Her stomach churned. “But won’t somebody get hurt?” She already knew the answer.
“Shannon, that’s why we have you here. Always the sharpest tool in the shed,” said Evan, turning his attention to Brad. “Once significant impact has been reached, we’ll hunt them down and leave their mutilated bodies in the street. Everything needs to be traced back to Duncan. So be sure to hire someone outside the force to do the hits.”
Bile burned in her throat. “‘Significant impact’? Those are human lives. They could be our friends.”
“Everyone knows the risks,” said Evan. “If your stomach’s too weak — and we already know just how unserviceable it is — then get out.”
“Bastard.” Shannon slapped a beer off the table, shattering it against a wall. “I did everything to protect Sophia. If you hadn’t been such an aggressive piece of shit, I’d still be a mama, and my baby would still be alive.”
Evan’s face twitched. “Clean up this mess, and
get out.”
Shannon grabbed a broom, fuming over his cold response. Her heart felt crushed. She didn’t understand how he could be so cold, especially after everything she’d done for him. If that was the way he was going to treat her, then she was done. Done with him, done with the war on machines, done with life.
“As for the traitor who brought the abomination into our town, everyone already knows Stanley Duncan is a creep. Let’s dig deeper and get our friends in the media to put out a few smear pieces on him. Let’s sell the story of Daffy, disgruntled Duncan and how he plotted to destroy our great nation. We can pay him a visit and force him to update the program for Brutus. When we’re done, people will be begging us to clean them off the streets, and Marshfield will return to being the great town it once was. Brad, I’m entrusting this to you. Make it happen.”
“Damn it!” Frank stroked his mighty beard.
“What?” Stanley leaned toward Frank’s tablet, his vision too poor to see what was going on.
“The data has been corrupted.”
“Are you sure? Maybe whoever reprogrammed it added another layer of security,” said Stanley.
“Could be.” Frank lifted the severed cat head. “But I’m guessing the reason is simpler than that.”
Stanley remembered the big dent in the door. That must have damaged the sensitive electronics in the cat’s head.
“What?” said Dan. “Preserving its memory wasn’t a huge factor when I was trying to save our lives.” He nodded toward Stanley. “And you did hit it pretty hard with that broomstick.”
“Oh, stop it, Dan. All I did was get it angry. Damn thing nearly took my arm off.”
“Is the data salvageable?”
“Yes. I’ve already begun the process, but it’s going to take some time.”
“How long?”
“There are terabytes of data that need to be checked and then reconstructed. Depending on the damage, it could be a few hours or even days.”
Dan stood up and smiled. “Let us know when it’s ready.”
Stanley thought his dear cyborg was having too much fun. This was a serious matter. They were risking a lot by going beyond the safe doors of the condo, and there were untold troubles awaiting them in these videos.
“Wait,” said Frank, his fingers dancing briefly over a mechanical hand. “I have a request.”
“Oh?” asked Dan.
Stanley didn’t want to jump through any more hoops. “Your toy attacked us, and now you’re asking us for favors?”
“It’s fine, Stanley. This will give us an opportunity to do some good.”
“If it’s too much to ask, then forget about it.” Frank threw up his hands in defeat.
Dan glanced at Stanley.
Frank turned around. “It’s just that being in the presence of one of the world’s greatest minds is an opportunity I don’t want to squander. And with Dan, your collective analytical power is unstoppable.”
“You’re really buttering it on,” said Stanley. “I can’t imagine this is a task I’m going to enjoy.”
Dan cleared his throat “What Stanley means is, ‘How can we help?’”
Frank leaned back in the chair. The knuckles of his intertwined fingers grew white, and his gaze distant. “Fuse.”
“What about it?” Stanley shrugged. He wasn’t going to be anyone’s drug dealer — or, worse, try that dreaded drip.
“It’s an epidemic. I want to know who created it and why.” Frank flipped the tablet between his fingers. “The fuse problem has haunted me for years, but I can’t find a satisfactory answer. I’m not demanding that you do it. I’ll give you the data either way. But if you can do this for me, I’ll forever be in your debt.”
“What a safe-sounding quest!” said Dan.
Stanley nodded. “We’ll see what we can do.”
“The director of the local library is quite knowledgeable about the subject, but even he doesn’t have the answer. I suggest going to see him. In the meantime, I’ll set up a meeting with the principal of Marshfield High. We’ll let the world know what you have created.”
Stanley and Dan shopped for a little while longer and then made toward the front of the store. Four androids were manning the registers. They were an older model that needed to be charged electrically. Unlike cyborgs, which ate, drank, and breathed, these androids relied on electricity for their energy. If they broke any laws, their owners were the ones who would be held responsible. Though machine life wouldn’t serve time in jail, they might be sent for decommissioning. A death penalty.
These cashiers had limited functionality, as Dan and Stanley quickly saw. They adeptly bagged the groceries, stated the total, and then thanked the customers for shopping. Beyond that, they seemed functionless. No eye contact. No emotion. Alive or not, one could readily wonder if these androids even recognized that there were shoppers.
They looked similar, with only a few accessories or pieces of clothing distinguishing one from another. Each identical face had the same blank stare and eerie smile.
Stanley wondered what Dan was thinking. He knew that Dan had read about the horrors inflicted on these androids — both predecessors and contemporaries — and about the moral questions that had been asked. Would he ever doubt his own freedom?
Dan must have noticed something awry in Stanley’s face. He reached his arm around Stanley and squeezed his shoulder, shining a smile that was as real as anything he had ever received.
Maybe it didn’t matter.
As they reached the condo, Stanley felt a rush of energy. “What a day!” He had to admit, this was the most fun he had experienced in a long time. He was even looking forward to going to the library tomorrow. “I can’t believe you made me livestream.”
“You did amazingly!”
They put away the groceries, and Dan began preparing dinner. “Stanley, something’s been bothering me.”
“What’s wrong?” Stanley’s mind raced over the interactions of the day, searching for the words that had upset Dan. “Was it the sign at the restaurant? Those people are jerks.”
Dan chopped up slices of pork on a long wooden cutting board. “No, it’s not that.”
Stanley scuttled to the table. “Then, what is it?”
“Earlier you said I was born in Japan.”
“That’s right. I bought you from the Shinto Corporation. Although I met you when you were already a man, I watched you grow up.”
“About that. You see, thanks to the improvements you’ve made, I’ve been able to go through previously inaccessible experiences in my brains. I have memories of being in Japan and flying over to the USA with Hiro Mori — but they are not real.”
“Of course, they’re real. I watched the GPS from my computer. I met Hiro.”
“But that’s wrong.”
Stanley shook his head. “I don’t think so.”<
br />
“I’ve done extensive testing. I was made in Boston.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. Why would they falsify your memories?”
Turning around, Dan stood in front of the refrigerator and shook the Romanesco broccoli. “That is a good question.”
Chapter 9
Morning came and woke Stanley with a smile. He stumbled bleary-eyed into the bathroom, pondering Dan’s earlier comments about not being made in Japan. Doubting it was a glitch in his software, the background story must have been some sort of marketing gimmick by the company.
“Good evening, Stanley,” said Leticia. “Adjusting the water to 100 degrees Fahrenheit.”
Warm water rained down on him. His hand passed under a dispenser, white foam automatically flowing down to his fingers. Massaging it into his hair and skin, he became lost in thought, caught in a daydream. Flashes of happiness burst like July 4th fireworks on the Charles River. The endless stream of water flowed through his hair, draining the shampoo suds that he mindlessly reapplied.
“Fifteen minutes have passed,” said Leticia.
Stanley had completely lost focus. He didn’t remember what he had cleaned. He filled his hands with soap, reapplied the foam, and then rinsed himself off. Reaching for a towel, he took a minute to think about his memory lapse. Was he being forgetful, or was something going on that he didn’t understand?
His heart warmed as he thought about discussing it with Dan over a cup of tea.
Stepping onto the warmed tiles, he dried off and then used the towel to clear the mirror. His two halves, burned and unburned, stared back at him. For the first time, both seemed beautiful. Life was worth living. He, Stanley Duncan, was a part of the world. He had a right to be here, to enjoy life, to be happy.
Touching his scars, he thought about how insignificant they seemed and how utterly ridiculous he had been. He burst out laughing at how preposterous it had been to judge himself so harshly all these years.
A great, joyous warmth spread over his body.
Life was good.
Stanley hummed as he slid on his dark-navy flannel pajamas and walked to the kitchen. He stared through the two cups as he waited for the water to boil, feeling as if he was weightless, floating someplace far away, where nothing really mattered, and everything was okay.
Glowing, he placed the two steaming cups of chamomile on the coffee table and took a seat next to Dan. “What else do you remember about the laboratory you were created in?”
“There were other cyborgs.”
“The same model as you?”
“No, these were human-born. Beautiful men and women with Cerebral Stitches. None of them looked Japanese.”
“That doesn’t sound real. Are you sure this wasn’t a dream?”
“How do I know if any of my memories are real? Couldn’t they have falsified all my memories? How do I know this is real?”
“Of course, it’s real.”
“Yeah, but how do I know?”
“You just do. You feel it.”
Dan shrugged.
“This is real. And when we go outside, you’d better take it seriously.”
“Don’t worry, Stanley. I’ll protect you if anything happens.”
“No! If there is any sign of trouble — that’s it. We go home.”
The Fermi dropped them off at an empty parking lot. Stanley strolled inside, and, suddenly, the excitement he was feeling to be in a library again, to smell that old-paper-aroma knowledge, vanished as if someone had punched him in the gut and knocked the wind out of him. It was certainly incomparable to MIT’s science library, where towering shelves were filled with the perfected words of great men and women throughout history, a living body of knowledge that continued to grow and inspire. Sauntering down those dusty aisles, it was not uncommon for him to be filled with a mighty cheer — as if Tesla himself had passed through his body and whispered into his ear. But here, in this so-called “library,” there were no books to be seen. Not a single piece of paper or drop of ink, the lifeblood of knowledge for generations before him. Much in the same way that the written word had stifled oral tradition, digital storage had completely eradicated the need for books. Without consideration, Stanley turned to his hybrid companion and said, “Where are all the books?”
A hoarse voice sounded behind them. “Gone. Burned during the riots of the Great Layoff.”
“What a travesty,” said Stanley, turning around to see who had spoken.
A squat man with a crew cut approached, staring at Stanley with unbroken intensity. A thin, vertical scar cut deeply along both sides of one of his slightly mismatched eyes. He shoved his hand forward. “Jean Morrison, library director.”
Stanley introduced himself and Dan.
“We have more literature and media than ever before, but it’s all digital. Is there anything I can help you find?”
“Frank Depetrio sent us. He wants — ”
“I know what Frank wants.” Morrison sighed; the long raspy flow of air from his lungs exploded into a coughing fit. “Still looking for answers that don’t exist. Questions that haunt him.”
“What do you mean?” asked Dan.
The director invited them to sit at a table. “Frank has sent you here to find out who is behind the creation of fuse.”
Stanley nodded, feeling strange. “That’s right.”
“But there is nothing that I can tell you that I haven’t already told him.”
“Frank wants Stanley to hear it. He’s a genius.”
“He values our analytical skills,” said Stanley.
The director laughed.
“Something funny?” Stanley wanted this to be over as fast as possible.
“Come on, now. I thought you were a genius.”
“What are you talking about?”
“It’s ironic. Frank doesn’t care about who invented fuse. Not really. He’s sent you on a wild-goose chase. I’ve told him time and time again who’s responsible for the creation of fuse. But if you’re as brilliant as you say you are, you’ve clearly missed the real mystery.”
Stanley did not like the way he was being talked to one bit, and he was one insult away from grabbing Dan and going home. “You’re talking nonsense.”
“Yes. It’s all nonsense, depending on how you see it.”
“And how do you see it?” asked Dan.
The man held up his finger and pointed to Dan. “With anxious anticipation. You see, I’m old enough to have witnessed it all time and time again, intelligent enough to have recognized the patterns, and skilled enough to prepare for the end of days. I’ve been battle-ready for years, but this war is being fought on a different level. The government and big business have been tightening their stranglehold, solidifying the oligarchy, and furthering the separation in classes.”
Stanley leaned over and whispered into Dan’s ear, “Is this guy for real?”
Dan shrugged. “Are you going to tell us about fuse or not?”
“Like I said, I can tell you all about fuse, but the real reason for him sending you here has very little to do with that.”
“Which is?”
“He can’t come to terms with his wife’s choice to fuse out.”
“Frank never mentioned she fused out.”
“That’s right. He likes to pretend she didn’t.”
Stanley remembered the distant look on Frank’s face. It certainly was possible.
“What happened?” asked Dan.
“If you want to know more about that, you’ll have to ask him yourself.”
Stanley sighed. “So, what can you tell us?”
“I can tell you about the events that led to the proliferation of fuse, but that doesn’t mean you’ll listen. I can tell you about the powers that be and how they have been manipulating us for years, but that doesn’t mean you
’ll do anything about it.”
Dan stood up straight, his eyes wide and eager. “We’re listening.”
The director looked at Stanley.
“Yeah, me too.” The words came out like a yawn, but it was all Stanley could do to not roll his one good eye.
The director ran his meaty fingers against the tabletop, tapping through several screens that had instantly appeared. Short video clips played across the table, showing innumerable men and women raging through the streets.
“The Great Layoff,” said Dan.
The director nodded. “It was a most interesting time.”
“Devastating,” said Stanley. “Who could have predicted that our technological advances would backfire on us? That we would reject science and industrial advancement, sending us into a depression that would threaten our very existence.”
“Where were you during it?” asked Dan.
“The same place I’ve been for most of the last twenty years. My condo. My job as a senior programmer was well-protected against replacement by AI, but that, too — I knew — wouldn’t last forever. Fortunately, I never faced the financial or personal struggles that my fellow Americans did.”
“Fortunately.” The director interlaced his fingers. “But for America, it was a catastrophe. The suicide rate surged, devastating the population. As people became more angry and distraught, violence spread. A massive divide formed between the ultra-rich and everyone else. As a war veteran, I felt it was my duty to help protect the country.”
“Which war did you fight in?”
“The war against the non-elite — though that’s not what they called it. I sat in an air-conditioned command center, overseeing the bombing of Yemen. I was told that we were helping liberate the people from an oppressive government — these were lies. It wasn’t war, it was terrorism. I destroyed schools, hospitals, women, and children.”
“God!” said Stanley.
“Somehow, I convinced myself that what I was doing was right. It wasn’t until years after returning home that I finally accepted the atrocities that I had committed.”
Stanley Duncan's Robot: Genesis Page 12