by Neil Clarke
“Oh come on. Back in 2017, when you vanished to some island in Scotland for six weeks and wouldn’t communicate except by postcards?”
“Trump administration.”
“Fair. You still bit Mike’s head off when he came looking for you.”
“Yeah, well, he voted for Jill Stein, didn’t he? . . . never mind, fair.”
“I got your messages,” she said. “Not until last week, though. My accountant noticed my bank balance was off. And then I found the string of one and two cent transfers from your account.”
“Binary,” I said. “Only way I could reach you.”
“Before then I didn’t know where to look. I came here as a last resort.”
We stood there in the snow swirling through the headlights of her Subaru. She seemed warm enough in her parka. I had my arms wrapped around me and couldn’t stop shivering.
“Are you sure you don’t want to go inside?” she asked, noticing.
I couldn’t glance over my shoulder. The door was right there. If I went back inside, would I ever leave?
I couldn’t even answer her question. “You didn’t think I would be here, of all places?”
“We asked Glory. And Glory kept telling us there was nobody here. Search and Rescue did a couple of flyovers and the place was cold and dark—”
“I know,” I said.
“You were trapped up here?”
“Some assholes ransomwared the whole fucking house. I just managed to get the door open. Literally, just now.”
“Shit. We’re going to have to reinstall from backup, aren’t we?”
“Well,” I said. “I’m not sure we can. Or, we can. I’m not sure we should. There’s complications, but I’ll explain later. I may have . . . accidentally created a strong AI.”
She looked at me. Her lips tightened.
I looked at her.
“Of course you did,” she said.
“It was the only way to get her to let me out!”
She looked at me some more. Snow was piling up on her ringlets. I remember when she used to straighten those.
I shivered.
“That’s not going to be a problem later,” she said.
I shivered some more.
“Look,” she said. “You’re turning blue. Let’s at least sit in the car. It has buttwarmers.”
The buttwarmers were pretty great, I’m not going to lie.
Once we were ensconced, and I was holding my hands out to the hot air vents, she said, “I guess it’s a Brian Kaufman special. Invent strong AI instead of just getting a hatchet or something.”
“I . . . didn’t have a hatchet?”
“Or something.”
Snow melted on my eyelashes.
“You came for me though,” I said. “I thought you guys would have given up.”
“We actually only just recently started to get worried rather than irritated.” She held up her passcard to Glory. She was one of the few people who had one. “I was more looking for clues than looking for you. And to be honest, nobody searched that hard. We all figured . . . we all figured you’d wander back out of the wilderness with a few thousand brilliant new ideas whenever you were ready, and until then intrusions wouldn’t be welcome.”
“Have I been that much of a dick?”
She gave me a sideways look through the long spirals of her hair.
“Jeez, Jaysee.”
“Well,” she said, and considered. “I mean, there are worse dicks in the company.”
Silence.
“Besides, you’re brilliant. And people make allowances for brilliance.”
“Maybe too many allowances,” I said.
We sat there for a while, the engine running. She turned off the wipers, and flakes started to settle across the windshield, obscuring my view of Glory’s lights and her yawning, inviting door.
There was a Dan Fogelberg song on the radio. I’m pretty sure that Colorado is the last state that believes Dan Fogelberg ever existed.
“We try to respect your boundaries,” she said.
My face did a thing. My cheeks grew warm and then cold, which is how I realized I was weeping.
“I was thinking of trying to work on setting more reasonable ones.”
She pursed her lips and nodded. “Are you thinking about seeing somebody?”
“Euphemism: seeing a shrink.” I knew I was hiding behind the sarcasm, because talking about my feelings . . . well, there was Glory. “Sorry. I think my first project is . . . being less of a dick.”
“I’m just saying. An outside perspective can be healthy.”
I looked out the side window, because the windshield was covered in a thin white blanket that glowed from the headlights’ reflection. “I’m figuring that out.”
She reached for the keys. “Are you ready to go inside?”
I put my hand over hers. “No. Take me somewhere else. A hotel.”
“Do you need any stuff?”
I couldn’t see the entrance from here. If I leaned over and looked out Jaysee’s window, I probably could have. But that would be weird.
“I’ll buy whatever I need once we’re down.”
She looked at me and I knew what she was thinking. I didn’t even have my phone with me.
She sighed her acceptance. “Just let me go close that door, then.”
I moved my hand from her hand on the keys to her forearm. Not grabbing; just resting my fingers there. “Jayce.”
“Brian?”
“Glory will take care of the door. Just take me someplace else, please?”
She looked at me. Her eyes were dark brown and half-hidden behind her tightly spiraled hair. In the weird light they looked as if they were all pupil. She didn’t blink.
“Someplace else.” She turned the front and rear wipers on. “Coming up. Want to get a burger?”
“Anything,” I said, as she executed a k-turn and started back down the long drive to my cul-de-sac. “As long as I don’t have to cook it myself.”
She put the car in low gear. Paddle shifters on the column. Handy in weather like this.
“What if I try to be a better friend?”
“Give it a shot and find out.” She reached out absently and patted my knee, then returned her hand to the wheel. She was a good and careful driver. I didn’t distract her from a tricky task. She smelled like damp wool and skin and comfort and vulnerability. My vulnerability, not hers.
In the side mirror, I could see Glory’s front door, standing open to the cold. Lamps flanked it on either side, burning merrily, slowly dimming as big cold flakes filled the distance between us.
A man’s fortress can be his prison.
I looked away from the mirror. I looked out the windshield, or at Jaysee’s reflection in it.
We descended the mountain. The Subaru’s tires squeaked in the snow.
A.T. Greenblatt is a mechanical engineer by day and a writer by night. She lives in Philadelphia where she’s known to frequently subject her friends to various cooking and home brewing experiments. She is a graduate of Viable Paradise XVI and Clarion West 2017. Her work is forthcoming or has appeared in Uncanny, Clarkesworld, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, and Fireside, as well as other fine places. You can find her online at atgreenblatt.com and on Twitter at @AtGreenblatt.
HEAVY LIFTING
A.T. Greenblatt
Okay, this rogue robot recovery gig is getting old and I’m saying this as the tech geek of the team. So that should tell you something about our situation. I mean, it’s not like the hacker is trying to steal different robots every time—it’s always a Commando 237X, which also happens to be like one of the most valuable models the factory owns. So that’s a problem. Also, my teammate Bruno isn’t even considering other solutions. He just wants to shut the robot down.
Fine, great, so here we are. Again. Bruno is perched on the factory roof watching the 4-meter-tall human-shaped machine of high-grade alloys and compromised code tear a hole in the fence between the factory lot and forest outside. And I’m
watching the video feed from Bruno’s glasses in my computer lab/living room and getting nervous.
«What the hell are you doing?» I ask through my mic, even though I kinda know the answer already.
«Not now, Gee,» Bruno whispers back. «Can’t you see what I’m up against? Please tell me the video feed isn’t acting up again.»
«No, I’m seeing everything damn fine. Are you?» The robot’s stooped, head bent, its black painted body scratched from years of use, and its weird three joint fingers are busy pulling the fence apart. According to the readout on Bruno’s glasses, it’s a 3.2-meter jump from the ledge Bruno’s on to the robot’s shoulder.
«Maybe,» he says. Which we both know means “Yes.”
«You’re not a superhero, dude.»
«One of us needs to be,» he says and as I’m opening my mouth to tell him that we should really try something else, Bruno jumps.
«SHITSHITSHIT!» Bruno’s not going to make it, he undershot, and I’m going to watch my friend die. Shitshitshit.
But then the robot takes a step back and Bruno manages to grab on. Or at least I’m guessing that’s what happened. I’m not exactly sure because my view is limited here. Point is, Bruno’s not falling anymore and the robot’s neck is like two centimeters away from his glasses and everything’s wobbling and oh my god, I think the robot is trying to shake him off like a wet dog.
«Don’t fucking let go, Bruno. Please!» I can hear Bruno’s torso thud as it bounces off the robot’s back and I’m picturing the bruises and I don’t know how to help. «Use the access key!» I say. I can see the panel, it’s on the robot’s right shoulder. Bruno’s hand is reaching for it, fingers scrambling over the hinges. «WRONG WAY! WRONG WAY! IT OPENS THE OTHER WAY!»
Finally, Bruno manages to open the panel and tries to plug in the key but everything is shaking and crap, he’s holding the plug upside down. «The other way, Bruno!» I’m trying not to be a complete asshole here because I know he’s hanging onto a rogue robot with one arm and the robot keeps moving and he can’t get the connectors to line up, but my muscles are seizing up with the stress and I feel so goddamn useless.
This plan really, really sucks.
Finally, he manages to plug in the access key, and I see the LED light up. At which point, I’m guessing, Bruno lets go because we’re falling again.
«SHITSHITSHIT!» I’ve never been on a rollercoaster and I’m fucking glad because I just manage to grab the trashcan under my desk right before I hurl.
I swear if Bruno survives this, I’m taking away his gadgets.
When I look at my monitors again, he’s on the ground, staring up at the robot’s massive back. «Hurry, Gina!» he yells, all panicky. The robot turns its head and locks eyes on him. «Hurry!»
Oh god, this is going to end badly, isn’t it? Bruno’s a good guy and all, but he has this annoying habit of freezing up. At the worst times. Shit, I can’t look, don’t have time to look, don’t have time to hesitate entering the usernames, passwords, program commands. This would be so much easier if I had more than the lowest level of security clearance here. Okay, I can do this. Hopefully before my friend gets trampled.
Okay, okay, file loading, come on, come on, come on. Hurry up. Bruno, please, don’t die.
The shell terminal pops up and I swear to god I’ve never executed a kill command so fast. End the program, robot, ABORT.
At first, the Commando 237X doesn’t respond. Then it says: «Help me.»
Then it shuts down.
Okay.
Okay, I think it’s over? I peek up at the screen, sort of half terrified of seeing Bruno’s blood splatter all over those damn glasses. But all I see is tall pines and clear sky. I can hear him panting though.
«Worst. Fucking. Plan.» I say. My voice is all shaky.
«I’m okay, thanks,» replies Bruno, wheezing.
«Fantastic. Because I just got so motion sick, I puked.»
«Hopefully not on the equipment.»
«I hate you so much right now.»
I put my head in my hands. Ok, real talk, this is not the job I signed up for. When Bruno asked if I wanted to join the robot systems team, it was supposed to be just me, him, a dozen repurposed robots, and lots and lots of lentil soup cans. Our jobs were to figure out more efficient routes and routines for the robots in the factory. That’s it. He’d be the guy on the floor and I’d handle the coding. And I was so excited to finally put some of my software skills to use, and you know, be part of the community.
My dad would say “The best laid plans,” but I think this is grade A bullshit. Bruno and I have had this job for a month and this is the fifth time in two weeks we had to recapture a rogue robot, though we managed to stop the other four before they got out of the factory and anyone else noticed. But every recapture has been super stressful. We need to use a manual access key to shut down a Commando 237X unit because the community’s equipment and infrastructure team is that fucking paranoid about something happening to these machines. I mean, I get it. The Commandos are repurposed ex-military equipment and there’s not many of them and the factory needs every person and robot it has just to keep feeding everyone in the area. But let’s be real here. I hang out with Bruno Wong, the most devoted community member ever. Shouldn’t that speak volumes about my moral compass, even if most people think I’m just Bruno’s assistant?
«Dude, we need to let the bosses know this is happening . . .» I say.
«They’re more useful to the community than we are,» he says. For a sec, I have no idea what he’s talking about. But then I realize he’s staring at the robot. Oh my god, he’s not even listening to me.
And a small, tired part of me agrees with him. I mean, I’m just the girl behind the code. Practically stuck in the house 24/7. There’s only so much I can do.
Screw this.
I push back from my keyboards and computer screens, grab my crutches, and get to my feet. Shit, I’m a wobbly mess. I look down and realize I vomited in the trashcan and on my favorite girl punk band t-shirt. So while Bruno is busy glaring at the Commando unit, I head to the bathroom and scrub. I feel like I’ve been electrocuted, though that’s just my muscles telling me they hate me for hanging out with Bruno. I really should find better friends. Except this factory town is pretty light on population. Just like every other community on this continent.
Plus, I really want to keep this job and Bruno is the only person who takes my skills seriously.
Fuck it, I use my wheelchair on my way back, because I don’t feel like working on my arm strength anymore.
By the time I’m in my living room/office again, Bruno’s on his feet. He’s still staring at the rogue robot. He’s taking these security breaches personally.
«We really need to figure out who’s behind these hacks,» I say to him.
«Easy. Selfish thieves.»
«That’s a broad definition and a narrow view, bro.»
«Really?»
«What if the people trying to hack them are just desperate for the extra manpower?» I say, running my fingers through my wet hair. Damn it, my hands are still shaking from Bruno’s crappy action hero maneuvers. «Or maybe it’s bored kids? Or maybe that factory worker who left, what’s their name—»
«It’s stealing,» Bruno says, in that idealistic, self-righteous tone he uses when he can’t win an argument. «No matter the reason.»
«Well, the communications network is pretty shitty outside of town. Maybe we should just follow one next time a Commando goes rogue.»
«Easy for you to say. I’m doing the heavy lifting here.»
I inhale and lean back from the screen. «Really, dude?»
«Sorry, Gee. Didn’t mean that. Rough day.» He sounds like a beat up, tragic emo band member. Serves him right. He’s busy playing savior, while I’m stuck here trying to figure out why. I’m tempted not to forgive him. But I care too much not to.
I sigh. «How are we going to explain the fence, dude?»
«We’ll figure some
thing out.» He looks at the half torn fence and the forest of evergreens behind it. Thing is, Bruno’s super helpful and charming when he’s on his game. I mean, when we first met on one of my walks six months ago, he was the new person in town, a total stranger. I’d pushed my legs too hard that day and he hung out while I rested and we geeked out about tech and he walked me home. Later, I even let him try out my salvaged drone. And I’m super protective of my equipment.
I bite a nail as I look at the ruined fence. I don’t know how he’s going to swing this one, though. That’s a big hole.
Bruno glances around the factory lot. «So, I probably look like crap right now.» He tries to laugh. It sounds scary. «What’s the best route for avoiding people, Gee?»
«Hell if I know. Turn on the drone and give me a second.»
I wait for Bruno to boot up the aerial drone. As soon as it’s ready, I have it take off, loving the way the world slowly falls away as it climbs upward. I mean, I do what I can here, covering my office/living room with all the band posters I can find from back when musicians had things like merch and massive audiences. And I try to walk a little farther every week too, one way or another. But soaring above the old factory with its cracked pavement parking lot and patched up warehouses, it feels like freedom.
«I think we’re the only ones out here, Bruno.» I say after a moment. Which isn’t surprising considering how badly behind schedule we are. Heavy rains, floods, and mudslides have wreaked havoc on the infrastructure that was barely holding together anyway. Almost everyone in town is out trying to repair cell towers and roads or getting the crops from farms or delivering soup cans to nearby towns.
«Cool.» Bruno looks up at the drone and gives me a smile. Poor dude, he really does look like a beat up emo band member.
«Five in two weeks isn’t normal,» I say, trying again, because seriously, I’m really worried about this. I mean, I’ve heard of hacks occasionally happening in other communities, and the factory IT team is always on guard for it, but even then, it’s pretty rare and usually someone local is behind it. «I’ve been taking at look at the hacker’s code and it’s kinda sloppy and—»
«Please, Gina. Not now.»