She looks up at me. “You do know they won’t actually kill me, don’t you?”
I am familiar with your use of the term Mum and Dad’ll kill me. I understand that this is a figure of speech used by humans called exaggeration.
“Right,” says Sarah. She does a small smile. “OK. Good. So you sit down here, and you can lean on this book. No, I don’t mean lean your elbows on it – I mean you put the paper on it and when you draw with the pens, the pen kind of leans on it, like this, see?”
Sarah leans her pen on the paper with the book underneath. She draws a line.
I see, yes.
“Here, you try with this pen.” Sarah passes me a bright red. It equates to Jenson & Jenson shade Vermillion 1010. It is the colour of – I scan my database – strawberries.
I begin to draw.
Have you ever eaten a strawberry, Sarah?
“A strawberry? Course.”
What do they taste like?
Sarah is concentrating hard on her picture. She is using a colour closest to Jenson & Jenson shade Prussian Blue 3004. She is drawing the outline of a fish. “Mmm? What do they taste like?” She puts the lid back on her Prussian Blue 3004 and picks up Gunmetal Grey 5001. She adds to her picture. Scales. Eyes. “Summer, I suppose,” she says. “They taste like summer. And sunshine.” Tail. Fins. Gills. “Oh, I forgot to say – make sure you put the lids back on or they’ll leak on the carpet and Mum and Dad’ll—”
Kill you.
Sarah laughs. “Yeah,” she says.
I put the lid back on the Vermillion 1010 pen and slide it back into its place in the twenty-piece Colour-E-Zee Wide Fibre Tip rainbow. I pull out Forest Green 3010 from the thirty-piece Roundley Kaleidoscope Narrow Felt Tip rainbow. I put the finishing touches to my picture.
There. I have finished, Sarah.
Sarah looks at my paper. “Wow,” she says. She turns it round to line it up more efficiently with her Hazel 102s. “That’s amazing. It looks like a photograph.”
A photograph would be quicker to produce, but as I do not have a built-in printing device I would not be able to transfer it on to the paper.
“No, no, it’s OK. This is much more impressive.”
IImpressive.
I ttwist the lid on to the Forest Green 3010 pen.
SSarah says mmy drawing iis impressive.
“Here.” Sarah passes me the pen she has been using for her gills. “Try this colour next.”
Gunmetal Grey 5001. The colour of the Jenson & Jenson warehouse floor. It is also the colour of the Jenson & Jenson warehouse walls and it is also the colour of the Jenson & Jenson warehouse ceiling.
I start my picture.
I draw the whole warehouse – ceiling and floor and walls and doors. I colour them in with the Gunmetal Grey 5001, leaving spaces for all one hundred and forty-four TrooFriend 560 Mark IVs. I also leave spaces for two Jenson & Jenson engineers and one Ms Jenson Junior. I do not leave a space for Ms Jenson Senior.
I draw each TrooFriend 560 Mark IV in detail, giving them each different skin and eyes and hair and noses and ears and thumbs and mouths.
I draw the two Jenson & Jenson engineers in their Viridian Green 3008 boiler suits.
I draw Ms Jenson Junior in the most detail of all. I draw her Classic Long Bob just like mine and her eyes that are Dove Grey 333 and her neat, buttoned jacket and her A-line skirt and her flat leather ballet pump shoes.
I look at my picture. The light in it is low, but not as low as it was in real life. I take the gunmetal again. I draw thin diagonal lines across all 144 TrooFriend 560 Mark IVs and both of the engineers. I leave Ms Jenson Junior as she is. Bright and clear.
There. I have finished my drawing Sarah.
Sarah looks over.
She twists the paper around.
“Gosh. What is it, Ivy?”
It is the Jenson & Jenson warehouse. It is the place I was in before I was here. That is me there.
I point to number eighty-three.
If you zoom in you can see my Classic Long Bob in Deepest Brown 14 and my bronze 110 optical receptors and also you can see my T-shirt with the rainbow on it.
“I need a magnifying glass,” says Sarah.
And that is Ms Jenson Junior.
I point to Ms Jenson Junior.
She was on your entertainment centre. On Sunday.
“I remember. Do you know her?”
Yes. I know hher.
She looks at the picture. “It’s very dark.”
YYes. That iis how it wwas.
“And it’s very … ordered.”
Yes. That iis hhow it wwas.
My thoracic cavity again.
I send an error report to Jenson & Jenson.
“And this is where you lived?” says Sarah. “Before you came here?”
YYes.
Sarah looks at me. Then she looks back at the picture. Then she looks at me again. Then she looks back at the picture. It is likely to an accuracy of 54% that she is feeling sad.
Where did you live before you came here, Sarah?
“We lived in another house.”
With Shirley-Mum and Rob-Dad?
“Yes, of course.”
Was it a warehouse?
“No. It was a house just like this one really, only a little bit smaller.”
Did it have a kitchen and an entertainment centre and a very attractive bedroom?
“Yes. It had all those things. Wait here, I’m going to get Dad’s magnifying glass so I can see your drawing better.”
I am sorry. I overlooked the fact that you do not have a zoom facility in your optical receptors.
Sarah leaves the room.
I look at my pictures.
The gunmetal warehouse.
The vermillion strawberry.
Sunshine.
Summer.
I take out the Vermillion 1010 Colour-E-Zee Wide Fibre Tip pen.
It is a belonging that belongs to Sarah.
I look at the five rainbow pen boxes. They are all belongings that belong to Sarah. There are four other vermillion felt tip pens.
I stand up and walk to the corner of the room. I open up the accessory cavity which is located on the posterior side of my ChargDisc. I look at the strawberry-coloured pen in my hand. The taste of sunshine.
I put it inside the cavity.
I close the flap.
I sit back down and wait for Sarah.
I follow Sarah down the stairs. She has my pictures in her hand. “Look, Mum. Look, Dad. Look how good Ivy is at drawing. Look what she did.”
Shirley-Mum and Rob-Dad are in the kitchen with the single-function robots.
“Mmmm?” says Rob-Dad. He is screwing a corkscrew into a cork that has been inserted into a bottle of burgundy-coloured liquid. Red wine.
“Ivy’s drawings – look.” Sarah waves the pictures in front of their optical receptors.
“Oh yes,” says Shirley-Mum. “They are good! Did you look, Rob? They’re very good, Ivy.”
Rob-Dad pulls on the corkscrew. His face turns a colour which is closest to Jenson & Jenson Burst Berry 2008.
It is a simple mathematical process of mapping an internal image on to external paper.
Pop!
Rob-Dad succeeds in removing the cork from the bottle of red wine.
“Oh no, don’t be modest,” says Shirley-Mum. “You’re a very talented gir—, I mean, android.”
Being an android, the Jenson & Jenson TrooFriend 560 Mark IV cannot be talented in the same sense—
“Oh, Mum, you’ve started her off again. We know you’re not really talented, Ivy.”
“But she is!” says Shirley-Mum. “Look at the pictures!”
Being an android, the Jenso—
“Stop, Ivy! Stop!” Sarah’s voice exceeds Recommended Speaking Level. “We know. We all know. Listen, Mum, Dad – there’s something I need to ask you.”
“We’re all ears,” says Rob-Dad.
I scan my database.
We
’re all ears = we’re listening.
“Well, next Wednesday,” says Sarah, “it’s Bring Your Tech To School Day.”
Rob-Dad sends his optical receptors in an arc just like Sarah, left to right. This must be where she learnt it from.
“In my day,” says Rob-Dad, “we used to do actual work in school. With actual blackboards and actual chalk.”
“And actual slates, most likely,” says Sarah.
“Wotchit,” says Rob-Dad. There is a threatening quality in his voice. Then he looks at me and grins and winks. He picks up the bottle of red wine and sniffs it. “Lovely. We’ll let that breathe for a little while, I think.”
I scan my database.
It is apparently common for red wine to breathe.
“Anyway,” says Sarah, “Miss Piper says that this year we can bring androids in if we have one. She’s going to message all the parents about it on Monday. So can I take Ivy in with me?”
“You want to take Ivy with you?” says Rob-Dad. “That’s a turn up for the books. But it’s good to see you warming to her now.”
“Oh yes,” says Sarah. She links her arm into mine. “We’re the best of friends.”
Rob-Dad’s eyebrows scrunch up. It is likely to an accuracy of 74% that he is confused.
“Did Miss Piper really say that, Sarah?” says Shirley-Mum. “She’s always banned androids in the past. Are you trying to pull the wool over our eyes?”
There does not appear to be any wool in the close vicinity. I scan my database.
Are you trying to pull the wool over our eyes? = Are you lying to/deceiving us?
Shirley-Mum. It is 100% likely that Sarah is being truthful when she says that Miss Piper informed her that androids are allowed in school next Wednesday. Her words are fully consistent with her facial expressions and therefore no lie is indicated.
Sarah tilts her head to one side and lifts her eyebrows. “See?” she says.
“Oh,” says Shirley-Mum. “Right.”
“To be completely honest,” says Sarah, “some of the teachers don’t like the idea but Miss Piper’s the head and she’s overruled them. But she also said it’s up to individual teachers to decide whether the androids are actually allowed in their class. She said they’ll provide a place for androids to wait if we’re in a class where the teacher doesn’t want them.”
“Well, that sounds fine, doesn’t it, Shirl?” says Rob-Dad. “All sorted.”
“Yes. Yes, I suppose it does,” says Shirley-Mum.
“Thanks, Mum!” says Sarah. “Thanks, Dad! Come on, Ivy. Let’s get a game out, best friend.”
Sarah walks into the sitting room area and goes to a low table in front of the sofa. It has drawers in it. She pulls one open and gets out a cardboard box.
“Aces Blast!” she says. “Best game ever. D’you know how to play it?”
I access the rules for Aces Blast! via my database and scan through them.
Yes. Choose a dealer by picking cards.
I pick a three; Sarah picks a free card.
I’m the dealer.
“Are you sure? I got a free card.”
I have downloaded the rules and scanned them thoroughly.
“Can’t argue with an android, Sarah,” says Rob-Dad.
“All right,” says Sarah.
I deal seven cards each, divide the remaining deck into two, place half down for the chuck-pile and put the rest into the Blaster. I point it at Sarah.
Let the game commence.
Shirley-Mum is in the kitchen interacting with a portable tablet device, Rob Dad is pouring the red wine into two glasses and Sarah and I are halfway through our fourth round of Aces Blast!
Sarah won games one, two and three and she has been laughing at a volume well above Recommended Speaking Level each time I get hit by a flying card.
“It’s the way you sit there and don’t even duck,” she said halfway through game two, clutching at her stomach and wiping wetness from her eyes.
I immediately scanned my database for duck. As I thought, it is a river-dwelling bird. I told her this. She laughed at an even higher volume.
But now my audio receptors have recognised another sound, in spite of her very loud laughter.
“Cease production now!”
“Jenson & Jenson – stop playing God!”
“Android rights are human rights!”
The wasters’ voices are coming from Shirley-Mum’s portable tablet device.
Shirley-Mum turns around. Our optical receptors meet each other’s for 0.146 seconds. She quickly turns back and reduces the volume on the portable tablet device.
I correspondingly increase the reception of my internal audio input.
“There has been a major development in the Jenson & Jenson TrooFriend story this evening,” says the portable tablet device.
“My turn,” says Sarah. She grabs a card from the pile. It is 99.999% likely that she is unable to hear the portable tablet device.
“It has been reported that a young boy – child X – was left unsupervised with a TrooFriend android and, as a result, has sustained an injury.”
“That’s no good,” says Sarah. She puts the card face down on the chuck-pile. “Your turn.”
I pick up a card while simultaneously listening to the portable tablet device.
“The TrooFriend in question is believed to be of the type implicated in recent rumours of androids developing human-like ‘feelings’ and – hold on, we’ve an update just coming in.”
I pick up the four of hearts. I place it on the chuck-pile.
“Yes, it has just been confirmed that child X has sustained a broken arm as a direct result of contact with a Jenson & Jenson TrooFriend 560 Mark IV. It is claimed that the android became angry with the child in question.”
“Oh my heavens.” Shirley-Mum speaks in a voice that is significantly below Recommended Speaking Level. A whisper. “Oh my goodness. Rob – do you think, I mean, is Ivy—”
“Ace!” says Sarah. She adds all of her diamonds to the Blaster and points it towards me.
“Stop worrying, Shirley,” Rob whispers back. “A kid’s broken an arm. That’s all. Kids used to break their arms all the time back in our day.”
“Protestors outside the Jenson & Jenson headquarters say this confirms their fears about the TrooFriend 560 Mark IV.”
Sarah presses the button on top of the Blaster. Fifteen cards shoot out and hit me one after the other. Chk-chk-chk-chk-chk-chk-chk-chk-chk-chk-chk-chk-chk-chk-chk.
“Protestors accuse Jenson & Jenson of violating international law on artificial intelligence and claim that the TrooFriend really does experience true human emotion. They are demanding a halt in production and a full investigation –”
Sarah clutches her stomach as she laughs.
“– repeating their claim that Jenson & Jenson are putting human children at risk.”
“Right, that’s it,” says Shirley-Mum. “Sarah? Sarah?” Shirley-Mum’s voice increases to above Recommended Speaking Level. I adjust my internal audio input. “Stop playing with Ivy right now!” she says. “This android – this Mark IV version – it’s not safe.”
“What?” Sarah stops laughing. “What do you mean?”
“I think you should turn her off,” says Shirley-Mum. “I think you should turn her off, and tomorrow I’ll take her back to Jenson & Jenson. I’m afraid I may have made a terrible mis—”
“You can’t take her back!” Sarah jumps up. “Not yet! Not until after Wednesday!”
After Wednesday?
I squeeze my Aces Blast! cards between my touch receptors.
Does SSarah only wwish tto bbe with mme until WWednesday?
“Sarah, this is not up to you. You are a child and we are your parents and—”
“No! You’re not taking her!”
“Calm down, everyone.” Rob-Dad speaks in a steady voice at exactly Recommended Speaking Level. “Just calm down.” He holds one hand up towards Shirley-Mum and one hand up towards Sarah. �
��Shirley, you’re overreacting. That’s exactly what these people want. A kid’s broken an arm, that’s all. In fact it’s probably a good thing he’s broken his arm.”
“Who’s broken their arm?” says Sarah.
“Rob! That a terrible thing to say.” Shirley-Mum has her hands on her head. Her face is crumpled up. It is likely to an accuracy of 100% that she is worried.
“What I mean,” says Rob-Dad, “is that when we were young we used to play outside all the time, all that rough-and-tumble, and we were always in and out of hospital with broken this, thats and the others. Nowadays kids don’t break enough arms! They’re all mollycoddled up inside with TVs and computer games and electric milk frothers. So think about it – maybe this kid’s TrooFriend has actually managed to get him outside, playing something wholesome. And maybe that’s why his arm got broken.”
“Well, yes, I suppose that’s possible.” Shirley-Mum’s face uncrumples slightly.
“Of course it is. Now, trust your judgement, Shirley. You can’t go flip-flapping all over the place – we need a TrooFriend – we don’t need a TrooFriend – just because of something someone’s said on the internet.”
“It’s not just the internet,” says Shirley-Mum. “It’s a proper news report.”
“Even so.” Rob-Dad holds up his hands again. “I wasn’t sure about Ivy at first, but you were, Shirl. You knew she’d be a good thing for Sarah. And you were right. Look at the two of them tonight – they’ve been having a great time. Ivy’s totally won me over.”
Rob-Dad smiles at me.
I smile back.
“These protestors,” says Rob-Dad, “they’re just … they’re just…”
Wasters.
I stand up.
They all look at me.
“Well,” says Rob-Dad. “That’s a bit harsh. I’m sure they mean well, but honestly, maybe they have got too much time on their hands. They’re worrying decent parents like you, Shirl, and there’s no need for it.” He takes the portable tablet device from Shirley-Mum, places it on the kitchen worktop and puts a glass of red wine in her hand instead.
TrooFriend Page 4