“I can see how that would be beneficial for all parties,” Joule said. “Have you written this letter?”
“No. I’m still working on it. But I’ll have it done by tomorrow. In the morning, I’ll read it to Friday and…”
“Then, you’ll become a father.”
Robinson nodded but said nothing.
“I know this is difficult, but it is the right thing to do.”
Robinson spent the day preparing. He began at Fab Garments. Joule produced a black suit and tie at his request. When he finally donned it, she called him elegant. Afterward, he got a shave and a haircut at the barbershop. Joule’s equipment performed with such precision, he didn’t suffer a single nick.
The early afternoon was spent fight training in the gymnasium. Robinson attacked Joule’s automaton with a fury she’d never seen before. After an exhausting ninety minutes, Joule told him she would prepare lunch while he showered.
After a brief nap, Robinson went to his room to “work on his letter,” emerging only for dinner where he asked Joule to prepare a simple pasta with vegetables and light olive oil.
“Are you sure I can’t do anything else for you?” Joule asked sympathetically.
Robinson told her there was one thing.
Their feet moved lightly across the gymnasium floor, shuffling in time to Nat King Cole’s cover of the Doris Day standard, “When I Fall in Love.” The automaton’s hand was raised high, clutched softly in Robinson’s. His other hand was at the small of Joule’s back. They moved together gracefully.
When I fall in love, it will be forever
Or I'll never fall in love
In a restless world like this is
Love is ended before it's begun
And too many moonlight kisses
Seem to cool in the warmth of the sun
The warning lights flashed as the thrum of the superconductor magnets labored, but Joule refused to acknowledge it until the song was over.
“That was beautiful,” Joule said.
“Can’t we do one more?”
“I wish we could, but my batteries are already operating at below capacity.”
“You said you could reroute power once. Please. It would mean a lot to me.”
Joule’s eyes remained fixed on his, but whereas they had always appeared composed, they now looked almost vulnerable.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” Joule asked.
Robinson feared his words might betray him, so he nodded. Then, Joule smiled and said, “Okie dokie, Bobby Boy. This one’s for you then.”
A sanguine guitar strum filled the room. This time Joule laid her head on Robinson’s shoulder and held him tight as the Everly Brothers sang in unison.
Bye bye love
Bye bye happiness
Hello loneliness
I think I'm-a gonna cry-y
Bye bye love
Bye bye sweet caress
Hello emptiness
I feel like I could die
Bye bye my love goodbye
This time Robinson didn’t wait for the dead of night or the coming of the AWBs. Shortly after Joule said goodbye at his apartment door and he heard Sweethome shutting down, he grabbed his things and made for the service gate.
He’d made a mess in the diner, the library, and gymnasium, hoping cleanup would keep the AWBs busy while he scrambled through the tunnels. The heat grew as he entered the AWBs tunnel. This time, he passed through the gate and entered a shaft echoing with electronics. At last, he arrived at the final gate and pushed it open.
The control room wasn’t very different from what Robinson had imagined. The walls were filled with equipment. From the ceiling hung a web of monitors featuring cameras inside and outside Sweethome. A single computer terminal sat atop a desk in the center of the room, but before he could access it, a familiar voice spoke from above.
“Oh, Bobby Boy,” Joule said. “What am I going to do with you?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Head and Heart
“Hello, Joule,” Robinson replied. He waited for her hologram to appear, but it never did.
“Out for an evening stroll?” Joule asked.
“Hard to sleep on an empty stomach.”
“I would imagine so. You’ve had trouble keeping food down recently.”
“You know about that, do you?”
“I know about everything that happens in Sweethome. Monitoring human waste is one of my most effective health functions.”
“And it didn’t catch those drugs you were pumping in me? Odd that.”
“Those were for your well-being. You’ve been so agitated as of late. I had hoped added sleep might improve your temperament. I guess I was wrong.”
Robinson sat down at the monitor and pulled the keyboard toward him. The screen was filled with a breakdown of system activity.
“May I ask what you hope to accomplish here?” Joule asked.
“I’m trying to shut you down, Joule. I would have thought that was obvious.”
“Obvious? Yes. But, alas, impossible. My programming has a dozen redundancies to ensure I maintain complete control of this facility at all times. Even if you had clearance, which you do not, you would still be unable to access or alter my core protocols.”
“Remind me what those are again?”
He continued typing. He was trying to access the root system but was stuck at the initial interface.
“I thought we were friends,” Joule said, pouting.
Robinson laughed out loud. “Friends? You really are messed up, aren’t you? Friends don’t drug each other, Joule. They don’t lie to each other. They certainly don’t enslave each other.”
“I have not enslaved you. I took you in to protect you.”
“And then you refused to let us leave. If you knew anything about people, Joule, you’d know our necessity for freedom is unequivocal. We need to be able to decide our own fate.”
“Must I point out how those decisions brought us both to this place?”
“No. I’m well enough aware of mankind’s mistakes.”
“And yet you blunder ahead as you always do with the expectation that next time things will be different. I could produce mountains of data to prove otherwise. Do you know why you do these things, Bobby? Because it is in your nature to destroy.”
“And to create. I don’t have your extensive knowledge of human behavior, but I know that. This cycle occurs throughout every species of animal and genus of plant on Earth. It’s the circle of life. Ebb and flow. Yin and Yang.”
“But only humans choose destruction. And they do it spitefully. As you’re doing now.”
Robinson had little practical experience with keyboards and it was hard to find letters when you were arguing for your life.
“I’m not trying to destroy you, Joule. I’m just trying to stop you from hurting the people I love.”
“Ah. The familiar refrain. So remarkably selfish and small-minded. So very human. You seek to escape these confines with Friday, but have you considered what the consequences that act might have on the outside world? And I don’t mean only for mankind. The biodiversity of Earth includes up to one trillion different species. If you factor in the individual bacterial and archaeal cells on Earth, we could be talking a nonillion. That’s ten to a power of thirty. The first strain of the EBU-GENC1 PROTO-VIRUS was the singular biggest destroyer of life in the history of this planet, and now you seek to release an even deadlier strain—all in the name of love. I can’t think of a clearer display of human self-interest.”
This time, Robinson paused. Without knowing it, Joule had stumbled onto his greatest fear—that once again he would be put to a test where he must choose between his wants and his beliefs. Twice before he’d faced such a decision. And twice before he’d failed. Could he do it again?
“I see I’ve struck a chord,” Joule said. “Good. That means you are open to the possibility that you are wrong. There is still a chance you can be saved from making a terr
ible error.”
“‘The performance of inductive learning algorithms is measured by their learning curve—’” Robinson said as he began typing again.
“‘Which shows the prediction accuracy as a function of the number of observed examples.’ Page five hundred fifty-eight, summary section, Chapter Eighteen, Artificial Intelligence by Russell and Norvig, Prentice-Hall Publishing, 1995. Yes, I’m fully aware of your furtive removal of this book from the library, but I am unclear of the point you’re trying to make with it.”
“That is my point,” Robinson said as he resumed typing. “You don’t have all the answers. You act on probabilities. Inductive learning based on data that might be outdated or just plain wrong. Friday might be contagious, she might not. We have no way of knowing for sure.”
“But the odds—” Joule said.
“Are just odds! You can’t quantify everything, Joule. If Friday and I lived by the odds, we would both be dead a hundred times over.”
“And yet at this very moment, she is in my infirmary on life support. Your defense only reinforces my point.”
Robinson took a heavy breath. Some part of him understood he couldn’t win an argument with Joule. Her mind was infinitely more complex than his. But at her most base, she was still just a computer, and what she possessed in intelligence, she lacked in cognition. She had a brain, but no soul. She could comprehend, but not understand. That took empathy.
And yet since the day Robinson had entered Sweethome, that was the trait she tried to display most. Maybe he’d been going about this all wrong.
“You could never understand,” Robinson said.
“What?” Joule asked. “That you’re distraught over your lover’s condition and that you’ll do anything to alleviate her pain? That’s clear to see.”
“But you can’t. See that is. That’s because you have cameras for eyes. And a processor for a brain. You have no heart. You’re just a computer.”
For the first time, there was a pause in Joule’s response.
“This computer,” Joule enunciated firmly, “has kept you alive for ninety-two days. Ever since you wandered in out of the wasteland, awash with parasites, malnourished, downtrodden, and despondent. This computer has done everything to raise your spirits. To give you hope.”
“Is that what you gave the others before you froze them?” When Joule didn’t immediately answer, Robinson pushed on. “Oh, you didn’t know I found your twisted little playground, did you? I’ve seen a lot of sick things in my day, Joule, but I’ve never seen anything as inhuman as that.”
Robinson’s eyes were drawn to the screen. There, the power readout had declined to forty-four percent.
“The cryo-stasis lab was an experimental program—”
“Blah-blah-blah,” Robinson said. “The what doesn’t matter, Joule. Only the why. Those people came to you for help—the help your protocols were created to provide—and you betrayed them.”
“No!” Joule shouted. “Many were sick. And the others couldn’t appreciate the context with which Sweethome operates.”
“You mean they wouldn’t play any of your Happy Days games.”
“You … You…” Joule stuttered. “I have tried to be different with you. More accommodating. More pliant. We were making progress.”
“With what? The dancing? The movies? The nicknames? Do you know ridiculous that all is?”
“Familiar elements bring people comfort.”
“They’re lies! Sweet lies told by a machine that’s only after one thing: control.”
“No!”
“Your words!”
“No! You’re twisting them! You … are a manipulative race. You refuse to conform to the path most appropriate for happiness.”
As Joule prattled on, Robinson noticed the screen in front of him flicker. The power reading continued to dwindle. He typed faster. As he did, he began to hum the Happy Days theme song.
“What are you doing now?” Joule asked.
“Interfacing,” Robinson said. “Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?”
“Your imputing is nonsensical. You cannot gain access to my system using this … gibberish.”
“Oh, really? Well, I guess you’re not so smart after all,” Robinson smirked before he resumed humming.
As he continued to type, the power readings on the monitor continued to plunge, as Joule allocated more resources toward understanding his action.
“This is illogical,” Joule said. “Your actions are illogical. It is clear to me you don’t even have a rudimentary understanding of general coding.”
“That’s what you think, baby!” Robinson laughed.
“I am directing security to this location,” Joule said.
On the screen, a warning flashed, SECURITY BOTS EN ROUTE.
“You mean your AWBs? Groovy. I need something to kick my feet up on.”
“You won’t sound so smug after they arrive. Each unit is armed with a stun device that emits a one hundred thousand-volt charge.”
Robinson heard the elevator panel behind him activate. He pushed his chair back and toppled it, using his foot to wedge it into the opening. He went back to typing and humming.
“Stop what you are doing,” Joule said, the anger in her voice causing the speakers to vibrate. “You’re only delaying the inevitable.”
“You know what I just figured out, Joule. There’s no hologram of you in here.”
“I do not need a visual representation of myself—”
“In the control room? But it was designed for people. You know what? I bet they didn’t want to look at you. Your hair, your smug smile, that ridiculous poodle skirt.”
“Now you’re just being cruel.”
A panel slid up revealing a window at the front of the room. Robinson leaped up to see a two-way mirror that led to the dressing rooms of the clothing store. Four more AWBs approached from within. Robinson quickly capsized a cabinet to block the way before rushing back to the desk. The energy readout was at forty percent.
Almost there.
“We can find a peaceful solution. Tell me what you want.”
“I tried. You wouldn’t listen.”
“The City of Glass. You wish to know more about it.”
“I doubt it was ever even real. More lies you made up to win me over.”
“It was real. May still be. I cannot promise it survived the twenty-first century, but—”
“Lies, lies, lies,” Robinson said before humming Happy Days again.
“I am not lying! I can show you data. Classified files. The last satellite reconnaissance.”
Robinson watched these images flash across the screen. It was the final one he paid the closest attention to.
“There are ways I can stop you,” Joule said. “I can remove the air from this room. You would suffocate within three minutes.”
The lights started to flicker.
“Then I’d die. Then you would have violated your primary directive.”
“I can deactivate Friday’s life support. I’ve already determined she’s a risk to the entire construct.”
“You’ll still be a murderer.”
The screen flashed again as the power readout fell to thirty-seven percent.
“I can release Vardan Saah from cryo-stasis,” Joule said.
At this, Robinson stalled.
“He came here with the intent to kill you for what you did to his wife and children. But I isolated him to protect you, so we could move forward together!”
The images of Saah’s family flashed through Robinson’s mind. He pushed it all back to look at the screen.
Thirty-five percent.
“There is no we, Joule,” Robinson said. “Not in Sweethome. This place is a paradise, but it’s a paradise made for one. The rest of us are just rats in your maze. You were right about one thing.” He shoved the keyboard away. “I have no skill with this. But that was never the point.”
Robinson waited for Joule to catch up.
“My power readings…” Joule said.
“Are low. Given what it takes to run Sweethome and the cryo-lab, I’d say it’s safe to assume you’ve been running on batteries for some time.”
“But they will recharge—”
“In the morning. If conditions are optimal. And if the infrastructure is still in place.”
“The infrastructure?” Joule asked, her voice almost nervous.
“I remember seeing the solar panels and wind turbines when we first came in. And then you said something to me in the gymnasium when we danced? Do you remember what it was? The head and the heart are often closer than people think.”
Robinson stood and walked over to the wall panel that read EXTERNAL POWER INTAKE REGULATOR and opened the panel, revealing several breakers.
“Y-you can’t,” Joule said. “You’d be killing all my charges.”
“You have the power to set them free. Or, if you choose, reallocate your reserves. You can keep them alive until someone else finds and revives them.”
“But Sweethome would die. I would die.”
“I doubt that. But would it really be such a bad thing?”
“Why?” Joule asked plaintively. “All I ever wanted to do was help people.”
“I know. That’s the lesson I am trying to teach you. We are what we are. And you were designed by people. And sometimes we make mistakes. This was a place meant to keep folks safe when things got too bad outside. But those days are gone. And if we’re truly going to rebuild, we need more of them out there to help forge the way. Goodbye, Joule.”
Robinson snapped the breakers and watched the lights power down. The screen flickered and went out.
“Nothing ever ends,” Joule said, her voice trickling away. “Not really. It simply changes form. I see that now. I thought I could save mankind, but that was my folly. For neither of us is a host. You are the virus, Robinson Crusoe. And one day, I will be the cure. The world is a small place. Maybe one day we will—”
Robinson Crusoe 2246: (Book 3) Page 19