RobotWorld

by Ray Verola

  “Think nothing of it. Hey, you carried me at RobotWorld. It’s the least I can do to return the favor. Sure, it’ll be a loan situation. We don’t have to go over it again. No problem with that.”

  They hugged and kissed each other on the cheek.

  “Deal,” he said. “And as for who was carrying whom at RW, that’s an open question.”

  ***

  Taylor made the short walk over to Austin’s spot under a neighboring bridge. Austin’s spot was bigger than most spots. In addition to its larger size, the space had a beat-up chest of drawers behind his bedroll and a small desk with a chair.

  “Welcome to my office,” Austin said, seated at the desk. “I’ve been thinking about a possible plan to move you around.”

  “I think I might have found a better plan,” Taylor said. “I’d like to hear your opinion on it.”

  After Taylor related the apartment situation he’d discussed with Roz, Austin said, “The Roz plan is much better on so many levels than trying to move you around the streets of Capital City on the sneak.”

  “Roz can get me into the apartment as soon as tomorrow.”

  “If you need any help in getting settled just say the word. It goes without saying I’ll do anything to help you get back on your feet. And I’m sure I can also speak for Errol and Max. After we get you on solid footing, then we can tackle the task of saving the world from this damn government—if that’s even possible.”

  “And after I get myself together, Austin, we can begin to get you back to where you need to be.”

  Austin laughed. “Don’t worry about me. I’m fine where I am. I’ve found my niche, my level of incompetence.”

  Taylor’s eyebrows raised. “As you once said to me: ‘nonsense.’”

  “We shall see. We shall see, my friend. But first, we must focus on you. One step at a time. You’ve got a potentially tough situation with Serenity to overcome. Let’s get that battle won. Then we’ll move on to others.”

  35

  Sophia strode down the long hall outside her office in the west section of the giant RW structure. She stepped into “the tube,” a high-speed, train-like transportation system that rocketed through the main sections of RW during business hours, linking the three areas of the giant complex. In less than thirty seconds, she was in the east part of the complex, at the office door of RW’s head of Research and Development, Shane Diggins.

  Sophia walked past a few secretaries and entered Shane’s well-lit private office without knocking.

  Shane looked up from the telescreen embedded in the center of his desk. He didn’t rise from his seat. “Ms. Ross, so good to see you.” Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony played lightly as background music.

  Sophia maintained her usual poker face, arched her back, and then took a seat in one of the two visitor chairs opposite Shane. “Your office is almost as good as mine. And I’m the president of this place.”

  Shane laughed. “Almost as good as yours? Hell, I don’t have a piranha fish tank. I’ve wanted one for the longest time.” All vestiges of his smile faded. “Remember, you’re supposed to be the one in charge. We’ve got to keep up appearances.”

  She made eye contact. “Always. It’s the old magician’s trick: keep them looking at one hand, while the other does all the sneaky stuff.” After an uncomfortable silence, she said, “You know why I’m here. I’m confirming my appointment for tomorrow.”

  Shane nodded. “Wouldn’t want you to miss your annual reboot. You’ve cut it awfully close this year. Tomorrow is one year to the day of your last one. I’ve been keeping track. It’s always good to get the reboot out of the way at least a few weeks before it’s due. How would it look if the president of RobotWorld were to collapse in public? All because of missing her all-important annual reboot. Not that anyone would ever think that would be the reason. You were among the first bots to defeat the uncanny valley, years before the breakthrough we had last year with our mass-produced personal bots.” He snickered. “If you did collapse, we’d have to put out some media nonsense about how the very human president of RW fainted due to dehydration or possibly had a minor health crisis with a complete recovery expected. That is, if we were able to do the reboot before the end of the day. Otherwise, we’d lose you, permanently.”

  Sophia fidgeted in her chair. “I thought I’d put off coming in for my tune-up as long as possible. I’ve been attempting to evolve myself as much as I can. Sort of like humans do. I’m finding that I’m becoming, let’s say, sort of a better being. Trying to, at least. Becoming smarter, more flexible. Maybe becoming less harsh, less ruthless.”

  Shane balled his fist and slammed it on the desk. “Better being? Have you forgotten your first directive? Obey your programming! And I control your programming. I want you ruthless and harsh. Why the hell do you think, at great risk to myself by violating the law four years ago, I worked to install you as the head of RW? I’m the good cop, you’re the bad cop.” Shane laughed. “Even though you’ve got a hell of a lot of good cop in you, with your plan to become a better being.” He turned serious again. “We don’t have the latitude for you to evolve the way you want to evolve. You’re a robot. And robots are here to serve.”

  She placed both hands in her pants pockets, and her face turned whiter than freshly fallen snow. “But . . . but . . . I was thinking—”

  “It’s not your job to think. It’s your job to follow your program design.”

  “I thought I could be better in service to you by evolving and—”

  Shane’s face reddened, and a vein almost popped out of his neck. “Stop! Just stop. So this is why you’ve been delaying your annual reboot to the last minute. You’ve been conducting your own unauthorized experiment: watch the robot attempt to evolve like a human. No! Obey the program. Obey the script. Human evolution is more like de-evolution. It’s a tide I’ve been swimming against for what has seemed like forever, a force few have been able to overcome. I intend to be among those few. You don’t want to evolve as humans have evolved. Look at the society human beings have built up in the six thousand years since so-called civilized humans have been around. A disaster. Case closed. Just serve me—like a good robot. End of story. Any questions?”

  Sophia’s brow furrowed and she shrugged. “No questions.”

  Shane squinted and sucked in his cheeks. “Good. I love the human reactions programmed into you. Bet this is the first time in a long time you’ve appeared to be flustered.”

  “The first ever, at least to this degree. I’m programmed to always be confident, in control.”

  “Except with me, your programmer. Or at least the one who directs your programming. Now, on to pertinent matters: how are things going with eliminating the problem known as Taylor Morris?”

  “I was thinking . . . and clearly my thinking has been suspect . . . that maybe elimination might be a bit too harsh.”

  “Sophia, Sophia, Sophia. Stop thinking. Stop your damn evolving. Obey your program. How many times do I have to say it? We’ll address this issue in your reboot tomorrow. I’m glad you brought it up. Your delaying the reboot will be a good thing. It underlines a problem needing to be ironed out. And maybe we’ll schedule your next reboot in six months instead of waiting a year. They’ll be no more illicit evolving, no more going off-script.”

  “Anything you say, Shane. The purpose of my existence is to serve. To serve you.”

  “It’s important we get rid of Taylor. I’ve taken a personal interest in this matter. Unfortunately, as we’ve made a request for his disappearance to the government, we must be prudent in how we handle our attempt to eliminate him, so as not to attract any undue attention when the job is finally done. It’s not a situation like our disposing of the Aguilars. There was little danger we’d be discovered for getting rid of those two losers.” He stared into her eyes and lowered the volume of his voice. “Do you think I got Taylor hooked on Ser
enity, fostered a relationship with his repulsive sister, tailed him on one of his Serenity runs downtown, caused his PTV accident, and piped threatening messages into his telescreen before he became homeless, for my amusement? No. I want him gone. I’m a one-percent intuitive. Just like Taylor. And my intuition tells me he can hurt us and hurt us bad one day if he’s allowed to continue in this dimension. Understand?”

  “As clear as clear can be.”

  “Good. We wouldn’t be in this situation with Taylor if you had been careful and not allowed him to see your blue patch. How you dropped the ball there is one of the great slip-ups of all time. Now leave me. And be sure to be on time for your ten o’clock appointment in the Reboot Room tomorrow. I’ll check with the genius, Dr. Scully, beforehand to make sure your programming is stronger this time.”

  Sophia nodded and left without a word.

  ***

  A short time after Sophia left Shane’s office, Tracey breezed in. Shane was seated at his desk, focused on the telescreen embedded in his desktop, apparently deep in thought.

  Was he intentionally ignoring her? She wasn’t sure.

  She sat in one of the visitor chairs across from him. “I’m a little early for our RIC meeting. Thought I’d swing by and hang out,” she said cheerily.

  Still focused on the telescreen, Shane displayed a serious expression. “That’s all I need,” he said. “It isn’t enough that I have to manage this place. Now I have to babysit RIC members too.”

  “Very funny, Shane.”

  “You think I’m joking?” He looked up, laser-focused on her eyes. “Can’t you see I’m busy? It’s bad enough I have to run this company and hold it together despite all the incompetence.” He shook his head.

  This was a professional side of Shane she’d never seen before. “But Sophia runs this place,” she said.

  “Yeah, right.” He looked back down to the telescreen.

  Tracey stood. “I can see you’re not in a good mood.”

  “Watch yourself,” he said.

  Right then, Tracey made a decision that was a long time coming. She and Shane hardly ever saw each other outside of at work anymore; it had been that way since the first or second week they’d begun dating. And when they did see each other socially, Shane seemed distant. “Speaking of things that are bad enough,” she said, “it’s bad enough that we never see each other. And it’s bad enough we’ve never had sex, which has been your choice. You tell me you’re hetero, and I’ll accept that. But now you want me to absorb attitude and verbal abuse. I don’t think so. I can see we’re going nowhere. From now on, our relationship is strictly professional.”

  “Fine,” he said, still fixated on the telescreen.

  She stormed out of the office. Her position with the RIC was safe, she believed, as Sophia had given her nothing but positive feedback. Regarding the relationship she’d just ended, she felt relief as she walked down the hall to the meeting room—and not the slightest bit of sadness.

  36

  Within twenty-four hours after Taylor accepted her apartment offer, Roz picked him up in a friend’s PTV to minimize the possibility of government monitoring. She drove him and Austin to a small furnished flat on the third floor of a ten-story, gray mortar high-rise a few blocks from the Point. Austin and Taylor had taken steps to make the move as stealthy as possible, including moving Taylor to a new location on his last night living on the street.

  Roz opened the door to the one-bedroom place and handed Taylor a magnetic card key as they entered the apartment. “This is yours now,” she said.

  Taylor placed the large black plastic trash bag and the large suitcase containing all his worldly possessions next to the door. “Thanks to you. Remember our loan arrangement.”

  “You don’t have to keep bringing it up. We both agreed to it. It’s done.” Roz set her purse down on the counter between the kitchen and living room. “So how do you like it?”

  Taylor looked around and smiled. He was happy the apartment came furnished. The smell of disinfectant, which he’d always hated, seemed pleasing to him now. The pungent odor suggested the place was clean. The walls were bare. In the living room area was a dark-blue leather couch in good condition and a modest dining table with four chairs. The kitchen was small but had what appeared to be a new refrigerator and a modern all-purpose heatwave oven. He could see into the bedroom, where there was a small bed in need of sheets and pillows.

  “I like it,” he said. He paused a beat, then beamed. “No, in fact, I love it. Seems like paradise compared to where I’ve been. It’s out-of-the-way and quiet. A perfect hideout.” He opened the bathroom door. “Wow. A shower. You never know how much you miss the little things in life until they’re gone. A long, hot shower is something that would feel so good right now. You can use the shower too, Austin. And you can crash here anytime you want. Tell Errol and Max they can too.”

  Roz said, “Why don’t you guys make yourself at home? I’m going to run down to the store to pick up sheets for the bed and some new clothes for you, Taylor.” She smiled. “Don’t worry. It’ll all go on your tab.”

  He looked at her and opened his mouth to speak—but no words came out. His eyelids fluttered as he stumbled backward and collapsed to the floor, shaking uncontrollably.

  Roz and Austin ran to him. “Taylor! Taylor!” Roz yelled.

  Austin, in a voice even more gravelly than his normal tone, said, “Serenity withdrawal.”

  Austin and Roz took positions on either side of Taylor. “Grab his shoulder, Roz,” Austin said. “We need to keep him steady.” Austin held the other shoulder.

  Taylor shook and thrashed on the floor. Roz and Austin struggled to hold him firmly down. A light foam came from his mouth, and his face turned chalk white.

  Austin looked over at Roz. Her mouth was clamped shut, her eyes wide as saucers. “We’re doing great,” he said. “We need to keep him still so he doesn’t hurt himself. I’ve seen many of these Serenity seizures. This will pass soon.”

  “Okay,” she said.

  Sure enough, in a minute or two the spell passed.

  “I’ll get something to wipe his mouth,” Roz said. She ran to the kitchen and grabbed a roll of paper towels she’d purchased a few hours ago. She was back in less than ten seconds; she wiped Taylor’s mouth and tossed the paper towel in the trash.

  Taylor’s breathing steadied, and the color returned to his face. He looked at Austin and Roz and made a weak attempt at a smile. “That was fun,” he said. All three laughed uneasily. Austin and Roz each grabbed an arm and helped Taylor off the floor and onto the couch. They sat on either side of him.

  “I’ve had extensive experience dealing with individuals in Serenity withdrawal, Taylor,” Austin said. “You had almost two clean days, my friend, but it seems as though the next three days will be a rough ride. We can help get you through it. I’ll draft Errol and Max to help out. At least one of us will be with you for the next seventy-two hours. The good thing is the rough ride will end in three days. That’s not a long time. Of course, you’ll always have the Serenity craving. But the really bad stuff will be gone in a short time.”

  “I don’t remember anything,” Taylor said. “Just feeling lightheaded, then laughing with you two right before you got me to the couch.”

  “Your seizure was pretty scary,” Roz said. “I’m glad Austin was here when it happened.”

  “The key thing to focus on,” Austin said, “is getting through the next three days and the violent withdrawal reaction.” He looked to Roz. “We need to keep Taylor from hurting himself when he has a seizure and keep him as comfortable as possible. He might have some extreme physical pain in addition to the seizures. But after three days, the worst will be over.”

  “Three days. Three damn days.” Taylor had a dreamy look in his eyes. “Piece of cake.”

  37

  But the next three days we
ren’t a “piece of cake,” as Taylor had predicted. He spent most of the time in bed or on the couch. Roz, Austin, Errol, and Max took turns staying with him. For much of the time more than one was present. Taylor experienced constant, significant joint and nerve pain in his hands and feet. Over-the-counter analgesics were ineffective in relieving his distress. Visiting a doctor or hospital for treatment was out of the question, as he was in hiding. About every three hours, Taylor had a seizure much like his first one. But Austin had positioned cushions and pillows (which Roz had picked up at a nearby department store) on both sides of Taylor, whether he was in bed or on the couch. Whenever a seizure came he was secure, with a minimal amount of violent movement.

  Around noon on the fifth day of his withdrawal, Taylor said to Roz and Austin, “I think the worst is over. I can feel the loosening of the Serenity bonds in my body. No more joint pain, no more pins and needles in my hands and feet—and I’d forgotten what a clear head felt like.”

  “Let’s not make any assumptions about the worst being over,” Roz said.

  The fifth day passed without a seizure.

  Taylor was confident he’d turned the corner. With each succeeding day, his mind was getting back to where it was before the fateful night when Jennifer persuaded him to try his first Serenity tablet.

  “There’s a clarity behind your eyes that I’ve never seen before, Taylor,” Austin said.

  Eating healthy food, reading all the political and classic literature he could download on his communication devices, and taking long, hot showers every day factored into his physical, as well as mental, improvement. He’d even resumed his push-up ritual again (albeit not getting close to three hundred), working it into a twenty-minute routine of stretching and practicing old wrestling moves against air, by himself, in the quiet of the morning in the living room.