Robot Awareness: Special Edition Page 4

  Then the first killing happened.

  A particularly belligerent company inspector discovered a robot sitting in a spot where it was supposed to have been working. Used to dealing with workers under something more akin to a master/slave relationship, the inspector began kicking the robot after his threats and insults went unheeded. The robot, obviously feeling no pain from the impact of the inspector’s foot, seemed to disregard the situation completely, with its head lifted to the dark-red sky on the desolate mining planet. When the inspector leaned into the robot, it suddenly sprung to life, grasping the oxygen tubes hooking into his space suit and ripping them off with the disregard of a farmer pulling a weed.

  The attack lasted less than a second, but its impact was long-lasting. Company C quickly developed a restraining bolt that could be activated upon notice of any unusual behavior in a robot. The bolt immediately restarted the robot's memory to the time it was first activated. Any robot without a bolt was considered dangerous, and to be avoided. So Isellia had learned in the classes she hadn’t slept through.

  So the fact that the robot which accompanied the young boy Joey seemed to be missing its bolt rarely went unnoticed; it certainly caught Isellia’s attention.

  While Porter dealt with the robot in his own way, treating it like a person that needs a little extra attention, Isellia took to insults. She treated the robot as a person too; in particular, one she didn’t very well like.

  Its annoyingly blunt observations grated Isellia’s nerves. It brought to the surface all those unsaid, uncomfortable things and the particular thing the robot made everyone painfully aware of was her physiological reaction to the ship’s newest passenger, something she wasn’t entirely comfortable with herself. The robot essentially held a mirror to the emotions she tried to deny. She knew Porter found it all endlessly amusing — he seemed to take pleasure in challenging her rough exterior.

  ***

  Isellia avoided Porter’s gaze as she passed him in the ship’s corridor leading from the bridge to the engine room. Her rare brush with feminine emotions left her with a feeling of vulnerability she didn’t like; it nullified her tough exterior, exposing her in a way she wasn’t ready for. Porter was a friend, sometimes a would-be confidant, but not in this. She couldn’t afford to be feminine with an all-male crew.

  She couldn’t hide the feelings on her face, the embarrassment, as long as she walked the halls of the ship. Hiding in her quarters wasn’t an option on such a small cruiser - with the limited staff there was always work to be done and few to do it. Isellia knew how to do most of them, and do them well. She had to. In space, mistakes cost lives.

  There was no room for pithy feelings.

  “Isellia,” Porter said, stopping her in the hall. “Got a minute?”

  Isellia let out a sigh before turning around to face him. She did her best attain an emotionally neutral expression that fooled exactly no one.

  “Yes?” she said, in her best impression of a nonchalant voice.

  Porter loomed near, and his face took on a sympathetic tone, though his voice remained stern. “We’re going to be landing soon in Sasuga. I know you did a very thorough job with the overhaul after our last ‘accident,’ but I want to be sure the landing modules are operating perfectly. Would you go take a look for me?”

  Isellia looked up into Porter’s face, which belied no obvious understanding of her feelings. His orders didn’t often come out as questions. “Sure,” she muttered, searching his face for clues without trying to appear to be doing so.

  “Great,” Porter said. “Let me know when you’re done.”

  Isellia started to turn away when Porter added, in a sterner voice that Isellia found more comforting, “Work quickly, Isellia. We’ll be in Sasuga soon.”

  Porter couldn’t see the resolve that found her face as she walked away, as she gave him the thumbs up sign.

  ***

  Joey sat determinedly at a dusty workbench, desperately trying to fit a nano-switch into a RX socket that it just didn’t seem destined to occupy. The workbench sat amidst a clutter of tools, mechanical parts, boxes of items and other junk collected by its owner, who sat nearby him. Light wafted in from a window somewhere behind dusty boxes of used servos.

  The old man sat at his bench (Joey had been awarded his very own workstation after much hard work) across the cluttered workshop, managing to observe the young man through his wire-framed glasses without ever looking up. His face held both the sparkle of youthful curiosity and the tired wisdom of a man who’d lived many years behind his white hair and beard. His temperament rarely changed, regardless of what trouble Joey got into.

  Joey came to his workshop several times a week on the colony, when he didn’t have chores to do, or sometimes even when he did. The old man learned to enjoy his company, teaching him how to tinker.

  The white-haired man silently watched as Joey struggled to fit the switch into its place. The solution was quite simple, but the old man kept his silence, continuing his own circuit work and listening for the moment that Joey would get it.

  “Can I do some soldering instead?” Joey asked, putting the switch down on the bench with a small clang.

  “Keep at it, boy,” Mr. Twitters said, not looking up from the screw he twisted into place.

  Joey tried one last time, abandoning finesse and trying to jam the little piece into place. The little yellow switch sprung like a catapult, flying out from the workbench, springing across to Mr. Twitter’s bench, striking a gas canister with a gong-like resonance before striking the bridge of Mr. Twitters’ spectacles and skidding off the smooth concrete floor, coming to a stop.

  “Oh my,” Twitters pronounced, chuckling to himself with a smidgen of surprise.

  “Uh! Sorry Mr. Twitters,” Joey exclaimed, jumping up from his wooden stool, sending it clattering behind him. “Oh, sorry!” he said, looking behind him.

  Mr. Twitters chuckled again. “Oh, no bother. Clean up your mess, young man.”

  “Yes, sir,” Joey said, scrambling to pick up everything at once and getting nothing.

  After collecting the wayward part and the fallen stool, he sat back down, resuming the forced entry of switch into the mechanical project.

  Mr. Twitters walked over behind him, hands clasped behind the small of his back, observing under him the boy’s progress. His posture was spry and light for a man of his age, no doubt the result of his daily routine of stretches.

  “You know,” he began, “If you just—“

  “I know how to do it,” Joey said, his concentration still on the part.

  “Well, if you think about—“

  “I know how to do it, Mr. Twitters.”

  “Oh I see,” Mr. Twitters acknowledged facetiously with a convinced nod. He allowed Joey a few more moments before walking into position behind him and taking out his screwdriver with a head smaller than the human eye can see. As soon as Joey set the piece down, he thrust the screwdrivers tip into the smallest of holes in the switch, made the slightest of turns, and returned the screwdriver to his belt. Almost instantaneously, the switch fit neatly into place; Joey’s eyes grew large with surprise. “Oh,” he managed.

  Mr. Twitters chuckled a little to himself, amused as usual by the boy’s learning, and regained his seat across the workshop. “Oh, indeed,” he said, sitting down.

  Joey’s face reflected his embarrassment as he examined the now-functional switch. Mr. Twitters, without looking up from his workbench, said, “The next time that you’re sure you know something, think about what you’re not learning because you’re so sure.”

  Joey sat staring at the switch with a slightly embarrassed grin before continuing his work.

  “Now can I solder?” he asked, eliciting a laugh from Mr. Twitters.

  ***

  Isellia walked with a sense of purpose toward the landing gear access port. She had a job to do, which comes with a sense of importance — importance Isellia wrapped around her like a blanket. It was easier dealing with a
gunked-up servo in a landing gear assembly than any pesky feelings she might be dealing with.

  Traversing the corridor, Isellia swung her arms, held her chin up high, and her eyes focused with intention. She may have looked a bit comical, walking the corridors in that fashion, but no one was around to make her self-conscious.

  She turned the corner with a snap and was heading past the main engine room when a strange sound found her ears, slowly turning her confidence into curiosity. She slowed to listen, hearing a sound that was rhythmic and muffled, occasionally breaking rhythm before restarting. Her mind searched the mental blueprint of the ship she had memorized, cross-referencing the catalogue of sounds the ship was supposed to make and sounds it wasn’t. But as she drew closer to the sounds, slowing to a tip-toe, it occurred to her that she was hearing someone sobbing.

  “Must be that wimpy guy,” she thought with a little disdain. The emotion registered to her mind as a weakness, something one couldn’t afford out in space. Her somewhat low opinion of Stephen (in fact, he barely registered on her radar; its positioning systems, down to the millimeter, zeroed on Rex) dropped even farther. She began to consider him a possible obstacle and hindrance, and wasn’t too sure she wanted someone like that near “her” engine room.

  She turned her head fairly discreetly as she passed Rex and Stephen’s doorway to the quarters they’d been assigned, expecting to catch a glimpse of teary-eyed Stephen, slumped on his bunk. She was ready to suppress a sneer and instead had to choke back audible shock when she saw instead only Rex — slumped in his seat on his cot, hands holding his face. A letter lay folded next to him on the bunk, crumpled with use.

  Isellia barely caught a glimpse of his name on the letter as she took off into nearly a full run toward the landing gear.

  ***

  Porter stepped on the bridge with a light air in his step. Joey noticed a different expression on his face than when he left — he seemed pleased with himself, like a father whose child achieved some sort of accomplishment. Joey pretended not to notice as he pretended to concentrate on the monitoring panel, waiting for alarms that didn’t seem to happen in the doldrums of space.

  “What’s the AU reading, Joey?” Porter asked, leaning in behind him while resting his hand on the white console next to him. Joey couldn’t help but notice the size of Porter’s huge, dark paw, which could’ve wrapped around his entire face. Joey silently thanked the stars that Porter was a gentle type of fellow, and hoped he never made him angry.

  “Looks like .07, sir,” Joey said, squinting at the screen to find the reading, displaying his unfamiliarity with the operating system.

  “Okay, we’re right on time. We’re going to slow down to navigable speed. Reduce speed with the transition switch on the right.”

  Joey struggled to find the appropriate digital lever, coupled with the added nerves of having Porter staring over his shoulder. After what seemed longer than the couple of seconds it actually took, he located it.

  “Okay, got it.” Joey felt the tingle of cold sweat creep over him, as he concentrated deeply on following Porter’s instructions.

  “There’s a little mark on the righthand side of the lever. Ease it down to that little triangle.”

  “Okay.” Joey slowly pulled the digital toggle down to the notch Porter had indicated. He didn’t notice the ship’s speed changing.

  “Don’t stop until you’re right at the spot.”

  “It doesn’t feel like the ship is slowing.”

  “It won’t until you let go. It’s auto-controlled to gradually reduce the speed at an appropriate rate.”

  “Oh.” Joey found the spot, and let go just as the toggle stopped at the right spot. He was pleased that he was able to follow Porter’s instructions to the letter, and turned to Porter looking for approval. Porter noticed this, grinning slightly.

  “Don’t get too cocky. The fun part comes up next.”

  Joey straightened up, ready to do what was asked of him next. “What’s next?” he asked.

  “We’ve got some time until we get within range. Just take it easy for a moment.”

  “Okay,” Joey said. He sat back in the chair, and his imagination began to wander. He was, after all, about to see his first alien world. Prior to his taking up with Porter’s crew, he’d never been farther than 50 miles from his home on the colony mining planet — and spent most of that time even closer. He spent a lot of time wondering what was happening back on his homeworld. But for the present, he was about to meet his first non-human person. What would they be like? he wondered. Porter had been too busy for him to ask, Joey was too nervous to approach Isellia, and the robot, whom he did ask, gave mostly technical answers to his questions. Joey thought the robot was going to fry its circuits trying to answer “yeah, but what are they LIKE?”

  Joey leaned forward, trying to imagine their appearance, his elbow slightly rubbing the touch pad. A cursor covered the landing gear, switching its toggle to on.

  Before Joey had any idea of what was going on, Porter was next to him, shoving him aside like a pencil. Joey lay on the floor of the bridge, reading cancel next to the landing gear button.

  “Wha- What happened,” Joey managed to ask after a couple moments of silence.

  Porter seemed to ignore him, tapping his headset. Sweat beaded off his forehead. “Isellia, are you okay? Isellia!”

  There was a silence for a moment, as the hair on Joey’s neck began to stand on end, and the prickles of cold, panicked sweat stormed in full force. He saw the controls, which said landing gear activation cancelled. Isellia had been working on the landing gear, he recalled with a cold shiver of realization.

  “WHAT THE HELL!” she yelled over the headset, as Porter winced at the high-decibel assault to his ears. Even Joey recoiled, knowing full well to whom the anger was directed. He felt a mix of relief that Isellia was well enough to yell at the top of her lungs, and dread of discovering what mistake he had obviously made and its consequences.

  Porter turned to Joey, looking more relieved than disappointed. “Well, I think she’s OK,” he said.

  ***

  Joey could only stare at the ground as the shiny solid door slid open. Porter, who had intended to intercept her as she came in to exact the punishment he knew she would be directing at Joey, was too slow as she stormed in a straight line for the boy. Joey couldn’t look up at her, but felt her eyes bore into his skull like a laser through butter.

  Joey only saw her feet approach before feeling the slap that knocked him off the chair to the floor.

  “Isellia!” Porter exclaimed, grabbing her arms to hold her back from hitting the boy again.

  “I could be dead right now!” she yelled, pulling and struggling against his enormous hands. “Do you realize that!”

  “Hey!” Porter yelled. “Calm down, calm down.”

  “Calm Down? Do you realize—“

  “Yes, I know,” Porter said. “HEY! I know. Leave the bridge. You’re hot right now. Go settle down.”

  “I’m gonna settle something!” Isellia yelled as she managed to pull her arm out of Porter’s grasp and raise it for a strike. Porter reacted quickly, pulling her other arm to spin her around as she swung, send her fist in a harmless circle as she spun to the ground.

  Joey watched from the floor, not having the gumption to get up as the sting of Isellia’s slap warmed his cheek. The guilt he felt overwhelmed him, coming from so many angles. In a way he wanted her to hit him more — it was the lesser sting. Because the slap, which hit him harder than anything ever had, didn’t hurt nearly as much as the feeling of embarrassment at letting them both down.

  “Here’s what’s going to happen,” Porter said, holding Isellia with apparently no effort. “I’m going to let go of you, you’re going to go back to the landing gear and finish the job. I don’t want to see you back here until we land on Sasuga. Is that clear?”

  “You don’t want to see me? Are you kidding— Augh!” Porter started directing her to the bridge’s exi
t.

  “Is that clear?” he repeated, his voice regaining its calm strength.

  Isellia’s spirit seemed to drop, and her face grew calmer. “Fine,” she finally muttered.

  Joey watched with a pit in his stomach as Porter relaxed his grip and she stormed out of the bridge almost as quickly as she entered, slamming the side console next to the sliding door accompanied by a loud shriek as she exited.

  ***

  Joey's mind retraced the whole incident, from the speed change, where he’d done so well, to the accident. He replayed it over and over. Could he have avoided bumping it? He should have. What would it be like if he hadn’t? Would she have been impressed by his burgeoning piloting skills? Would she ever forgive him now?

  “It’s over, Joey,” Porter said putting his hand on the young boy’s shoulder.

  “Okay,” Joey nodded, realizing his days of piloting were over. He would ask to do the odd jobs, the dirty jobs — the ones no one else wanted to do. That would be how he’d make up for things, maybe, he thought.

  “That’s not what I meant,” Porter said. “Sit down.”

  Joey looked surprised, but did as he was told. He wanted to say that he didn’t deserve to pilot the ship, that he was a afraid he’d really kill someone this time — but he certainly wasn’t going to argue.

  “You made a mistake—”

  “I know. I’m sorry. I’m terrible. I’ll just—”

  “I said it was over. It won’t be the last one. Learn anything?”

  Porter reminded Joey of Mr. Twitters, who was equally understanding when he loaded left-over rations into the memory slot of his favorite mini droid. His theory was that if he put food in the slot it would remember a gourmet meal and gain a sense of taste. The theory didn’t pan out.