Robinson Crusoe 2246: (Book 3)

by E. J. Robinson

  “What now?” Friday asked, exhausted.

  Before Robinson could answer, the flashing footprints returned, leading them to a large wall. A loud pneumatic hiss accompanied the doors as they opened, revealing an area cast in total darkness. Oddly, music started playing from within. It was a light, jaunty tune. Piano. Drums. Trumpet, a tenor saxophone, and a trombone. A smooth male voice rose over the accompaniment.

  Somewhere beyond the sea,

  somewhere waiting for me.

  My lover stands on golden sands.

  And watches the ships that go sailin’.

  A light kicked on high above, illuminating a cobblestone path that snaked ahead. Windows lit a building to their left. Or was it the façade of a building? Words were scripted on the glass storefront. It took Robinson a moment to make them out. “Barber Shop.” A red, white, and blue barber pole light began to spin out front.

  Then another faux brick and mortar building appeared to their right. This one featured several chrome stools edged against a counter. In warm, colorful neon, a sign read, “Soda Fountain.”

  It's far beyond the stars.

  It's near beyond the moon.

  I know beyond a doubt,

  my heart will lead me there soon.

  Robinson and Friday traded bewildered glances as more storefronts came to life. Picturesque, decidedly of the ancients, they appeared as if they’d leaped off the page of a book or old magazine. Murph’s Five and Dime. Punch Bowling Alley. Fab Garments. The Sock Hop. Pompadours Hair Salon. The Right-O Movie Theater.

  A wave of fractal tiles spread across the ceiling, transforming the dark into a sky of cobalt blue, fuchsia, and gold. Wisps of clouds wafted past, cutting a scene so realistic it was as if the earth had opened up to let the real world shine in from above.

  At the same time, a breeze blew in from somewhere, turning the leaves of a small tree nearby. Robinson reached for one. It was plastic. He let it fall to the ground where it blew it away.

  And then Friday elbowed him. A figure had appeared at the end of the street—a woman dressed in a floral dress with red shoes, long white gloves, and a string of pearls around her neck. Her hair was cut short, and she seemed to almost dance as she approached them.

  “Hey there, kids!” she said brightly. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

  “Uh … yes,” Robinson replied. “It’s nice. W-where are we?”

  “Where?” the woman repeated. She was close enough now for him to gauge her age, which he put somewhere between twenty-five and thirty. She was pretty, with an aquiline nose, bright blue eyes, and a beaming smile. “Why, you’re in Sweethome. Sweethome, USA. Or, as we like to call it,” she put a hand to the side of her mouth and whispered, “the happiest town on Earth. My name’s Joule.”

  “Jull?” Friday asked.

  “Jewel,” Robinson corrected her. “It’s a synonym for gem.”

  “That’s correcto mundo,” Joule said. “But in my case, it’s spelled, J-O-U-L-E, after the unit of energy. Can’t say I mind being compared to something rare and precious though. Would any girl ever?”

  She laughed and winked, but as she closed on them, Robinson and Friday saw a flicker run up the length of her body, briefly distorting her image. Friday blanched. Robinson looked amazed.

  “You’re a—” he started.

  “Hologram?” Joule said brightly. “It’s true. But I’ve never really dug labels. I prefer to think of myself as a just another all-American girl. I hope you will too.”

  Robinson was dumbfounded, “I’m Robinson, and this is Friday.”

  “Robinson?” Joule said. “Now, there’s a ten-cent name if I’ve ever heard one. You know what? I’m gonna call you Bobby, after the dreamy Mr. Bobby Darin, whose disc is spinning from the Sock Hop right this very second. That won’t bug you, will it?”

  Robinson didn’t have a chance to answer before Joule turned her attention to Friday. “And you! I’ve heard of girls named Tuesday, Wednesday, and even Sunday, but I’ve never heard of one called Friday before. Do you have a nickname, sweetie?”

  “No,” Friday said curtly.

  “Dang. Well, give us some time, and we’ll come up with something. Say! Where are my manners? You must be freezing? Come on and follow me!”

  She turned and strode back up the street. Robinson and Friday looked at each other and followed.

  “So,” Robinson said, “you said the name of this place is Sweethome?”

  “Town, Bobby,” Joule said, “this town. Yes. And this is Main Street. Painstakingly designed to replicate the Rockwellian splendor of post-war America. Ain’t it a peach?”

  “Post-war?” Friday asked.

  “Uh-huh,” Joule said. “The big one, as my Grandpapa used to say. Technically, the second big one. We in Sweethome don’t like to dwell on the past. Only the future. And what a future we have in store for you!”

  She ushered them into the store marked Fab Garments.

  A short time later, Robinson exited a dressing room wearing a long-sleeved shirt with continental wide-spread collar, gabardine slacks, and mahogany dress shoes that matched his belt. Friday appeared a few moments later wearing a plaid sheath dress with a green coat.”

  “Holy rollers!” Joule said. “You two are the bee’s knees!” She turned to Friday as if aside. “Normally, I’d recommend a corset, but your curves are just too much, girl.” Then she turned to Robinson. “And you, sir, are one hep cat! I mean, you’re both sharp. Sharp!”

  “Joule,” Robinson said, still in a bit of a daze. “I don’t recognize the dialect you’re speaking.”

  “It’s called lingo, Bobby,” Joule said. “Straight from the 1950s, the coolest period in American history. It’s the motif chosen for Sweethome.”

  “Oh?”

  “Because folks here were happiest then. The war was over. The future was bright and everyone had hope. And now that you’re here, you will too. I bet your bottom dollar you will.”

  “About that,” Robinson said. “I hate to bring this up so soon, but we’re actually looking for something.”

  “You want to go to Dino’s!” Joule said.

  “Dino’s?” Friday repeated.

  “It’s the happeningest scene in all of Sweethome. You’ll dig it. C’mon.”

  The hologram turned for the door and then blipped out. When Robinson and Friday stepped outside, they saw Joule skipping down the street.

  Dino’s turned out to be Dino’s Diner, a colorful eatery with checkered floors, red booths, and black discs on the walls. A colorful box in the corner played a song called, “Sh-Boom” by The Chords. Perhaps most shockingly to them was how clean everything was.

  Robinson hadn’t expected much when Joule ordered for them, but the food that arrived was delicious.

  “This is incredible,” Robinson said, his mouth full. “What is it?”

  “It’s called a burger and fries,” Joules answered. “I knew you’d dig it. Everybody here does.”

  “Everybody who?” Friday asked.

  “I meant,” Joule said, a little less enthusiastic, “when Sweethome’s menu was first selected. Don’t you like it, Friday?”

  Friday poked the patty with her fingers.

  “What is this meat?” Friday asked.

  “Soy products mostly. And mushrooms, legumes, and flax. But you can order something else on the menu if you don’t like it. Or I can prepare something else for you. I have over seven thousand recipes on file, and I am here to serve.”

  Friday pushed her plate forward and turned away. Robinson noticed that Joule’s smile faded a touch.

  “You’ll have to forgive Friday,” Robinson said. “She’s been a little under the weather for a while now.”

  “Oh, right,” Joule said. “I heard. If you’d like, we can take her to Doc White’s once we’re done.”

  “You have a doctor here?” Friday asked.

  Joule smiled again, teeth so bright they sparkled. “Doc White is just a name we have for the infirmary. I do the a
ctual diagnosis and providing of treatment, but Doc Joule just doesn’t have the same ring!”

  She laughed, but something about the sound felt artificial.

  “Of course you do,” Friday said, folding her arms.

  Robinson watched Joule, who looked at him and shrugged apologetically.

  “Joule,” Robinson said. “I don’t mean to be rude, but you’re a computer program, right?”

  “Technically, yes. But between you and me, I know a few folks around here who don’t have half the personality.”

  She winked, and Robinson managed a laugh.

  “Where exactly are these other people?” Friday asked. “Are they nearby?”

  Joule’s hologram flickered. “This is hard for to admit, but no. You see, Sweethome was built with a very special clientele in mind. It was meant to be a sanctuary should things outside go bad. A new world, if you will. But when the big fuss happened, wouldn’t you know it spread too fast for most of them to arrive.”

  “So none made it?” Friday asked.

  “Made it here?” she said hesitantly. “No. But that all changed with you. And we’re going to have a swell time here together. Just swell!”

  Joule could see that Friday looked dubious.

  “I see you doubt me, Friday, but I’m telling the truth. I was designed to care for people, and my number one directive is to ensure the safety of my charges. But Sweethome is about so much more than safety. It’s about happiness and the promise of a fulfilled life.”

  “That all sounds great, Joule,” Robinson said. “I do have one last question. Have you ever heard of the City of Glass?”

  “Of course! But I know it as Operation: Ivory Tower. It was a clandestine program created by eleven heads of state to cull together the world’s top scientists in a variety of fields to, and I quote, ‘administer positive change to the human condition.’ It was located just four hundred miles from here.”

  “Four hundred? That’s it?”

  Robinson looked at Friday. Joule’s smile faded.

  “You didn’t think this was the City of Glass, did you?”

  Suddenly, the music faded away, and the lights flickered. Joule’s hologram turned a darker shade of blue.

  “No,” Robinson said. “In fact, we wanted to come here. Friday needs to rest. And I’d like to get to know Sweethome.”

  “And you will. Who knows? You may like it so much you’ll never want to leave!”

  After lunch, Joule showed them to the housing unit, which included a one-bedroom apartment with a wall screen that revealed a life-like forest filled with towering red trees and glimpses of wildlife.

  “The wall monitor can be changed to any number of settings,” Joule said, standing outside the door. “Just touch it and choose the one right for you.”

  “Thank you, Joule,” Robinson said. “We really appreciate it.”

  “Hey, you’ve had a long journey. I hope I didn’t rub either of you’re the wrong way. You see, I’m new at this too. I’ve waited a very long time for someone like you to come along.”

  “Oh,” Robinson said. “Well, great.”

  He walked the hologram to the door. She turned just as she stepped out.

  “One more thing. There are no optics in the rooms. Or sound receptors. The designers wanted to ensure everyone had privacy. We aren’t Reds after all.” She laughed. “Should you need anything, walk into the hall and give me a shout. I’ll be here before you can say, ‘jelly roll.’”

  Robinson forced a smile.

  “I am here for you, Bobby. You believe that, don’t you?”

  “I do,” Robinson said.

  “Righto,” Joule beamed. “We’re going to be such good friends. Like bugs in a rug. I just feel it.”

  Robinson smiled and shut the door. When he made his way to Friday, he could read the worry in her eyes.

  “We are not staying. That thing—” she said, before breaking into a coughing fit.

  Robinson sat down beside her and took her hand. “Shhh. We’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

  Friday lay back, exhaustion finally settling in. Robinson knew they’d stumbled into something troubling, but until he could get a true lay of the land, he refused to panic. Joule had said her primary directive was to protect her guests, which meant he only had to play nice until he figured a way to get what he needed and get out.

  Robinson felt his own eyes grow heavy. He laid down, ready to close his eyes when he saw two words scrawled on the side of the nightstand.

  It read: SHE LIES.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Joule

  On their eleventh morning inside Sweethome, Friday refused to get out of bed. Her breathing had grown even more labored, and she rejected any suggestion of Joule caring for her. Robinson tried to broach the subject with her several times, all from within the supposed privacy of their room. Friday never wavered. From the moment she set eyes on Joule, Friday had believed her to be a ghost. And ghosts were heralds of evil to the Aserra. No amount of talk on Robinson’s part could dissuade of her that notion.

  Of course, Robinson knew Joule was simply a computer program—but one that had been created with a robust and intricately constructed personality. But every time he tried to explain it to Friday, it only further rankled her. She simply couldn’t understand how a machine could possess consciousness, or, more importantly, why.

  This made life especially difficult for Robinson. From their initial conversation inside Dino’s Diner, he knew Joule had information on the City of Glass, including its general, if not specific, whereabouts. But since that first day, she had refused to discuss it again. He had adopted a wait-and-see approach, instead hoping to ingratiate himself to the point she might talk more freely.

  “Good morning, Joule,” Robinson said as he exited his room.

  “Mornin’, Bobby Boy!” Joule said. She wore a canary-yellow skirt with a fluffy-eared dog sewn at the hem. Robinson knew it was one of her favorites. “Is Friday kicking it again?”

  “I’m afraid so,” he said. “Morning sickness.”

  “Aw, rats. Morning sickness is a bum-mer. It effects half of all women during pregnancy and can cause dehydration, high blood pH, and low levels of potassium in the blood. Though that stuff typically happens during the first trimester. If she would let me examine her, I’m sure I could recommend a safe and effective antiemetic or antihistamine.”

  “I’ll let her know,” Robinson said. “What should I do with these?”

  He held up the plates and utensils with which they’d eaten breakfast.

  “Set ’em anywhere in the hall. I’ll have the fellas pick them up later.”

  “Fellas?” Robinson repeated as he set the stuff down.

  “You didn’t think I was all alone down here, did ya?” Joule said with a sly grin. “The AWBs cat’s meow.”

  “AWBs?”

  “Automated Worker Bots,” Joule clarified. “Boxy little things that keep this crib swinging. What they lack in coolness, they make up for in productivity, believe you me.”

  “I haven’t seen these AWBs. Where are they?”

  “Around. Not all of us are meant for the limelight.”

  Robinson started walking for Main Street. Joule skipped alongside him.

  “So, what’s on the docket for today?” Robinson asked.

  “Golly. Anything! You can try your luck at bowling again. It’s always a gas. Or maybe take in a flick at the picture house. Lone Ranger was a scream, wouldn’t you say?”

  “I would. The black and white made it very dramatic.”

  Joule opened her mouth, and an old fashioned male voice emerged with dramatic tones.

  “Six rangers ambushed by a gang of desperadoes. Only one of them survives. With the help of a strange ally, he returns to health and seeks revenge on those that did him wrong.” Her own voice returned. “Easy to identify with a hero like that.”

  “Uh, yeah,” he said uncomfortably. “It is. I especially like the part where he travels to the Valley
of Horses in his quest for his magical steed. Reminds me of the City of Glass.”

  “Valley of Horses,” she harrumphed. “That place is phony baloney. And Silver wasn’t magical. He wasn’t even white. Did you know the horses they used had to be painted? And several were female. Dang it. Now I’ve gone and spoiled the illusion, haven’t I?”

  “Not at all. I get sometimes storytelling needs embellishing.”

  “Yeah,” Joule agreed. “That’s important. But so is truth. And sometimes people are uncomfortable peeking behind the curtain. They don’t often like what they find.”

  Joule stared at Robinson a little longer than usual. Then she smiled brightly.

  “That’s why I try to be as transparent as possible,” Joule said, performing a pirouette as her form flickered in and out.

  Robinson laughed perfunctorily.

  “Well,” Joule said. “If you ain’t digging on the picture house, I know a little juke joint we can go to that plays the crazy jazz.”

  Instantly, a stream of drums, bass, and saxophone played a spirited four beat on the speakers overhead. Robinson was momentarily distracted.

  “Aw, don’t be a moldy fig, Bobby Boy,” Joule said. “I’m giving you options here. Jazz is jake! All the kids love it. When you hear those horns blowin’ and someone like Ella on torch? It’s crazy, baby!”

  “Sounds like it,” Robinson said.

  At that moment, the energy went out of Joule’s hologram, and for a second, Robinson saw something ugly in her place.

  “You’re being a drag, Bobby,” Joule said. “And nobody like drags.”

  That sounded vaguely like a threat to Robinson. Robinson smiled nervously.

  “Sorry, Joule,” Robinson said. “My mind’s just on other things.”

  Joule studied him a moment before her cheeriness returned. “That’s it! I may not know what you want, but I do know what you need. And you are going to definitely dig it. Follow me!”

  Joule darted off down the hallway. Robinson sighed and quickly followed.

  The room opposite the housing ward was a gym with equipment to one side and a hardwood sports court with hoops on the other. Joule stood in the middle, her hoop skirt replaced by velour pants and a zip-up sweater. She blew a shrill metal whistle hanging around her neck.