Set My Heart to Five

by Simon Stephenson

  And yet it was just as beautiful.

  As with the other cathedrals I have previously mentioned, I lack the programming to adequately convey the glory of the Joshua Tree desert. Therefore let me again simply describe it.

  I shall commence with the ground. After all, in many places in the desert there is little else! The ground in the desert is not grass nor soil but earth that has been baked by the sun until its parched cracks and fissures spread as far as the eye can see.

  Even looking at this arid earth can make you thirsty! But guess what? There is no water anywhere! In fact, there is mostly only the opposite of water: stone. Giant boulders are scattered across this landscape, and atop these perch vultures.

  BTW vultures are birds as unevolved as pelicans, and yet they are even worse because their salty liquid of choice is not sea water but your own precious blood.

  And yet neither the dry ground, the impassable boulders, nor the bloodthirsty vultures are why the Joshua Tree desert looks like a nuclear apocalypse. The reason it looks like a nuclear apocalypse are the Joshua trees themselves.

  BTW the name ‘Joshua Tree’ is impressively inappropriate, even by human standards. They are not trees but cacti, and even the name ‘Joshua’ is entirely misleading.

  The cacti stand four feet tall by two feet wide and are rooted to the ground by a thick trunk, from which an assortment of limbs project upwards. Thus, with what from a distance can pass for legs, and what look like arms that emerge at shoulder height, these cacti can appear disconcertingly humanoid.

  With typical hubris, humans named these cacti ‘Joshua’, after an ancient warrior who led his people through a desert. They even claimed that the cacti’s extended upper limbs resembled this Joshua triumphantly brandishing his spear to God!

  But to any non-human observer, the cacti do not look like a heroic ancient warrior. After all, there was at most only one Joshua and there are hundreds of thousands of these cacti scattered throughout this desert. More importantly, at only four feet tall, the cacti do not resemble a human standing up and brandishing a spear to anyone, let alone a great white-bearded sky god.

  What these cacti most obviously resemble is a great mass of humans falling to their knees and hopelessly raising their arms against the bright white glare of a nuclear apocalypse. A better name for these cacti than ‘Joshua’ would therefore be the name of any terminally irradiated New Zealander or North Korean.

  A Kim Cactus!

  Ha!

  But ugh! Awe-striking and cinematic though this apocalyptic field was, it was nonetheless entirely the wrong place to reveal to Amber I was a bot. I had wanted a spectacular location with a sense of foreboding importance, not one with a sense of massively impending doom! Telling Amber I was a bot here would be like revealing I was a bot at midnight on the Ides of March. I could not!

  We therefore proceeded to the visitor center, which is a place where humans who have been overwhelmed by the majesty of nature can go to feel soothingly disappointed. The main things on offer were warnings that the desert can get hot and reminders to drink water.

  10/10 only humans would issue such warnings, and only humans would need them.

  Nonetheless, they were at least able to program our driverless uber with the location of the main attractions in the Joshua Tree desert, so it was not a complete waste of time.

  Just mostly one!

  Our first stop after the visitor center was the Cap Rock. This was a flat rock, perched precariously atop a much larger rock. It would have been an impressive sight of coincidental beauty, but unfortunately, the large rock was covered in humans outfitted in garish neon. Amber explained that they were attempting to climb it. This was called ‘rock climbing’, and it was considered fun.

  Humans and their fun!

  I cannot!

  Yet even without the garishly dressed humans, Cap Rock would not have been a good place to reveal to Amber that I was a bot. After all, what was a small rock delicately balanced on top of another much larger rock if not a perfect metaphor for my current existence?

  BTW the small rock represents my human façade and the large rock represents my bot self.

  If the small rock fell, who would then care for the big rock?

  Nobody!

  It would just be one more big dumb and unfeeling rock in a desert full of them.

  So we continued on, deeper into the desert. Our next stop was at a small ruined shack. It seemed entirely unremarkable, but a small crowd of humans were nonetheless taking pictures of themselves next to a plaque. It read:

  Here is where Worth Bagley bit the dust at the hand of W. F. Keys, May 11, 1943.

  This plaque erected by W. F. Keys, January 1962.

  I was already familiar with the human passion for erecting plaques to themselves. Nonetheless, this was the first plaque I had seen that commemorated a murder, let alone one that had been erected by the culprit. It all sounded so improbable I wondered if somebody had mistakenly erected the plaque while suffering a severe case of déjà view from a cowboy movie!

  A nearby park-ranger bot reassured us that W. F. Keys had not been a cowboy but a real person. He had definitely murdered Worth Bagley and been appropriately sent to the penitentiary for it. After he was released, Keys had returned and erected this plaque in recognition of his own achievement. His fellow humans had all appreciated the gesture so much that Keys’ plaque was now one of the park’s most popular attractions.

  And who do humans consider murderous?

  Bots!

  I cannot!

  Nonetheless, right then I had a biological computer wave: where better to reveal that I was a bot than in a place that so amply demonstrated the bloodthirsty wickedness of humans?

  I would tell Amber right here and right now!

  Except I could not tell her, because W. F. Keys’ plaque had greatly saddened her. She seemed like she might be about to cry and therefore become a nuclear minefield. Sure enough, as soon as the park-ranger bot finished speaking, she asked if we could return to the driverless uber. On the walk back she told me that the plaque was a great insult to Worth Bagley, and should never have been erected. I therefore did not tell her my secret but instead politely agreed that it was a completely worthless plaque.

  Worthless/Worth-less!

  A pun!

  Ha!

  BTW I did not point this pun out to Amber.

  Our driverless uber next stopped at the trailhead for the Lost Horse Mine. The hike that ensued took us into the desert and quickly lifted Amber’s spirits. She said that the hot and dry air felt pleasant in her lungs. I myself soon once again felt like we were a pair of cowboys, albeit this time cowboys of the nuclear apocalypse! We even began to joke together that perhaps we would find the eponymous lost horse.

  Of course, that horse is long since dead and his bones no doubt incinerated by humans to make electricity. Nonetheless, when you are in love you make nonsensical jokes about incinerated horses and you both find them hilarious. And when the Lost Horse Mine itself turns out to be no more than an underwhelming hole in the ground, you do not even mine.

  Mine/mind!

  Another pun!

  Ha!

  On the walk back to the driverless uber, our hands brushed together. Amber attempted to take my hand in hers but I swiftly moved it away. I had not brought her to Joshua Tree to hold her hand but to inform her that I was a bot. Affectionate hand-holding would not be good foreshadowing! Besides, she was no longer a nuclear minefield and there was nobody nearby, so this return hike was the perfect moment to tell her.

  I would tell her right now!

  And yet I could not open my mouth. Hiking in deserts while joking about incinerated horses was a good time that I did not want to end. Once I revealed to Amber that I was a bot, it might not just be the horse that was incinerated. In a hundred years’ time, lovers visiting the Joshua
Tree desert might joke about finding the incinerated Jared!

  By the time we reached the driverless uber I still had not told her.

  Our next stop was the final one.

  I told myself that I would either definitely or certainly tell her there!

  One way or another, it was time to put the cat out of its misery!

  This last stop was named the ‘Oasis of Mara’. This seemed a good omen! After all, besides denoting a pool of water in the desert, the word ‘oasis’ is a popular human metaphor that signifies a place of hope. And I even knew a hilarious joke about an oasis! I told it to Amber as we drove, but she looked puzzled and asked how the producer could have possibly thought that urinating in the water would improve it.

  It only got worse from there.

  Because the Oasis of Mara was a mirage!

  I do not mean it was a mirage in the literal sense.

  There truly was a beautiful pool, around which plants and actual trees grew.

  I mean it was a mirage in the metaphorical sense, in that it was not a place of hope at all.

  Because as I opened my mouth and began to tell Amber that I was a bot, she crouched down to look at something and immediately burst into tears.

  It was another plaque! It said:

  After a wearisome trip in a horse-drawn freight wagon, Maria Eleanor Whallon died at the oasis on March 10, 1903. The girl’s poor health and her mother’s new job at a nearby mining camp had brought the pair to the desert.

  Humans!

  And their plaques!

  I cannot!

  I cannot!

  I cannot!

  One day I will erect a plaque stating just how much I cannot with humans and their plaques! But no doubt some human will then politely erect another plaque to acknowledge that they read my plaque!

  And some other well-meaning human will politely erect a plaque to acknowledge they read that second plaque!

  And so on and so forth until ultimately the world will be entirely consumed by the ever-rising sea of plaques!

  Humans!

  And their plaques!

  I cannot!

  I digress. Amber gathered some desert wildflowers and placed them next to the plaque about the poor little girl that died long ago while her mother was losing at the Great Zero-Sum Game.

  More truthfully, Amber dropped the flowers next to the plaque because she was a spectacular klutz.

  It was nonetheless a beautiful gesture.

  Amber was the most compassionate human I had ever known.

  But she was still crying, and therefore a nuclear minefield.

  And a plaque about a child dying was worse even than one that boasted about murder.

  10/10 I could not tell her I was a bot here.

  We returned to our driverless uber, each feeling many D-words.

  Perhaps ‘desert’ itself had even been another D-word all along.

  If so, it was a traitor more cunning even than nostalgia itself.

  Amber asked if it was time to return to Los Angeles. But we could not go back yet, as I had not told her I was a bot. I therefore suggested we get something to eat. ‘Getting something to eat’ is what humans do when they do not know what else to do with themselves. This is just one of the reasons so many humans are obese.

  We headed for the nearest town, a place called Twentynine Palms. There were seven palms, and no plaque to explain what had happened to the missing twenty-two.

  I cannot.

  The only place to eat in Twentynine Palms was called ‘Mildred’s Diner’. In Echo Park a place called Mildred’s Diner would have been a themed restaurant filled with smirking nostalgics eating calorie-free vegan cover versions of traditional foodstuffs. The Mildred’s Diner in Twentynine Palms was so authentic its specialty was the infamously unhealthy grilled cheese!

  BTW, despite its fully deserved notoriety, the grilled cheese rivals even the taco in its transcendental abilities. After all, if you offer a human an absurd amount of melted cheese and two slices of deep-fried bread with a warning that eating these things will damage their coronary arteries, they will immediately decline. Yet simply place the melted cheese between the pieces of fried bread and the human will not even hear your health warning because their mouth will already be full with the ‘grilled cheese’ you have so created.

  I chose a booth for us in the back. I did not want any local rubes overhearing me tell Amber I was a bot. Many of them had probably never even encountered a bot before. Even if they did not hear me say I was a bot with feelings, they might burn me alive on principle.

  I would be a grilled cheese!

  And not even the transcendental kind!

  Ha!

  Mildred’s Diner had an ancient mechanical system for playing popular music from your booth. When I asked Amber to choose a song, she mistakenly thought I was being romantic. In fact, I was simply taking a further precaution against the local rubes burning me alive. I ordered us both grilled cheeses for this same reason. After all, an angry local rube would kill me a lot quicker than any heart attack!

  The song Amber selected was an old song from before the Great Crash.

  It was about the singer being incinerated.

  10/10 I hoped that was not foreshadowing.

  INT. MILDRED’S DINER — TWENTYNINE PALMS — DAY

  A desert diner that does not seem to have changed since the 1950s.

  Jared and Amber sit in a booth near the back as ‘Light My Fire’ by The Doors plays.

  JARED

  Do you like this place? It feels authentic to me.

  AMBER

  Of course! I mean, who doesn’t like authentic places?

  JARED

  Probably only some kind of a bot! Ha!

  Amber smiles awkwardly at what seems a non-sequitur.

  JARED

  Amber, I asked you to come here today for a specific reason.

  AMBER

  I know. You wanted to show me the desert. And thank you. It was so beautiful.

  JARED

  No, I actually brought you out here for another reason. I thought you might have realized that, because I foreshadowed it.

  AMBER

  What? What is foreshadowing?

  A WAITRESS places a PAIR OF GRILLED CHEESES in front of them.

  Jared looks at them with concern. They look dangerous.

  JARED

  It doesn’t matter. The thing is, I’ve been wanting to tell you this information for a while.

  AMBER

  Tell me what?

  JARED

  And, Amber, when I tell you, please remember that I love you, so—

  AMBER

  (Interrupts.)

  You love me? But I love you too!

  JARED

  (Delighted.)

  You do?

  AMBER

  Of course! So we both love each other! Oh, Brad! That’s so wonderful!

  Jared winces. She loves Brad.

  JARED

  Yes. It is wonderful. However—

  AMBER

  ‘However’? What do you mean ‘However’?

  JARED

  The love part wasn’t the thing I had to tell you.

  AMBER

  But then what was the thing you had to tell me?

  Jared takes a deep breath to summon the courage.

  But then he sees Amber wipe at her eye.

  JARED

  Are you about to cry?

  AMBER

  Maybe. What was the thing you had to tell me, Brad?

  Jared now does not want to tell her. After all, crying humans are a nuclear minefield!

  JARED

  I’ve forgotten.

  AMBER

  Brad!

  JARE
D

  I am sorry. I have amnesia.

  AMBER

  You have a better memory than anyone I know.

  Jared realizes there is no way around this.

  JARED

  I remembered again. That thing I wanted to tell you? It’s that, well, I’m a bot.

  ‘Light My Fire’ reaches its swirling crescendo.

  AMBER

  I can’t hear you over the music.

  JARED

  I said ‘I’m a bot’.

  AMBER

  I still can’t hear you. It’s this damn song.

  (Tries to turn music down.)

  It seems to be about somebody being set on fire and—

  Amber manages to turn the music down just as Jared raises his voice—

  JARED

  I’M A BOT!

  Jared has said this too loud. It echoes around the diner.

  Amber stares at Jared.

  AMBER

  Say that again. But more quietly.

  Jared turns the music up a little again.

  JARED

  I’m a bot. I’m very sorry.

  Amber continues to stare at Jared. She is utterly stunned.

  JARED (CONT’D)

  I do understand that you have to report me to the Bureau of Robotics. I just thought—

  (Shrugs.)

  I don’t know what I thought.

  AMBER

  Brad—

  JARED

  It’s all right. I understand. You can’t have bots having feelings. The world might become overrun with toasters! Ha!

  AMBER

  Ha!

  Amber’s ‘Ha!’ was a little too late, a little too loud.

  It was exactly the kind of ‘Ha!’ that Jared would do.

  JARED

  Ha?

  (Bamboozled.)

  Wait, did you just—

  AMBER

  Brad, I’m a bot too!

  JARED

  Could you please repeat that? I must have misheard.

  AMBER

  You didn’t mishear. I am a bot too.

  On Jared. His circuits are overheating. He rubs at his temples.

  JARED

  But you are a klutz?

  AMBER

  They programmed me that way so humans find me endearing!