of the office. He got a whiff of the pleasant rose-floral perfume she usually wore, as he was left alone in the office with only the hum and gurgling of the filter in the piranha tank breaking the silence.

  Upon returning to his office, Taylor said to Roz, “So you think I worry too much about my future at this company? Guess what happened in our staff meeting?”

  ***

  On the way home from work, Taylor maneuvered his lightning-quick PTV through the late afternoon rush-hour traffic at the speed limit of 220 kmh. Despite their high-speed capability, it didn’t take much mental or physical effort to manually pilot a PTV. PTVs, although they resembled cars, were roomier and much faster than the now-defunct automobiles. In place of tires, PTVs had electromagnetic sensors on the underside of the chassis that moved the vehicle at rapid speeds over electromagnetic highways and roads that ensured smooth traffic patterns. The joke in Capital City was that the highway and road system was the only area where true progress had been made. The system was called maglev (derived from the term magnetic levitation). As a young child, Taylor had been fascinated by the maglev system. He had read that it was developed by British electrical engineer Eric Laithwaite in the late 1940s and refined by the Chinese with the Shanghai Maglev Train (capable of speeds of 430 kmh or 270 mph) in the second decade of the twenty-first century. The system was further refined by the Japanese maglev LO series, with speeds up to 603 kmh or 374 mph.

  PTVs traveled slightly above a guideway using magnets to create lift and propulsion, allowing for reduced friction and high speeds never dreamed of for old automobiles. Traffic jams were a long-ago memory only the oldest people now alive could recall.

  Even though Taylor could have hit a button on the console to get him home automatically, he, as usual, chose to drive to his apartment using manual controls. Having to concentrate, even minimally, on the road took his mind off his problems at work.

  He was less than a mile from his apartment when his PTV jumped the electromagnetic track and spun toward a guardrail. The normally cool Taylor experienced brain lock. His eyes widened; his hands tightened on the steering wheel, causing momentary spasms in both arms. He had the feeling of spinning out of control in slow motion. From his mouth emanated a growling scream, a sound that surprised him because he wouldn’t in a million years think he was capable of making such a sound. The scream added to the surreal accident experience. He could only hold on to the steering wheel and brace himself. Every muscle in his body tensed. The PTV rammed into a guardrail, designed to absorb the force of vehicle impact, with a dull thump as it came to an abrupt stop.

  Taylor was stunned but unhurt, as far as he could tell. PTV crashes were as rare as old CDs or DVDs. Within seconds, two police vehicles were on the scene.

  One of the officers, dressed in the all-black uniform of law enforcement, tapped on the driver’s side window, and Taylor pressed a button on the door to roll it down.

  The officer raised the dark visor of his helmet to reveal what Taylor took to be a look of concern. “Are you okay, sir?”

  “I’m fine,” Taylor said in as firm a voice as he could produce. “The vehicle and the rail gave me a gentle landing. This is a new PTV. Can’t imagine what happened.”

  “As it doesn’t appear you need medical attention, we’ll transport you and your vehicle to the nearest government repair shop. They’ll take possession of your PTV by law, do an evaluation to determine what, if anything, went wrong, and give you a loaner vehicle.”

  At the repair shop, Taylor sat in the empty waiting room. The piped-in Baroque music calmed his frayed nerves, and his pulse returned to normal. The sky had turned stormy. A heavy rain pinged against the corrugated roof and metal gutters; ribbons of water sluiced down the shop’s front window. Taylor pulled out a mini-tablet from his pocket and caught up on the day’s news, most of which was cheery government propaganda.

  After approximately thirty minutes, a friendly young mechanic entered the room and said, “Well, this is unusual. The construction of PTVs and the maglev guideway is so . . . what’s the word . . . impack . . . im . . .” He tilted his head to the side in a gesture that reminded Taylor of the move a miniature schnauzer he’d had as a kid would do whenever the dog was confused.

  “Impeccable?” Taylor suggested.

  The skinny man with yellowish teeth clapped his hands once in apparent delight. “Yeah, that’s it. Implackable. PTVs almost never fail these days. This is the first accident I’ve seen in . . . I don’t know how long. PTVs are put together so well that my job will be obsolete in a matter of a few short years, at most. I’m thinking of going back to school to learn another trade.”

&nbs
p; “What do you think happened?”

  “Ah, this situation is interesting. Walk with me to the garage. I’ll show you.”

  As they stood behind a glass barrier with Taylor’s PTV on the other side, the mechanic pointed to the driver’s side door. “Right there. Seems to be a bullet hole. Not sure, but that’s what it appears to be. The authorities will no doubt fish around for a bullet in the interior. Until then, no one’s allowed near the vehicle. It’s the law. You got any enemies?”

  The color drained from Taylor’s face. “Not that I know of. At least no one who’d take a shot at me.”

  “Did you notice the hole before now?”

  “It wasn’t there when I left my office to head home. I’m sure of it.”

  “The strange thing is that a rare electromagnetic power failure registered on the stretch of road you were riding on. Right at the time of your accident. Very strange. I’ll bet it was the main reason for your problem. As for the hole in the door, maybe it was kids playing with their police officer dad or mom’s weapon. I’ve seen two telescreen stories in the last week about the kids of police officers firing guns at traffic. So much for the idea of keeping us all safer by restricting guns only to cops.” The mechanic tilted his head again and smiled a wide smile exposing his bad teeth. “For fun! Can you imagine? Dopey kids shooting at PTVs as some sort of game. Crazy young people these days. Nothing better to do. The power failure and the door hole, I think it’s a big coincidence. But anyway, the police have to investigate the possible bullet hole. Probably won’t lead to anything.”

  Taylor, with his mouth wide open, shook his head.

  “It doesn’t appear there is anything wrong with your PTV, outside of the hole, which we’ll patch after the authorities finish their investigation,” the mechanic continued. “We’ll provide a loaner PTV for your use. Must do so by law—and we gladly do it. We’ll almost certainly call you tomorrow afternoon to pick up your vehicle. It will take at least until tomorrow for the police to check it out. Before we release it to you, I’ll personally inspect all systems thoroughly. It’ll be as good as the day you bought it. That’s our guarantee.” He smiled at Taylor. “Cheer up. It could have been even messier. You could have been badly injured, or worse.”