“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Dan’s mouth opened wide.
“I didn’t want you to worry.” Stanley looked away. He couldn’t imagine life without him. “And, honestly, I was worried you’d nobly try to sacrifice yourself.”
“But we could have dealt with this together.” Dan flailed his hand in frustration. “Why is it that you just can’t trust me?”
“It’s not …”
“Then, what is it?” Dan’s face was bright red.
Stanley sighed. Something from outside the window drew his attention. Darkness engulfed the sill. “What the hell is that?”
Dan rushed over. “Spiders. Mechanical spiders. An army of them.” He took a game board and swiped dozens of them out the window.
“Don’t touch them. Who knows if they’ve been modified, like the demon-cat.” He ran into the bedroom, returning with small orb and placing it on the windowsill. “Stay back.” Pushing a button, the generator started, and the spiders fell to the floor. “The EMP range is adjustable, but it won’t go beyond six feet.”
“You think they’ve been modified like the demon-cat?”
“Could be. Perhaps they’re venomous.”
“With large steel fangs.”
Stanley shuddered. “I’m not going to be able to sleep tonight.” Code to port these mechanical spiders to use his assassination program drifted into his head. It was frighteningly easy.
Teddy’s cybernetic enhancements were proving useless, refusing to obey his commands and causing him to black out over increasingly long periods of time — it was like being paralyzed again. But even more horrible than not being able to rely on his body, he was unable to trust his own consciousness. He would wake up as if from a dream and realize that none of his quasi-decisions or actions had truly been his. A few days ago, he had driven all the way to Quincy before turning around. Something was calling him to Boston, and soon he wouldn’t be able to resist at all.
Maple stood still in the corner of the room like a useless piece of circuitry, an ever-present reminder of Teddy’s crappy life. He whittled away at the wooden table with his knife, occasionally glancing over at her and wondering why he kept her around. With one stab, he could put her out of her misery. Or better yet, ransack her solid-state drive and search for any data that might be of use. But there was nothing to discover except years of showing him how she spoon-fed a cripple. Years wasted thanks to that stupid oaf. “Maple, go clean the bathroom upstairs!” It was a relief to be in control of something.
The knife continued to slice up the table, carving the corner into the letter “K.” He had screwed up and killed the wrong man, and now Brad had a vicious pit bull guarding his house, making it much more difficult to ambush him at home again.
Teddy didn’t know how much time he had before becoming completely insane. Nearly all his will to kill Brad was gone. If he didn’t destroy him today or tomorrow, he never would. Yet all he could manage to do was express his diminishing bloodlust through art, drawing and sculpting his rage into physical expressions.
The implant was erasing his memories. Half the time, he no longer knew why he needed to kill what’s-his-name. And it felt good to forget — painless. The burning need to exact his revenge would completely fade. Then the floodgates would open, and the horrors of his life would inundate the peaceful plains of forgetfulness.
Blowing the sawdust away from the table, the details of his work became clear. Kill Brad. It was intricately carved, a work of art. This mechanical body had endowed him with incredible abilities.
He could get a DNA test and prove that Brad was his father, even take him to court. All Teddy needed was to get Brad’s saliva off of the ever-growing mound of beer bottles he left behind. No need to rush — this could be done after things settled down. He leaned back, content with this idea, until he realized that this was another trick from the Cerebral Stitch — further delays so that he would continue to sink into the valley of nothingness, forgetting everything.
Confusion — where was he?
The surroundings came into being. Beautiful art everywhere. Life was full, resplendent. Gifted creatures abounded. This artist — whoever it was — was passionate, obsessive, and more. More than any words he could conjure. Just “Yes.” Everything seemed right. Paintings and drawings abounded on every surface with a single message: Kill Brad. There was something he was forgetting …
Instantly, it all flooded back in. Knowing this bubble of knowledge was brief, he whipped out his phone. Every second was like a ticking time bomb. Soon he would implode back into that dream of revenge. He had no friends, no being he could rely on except Maple, but she wouldn’t be competent enough to stop him. Was there anyone who he could reach out to?
A memory appeared in his mind. With perfect clarity, he recalled Dan Duncan announcing his phone number at the hospital. He took and his phone and dialed the number. “Help me! Stop me from — ”
The floor creaked behind him.
“Maple — ”
The war-hammer slammed into his back. Gasping for air, Teddy felt like his chest had collapsed.
“You’re pathetic!” Tossing the giant weapon to the side, Brad grabbed him by the throat, lifted him off the ground, and smashed him onto the floor.
Teddy slashed at his arm, but Brad grabbed his wrist and twisted it.
Pinning him to the ground, Brad kicked away the knife. “I didn’t recognize you without the wheelchair.”
Frustration overloaded Teddy’s circuitry as he stared at the blood trickling from the small cut on Brad’s arm and then at his own mangled wrist, wondering how Brad was so strong. “You’ve never recognized me.”
“Why would I? You’re nothing to me, just the son of a whore.” Brad stomped on his leg.
Teddy screamed. Human bones would have already snapped in half. But Teddy’s tough body resisted the force, cursing him with more brutal attacks.
Brad cuffed him to a radiator. “I’m surprised you can feel pain, you damn abomination.”
“Been feeling it all my life, asshole. All because of you.”
“Get it through your thick skull — I’m not your father.”
“Look in the fucking mirror, you giant moron!”
Brad looked dumbstruck.
Teddy filled with anger as he stared at him. The resemblance was impossible to ignore. They both had a small, round nose, short, straight teeth, and thin, furrowed eyebrows that emphasized their narrow, vindictive eyes. Brad’s neck was much larger, which made his head seem bigger. Their large ears curved outward, and the lobules connected at the jawbone.
“You’re going to pay for what you did to Officer Michaels,” said Brad. “He was a good man.”
Teddy jerked his hands around but couldn’t free himself. “No matter what you do to me, I’m coming after you. I won’t stop until you’re dead.”
Brad cackled. “No, you’re going to rot in Marshfield’s Coliseum with the other toasters.” He walked away.
“Come back and fight me!” screamed Teddy, his cuffed hands clanking against the radiator. This wasn’t how things were supposed to be. Brad should not have had the upper hand.
The cuffs banged and clanged against the radiator, which didn’t budge. The carving knife lay on the floor beyond reach. Pulling as hard as he could, he watched the synthetic flesh rip off of his wrist. His biomechanical body was too strong to break. “Maple!”
She sauntered downstairs. “Teddy, you’re injured. Shall I call an ambulance?”
“Break this damn chain!”
Maple returned with a hammer.
The air crackled, and flames burst from the blowtorch in Brad’s hand. “Stop! I’m Sergeant Brad Jenkins of the Marshfield Police Department.”
Maple froze.
“Free me, you idiot.”
“I’m sorry, Teddy. I must comply with all police mandates
. My …” Her words slowed.
Brad removed his hand from the back of her head. “No one to save you now, cripple.”
Teddy felt the heat of the blowtorch from several feet away, but there was nothing he could do. Maple had betrayed him in his greatest moment of need.
Insanity spilled across Brad’s face. “Time to purge your sins.”
Dan sat next to Stanley, his posture perfect, hands on his knees, and a bloody Band-Aid on his ear. “We’re safe now.”
“Thank you.”
“So how would you begin to initialize these Peacekeepers?” Dan seemed to have read his mind.
“I want to start by setting up advanced machine life, like you, at the supermarket. Show everyone that they can rely on AI for security just as they do for their coffee or firefighting. I’ll make sure the androids have the right tools to defend themselves if and when Evan strikes.”
“Which he might never do.”
“Be real, Dan. They’ve already attacked both of us. We could have died.”
“What did we do to them to deserve this?”
Stanley shrugged. “Nothing.”
“The androids at the supermarket are ancient. Why do you want to start with them?”
“Because Frank knows people,” continued Stanley. “They trust him. Once they see and understand the benefit of these Peacekeepers, the people of Marshfield would want to help. I could create a simple patch that anyone could apply to their android.”
“Simple for you means near-impossible for most people.”
“I’m not going to ask them to program for years. Just a few lines of code to migrate the cloud APIs to their individual AI.”
“Something even Glenda could do.” Dan chuckled.
Stanley nodded. He hadn’t seen her in a while, and he wondered how she was doing. It’d be nice to have her over for a meal again. “The Peacekeepers will be only a small part of it. Once we can set up a network of AI to protect us, we can start a campaign against the police. Public media, social media — everything. Let them know that it is their job which is going to be replaced next.”
“You’d be pulling the bull by its tail, baiting the police to do something about the androids.”
“Right.”
“Stanley, you’re inviting violence.”
“You’re the one who said that this path wasn’t easy. Conflict was unavoidable.”
A soothing gong sound emanated from the oven; the potato skins were ready. Dan took them out and put them on the counter. Steam wafted toward his frowning face. “So, we do this, and then what? File a lawsuit after Evan burns the building down?”
“The androids would be able to defend themselves,” said Stanley.
“But you would be giving life to them only to wage war. What sort of life is that?”
Stanley didn’t have an answer.
Dan brought the potato skins over on a dish and prepared some tea. It steeped while they sat in silence for a long while.
Stanley sipped the tea — cold. He gobbled down half of the potato skins. “I want you to start wearing the watch or carrying a different weapon. You need to protect yourself.”
“You wear the watch, Stanley. I don’t need it. I’m a weapon. I can protect myself.” Dan’s voice was serious.
Stanley sighed. He couldn’t understand why Dan was being so stubborn. “Do you realize how worried I get when you go out on your own?”
“What more do you want?” Dan’s face reddened. “I’m not going to carry a gun. I’m not an assassin. I’m not trying to kill or intimidate people. I don’t want to rule or conquer anyone. I should like to help everyone — if possible. Man, machine; flesh, metal.”
In those words, Stanley recognized the similarity to the speech at the end of The Great Dictator. He wondered what it meant. “Well, …”
“And I’ll protect you, too.”
Stanley recalled what Dan had told him about his virtual training, and Dan was in great shape, though he had never seen him exercise. He was fit and muscular, but not a hulking mass of muscle. “But what if you get hurt?”
“I told you about what I did to Ike.”
Stanley’s blood boiled at the mention of that cretin’s name. He pressed his hand to his shirt pocket, reaching for cigarettes that were no longer there. “And?”
“That was merely hand-to-hand combat,” continued Dan, “which I am highly trained in. But if anyone really wants me dead, if they put the time and resources into it, there’s not going to be much I can do about it.”
“That’s why I want you to wear the helmet.”
Dan sighed.
To Stanley, Dan was an innocent child venturing out into a dangerous world. He needed protection. “If you were wearing it now, you wouldn’t have been cut.” But upon hearing the words come out of his own mouth, Stanley knew he was acting ridiculous.
Dan rolled his eyes. “Enough about the helmet!”
“What if it’s a bullet next time?”
Now it was Dan’s turn to be angry. “I figured you, of all people, would understand how important appearance is.”
Stanley let the words sink in. He wouldn’t wear it if someone begged him to. Heck, he had stayed inside for decades because of the way he looked and the way he felt. Dan was right about him: Stanley was the one person who should have definitely understood Dan’s choice.
Choice.
The word lingered in his mind.
Dan got a call.
“Stanley, I’ve got to go. It’s urgent. Someone’s in trouble.”
Stanley looked over from the computer. “How do you know it’s real?”
Dan shrugged. “That’s a question that keeps haunting me.”
“Don’t go.”
“I have to. I’ll wear the armor and scope the area out. It’ll be fine.”
“I wish I knew it would be. I don’t trust anyone.”
“Trust needs to be earned.”
“Does it? If we’re going to be putting your life on the line, we need to be sure people are who they say they are. We need accountability. How about registering your clients and then screening them with the Xiang-Wu criminality test?”
“That can be spoofed.”
“Then we need an unspoofable test. A social-credit score that incorporates prediction, history, and testimony. Fully transparent and stored on the blockchain. If we had that, we could trust anyone.”
“You’re the genius, Stanley. Why don’t you make it?”
“I could code it, but people would need to rally behind it. Otherwise, it would be worthless.”
“If you came to the high school, you could tell everyone about it.”
“I told you to quit pressuring me into going outside. You know I can’t take it.”
Dan grabbed his coat. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Stanley inspected him. Blood had turned the bandage red. A look of determination told Stanley that this trip was not up for negotiation.
“I like the idea about using AI Peacekeepers,” said Dan. “You’re really on to something.”
“But?”
“No buts,” said Dan, opening up the door. “At least not for now. We’ll talk later.”
“Be careful.”
After Dan left, Stanley watched him from the window. Not long after, a drone soared into view right in front of the broken window, peering in above the trash bag. Stanley leapt back, stumbling to the ground. When he got up, another one had appeared near it. He whipped the curtains shut. Peering through the slit, he saw a crowd of reporters gathering outside.
His stomach pitted up. Something horrible was going to happen.
Chapter 16
Stanley inspected several of the mechanical spiders under a magnifying glass. They appeared unmodified from their factory condition: eight legs covered with synthetic
fibers, two cameras behind the larger, realistic-looking plastic eyes. The other six contained microphones and two strong, blunt fangs that functioned as antennae.
The buzzing from the drones filled the room, eating away at Stanley. He could still hear the protester shouting. Rubbing his hands, he gleamed out the window at him. “Two can play at this game.”
Sitting down at this computer, it didn’t take long to write all the code he needed to put the spiders under his control. What he pondered, though, was whether or not he should modify their physical form. It would be simple enough to have them augment themselves with shards of glass, metal tips, or even the synthetic fiber he had used for Dan’s body armor. Though it would take more time, miniature tubes of fuse or nanites could be rigged next to their fangs or on their backs. He could send an army to knock someone out or to heal them. The possibilities were endless. It was almost unfair how much power he could wield should he choose to — but he never did. Stanley didn’t want to hurt the protester, only show him that he was prepared to fight back.
Sweeping all the mechanical spiders into a bucket, he turned off the EMP and transmitted the code to overwrite the firmware. After a few minutes, the spiders came to life. They gathered at his door — the front window was far too incriminating — forming a legion with more than twenty rows of platoons. Stanley hit the “Enter” button on his computer and watched as they crawled their way out the back of the building and around to the front. He saw the attack on the protester from thousands of little cameras. Real-time software filtered out the heavy background noise.
“No-bots, not robots.” The protester was marching in place, occasionally glancing up to Stanley’s window. “Man kind, machine cold.”
Stanley wondered if he was planning another attack. There could be two more demon-cats waiting around the corner to claw Stanley to death. The more he thought about it, the more he considered further modifying the mechanical spiders. Glancing at his broken door, he knew what he had to do. He redirected three dozen spiders to serve as sentries around the outside and inside of the condo. With some time, he’d create or find a program to provide real-time monitoring of everyone who approached the condo. Another thousand was sent off to gather supplies to augment themselves, and the remaining ones continued the attack.
Stanley Duncan's Robot: Genesis Page 21