RobotWorld

by Ray Verola

  Taylor removed the communication earpiece. He popped a Serenity pill into his mouth, climbed into bed after peeling off his gray work uniform for the last time, and slept until ten o’clock the next morning.

  19

  As Taylor was awakening in his bed on the day after being fired, Sophia fidgeted in an uncomfortable chair in a quiet waiting room outside the downtown Capital City office of Marcia Haddad, the Chief Sector Security Officer. Sophia was the only individual in the small waiting area. She’d changed out of her RobotWorld grays and wore a red pantsuit.

  She inserted a communication earpiece into her ear. In an instant, she was connected on a secure line to Shane Diggins. “I so much hate to grovel,” Sophia murmured.

  “Sometimes it’s necessary,” Shane said.

  “I’m not at all optimistic.”

  “Give it your best shot. The worst that can happen is that we’ll be in the same position we are in now.”

  She kept her voice down, even though her communication couldn’t be monitored on the secure line. “I’d like the government to agree to make Taylor disappear. Dump our problem in their lap. Don’t want to expose us to the risk of going after him on our own, which we’ll have to do if the government won’t eliminate him.”

  “If that’s the way it must be, we’ll make it work. Orchestrating his PTV accident failed. But it was a good effort, and it wasn’t able to be traced back to us. If we have to, we’ll do better in the future.”

  The large double door opened. A sharply dressed young man in a business suit smiled at her. “Ms. Haddad will see you now.”

  “I’ve gotta go, Shane,” Sophia said.

  Marcia Haddad, fiftyish, slim, with her medium-length brown hair pulled into a tight bun at the back of her head, rose as Sophia entered. She was wearing a red pantsuit two shades darker than Sophia’s. “So good to see you again, Sophia.”

  They shook hands across the desk and sat.

  “I know we’re both busy, so let’s get right to the business of your visit,” Haddad said. “I’ve read your confidential memo. I must say, I’m a little surprised. You don’t have enough here. Not nearly enough to warrant a disappearance.”

  Sophia’s head snapped back. “But this former executive broke into a secure room and attempted to access sensitive material that could hurt my company—and by extension, the government.”

  Haddad shook her head. “So this Morris guy broke into a room where he didn’t have authorization. You fired him. The video you provided showed he didn’t swipe anything from the room. He has no prior anti-government activity on record. I’m sorry, Sophia. I’ve run this through our highest level, as a courtesy to you. To give your request every possible consideration. There’s just no way, given what you’ve given us.”

  Sophia folded her hands on her lap. “I think you’re making a mistake.” She wasn’t about to relate that, in addition to breaking into the RobotWorld Information Room, there was a strong possibility that Taylor had seen her blue patch. To make such an admission would be impossible. It would expose the fact that she was in her position illegally. She was certain Marcia Haddad didn’t know her secret. For important bots like her, the RW research and development team had installed a device that could beat even the best metal detectors and body scan machines, which could be encountered upon entering places like Sector Security.

  Haddad said, “We could provide assistance in perhaps monitoring this individual, as warranted. Maybe if he does something in the future that establishes a clear political danger to the government, we’d reconsider. And I’ll hold the case open for you to submit any additional information that you might uncover. We have our standards for eliminating people. As of now, this case doesn’t meet those standards.” Haddad smiled a slight smile Sophia interpreted as being condescending.

  Sophia stood. “We’ll agree to disagree on the Taylor Morris situation. But I do appreciate your consideration and the offer of monitoring in the future. I might take you up on the monitoring one day.” She extended her hand and Haddad took it. “Thanks for hearing me out, Marcia. Good seeing you again.”

  As Sophia eased into the back seat of the RobotWorld PTV parked in the underground garage, she tapped on the glass partition separating her from the driver. “Back to the office. Fast,” she shouted.

  She inserted a communication earpiece.

  “How did it go?” Shane asked.

  “Like we thought it would. A declination.”

  “No big deal. We’ll do the job ourselves. Neat and clean. No problem, you’ll see.”

  “It could be tough. It could be dangerous. But I see no other option.”

  20

  The midafternoon meeting of the ten-member Robot Integration Council in the cramped downtown Capital City office of one of the members had just ended. The meeting had to be moved from Sophia’s office at the last minute because of a leak in the piranha tank, which wouldn’t be fixed until the next day. As Sophia had grown tired of always hosting the meeting, she had been looking for a legitimate excuse to move to a new venue. The fish tank problem provided one.

  From where she sat at the head of the rectangular wooden table with a deep-brown finish, Sophia motioned to the woman sitting in the back of the room, next to Shane Diggins. “Tracey,” she said, “if you’ve got a minute . . .”

  Shane tapped Tracey on the arm and left the room. Tracey took a seat next to Sophia.

  “I wanted to inform you of a little unpleasantness that happened yesterday,” Sophia said. “I know from speaking with Shane that you’re unaware of it, but you’d find out about it soon enough. I thought it better you hear it from me directly. I, for reasons I won’t go into, had to fire your brother.”

  Tracey hesitated a moment before responding. “That’s it? From your serious demeanor, Ms. Ross, I was expecting something major.”

  Sophia smiled. “I’m surprised at your reaction.”

  “The news is no big deal to me. Taylor and I have been—let’s say estranged—for quite some time. No need to go into great detail. It’s the sort of thing that happens in some families. People don’t call each other, then grow apart, then a small crack in a relationship becomes a chasm. I was always number two of two in my parents’ eyes next to Mr. Perfect. My brother and I hardly communicate now. If you hadn’t told me, I might not have found out about Taylor no longer working for RW. Most people think twins are inseparable. But rifts happen in some families. Sadly, a rift happened in mine.” Tracey broke eye contact, and her eyes darted around the room. “I’ll shut up now.”

  “Well, I’m gratified that your brother’s termination will not harm our relationship or impede your service to this council,” Sophia said. “In the short time since Shane recommended you, you’ve been a most valuable member of the RIC.”

  “I appreciate your kind words, Ms. Ross. I love doing all I can to help robots fit into society. I’ve always been a bit uneasy around people. I know Taylor shares the same characteristic. But you probably know that. People disappoint so often. At least, that’s been my experience. Personal robots are so much more reliable and, I must say, so much more relatable to me than humans. I’ve never been disappointed by a robot. Humans? That’s another story. Not that it matters much, but I’ve found out that my brother now has a robot mate.”

  “Unfortunately for him, his robot relationship has ended. She is the property of RW.”

  Tracey appeared to choke back tears. With a catch in her voice, she said, “Good. I couldn’t give less of a damn about Taylor.”

  21

  Later that afternoon, back in her RobotWorld office, Sophia placed a communication earpiece in her right ear and contacted Shane, who was in his office at the other end of the vast RW complex.

  “I’m getting ready to call William Hart,” she said. “Any updated information from the janitor at Taylor’s apartment?”

  “The janitor scre
wed up,” Shane said. “Didn’t provide a whole lot for us, anyway. He’s gone. Gone as in disappeared. The government quickly approved this request. Go figure. As you’ve said before, no rhyme or reason.”

  She tapped a button on the desk telescreen to end the call, then tapped it again to call William Hart, a fellow robot and a high-ranking government ally in media relations. In addition to media, he had extensive experience handling the kind of task she was going to discuss with him. Hart agreed to meet Sophia in the park across the street from the RobotWorld offices in one hour. Just as it was illegal for Sophia to be holding her position at RW, it was also illegal for Hart to be in his job.

  Sophia considered Hart a trusted advisor, a smart robot who had a unique approach of looking at the world, one different from her own. She felt a feeling of satisfaction with the thought that the development of individual robot personalities was comparable to the obvious diversity in human dispositions. And how robots related to other robots was also not significantly different from the way humans related to other humans. It was also gratifying to Sophia how humans—whether they knew they were dealing with a robot or not—related to high-functioning bots like her in essentially the same manner as they would to another human. This, of course, was due to the huge accomplishment of RW scientists in making bots so humanlike in every way that it was impossible to tell the difference between a bot and the real thing.

  Sophia and Hart arrived at the small park, which was half the size of a square city block, from different directions, right on time. This park, a holdover from pre-World War III days, was one of the few in Capital City. Since the war, much of what had been parkland had been converted to the grim, gigantic apartment buildings that dominated the city. The creation of wooded or verdant acreage for recreational use wasn’t a high priority for the current government.

  Sophia and Hart wore black overcoats, although being robots, they didn’t need coats to combat the nippy temperatures this day. However, they had both been programmed to maintain human behavior according to circumstance. The few humans—or could some of them be bots?—walking in the park now were wearing overcoats, sweatshirts, and jackets to cope with the chill in the air. Sophia and Hart would blend in perfectly. They sat on a secluded park bench under a huge willow oak. Willow oaks were once plentiful in this area; this particular tree was one of the few remaining. It also seemed that the grass around the bench where they sat had long since declined to grow.

  Hart stood five feet nine with brown hair closely cropped in almost a military-type buzz cut, average-looking and average-behaving in every way, so as to not draw undue attention to himself. “It’s been a week since we’ve seen the sun, Sophia,” he said. “The sky’s as hard and gray as the wall of that old abandoned cement factory across the street. Could be it’s all the pollution your RW operation discharges into the atmosphere that’s giving us this gloomy weather.”

  Sophia decided to ignore the pollution remark. “But the temps have been a bit warmer than last week, so we can’t complain.”

  Hart smiled. “Listen to how boringly human we sound.”

  “Ain’t it beautiful?”

  Four or five pigeons landed on the ground near them. “They’re looking to be fed,” Hart said. “They picked the wrong twosome.” He made eye contact with her. “What did you want to talk about?”

  “That fired executive I mentioned the other day, William,” she said. “Shane and I have been trying to get the government to come over to our position on how dangerous this former executive could be, but they’re not with us yet. It’s possible he knows information that could hurt me and, thus, could hurt us.” If pressed on the relevant information, she would have noted Taylor’s raid on the Information Room. She would not have mentioned the possibility Taylor had seen her blue patch, an inexcusable error reflecting poorly on the competence she so prided herself on. Sophia paused and looked directly into Hart’s eyes. “Since the government is not where we are with this individual, we’ve decided to move ahead without them.” As matter-of-factly as a person of high culture ordering prime rib at a fancy restaurant, she said, “I was thinking elimination.”

  Hart glanced back at the pigeons and exhaled in a way that made his cheeks puff out. “Not what I want to hear. You know how hard it is to kill someone these days, unless it’s done by the government for political reasons. And, obviously, this situation doesn’t fall under that heading—or else you wouldn’t be talking to me. Law enforcement is so damn competent. Non-government crimes these days are solved. Especially murder. Most of them, anyway. Except for the disappearance of the downtown homeless. And we know what that’s about.”

  Sophia stifled a laugh.

  Hart continued, “For a nonhomeless murder or disappearance not handled by the government, we’d have to proceed with great care. The best route would be to hire human amateurs with no prior violent criminal records or associations. Too risky to go the bot route, as the programming record would expose us if they’re caught. And too risky to hire human professionals whom the law might know from monitoring and who would rat us out without thinking twice to cut a deal with the authorities if caught. Besides, human pros would definitely want to know exactly who they’re dealing with. Not like human amateurs. We could get away with being anonymous to them.”

  Sophia nodded.

  “So,” Hart continued, “after we hire these human amateurs and they do the deed, we’d then have to transport them out of the area while getting around travel restriction laws. Big problem. Or hide them in town. Big problem. Not to mention the cash payments. Big cash payments. Another big potential problem. Or we could have them eliminated after the deed is done. Yet another big problem.” Hart looked into the eyes of the stone-faced Sophia. “So, going the elimination route with this fired executive is one big, big problem.” He focused back on the pigeons. “I take your silence to mean I haven’t convinced you not to go the elimination route.”

  She grinned. “You read me correctly. Sometimes I wish we could just Nitro the whole damn human race and be done with it.”

  Hart threw his head back and brought his hands together in a loud clap. “You mean the rumors are true? There is such a thing as Nitro?”

  Sophia nodded firmly. “Nitro exists. Keep it to yourself. I know you can be trusted. Only a select few know about it. Developed by our R&D team. Recently, they figured out how to control its unstable properties. The substance is called Nitro after an old explosive it’s akin to—nitroglycerine. Our Nitro is not close to nitroglycerine chemically. In truth, it’s much more powerful. Three separate lots of Nitro are stored in a highly secured, safe room in the basement of RW, in three vacuum bottle containers we call the black thermoses. One small thermos of this clear liquid could reduce the whole RobotWorld complex to a burned-out piece of firewood. Believe it.”

  “I imagine a weapon as destructive as Nitro would never be used.”

  She curled her upper lip. “Just like the humans would never use nuclear and biological weapons. Ha! Ever hear of World War III?”

  Hart groaned before chortling.

  “But you might be right,” Sophia said. “I don’t see Nitro ever being used. Just too devastating. Even the thought of a Nitro explosion sends chills down my spine—and I’m a robot. Our scientists believe there can be other uses for Nitro—positive uses, like maybe for energy—in addition to its destructive capability. Emphasizing these positive uses will be a major part of our marketing plan for Nitro in the future.” After a few seconds of silence, she continued, “So, regarding the matter at hand, about this fired employee, what do you say?”

  “I was hoping I’d distracted you from the risky matter at hand.” Hart looked back at her. “I guess I could find someone who could do the job and wouldn’t be able to be traced back to either one of us if caught. But only if you think it’s really, really necessary.”

  “I’d prefer to hire a solid professional. But you have m
ore experience in these matters than I do. If, as you say, hiring a competent human amateur is the way to go, then let’s move on it.”

  “The first thing I’d need is big-time cash. It would be impossible to use debit cards, money transfers, and the like. Can’t create any kind of money trail.”

  “No problem. I’m head of one of the biggest companies in the world after all. Just as long as the cash—and the crime itself—can’t be traced back to me.”

  “Thanks for thinking of me, Sophia. It won’t be able to be traced back to me either. I’ll make the necessary contacts anonymously by communication without video—the only way to do something like this.” Hart stood. “I’ll get on it right away and be back in touch.”

  22

  Loud knocking on his apartment door roused Taylor from a restless sleep. His head was throbbing, and his hands were shaking more than they ever had. But this was no time to focus on the deterioration of his physical and mental condition, which had accelerated in the six weeks or so since being fired from RobotWorld. The knocking continued. Who the hell could that be?

  He ran to the bathroom, sprayed two sprays of mouthwash into a mouth that felt as parched as an equatorial desert in the midday sun. Then he hurriedly ran both hands over his head to bring some order to hair pointing in every direction. He held his breath and waited. More knocking.

  In pajamas despite it being after one o’clock in the afternoon, he moved as quickly and as quietly as he could to the door. He peered out the peephole. Damn. Roz.

  His first inclination was not to open the door. More than anything, he wanted to run back to the bathroom medicine cabinet and pop some Calm to blunt his Serenity hangover. But even if he did, it would take at least ten minutes for the pills to start doing the job of suppressing his symptoms. He hadn’t shaved in three days, hadn’t showered in two—and was wearing his damn pajamas. He’d stopped the morning push-up ritual he started a short time earlier (he’d gotten up to twenty per morning). The cessation of his morning physical fitness routine along with an increasingly poor diet were, most likely, the two main reasons for his recent ten-pound weight gain. His Serenity habit had been keeping him up for a good part of every night while leaving him in a state of malaise and confusion most days. The inability to sleep for more than a few minutes at a time at night was a fairly new symptom that had begun shortly after his RobotWorld termination. And he was experiencing episodes, usually upon awakening in the late morning or early afternoon, when he was short of breath for about fifteen minutes. Was it his asthma, the Serenity, or just plain fear? He wasn’t sure. So he had plenty of reasons not to answer the door.