Downfail_A Dystopian Robot Rebellion Adventure Page 6

  Ian could only stare.

  Larry pinched her butt and she squealed before either of them noticed Ian.

  “Son, who is this?” Larry asked.

  Ian’s mouth hung open. Where did they get all the money for this?

  “It’s Ian,” Candy whispered. She took the bags and set them down on the kitchen counter.

  “Ian?” Larry asked. “What happened to you?”

  Ian shrugged.

  “Come look at yourself in the mirror, man.” Larry guided him to the bathroom, first door to the left in the hallway to the bedrooms. He flipped on a light.

  The man that stared back at Ian was unfamiliar, even scary. His brown hair hung almost to his shoulders. It was pasty, oily and hung in rigidly straight lines. His face was brown with dark splotches. He ran his hand over his beard. It was scraggly and hung below his chin. His hand came away greasy. His face was thinner.

  “You need to pull yourself together, Ian,” Larry said. “This has gone too far.”

  Candy screamed. “No, no, no!” Glass tinkled. “Jack!”

  Ian pushed past Larry to the living room. “Don’t blame him, that was my fault. How come you’ve never made hot chocolate for him?”

  Candy stepped back, a look of disgust on her face.

  The robot beeped and made for the kitchen.

  “Jack, you are not to let him in again!” Candy yelled. She turned to Ian. “I thought you would be gone by now. I want you out and take that thing with you!”

  “It’s the robot I’ve been working on. It’s not too bad.”

  “Is that what broke my vase. Do you know how much that thing cost?” Candy asked.

  The stove clicked on and the whoosh of burning gas reached them.

  “What the hell is that thing doing?” Candy asked.

  Ian smiled. “Your job.”

  She frowned at him.

  Maria beeped in a fast, triple pattern - beep, beep, beep - over and over again.

  Ian ran to the kitchen and shuffled through the cabinets. “Where do you keep the hot chocolate?”

  Candy ran after him.

  Small boxes of pre-packaged food items hit the counter and floor. Tiny candies spilled out. Candy grabbed Ian’s hand and pulled him toward the door. Ian crashed into Maria and some boiling water spilled out onto the matte black metal stovetop.

  “Get your hands out of my cabinets!” Candy yelled.

  “I just want the hot chocolate. It’s for Jack.”

  “Dad,” Jack said from the living room, “I don’t want hot chocolate. Just forget it!”

  “No, son,” he started. He struggled to free his hand from Candy’s grasp. He opened another cabinet and a glass jar of lollypops fell out and landed square on Maria’s head.

  A light smoke wafted up from Maria’s neck. The water was at a rolling boil now.

  “Your robot is smoking,” Candy said.

  “Ah ha! Hot chocolate.” He set the box of hot chocolate packets down next to the stove and used his bony behind to nudge Candy out of the way. He got her back to the doorway and they watched.

  Maria extended her legs, opened a cabinet and pulled out a white mug with a faded Mickey Mouse on it. She expertly ripped open the paper packet.

  Jack appeared behind Ian. “Dad, I don’t want the hot chocolate! Just stop fighting, please.”

  Ian held Candy against him, her back to his front. She stopped struggling. He remembered how much he enjoyed being with her, and how much she used to enjoy being with him. He rubbed himself against her. I can fix all of this. With this robot. It’s going to be worth a lot of money.

  Maria poured the boiling water expertly into the mug. The steam mixed with the increasing volume of smoke emanating from her neck and now her big, round abdomen as well. The smell of burning plastic reached their noses.

  “You should really get it out of here,” Candy whispered.

  It righted the pot, not spilling a drop of the remaining boiling water and set it back on the stove. It pulled a teaspoon out of a drawer next to the stove, mixed the water and chocolate powder in a perfect circular motion and beeped once.

  Ian smiled and let go of Candy. “See, worked perfectly!” He grabbed the steaming cup of hot chocolate and set it on the breakfast bar.

  Jack smiled and approached. He reached a hand out to grab the mug.

  Ian felt heat at his back. Candy screamed. He turned. Fire burst from Maria’s chest and the plastic casing melted behind it. Ian froze.

  The machine fully extended its arms and legs. It beeped in rapid succession, a shrill cry for aid. Its center section rotated, its arms outstretched. They hit Ian square in the gut and knocked him down.

  One hand glanced off of the hot chocolate and sent it flying into the living room. The other smacked the kitchen sink faucet. Water erupted from it into an arced shower that fell precisely into the growing hole in Maria’s chest.

  Larry ran out into the hallway. The water shower reduced, then dissipated. Maria was a dead wreck. She didn’t move. The lights in her eyes had flickered out. A small pool of water sloshed around in her electronic insides.

  Ian surveyed the scene. Dead robot. Waterlogged kitchen. At least no one had gotten hurt. He turned around and there was Candy. Her fancy curly hairdo was gone. Her hair was soaked. It hung down the sides of her head in straight lines.

  “You idiot!” She screamed, “You ruined our house!”

  “Well, it’s my house, too,” Ian said.

  Larry appeared in the doorway. He shook his head. “Does your robot clean up its own messes?”

  Jack cried. Ian turned to look. Larry ran to him and grabbed the boy’s hand.

  “Goddamnit!” Larry whispered. “His hand,” he said to Candy.

  Ian ran over and grabbed the boy’s hand but Jack pushed him away. He caught a glimpse of crimson, melted skin on the right palm.

  “It’s your damned hot chocolate!” Candy screamed. “You burned him with it!”

  6

  Ian rested his head on his desk in the icy sub-basement. He sighed. “This is a tough decision,” he said, “but I think it’s the right one.”

  He raised his head, a relieved smile on his face, and looked into the camera at the top of his screen. “It’s ready!” Ian stood up and did an awkward, frenetic jig then sat back down and pumped his fists. “Yes!”

  Contented sighs came through his earbuds and he looked at the video feed in the top right corner of his screen. “Couldn’t have done it without you guys,” Ian said. “Not in a million years.”

  “We’re a team, a great team, all of us,” said the foremost of the faces - black faces - with a strange, clipped accent.

  “I’m uploading the last video, right now.” Ian clicked a few buttons and moved his open hand around in the air in front of him, palm facing out. The on-screen mouse moved in sync with his hand. He twirled his index finger, punched some fingers forward in a complex motion and nodded. It was done.

  “We see it!” said the on-screen face. Joyous yells of pride and satisfaction echoed across the connection.

  “You guys are my secret weapon,” Ian mumbled. What a stroke of brilliance. Efficient, hungry and they work cheap, really cheap. Ian watched as prototype Marias of various generations navigated the open, gargantuan work area of his Somalian programming team distributing glasses of champagne.

  “Mr. Blake,” said Qasim, their team leader, “how did you do this?”

  Ian laughed. “I smuggled it into that shipment of parts for the latest Maria. My gift to you, duty-free.” Ian noticed many of the glasses being ignored on the video feed. “Don’t you—”

  “Mr. Blake, sir,” Qasim said after a pause to look around the room, “we thank you for your gesture but Somalia is a Muslim country. Alcohol is strictly forbidden.”

  Oh no. I’ve heard about this.

  “And the authorities monitor all video communications—”

  The feed disconnected. “Oh my God,” Ian whispered. Did I just get my programmers ra
ided? His mind raced to images of Muslim countries and beheadings. He sat in silence and beat himself up over what he had done.

  Behind him, the latest Maria delivered a snack of fresh Granny Smith apple slices perfectly smeared with organic peanut butter to Jack, who lay in a hammock playing a game on his screen.

  “Put the pillow under your head, Master Jack,” his Maria said. “You will be more comfortable that way.”

  Ian turned around to watch the two interact. Pride in his achievement surged and did battle with his regret over the champagne.

  Jack adjusted the pillow so it was under his neck and head. “Thanks Maria,” he mumbled. He picked an apple slice off the white tray, which now sat on his chest and stuffed it into his mouth.

  “Good?” Ian asked.

  Jack set his screen aside. “Are you done?” he asked through a full mouth. He swallowed. “Can I tell you something?”

  Ian nodded.

  “This Maria is really good, Dad. She learned how to make the apple slices just the way I taught her and she never forgets anything I tell her, unlike Mom.”

  Ian contemplated his creation. She was taller and fuller now compared to that pathetic first model. He’d built failsafes into her. And her outsides were slimmer but cushioned. She almost looked like a real woman.

  “She even sounds like Mom,” said Jack. “She’s like Mom 2.0.” Jack laughed and slammed another apple slice into his mouth.

  “Master Jack, I have a new game recommendation for you,” Maria said.

  “Alright!” Jack turned to his dad. “She’s really great at picking out games I like. You should teach her to pick movies, too.”

  That’s certainly doable. As long as the Somalis survive. He winced.

  Jack set his screen down. He sat up and looked at his dad. “How’s your…?” He indicated Ian’s stomach.

  Ian nodded. “Healing.”

  “Was it worth it?” Jack gave him a probing, uncertain look, as if he at once felt sorry for his father but genuinely wanted to know if the sacrifice had justified itself.

  Ian nodded. “Without that money, I was stuck: no more raw materials, no quantum chips and definitely not the programmers.” Ian mentally crossed his fingers that he would still have that team. Maybe the lost feed was just a glitch. It was Somalia after all.

  Jack nodded.

  “But I don’t want you doing anything crazy like that.”

  “Why not?” Jack asked without taking his eyes off his screen.

  “I could have died! What if my other one fails? What if you need one?”

  “God gave us two kidneys, Dad. Maybe he meant for us to sell one, you know, when things are rough,” Jack said.

  Ian laughed and shook his head. The thoughts this guy comes up with. He couldn’t decide whether to congratulate the kid for his creativity or rebuke him for such an insane idea.

  His screen rang in mid-thought. He saw who was calling and his stomach jumped. He felt suddenly hot, thirsty and with a developing need to sit on the toilet. But he couldn’t do any of those things. “This is the call. Quiet, okay?”

  “I’ll go upstairs.”

  “No. Stay. Just, you know.” With a twirl of his finger, Ian accepted the connection request from Fyoodle, inc. Next to the 3D video box, responses to his latest video diary poured in. Ian was desperate to ramp up production now, while the demand among potential early adopters was high.

  “Good day to you, Ian Blake. I am Eric Weinberg, CEO of Fyoodle, inc.” The other faces identified themselves as well.

  “Hi everybody,” Ian said. “A real pleas—”

  “Ian, compadre, I want to get right down to it because I respect you, your time and, of course, your whole ethos.” He waved his hands in front of his face in a random, wavy pattern. “We want to buy Maria outright. We want your girl - bad!”

  “I definitely want to partner with you, or with somebody big like you. You guys can roll out production fast and keep the end user cost low, right?”

  “Well, Ian, it’s…” He turned around to look at the other participants on the call and laughed. “It’s a complex thing, man, and I sure as hell don’t have all the details. But, yeah! That’s the idea. You bet.” He cleared his throat. “We’re thinking six.”

  Ian furrowed his brow. “Six?”

  “Works for you?”

  “Six what?”

  “Six billion, of course, US, payable in bank deposit, cash, bitcoin, Funation credits, whatever works for you, man! We’re open-minded people over here.”

  “What about the royalty?”

  “No, Ian, we’re buying you out. We want to own your girl there. That’s how much we love her.”

  Ian froze. He wanted a percentage of every sale. Maria and her tech could sell for decades. The intellectual property the Somalian programmers created, his design, even the name, it could last for centuries in one form or another. If he took this deal, they could lock him out of all future growth. They could profit forever and Ian would be left with a measly six billion.

  But if he turned them down, he might not get another deal. Ian’s self-doubt tugged at him. A domestic robot. That’s not exactly an original idea. A dozen hungry inventors just like him could be working on the same thing. They could even have better products, if they weren’t too busy cashing their basic income checks.

  Fyoodle might even be in talks with some of them!

  Sweat careened down his forehead and onto the back of his neck. He looked back and saw Jack. He’d fought so hard, sacrificed so much. This might be his one shot. He couldn’t blow it. Jack was counting on him.

  But if he sold low, Jack would know. He might not realize it now, at age ten, but he’d eventually know. And he would rightly lose all respect for his father. To deliver up such magnificent tech as Maria and then to sell out so cheaply. Ian winced at the thought of it.

  Ian cleared his throat and looked back at Jack once more. The boy smiled at him and gave him a thumbs up. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but I need to remain in the picture. I want two percent of all gross sales, off the top.”

  Eric’s face turned dark. He frowned and groaned.

  There was silence on the line for a full three minutes. Eric faced the conference table with his back turned to Ian. The other people’s lips moved but they were pixelated. Ian couldn’t decipher anything.

  People started to leave. First an older man. He looked at the camera, then walked out. Then a woman.

  “Are they going for it, Dad?” Jack asked.

  Ian muted his audio input, turned to Jack and covered the side of his mouth that might be seen on camera. He didn’t have a fancy pixelator. But he wanted one. “I think I screwed up,” Ian whispered.

  Jack stopped his game and looked at him, his eyes big. “Don’t worry, Dad, somebody else will buy Maria, even if they don’t.” He unpaused his game and started making tiny exploding noises again. “You have failed, Dendron!” he whispered.

  The mouths unpixelated and Eric turned around. His was was all downward movement. His forehead was a mass of falling wrinkles. His eyebrows pushed down and furrowed. He was frowning. He put his hands in front of his face, palms facing each other and opened his mouth.

  I was so close. I could have said yes and had those six billion in my pocket. I would have been famous as the inventor of Maria, Fyoodle’s latest and most popular robot. That could have led to any number of jobs - good jobs, maybe even a job with Fyoodle. And definitely no more Larry in my life - ever again. Ian kicked himself over and over. You freaking idiot.

  “You see, Ian...” His face went sideways. He pushed his hands together and pulled them apart again. “The numbers, well, we have to study them. But we can do at least one point five percent of gross.” His frown intensified. “Does that work for you, my friend?”

  Behind his eyes, Ian contained nuclear explosions of joy. He turned away, rubbed his eyes with the palm of his hand and cleared his throat. He couldn’t help it. The relief and joy exploded across his face and he smiled.
“In principle, that is in the right ballpark,” he said.

  Eric’s face brightened. “That’s good. Very good. I am glad to hear that. We all are. We like Maria and are very interested in making this work. Now, just keep in mind that our first offer is six billion up front, in your pocket right now. I don’t know what your situation is, Ian, but a lot of people would really benefit from that kind of cash infusion at a time like this.”

  Ian nodded. He was wary.

  “Whereas,” Eric continued, “this proposed one point five—”

  “Or two,” Ian said.

  “Or two,” Eric said, nodding, “percent sharing arrangement could take months, or even years, to pay out, since we need to study Maria and almost certainly implement some optimizations—”

  “Optimizations?” Ian asked.

  “Well, yes, Ian, we have a huge line of products and Maria could be our domestic ambassador. What if, for example, our customers could read their email using Maria? What if Maria could transform into a four-legged pack mule - robotic, of course - and carry things for you, heavy things?”

  Ian thought that one over. “Maria? A pack mule? Maria is a graceful, attractive homemaker. Not a pack mule!”

  Eric held one hand up in front of his face. Snapping noises came across the line and the team behind him flew into feverish motion. “Okay, don’t worry, we’ll surrender to you on that idea. You’re the boss, Ian. Maria is your girl. It just an idea off the top of my head to show you how we would like to integrate Maria into our world-class product lineup. Why, she will be…” He looked down, then quickly up again and smiled. “Maria could be our special envoy to the world. Why, she would speak to the very soul of our mission: someone who cares for you, caters to your wishes—”

  “That sounds more like my Maria,” Ian said.

  “Okay,” said Eric, visibly relieved. The people behind him leaned back and talked with each other. “Now, we’ve looked over your documents and we just have a couple questions. How is Maria powered?”