Downfail_A Dystopian Robot Rebellion Adventure Page 7

  Ian leaned back. “Maria?”

  The robot behind him whirred into action. It approached him from behind. “Yes, darling.”

  Ian blushed. Eric looked away and the edges of his mouth crept upwards.

  “Maria, tell these fine gentlemen how you are powered.”

  Maria bent over and put her face into range of the camera. “I use motion power, solar power and grid power. I can even be fitted with an experimental wind power add-on. I can go for months, possibly even years in certain areas of the planet, without needing to connect to the grid. In fact, I can become a net provider of energy in the poorest, sunniest regions of the world.”

  Eric and his associates clapped. “Brilliant! Hello Maria, we look forward to spending some time with you soon!”

  Maria shuffled off.

  The clapping stopped. “Fyoodle Marias everywhere,” Eric said, “in every home, listening to people and helping them, serving as—”

  “Hold on, Eric,” Ian said. “I just had a thought. How do I know you won’t use Maria to collect more data on people, this time right in their homes? Because that could be a problem for me.”

  The room on the other end of the feed went silent and everyone looked at Eric. “It’s only natural—” Eric started.

  Eric’s image bubbled over to the left and a new, black square of now equal size intruded on the right. The circular, navy blue logo of the United States Bureau of AI, Robotics and Future Tech appeared. The familiar cyborg eagle with its shiny titanium helmet and claws grasping futuristic firearms seemed both more vivid and more ominous.

  And why were they intruding on this call? “Eric, did you…” Ian asked.

  Eric shrugged and look behind him. “Any of you guys…?” Everyone shook their heads.

  The back of a head appeared on the Bureau’s screen. It was an older man, with long shoulder-length graying hair. “Which way do I face?” the man asked someone off-camera. He quickly turned around.

  “Oh, hello there. I will be your regulator today,” he said.

  Ian stared at the face. He knew that face. He hated that face. It was Larry.

  “It’s customary,” said Eric, his face hovering between disgusted abhorrence and servile deference, “to schedule these inter— conferences ahead of time out of respect for the schedules of all involved. That’s part of the national efficiency initiative, of which I believe you are a part.”

  “Our efficiency here is paramount,” Larry said. He changed his focus. “Good morning, Ian, a pleasure to have this chance to work with you again.”

  Ian’s lip curled and his pulse raced. His face flashed hot.

  “Now, before a sale can take place, we here at the Bureau will need full schematics, the complete source code and any other intellectual property that will transfer from Ian Blake to Fyoodle, inc. Those are the two parties to this sale, correct?”

  Ian pulled himself back to reality. “Wait a second, why is he even involved, Eric?”

  “The job of the Bureau of—” Larry started.

  “I asked Eric!” Ian said. He gritted his teeth. This is not happening. This can not be happening!

  “Ian, we can take care of all this for you,” said Eric. “It’s really not a problem. We have a whole team dedicated to regulatory compliance. Hell, their head count is almost as high as the programmers now! Seriously, we’ve—”

  “I’m afraid I will have to go over everything personally with Ian, every single detail, his intention behind it, the thought process, just to make sure of any national security and public health implications, of course,” said Larry.

  Ian’s fists balled and he breathed deliberately. “Eric, is this standard operating practice?”

  Eric looked concerned. “Yes, but usually it’s less intrusive.” He shifted his eyes. “What is your name, sir? And who is your immediate superior?”

  Larry smiled and looked down. “So, Ian, I’m available to meet later today.”

  “I want a different regulator,” Ian said. “We have a conflict of interest.”

  Eric’s eyes brightened. “Oh, that’s— Uh, yes, we request a change of regulator as well.”

  “Sorry, guys, we’re a bit shorthanded right now. I am going to be your regulator for this deal, or frankly for any sale of Ian’s technology, within the United States. It looks like we’ll be working together again, Ian! Just like old times, buddy.”

  Ian thought back to those old times. Larry taking credit for his work. Larry getting the promotions Ian deserved. Larry gets and Ian gives. It’s like the man wanted to eat him, consume him whole. He had a good reason for pledging to never work with Larry again. He wasn’t about to go back on it now. It was a question of pride, honor and basic self-preservation! Who knew what kind of tricks Larry would pull and bang, Ian would no longer control Maria. The government was tricky that way. A snap nationalization. A national security seizure.

  “So, Ian, shall I send over the contract?” Eric asked.

  Ian pursed his lips. He didn’t want to say the words. He wanted to choke them down, find another way, anything, in order to avoid saying them. Find the strength. Find it, man. If there was any time to stay strong, this was it.

  The memory of Larry in his underwear reading to Jack came to him and he felt strong. “I’m sorry, Eric. I refuse to do business that involves this man. No deal.”

  Ian pushed back from his desk and took his earbuds off. That’s that. Months of work. A kidney. Lost my family. Still have the boy with me. Thank God for that.

  He looked to his left to Jack. The boy used his foot to push himself away from the wall and swing in the silky, light blue hammock.

  I even learned to sleep in a hammock. I gave up a bed. I gave up windows.

  “Can I get you something?” Maria asked him.

  “A glass of water, please,” he replied.

  The robot gracefully walked out of his storage box and took the elevator up to his old apartment.

  “Let’s do something tomorrow, Jack,” Ian said. He felt exhausted and resigned but also relieved. The pressure was off. It was a failure. He was done. The sense of finality, of it being out of his control, was oddly reassuring. He could take a break from the race. He could get some sun and air.

  “We could go outside,” the boy said.

  “No, let’s make a day of it. A steak lunch, some shopping, maybe the zoo or Pennypack Park. How about it?”

  “But you didn’t sell Maria,” Jack said. He continued to play.

  Ian shrugged and thought about how to explain it to the boy. He didn’t want to seem cavalier much less happy or, God forbid, contented about his failure. Success was important. You don’t willfully throw away six billion dollars and than go out and celebrate! Teaching that to a kid is a recipe for… producing another Michael.

  Ian facepalmed. There I go again.

  “I can ask Mom for some money, I guess,” Jack said.

  “No, no, no. I have some left over from the, uh, kidney.”

  Jack sat up and looked at his father. “I don’t feel comfortable with the idea of spending your kidney on a fun day out, Dad.”

  Ian sat back and looked away. “You’re right, of course. If you ever have to sell a kidney - not you, never sell your kidney, but someone in general - then you should spend the money you get for it on an important investment that will generate new income. That’s the only possible good use. You’re totally right.”

  Jack smiled and went back to his game.

  “How did you get such a good head on your shoulders? Definitely not from Mom and you’re much wiser than me.” Failed inventor. Failed father. What will go wrong next? Failed man? Thank God I already got married — Well okay, I guess I did fail as a man given that my wife is living with another man. He felt the icky morass of self-loathing coming on and put all his mental energy into pushing it back.

  Hold the line, he said to the Spartan warriors in his head. Just hold the goddamned line already. More self-loathing will do nothing for me. It’s laziness a
nd masturbation, that’s all.

  “Let’s do it anyway. I need this. It’s a deal, okay? A done deal.”

  Jack nodded. “What are you going to do now?”

  “I don’t know.” The thought of suicide crossed his mind. It would be a tidy end. No need to suffer in the streets, beg food from overloaded shelters, jockey for position in cockroach-infested boiler rooms and sewer grates. There’s just nowhere else for me to go from here. I put everything into this and I’m tired. One last hurrah, one last swing through a normal, decent life.

  And then nothing. A clean end, one that won’t bother or burden anyone. Should I even leave a note?

  Ian lay in the hammock, his son Jack snuggling below his left shoulder while watching a video on his mobile screen.

  “You can do anything boys and girls, anything at all, as long as you put your mind to it and never, ever, give up.” The speaker bounced around the screen as if he - or was it she - was in zero gravity. Balloons popped, reappeared, grew and the announcer grew as he ate them. One popped in his face and the man - or woman, it wasn’t clear - made a face of mock surprise.

  Jack giggled.

  You can do anything, my ass. Maybe you can do it. But someone can steal it from you. You won’t even see them coming. They’ll cozy right up and be your best buddy. Take your job, your accomplishments, your wife, your house! You can do anything. Ian guffawed.

  “Do you like it, too? Come on, watch with me,” Jack said.

  Ian smiled and watched.

  Jack snuggled up closer. “I love you, Dad.”

  I better give the kid some time - my undivided attention - for the rest of the day and tomorrow. He deserves that before I, uh, kill myself. His thoughts wandered to how he would do it. It had to be far away and not leave a mess to clean up. It wasn’t fair to saddle anyone with that, much less burial costs.

  His screen flashed. Someone was calling.

  “Dad,” Jack said. He jerked his head in the direction of Ian’s desk.

  Ian looked away. The screen flashed again.

  “Dad, phone call! It might be important.” Jack went back to his video.

  Ian looked away from the flashing screen. I’m not going to answer it. I just wish I could silence the notifications from here. Jack deserves my time.

  The hammock bounced and Ian swayed up against the rough, cinder block wall. “Ow, hey.”

  Jack was at his desk. The boy grabbed his father’s earbud and tossed it to him. He gestured a thumbs-up at the screen to answer the call.

  “Jack, no!” Ian caught the earbud and hastily put it into his ear. He glared at his son. “Hello, I’m afraid—”

  “Is this Ian Blake?” The voice was old and not terribly formal but definitely British.

  “I’m sorry, this—”

  “The inventor of the Maria domestic robot?” the man asked.

  “Yes, but I’m spending time with my son right now,” Ian said.

  “I can appreciate that. Can we schedule another time to talk?”

  “I’m afraid it’s just not…” Ian choked up.

  “I understand what it’s like to be an inventor and an entrepreneur,” the man said.

  Ian wanted to speak but his throat seized up. If he spoke, he knew the man would realize his pain and he refused to let anyone know what he was feeling.

  “I will call you back in, say, five minutes, alright, Mr. Blake? Just so you know, this is Clifford Fanson of the Divergent Group here in the UK and I aim to license your Maria technology.”

  It was several hours later when an exhausted Ian and a sleepy Jack exited the elevator on the twenty-third floor with their final Maria in tow.

  Larry waited for them inside the front door. “Why did you hang up on me?” he asked. His arms were crossed and his eyelid ticced. His body radiated a nervous tension that Ian thought could break out at any second.

  Ian skirted around him into the kitchen and pushed Maria until she was behind him. He frowned at Larry a second then, without taking his eyes from the man, asked Maria for a sandwich.

  “What kind of sandwich would you like, Ian?” she asked.

  Ian kept his eyes on Larry. “Something high protein with a touch of sweetness on unusual bread but, of course, working within the limits of whatever is in this kitchen.”

  Larry trundled awkwardly over to the black leather couch and laid back on it. He then sat forward and looked at Ian. “I wouldn’t have approved it anyway. Robots in the home are too dangerous. Look at what happened to Jacky.”

  Jacky? Ian wanted to lash out but he thought better. Just wait before responding. He wants you angry. The thoughts burst back in. Jacky? He’s a boy and you won’t turn him into anything else! He gritted his teeth.

  “In fact,” Larry said, “I want him out of here.”

  Ian laughed. “You want my robot out of my house?”

  “It’s not your house anymore,” Larry said. “And the robot? You didn’t build it, not by yourself at least. You live in a tax-supported ecosystem that empowers you. Lots of people helped you.”

  Ian smiled but kept his thoughts about that to himself.

  Next to him, Maria expertly sunk a knife into a jar of peanut butter - except it was empty, or nearly so. Ian watched as she used the dull side of the butter knife to scrape every last smidge of peanut butter out of the jar and place it evenly on the slice of fluffy whole wheat bread.

  “Careful not to scrape any plastic off now,” Ian said to Maria with a chuckle.

  “Do not worry. That is not happening.”

  The jelly pot looked relatively fresh for some reason and it was completely full. Maria selected a spoon, deftly popped the vacuum-sealed lid off of it and gently slid the spoon into the gelatinous mass.

  “We usually use a knife for that,” Ian said.

  Maria continued working. “Due to the nature of the grape jelly, sir, a spoon is less likely to spill any of the raw material.”

  Ian thought back to all the times he had jammed a flat knife into the jelly jar only to have the gloopy goo slip right off and onto the counter or floor.

  Jack entered the kitchen. “She’s smart, Dad. Smarter than you,” he said with a nod.

  Ian looked at him, a twinge of hurt and envy in his gut. I guess that’s quite a compliment. I was so smart that I created something smarter than me. Yes, I think I’d better look at it that way. He laughed internally at himself.

  Larry stood up. “You can’t count on third world programmers, Ian.”

  Oh my God. The Somalians. Ian pulled out his screen and typed off a message to Qasim. If he doesn’t respond… Maybe that’s what I’ll do. I’ll go to Somalia and do… whatever it takes to free them. Ian nodded.

  “So you agree?” Larry asked.

  Ian awoke from his reverie. “What?”

  “I said, you can’t count on third world programmers. You should try again, Ian. I know a great programming team. They can fix all the bugs in Maria and they’re not really that expensive.”

  “A new programming team?” Ian asked absently.

  “It’s just what you need. I can help you finance it, too. They’re very flexible.” Larry looked up at Ian and rubbed his hands together. “And I can practically guarantee regulatory approval with the right team. We have to ensure appropriate quality standards, of course. That’s just basic. Everyone knows—”

  “You’re babbling!” Ian said.

  Maria handed him the completed peanut butter and jelly sandwich. It was centered on the plate and the bread was pristine - nothing spilled or smeared.

  Ian took a bite and through a mouthful said, “Seems fine to me.”

  Larry shook his head and walked up to the breakfast bar. “Good inventions simply can not come out of a garage, or a storage box or be funded by the sale of one’s kidneys! That’s not the twenty-first century—”

  Ian’s eyes went wide and a choking gasp like a rolling snore came out of his mouth. He tried to exhale but only sputtered. He looked at Larry and pointed repeated
ly to his back.

  Larry relaxed and shook his head. “I warned you, Ian.”

  An intermittent gasp came from Ian’s throat. He pointed more frenetically to his back, then collapsed to his knees and issued a final puff of air.

  Larry turned his back to the kitchen. “I warned him. Damned terrorist programmers probably sabotaged it.”

  7

  Jack scanned the morning’s headlines on his screen. He sighed. There was nothing new about it. He rolled up the screen and stuffed it into his special cargo pocket. He walked into the kitchen. “Maria, I need a drink,” he said.

  “If you are referring to an alcoholic or vitalic drink, then your father has asked me not to give you any until you are at least sixteen,” said Ian’s final Maria. The last of its kind, it traversed the kitchen with grace, opened the refrigerator and retrieved a pod of milk. She popped off the plastic cap, which was connected to the body of the rounded pod by a thin tether, and poured some into the tall, thin, tubular glass that already sat on the counter.

  “But that glass isn’t clean,” Jack said.

  “I pulled it out especially for you, Master Jack, as you ask for a glass of milk around 11 AM every morning.” Maria replaced the pod of milk in the refrigerator.

  “Oh, okay.” Jack grabbed the glass and downed it. He put the empty glass in the sink. “Thanks Maria,” he said. He went into the living room and laid down on the couch. He sighed.

  There was a knock at the door. Jack ran and opened it.

  “Can you help me with this old junk?” Ian asked. His hands were full with Maria parts, desk components and other stuff from the storage box.

  The boy grabbed a plastic box of Maria parts. “Where should I put it?”

  “Michael’s old room,” Ian said. “That’ll be our office now,” he said with a wink and a smile. Ian was clean-shaven, his hair neatly cut, his skin clean, his nails trimmed and a healthy glow was returning to his face.

  “Did you see the Guardian article? They said there are more than a billion Marias now!” Jack put his box down and pulled out his screen. He brought the article up. “Look, Dad, here’s one in the Congo Republic that’s carrying water!”